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quirkwizard · 3 days ago

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Mutant Mayhem: A Critique on the Mutant Sub-Arc

Normally, I start this off with some kind of intro to establish what I'm talking about, but I'm not going to lie: I think this might be the worst thing to come out of the main storyline. This may be a surprise to long-time followers of the blog. My dislike of Stars and Stripes and her arc has been well documented, with me calling it the worst part of MHA. As much as I dislike a lot of elements of the Stars and Stripes Arc, I can at least understand what Hori was going for, and it's pretty easy to ignore in the grand scheme of things. With this? I can't understand this.

So I want to put two disclaimers here. First off, I am not an expert on politics, sociology, or anything related to that in any way. I do not know how the events in the manga reflect real world issues, both in Japan specifically and the world at large. What I am is a writer. I am someone who analyzes stories for fun. This is going to be a critique of how the story handles the plot purely from a writing perspective. It will not be a critique of whether it is realistic or comparable to real world events. I'm sure there are other people far more equipped to handle talking about this.

Second off, for the sake of this, I'm ignoring a lot of the character work with Spinner. I actually think that's some strong stuff here. It just happens to be stuck in the middle of an arc that I don't feel uses that well. I know that isn't nearly as important as the first disclaimer, but I like it a lot and I want to give this arc flowers where I can. So, without further ado, let us get into this.

The Major Players

To be frank, Shoji and Koda feel out of place here. Do not get me wrong. I like them both, Shoji especially, but it does not feel like either of them has any place leading an arc. He's such a background character, even among the ranks of 1-A. And Koda is even worse in terms of relevance. Shoji and Koda don't have any real arcs of their own or connections to Spinner to make this feel warranted, let alone satisfying. At least, not that'd tie them into this part of the story. Koda is a kid who was shy that wanted to find his voice and gain more confidence. Shoji, the leading man of this whole arc has... nothing. He was just a quiet, minimalist who helped out where he could.

On the other end of things, there is Spinner. For the whole of this arc, Spinner is reduced a brainly functional monster. Yeah, that's great for his character, but it hurts the rest of the arc and the point it is trying to make. Because the guy who is supposed to be leading this part of the story has been reduced to a drooling moron who can barely string a sentence together. When he does talk, all he can say is that he doesn't even care what his own allies are doing. It makes it come across that Spinner doesn't have any real place in his own arc. It ends up hurting the manga and the story it is trying to tell by actively robbing the key player of his agency.

And then we have the spider guy. I'm not even going to bother remembering his name. We don't know anything about him or why he's doing this. He's only really here to spout out exposition about the discrimination of the Mutants and what they have gone through. So do we get someone who is passionate about fighting for this cause? No, not really. He makes it clear to the audience that this is not his main goal. All he is there to do to keep the revolution going for the sake of All For One. He's not the kind of figurehead that this arc needs. Someone who can act as the passionate mouthpiece to really push what the Mutants want and need. He just ends up being some other stooge that quickly gets defeated without much thought.

So right off the bat, it doesn't feel like these characters have any strong ties or arcs to work with here. It feels like we're dealing with the leftovers. Like all the other characters were busy somewhere else, but needed something Spinner for his story and to get Kurogiri. Shoji and Koda are the only ones left with any kind of panel time, and now he had to throw some stuff together about how there was all this prejudice against Mutants. Because that is all you have to tie them all them together. Okay, sure, maybe the characters aren't really that good for this kind of story line. But maybe the actual writing and build up to make this part of the story will make this arc feel satisfying, right?

The Setup?

Right off the bat, I don't think that this plot line is that well established. Looking back at the series, what examples do we have of Mutant discrimination within the main manga? Maybe a few small moments. A comment about how big the doors are at UA as opposed to other places. Which can imply that other buildings aren't as accommodating for those, but it's never really explored that much beyond that one comment. Gang Orca is a Mutant and is said to be one of the most villainous-looking heroes. Yet I feel like that's a pretty forgettable fact about how minor of a character he is and how aggressive he tends to act around people. If anything, that feels like a bigger contributor to why people see him as a villain.

A few insults based on how a character looks. Namely, Shoto to the dog Chief of Police, Dabi to Spinner during the car chase to get Overhaul, and Pony to Shoji during the Joint Training Arc. However, none of these are given real focus. They are all either played off like any other insult or even a joke, in the case of Dabi and Spinner. Do you see what I'm getting at? For all the focus it gets as an end-game issue, there really isn't a lot of focus put on it with the story or characters. It's all a bunch of smaller moments. Smaller moments that are few and far between and aren't given any kind of real gravity for when they do happen. There isn't anything that stands out to me that makes me think that Mutants are facing any kind of discrimination in the modern day.

And before any of you say anything, yes, there are more notable examples of problems like this in the Vigilantes spin-off. The most obvious one is Kirihito Kamachi. He has the body of a giant praying mantis. He has difficulty living and interacting with others because of how monstrous he is, such as finding a place that can accommodate him. That is a great exmaple... that is not in the main manga. As good as Vigilantes is, it's still ultimately supplementary material. To me, you shouldn't have to rely on supplementary material to support your main story. Because most people aren't going to be reading it. At least, not many people do from what I have seen. Within the main manga, there are only two major examples I can think of.

The first is the Creature Rejection Clan. A group of people solely dedicated to the exclusion of Mutants on the basis of blood purity. Which certainly sounds bad. The story says they used to be a thing back when the first Quirks came about. Yet they are barely even an organization in the modern times. They are treated instead as a long-dead relic, who are so weak and fractured as to be a joke. The second is the attack on the giant fox woman, which has so many extraneous factors involved that I hesitate to count it. Such as the fact it was done by a bunch of people without any kind of real racial motivation behind it and it was a random attack by scared people during a total societal collapse. So while it was part of the world, it seemed more in the background. Something that happened before with some lingering wounds. A problem with the world that should be dealt with, but not something that is that prevalent.

The Mutant's Madness

We then cut to the current storyline and... we have a horde of thousands upon thousands of Mutants all marching on the hospital with Kurogiri inside of it. All of these Mutants were so disgruntled about the world as is, that they formed a mob of this size. We're told that Spinner was regularly attacked and sprayed with bug spray. We get mentions of these massive hate crimes against Mutants that were never mentioned before. We then get flashbacks to Shoji's history. About how he was beaten and heavily scarred by people that attacked him as child. This is something that happened whenever he interacted with any other people. Hori: Where on Earth did any of this come from?

I want you to think about all the examples I picked out. I did not intentionally cherry-pick those. I tried my best to find all the notable examples of this before the arc. Would any of you assume that would be how Mutants were treated in the setting? I certainly wouldn't. I don't think I'd ever reach the conclusion that the story did. That, not even ten years ago, there were mass killings and public attacks on small children. This took such a drastic turn that I get whiplash just thinking about it. Was this ever implied or set up before? I feel like this kind of violence would have been shown or mentioned until now, but no. This is the first time we've heard about it on this scale.

And introducing a problem this big this late into the story, in the very arc it is relevant in, is sloppy writing to say the least. Realistically, this should be something that affects a large portion of the world and even members of our cast. You would think that if stuff like that was happening, we'd see way more examples of this in the story. Characters like Tokoyami, Sero, Tsuyu, and Mina. All of which could have been used to explore this more, but they have never been mentioned. Could you imagine if we only got passing mentions of what was going on with Himiko? And, outside of her obsession with blood, we never fully understood why she was that way. Only to find out there are thousands of other kids that go through exactly what she did and no one ever talked about it?

And why is that? Why is it never seen or mentioned? Hori tells us it's because the cities aren't as bad. It's out in the country where it's really bad. What?! What kind of explanation is that? Let's ignore the fact that it doesn't make any sense. If you have that kind of acceptable violence even out in the sticks, there would have to be some kind of sign of it in the major cities. The fact of the matter is that this is such a lazy excuse. Geez, Hori, if that was the case, maybe you should have shown us something outside the city then. Maybe then you could have built up this plot point more if you wanted it to be such a major focus of the arc. Why even go to this level of extreme with it? Especially since this level of violence the Mutants undergo suffocates the message so much.

The Mangled Message

My issue with the violence is that it is crippling the narrative the story wants to go for. Having it be this level of violence justifies the Mutants in their revolt. Shoji's whole point is not letting your hatred win and how you need to rise above what people think of you. A good sentiment on paper. If you want to talk about the kind of harm extremists can do to a message and progress as a whole, that is totally fine. Or maybe you could go with how people can be caught up in something that doesn't have their real interests at heart. There are a lot of ways you could go about this kind of message.

But that kind of talk doesn't exactly fly when your lives and wellbeing are in active danger. The Mutants aren't getting side-eyed by some old dude on a porch. They're running from hate mobs out for blood. Hate mobs are so wild and vindictive they will openly attack children on sight with zero moral compunctions about them. Which, yes, is the extreme, but the rest of what we learn doesn't make it seem like it's that far of an extreme. This kind of writing not only makes it jarring with what we have been shown, but it puts the Mutants as a whole in such a terrible position in this world. I can't exactly blame them for fighting back, even if it's aimed in the wrong direction.

When I'm writing this, I keep thinking back to that one line from Shoji. "Spinner, you're about to put us back thirty years." I get what the story is trying to say with that, but it feels so wrong here. Sure Shoji, you can try and be the model citizen that wants to bridge the gap between people. Not stooping to their level and all that. Yet trying to moralize people who feel actively threatened by the world at large doesn't come across the way you think it does. It comes across as tone-deaf and preachy even in the best light. And that's not the kind of thing you want to say about the guy who is supposed to be in the right. It's this weird moralizing that makes this sub-arc so hard to read and enjoy.

What makes it worse is that the crowd feels like such a mindless mob. One that only stopped because they realized they were attacking a hospital. What on Earth did you think you were doing here? Volunteer work? I get that the point is that Shoji's speech and the heroics of everyday people is what stopped them, but come on. It feels like Hori needed to put them in a much worse position morally to make the violence stop. That doesn't really acknowledge the problems that they are going through in a reasonable way. Why not make them stop because they feel like their leader is nothing more than a violent thug? Or the revelation that they are fighting for just to be used by All For One? Not because he cares about them, but because he just wants to build chaos?

This entire issue just feels so bizarre and poorly thought out on so many fronts. It makes me wonder why we're even getting this kind of arc in the first place. On the surface, it fits in with the other villains. Which I get is the point of the villains. They are people with genuine grievances towards society, but go too far with what they will do to get what they want. But at least it felt like the villains were exceptional extremes of the system who were hurting more than they helped. Their issues were a product of the system, but were far more personal. This seems like it's something far more widespread. Something so ingrained in the world that goes beyond any one person. So it feels at odds with how the rest of the villains and issues are set up.

And to be clear: I'm not saying this because I don't think MHA should cover these topics. In a series talking about the issues of society and how people need to work together to make things better, bigotry in any fashion could be something you could easily cover. If anything, I think that MHA Is uniquely suited to talk about this. It's certainly more appropriate to cover it here than other series that try to use its supernatural elements to talk about bigotry. And yes, that includes the X-Men. But to talk about these issues, you need to lay the groundwork. You need to tackle it with some tact. You need to know what you are doing. And Hori clearly doesn't know what he's doing here.

The Rewrite

Now, how would I fix this? This is kind of an awkward position for me to be in. Because I don't think you can fix this arc in and of itself. It's built around a foundation that is shaky at best. I honestly think you'd need a whole other mini-arc just to set this issue up and establish this as an issue for Shoji. At very least, you'd have to put a lot more of a focus on Spinner as a real character. So I think that the best answer is to just rewrite it from scratch.

For starters, you change the people that are attacking the hospital. The horde is not all Mutants. They are instead all followers of the League itself. They are just like Spinner was back when he was following the image of Stain. They are people who think they understand what the League is fighting for or are merely fighting back for their own personal vendettas. They are all people who felt small and hurt. It is effectively an army of Spinners. At least, as he was early on in the manga. And these aren't anywhere near as bad as they are in canon. It can be for whatever ill-thought-out reason there is. Spinner is still leading the charge, still full of Quirks. And while his change in form would tie into his other story, I'm going to try and make it relevant to the rest of the arc.

And you may be wondering how this ties back to Shoji? It doesn't. Again, I like Shoji, but he does not need to play such as a major part of the final arc focused on him. So I suggest we get another student to replace him. Specifically, Iida. Why put Iida here? To be perfectly frank, I think Iida was wasted in this arc. He doesn't have any real ending for the arc we've seen and doesn't add much to the part of the story he is in. All he's used for is a glorified taxi for Shoto to get to his arc. I do have an idea about him and why I am putting him here, but I'd be lying if I said my personal feelings on Iida this arc aren't part of my decisions.

To start things off, I would make it clear that this is one of the last functional hospitals in the country. This place is integral to treating the most seriously injured and sick. Trying to move any of the patients would likely kill them, including Kurogiri. The heroes wouldn't want to use it as a battleground, but feel forced to because such a valuable target is there with Kurogiri. So the heroes organize a force to help defend the hospital, for which Iida volunteers. And when asked about it, Iida says he wants to protect it because it's about his brother. Both that is what Tensei would do and all he can think about is his brother laying in that same hospital.

And this is where their dynamic would come in. Spinner and Iida are comparable in how they both looked up to a person in their life and how much that warped their perspective. After encountering Stain, both of them changed. Iida strived more to emulate and honor his brother rather than idolize him. He wanted to be the one to build up the rest of his classmates and become a proper hero that can save people. Spinner went from being a fanboy to an idol himself, but a false one. He got the power he wanted, but an empty in the process, with everyone else ascribing things to his actions rather than having any real will of his own.

I'm doing this because, in a series all about inherited wills and legacy, I think that you could do something focusing on inheriting the wrong ideas from someone. That is brought up a few times throughout the series, but I think that some part of the finale could focus on it. It's how your actions have meaning and those actions can spread out to people who look up to you and trust you. These are the roles that Iida and Spinner fulfill. It ties back to what the Mutant Sub-Arc was trying to bring up about how this group of people is being used and radicalized for All For One's cause and not their own, but in a way that doesn't tie it to all the baggage of discrimination and bigotry.

Iida can talk about how the crowd is misguided. That the League and All For One aren't on their side. Nobody in the crowd cares though. They rather shout about their grievances. About why they are fighting this war in the first place. They all look up to Stain and Spinner as their revolutionaries. They all turned to Spinner looking for his wise words. This is the part where he says he doesn't care. He can give a similar speech as he did in canon, but it can be more to emphasize his own past as opposed to Iida. How Iida is where he is, because he was born lucky with a wealthy family and a strong Quirk. I think that this would be a lot more personal to Spinner. His whole perspective and life has changed so much that Stain, the man that inspired him, is barely even an afterthought.

This would be encouraged by a man on a roof seeing it all: Trumpet. Now, I am replacing the spider guy with Trumpet for a few reasons. One is that he's already an established character, and he already has ties to Spinner. Second is that his power of "Incite" could do a lot to explain how the crowd is fighting so well. Finally, I think that it could reflect how All For One is using these people. They aren't here to lead a revolution, but to cause chaos. And I think that works better with a figure like Trumpet. The second a new regime seems to be rolling in, he immediately switches sides to working with All For One. He isn't as staunch MLA follower as people thought he was and merely attached himself to it because it was a means of power. It feels more fitting for someone like him to talk about how he doesn't really believe in this kind of stuff than someone who should be affected by the issue they are fighting for.

So the battle rages on between the two groups. You could also throw in some of the students to help fight with Iida. To me, you could put any of the other students here if you want. Maybe you could have some moment for Jiro or Koda here. They'd be able to use the power of their Quirks to help drown out Trumpet and all of his rhetoric. Maybe you could have people like Sero and Ojiro work as the counterpoint. They don't have great Quirks, but they were still able to make it into the Heroics Course in spite of that fact. Their roles don't matter as much to me as the main conflict between Spinner and Iida. Iida tries to fight back as hard as he can, but, ironically, Spinner's ability to jump and climb between walls makes it hard for Iida to attack him.

That is when the crowd starts closing. The doctors are doing their stand to make sure no one can get in and hurt the patients. This makes the crowd hesitate some. At that moment, Iida gets an order. To stop the crowd no matter what it takes and save the doctors. Even if it means he has to kill Spinner. Everyone thinks that Iida is going to violently charge at and destroy the crowd. But no. Iida doesn't do that. Instead, he uses his immense speed to rescue everyone in the hospital. He is going at such high speeds that he is able to save everyone before they can die and move them to another location away from the fighting. All except Kurogiri, who is under such heavy defense that Iida could not reach him. Everyone is shocked and amazed at this, including Iida, who never thought he'd be able to pull off such a move.

After it's all done, Iida is spent. He used Recipro Burst too much and is now unable to move. Yet he still stands, begging the crowd to not attack the hospital. This is where Iida's arc ends. He gets to be a true hero, focusing on saving others rather than trying to hurt them, and making another speech to stop a raging crowd. The doctors can be out there as well, as I do think that bit is important to the greater themes of the series. And it does work for a moment. Spinner does not care though. He still moves forward. And then suddenly stops in his tracks. Only to reveal Stain had used "Bloodcurdle" on him, leaping from on high to stop the assault on the hospital.

Yeah, I'm throwing Stain in here too. I've always disliked how Stain's death was handled. I don't mind him dying, just how it was done. Not only did it feel totally pointless, barely adding anything to the final fight with All For One, it felt so inconclusive to his character. There's more that could be done. We have already got the conclusion to All Might and Stain's connections at the statue, so having him die with Toshonori doesn't really fit. To me, Iida and Spinner have some of the strongest connections to Stain. Because they were the ones who were most changed by interacting with him and his legacy as a villain. So I believe that adding him here will add more to the arc and his own character.

This is a point where Stain takes Spinner to task about everything he's done so far. About how this was not his dream and not his goal. That was to flush out all the fake heroes. Not to hurt people who "didn't deserve it". By killing Iida and attacking his hospital, they are all corrupting his mission. This really puts a stop to the crowd. This is their idol, the one who started their revolution. And now he's talking about how their work makes them sick. So now he stands against them. To protect Iida and the hospital. You could even call back to his infamous speech, a dreadful aura falling over the whole Quirk. Yet Spinner starts to move again much sooner, either from losing so much blood from "Scalemail" or having a Type-O blood type, and the Quirk stops affecting him.

He charges up to Iida, ready to cleave him in half. Only for Stain to block the attack to save Iida, dying in the process as his body gets stuck on Spinner's weapon. Only to be tossed aside without a care as Spinner makes his way to the hospital. In this way, it acknowledges the growth of Iida into a "true hero" in the eyes of Stain. It's between these three elements that the crowd stops. The heroic moment of Iida, the death of Stain, and the obvious indifference of Spinner are all what led to them realizing that this cause may not be worth fighting for and stopping the charge. I think that would be a lot more point of a moment. Because now we get the culmination of Iida's character, the ironic death of a major villain, and the final tragic note of Spinner as a character.

And I think having it be this way could make it more fitting for where the two end up. We see Iida start to work closely with Uraraka when helping out the children. Maybe Iida could be working with other kids that are in trouble. He can be the guy who is trying to help out his community and lead like example. Just like what his brother was doing before him. Meanwhile, it could help recontextualize Spinner's ending. I've already talked about this in my rewrite of the ending before, but I think this could add a nice way to present Spinner's book. That he wants to tell the truth of the League and have them be remembered, but not in a way that will radicalize people like him in the future.

Now, is this a deviation from the main story and what this sub-arc was going for? Yeah, but I don't think that you are losing much by changing the players and context. Here, you can still have the misguided rioters that have close ties to Spinner, but without a lot of the sloppy writing surrounding the Mutant storyline. It also can give more meat to two major characters that felt shafted by the final storyline. Iida get's recognized as a true hero, finally living up goal he had since he fought Stain. Stain himself dies an ironic, but fitting death. He dies at the hands of a follower who idolized him, but did so saving a kid he said was a false hero. Overall, I believe this does more justice to the characters and the story.

#My Hero Academia #Not Quirks #Shuichi Iguchi #Spinner #Tenya IIda #Akaguro Chizome #Stain #Mezo Shoji #Koda Koji #MHA Meta #MHA Theory

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scintillatingshortgirl19 · 1 year ago

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maybe i just have hilson brainrot but it is fucking WILD how much house's session with nolan in 6x21 "Baggage" truly feels like it's leading up to house confessing that he's in love with wilson

#like. it FEELS like those are the signals it's giving off #if i didn't know better...man idk. combined with this whole season and the last couple of episodes with sam coming into the picture #it really feels like this is leading somewhere that i know it isn't #i'm fascinated #house md #hilson #house 6x21 #house season 6 #op

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chronurgy · 1 month ago

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The problem with dai cullen for me is that.... Well it felt like his story was on a fairly consistent set of tracks in dao and da2, especially if you played the female mage origin, and then his dai story just jumped to a completely different track that didn't have much interest in interacting with what came before. So I ended up feeling like the questions I had about him and how he could grow and change from who he was in the previous games were just left hanging, entirely unaddressed, and that prevented me from really moving forward with his story. It's like they wanted to use all that background established in the previous two games to sprinkle a little spice into his dai character but didn't want to actually wrestle with what that background meant for like.... The whole rest of his deal

#I don't want this to show up in the main tags sorry #But this is about dragon age and dai #<- hoping that works for people who have blocked those terms but won't land me in the main tags #This isn't really cullen critical it's more like cullen's writing critical #As in I think there was somewhere interesting they could have taken the character but they just didn't #And it drives me batty! The version of him in inquisition feels like a tenuously related guy!#It's like..... The da2 stuff left me off on the side of a river #And the dai stuff picked up on the other side of that river. And I can't get over there to get on the dai train because #I need a bridge to cross the river! And they forgot to build one!#And I know I know “build your own bridge” “learn to swim” yes I get it #I could do all the work on my own to make up that gap yeah sure but actually I don't think headcanons are really the answer here #Because anything I make up to address that gap will inevitably change the character and lead him to different places #That's not the same guy anymore!#Anyway the answer is better and more consistent character writing

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kkusuka · 25 days ago

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pt. 2

your roommate was a strange man.

can you even really call him a roommate if he's only home for one week every few months? but when he is home, simon riley is a pretty good roommate.

he fixes the heater that's been broken for two months, he replaces the faucet after it drenches you for turning it on too quick, he even takes a look at your car when you mention how your breaks have been squeaking. but other than his penchant for whiskey and the color black, you really don't know much about the man you've been living with for more than a year.

he's in the military, you know that for sure. he works with a team because he tells you that you have a striking resemblance to a man names "soap"? you take that as a compliment even if he didn't really mean it to be one. he wears combat boots even when he's off, you buy him a pair for his birthday that he doesn't take off until soles wear out. but all of these are merely observations, you don't actually know anything about him.

and it's not like you don't try to find out more things about him. you search his name on google- nothing. you ask him about his social media- 'don't got any'. you never ask about family because he never brings them up. all you have is a phone number and the license plate on his beat up dodge charger.

so, getting a call in the middle of the night, three months after you'd last seen simon, about a mission taking a bad turn and simon taking a bullet for an american private. all you really manage to catch after that was the hospital's address and a room number to ask for.

you feel like you're in a trance as you pack yourself an overnight bag, then move to simon's room and just start grabbing the softest clothes you can find and a bunch of snacks from his side of the pantry, then you're off.

you didn't want to see desperate or overly worried about a man whose favorite song you don't know but you're pushing into the high 90s on your way down. and your mind isn't clear until you're standing in front of a tired looking nurse in sanrio scrubs.

"um, i need to get into room 1206?" you barely choke the words out before she's getting up to lead you, "oh! mrs. riley, they told me you were on your way."

"oh-i'm, well" and if you hadn't watch so many hospital shows where they don't let anyone but family into the room you would have just told her the truth, but you just shut your mouth, give her a tight smile, and follow her down the hallway.

the room doesn’t take long to get to, but the door is shut and you can hear the people inside talking. but the nurse doesn't even hesitate to swing the door wide open, "mr. riley, your wife is here."

and then there are four sets of eyes trained on you, but all you can look at is the hulking figure of your roommate sat up in his comically small hospital bed. and all you can muster up is a slight smile and a small wave in his direction before the bags you're holding fly straight onto the floor.

"oh, shoot- i'm sorry. i didn't know if you needed anything so i just grabbed some things from your dresser- and some of those granola bars you like, and there should be a gatorade somewhere in there. and, oh my god, i'm sorry, how are you? i came as soon as they called, and they said you got shot, and-"

"calm down, sweetheart, or yer gonna be the one that needs a hospital bed." ok, simon could still speak that was good, and he was conscious and remembered you.

"i'm sorry. i just got worried, and-" simon knew you well enough to know that you'll worry yourself to death if he lets you keep going, "nothin' to worry about, sweetheart, pull up a chair, you've 'ad stressful few hours."

you practically fell back into the chair that the man with the kindest brown eyes you've ever seen pushed towards you. and for the first time since you arrived, you took a deep, long breath. hand clasped in your lap as you take simon in.

"feeling any better, mrs. riley?"

"she's fine, garrick."

'garrick' seems utterly unphased by your roommate's- husband's? you can address that later- tone and just continues to smile at you.

"c'mon simon, we just wannae ken 'bout the bonnie lass yer hidin' from yer pals. ye 'aven't even introduced us." you're glad the scot waited until you'd calmed down to start speaking because it took you at least 30 seconds to realize he was even talking about you.

"sweetheart these are the boys, boys this is sweetheart, now fuck off before you scare 'er away"

they didn’t seem like they were going to leave until the older man practically dragged them out saying something about the heaping loads of paperwork they had to do. so will a little wave and a cheeky smile, they were gone.

"so, um, ho-how are you feeling? they, uh, said that you got shot?"

" 'm fine, sweetheart, better knowing i've got a bird at home who'll come runnin' cause she thinks 'm hurt, yeah wife?"

yeah, maybe you'll let the mrs. riley thing go on for a little bit longer.

idk i just really like the idea of simon just picking someone random and being like 'yeah this is it, you're mine now' and they have literally no idea

#i really do want to be ghosts little oblivious wife #call of duty #cod #cod x reader #cod smut #cod x you #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #call of duty x reader #ghost call of duty #call of duty fluff #ghost fluff #ghost imagine #cod drabble

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simonbrain · 5 months ago

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cw omegaverse, noncon touching, neglected!reader

you're slowly convincing yourself that your pack is trying to get rid of you. they've been acting off around you for weeks, and you aren't sure why you've been pushed to the side.

john snaps at you more often now, even during downtime when you're seeking comfort from your head alpha. the soft look he usually directs at you has been replaced by a scowl, and you're not sure if it's from the tedious amount of work and stress that weighs on his shoulders or if it's because you pop into his office every few hours to check on him. maybe you're just making it worse for him—you don't miss the way his face scrunches up whenever you appear in his doorway—so you visit him less often. hopefully he'll appreciate it if you take your sad, sour scent somewhere else.

which leads you to simon, who doesn't seem to notice you at all, not until you approach him first, and then you regret your actions when he greets you with nothing more than a grunt. there's that distant, eerie look in his eyes as he impatiently stares down at you, cocking his head to the side as your words get caught up in your throat. he's been easier to aggravate lately, and unfortunately his irritation doesn't evade you. you can't remember the last time you saw him this guarded around you—maybe when you first joined, although it wasn't this bad—but it still stings nonetheless.

"spit it out, peanut. i don't 'ave all day." your silly callsign rolls off his tongue less affectionately than usual, and you try to scrape up a reason to talk to him, as if being his mate isn't enough. when you finally ask if he's seen the other sergeants, he only scoffs and shakes his head, stalking right past you.

the blatant disregard from both your alphas has your chest aching uncomfortably and your throat winding up tight, but you walk off to somewhere else, wanting to find some dark corner so you can cry all of your frustration out.

you know you should be happy when you bump into your other two mates, grateful even. johnny crowds your front while kyle embraces you from behind, the two of them cooing at your weepy state and promising to make it all better.

but their touches are rougher than you want them to be, and kyle's grinding on you with more hunger than you can handle right now, and johnny's nosing down your neck, whispering promises of turning you pliant and brainless in a second, and you're growing more stressed each time they paw at your body as if you're just their little fuck doll—

you wrestle out of their grip and shove them both away before storming off to your room, leaving the two of them to simmer in the remnants of your stressed and upset scent, the sourness of it hitting them both at the same time. whatever heat they were feeling before is replaced with alarm, and when they try to follow you, you slam the door in their faces, choked-up sobs leaving your mouth as you slump down on your bed.

no one checks up on you that evening—not to apologise, not to see if you're okay, not even to ask if you're hungry. the smell of a distressed omega seeps out of the cracks of your door and wafts around your room, but no one comes. they must really not want you, then.

you tell yourself you're too needy. you're a strain on your alphas, always demanding their attention. you feel like an embarrassment compared to johnny, who, despite being another young omega, can get by with a simple pat on the shoulder, purring away in satisfaction. you're not levelheaded like kyle, or grounding like simon. obviously, if you were, your alphas would be all over you.

the nasty thoughts haunt your mind until you're quietly getting out of bed and walking down to john's office. you know you smell pathetic, but you keep your head down as you walk past other soldiers, who are no doubt pitying you right now.

still, you keep on walking. you need to tell john to break the bond, to rid the pack of you. it needs to be done, even as your heart squeezes painfully and you're close to letting out a sob.

you don't bother knocking, but when you walk in to the sight of kyle sitting on john's lap while simon and johnny stand on either side of their captain as they converse among themselves, you wish a hole in the ground would just swallow you up already.

john notices you first, but you don't catch the way his gaze softens at the sight of your weak state. you know that they all can smell the distress on you, but you try to steady your voice and wipe the tears that are beginning to form again.

"i want to break the bond."

four pairs of eyes zero in on you, and despite the tension in the room and the seriousness of your words, despite your anger and hurt, you can't help but relax slightly as the anxiety gradually melts away. finally, they're paying attention to you.

#sorry for the abrupt ending i just needed to spew this out before i lost inspiration #price #john price x reader #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #soap #john soap mctavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #gaz #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #poly 141 x reader #rainwrites 𐙚

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primofate · 10 months ago

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Where he would propose and how it happens [Genshin Men]

Warnings: haven’t written in a while please excuse and tell me about pronoun slips, I’m sleep deprived, not proofread (this will be my fixed disclaimer as a writing parent, haha)

Notes: All of these were captured by me in game. I just felt like exploring the beauty of Genshin more and this was a great way to do it while mixing it with writing. Note that you may not agree with some of these, and that's totally fine, these are my thoughts and ideas :)

Characters: Aether, Albedo, Alhaitham, Ayato, Baizhu, Cyno, Dainsleif, Diluc, Gorou, Heizou, Itto, Kaeya, Kaveh, Kazuha, Lyney, Neuvillette, Scaramouche, Tartaglia, Thoma, Tighnari, Venti, Wriothesley, Xiao, Zhongli, gn!reader

Aether

Aether is a simple man, and though he plans his proposal he doesn't really think much of the place, somewhere where the two of you frequent, maybe on your daily/nightly walks.

It happens just as the two of you are about to go back, this is where you sit and relax for a while as the sun sets. You can see Mondstadt in the distance and the beautiful orange sky.

As you're about to turn and walk away he catches your wrist and pulls you back into the middle of those tiny pink flowers.

Now that he thinks about it... This is where his journey really started: Starfell Lake, and how perfect would it be to start a new one with you?

"Y/N, I...want you to stay. I mean, forever," the words are simple but it gets across.

Albedo

Also a simple person. You might think Dragonspine when you think Albedo and I agree that all that snow could be romantic but I went for Starsnatch Cliff. It's a good place to see Mondstadt, and he takes you there after the sun has set.

He would probably comment about how you can see a lot of things from here, and how the world is such a great, vast place, full of things to explore and discover.

"...and yet I find myself thinking... how all that I want is right next to me. Would you do me the honour of being my lifelong partner?"

Alhaitham

Something's up and you can tell, this isn't your usual route home, and honestly you've never stopped in these parts of the city. You've passed by it sure, but never with Alhaitham.

You ask him where the two of you are going and if there are some extra errands to run before going home. He only shakes his head and ends up leading you over right next to the glowing Padisarah flower.

He HAS planned this, so why does it feel like he hasn't? Even has a ring in his pocket (granted it is the SIMPLEST ring one could ever imagine, that's just how he is)

Ends up just taking the ring box out and showing it to you while trying to speak "I..." doesn't speak much of his emotions so has a hard time, but feels pathetic afterwards so meets your eyes straight on. "...A promise... That what I feel for you... is everlasting,"

Ayato

That small shrine/garden/sitting area just outside the Kamisato Estate. It's just a bit more private than the sitting area INSIDE the estate.

You wouldn't think anything of it because you do hang out here from time to time.

Ayato might seem like a grand person but in the end he doesn't want to stray far from home.

"I'm...sorry if this is a bit abrupt," fishes out a ring box from his long sleeve. "I've been meaning to ask for a while now, will you share your life with me as my beloved?"

Baizhu

That nice little hill just outside of Bubu Pharmacy, where you can find Glaze Lilies strewn about and the night view is quite nice. It's a place the two of you go just to get some quick, fresh air if Baizhu isn't feeling too well. Changsheng is left at the pharmacy from time to time, this is one of those times.

"I've been thinking...how precious time really is," he looks at you with tenderness in his eyes, yet a lot of uncertainty shrouded in them. "I don't know where this road will lead me... but you alone are my lifelong remedy. Would you accompany me on this journey?"

Cyno

Cyno often comes here to watch the sun set, since he was a student, but he does think it's more beautiful at night.

The two of you are leaning over the railway and looking at Sumeru, just talking about the day.

Cyno doesn't really plan it. He seems to be the type to but when he feels that it's the right time, specially when he feels it strongly, there's no better time than the present.

It's while he's watching you talk enthusiastically about your day, that there's a sudden twist in his heart. This is the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.

"Y/N--" he cuts you off successfully, wonder in his eyes. "What do you say to being intertwined for life?"

Dainsleif

Anywhere where there is an unobstructed view of the stars and night sky, but particularly at the hill of Cape Oath, where the two of you lie side by side on the grass, staring up at the stars.

At this point the two of you have been travelling together for a while, looking for answers to his curse. To Dainsleif, the two of you are pretty much married already, but just to confirm it, every night, he asks "Is this the path that you choose? To bind your fate with mine?"

And every night, like a promise, you say yes.

Diluc

Diluc doesn't stray far from home too. He prefers to stay close to his memories, no matter how painful they are.

He HAS planned it, but ends up proposing at an unexpected time.

It's when he's on the road home and you're waiting right by the lamp post for him. It's late. Later than usual and here you are worrying about how it's a cold night and that he should've worn more.

It's at that moment that it hits him, "Y/N, the thought of being separated...it's not something I'd want to imagine" he grips your hand tightly. "...For the rest of my life, it's you that I want to spend it with,"

Doesn't even have the planned ring on him and apologizes about the word vomit he just did. He was just overcome with emotions right then and there.

Gorou

That small spot next to Bourou Village. Watatsumi Island is beautiful in general, but Gorou knows the good spots.

Is nervous but tries not to show it, but you can totally tell because he's way too stiff.

"Wh-What do you mean? Nothing's wrong!" When asked if everything's fine.

When standing at this spot though, his nervousness seems to go away and for a minute everything is normal until... "H-Hey, Y/N, so..." you look at him and he's fumbling with his hands, unable to meet your gaze. "Y-You, and I--We've been...You know--"

Seems to panic. He is SO uncool right now. Closes his eyes and just blurts it out when he realizes this isn't working out "With all my heart, will you marry me?!"

Heizou

Little secret garden just next to Inazuma city. Quiet place yet you can hear a bit of the hustle and bustle in the city.

Heizou is the type to get on one knee and confidently, directly say it.

He's planned it, and gets you right in the middle of the bridge (has probably asked someone to take a photo as well)

"Y/N, beloved," grins "would you unravel the mysteries of life with me?" (thinks it was such a cool line, then hands you the ring in a box)

Itto

Does not think about it nor plans it. Just happens and it happens because he talks about it casually. You can't really tell if he's serious.

He has this conversation with you in Chinjuu Forest, which is a naturally beautiful place, but he's really only there with you to look for onikabuto.

"You know, it'd be really cool if we could keep doing this huh?"

You ask what he means cause you don't really have any idea. You guys have been doing this for ages. Why would it stop now, is what you think.

"I mean, like, you know, forever," he says this while looking under a rock. "Like if we were just onikabuto fightin' partners forever, get it?"

You stall for a moment and wonder if he knows what he's saying, and you ask if he specifically means he just wants you as an onikabuto fighting partner.

"Oh, well, yea it's ONE of the things I like about you, but I like your kisses too. Hehe," scratches the back of his head then looks like he gets a bright idea. "Oh hey that's an idea! How 'bout we just become partners for life, Y/N?"

Yeah, that's how it happens.

Kaeya

Kaeya keeps it simple, but also romantic. He gets that spot above the gate of Mondstadt, where you can see Barbatos' statue from a distance. He knows how much you love the city and he has a special place in his heart for it too.

The two of you pretty much keep each other warm up there, with him behind you and his arms wrapped around your shoulders.

At some point, as the two of you have been talking for ages and when the perfect silence descends, he leans into your ear and asks you to close your eyes. When you do, you feel him slip something onto your ring finger as he says "A thousand words wouldn't be enough to tell you how I really feel...Would you want to create a thousand and more memories together instead?"

Kaveh

Kaveh thinks its only appropriate to propose at his masterpiece, but he thinks you're even more of a masterpiece than anything he's made or encountered before.

Plus the place just holds a lot of meaning and memories for him. It's beautiful too and you've always said that you're proud of him for completing it.

His is a pretty simple proposal. "I've always thought that something's been missing in my life...I think I've figured out that it's you, Y/N. It's only going to be you,"

Kazuha

Inazuma holds a lot of memories for Kazuha, some that are rather unpleasant. But home is still home and perhaps he wanted to create more good memories there.

Truth be told he could have proposed to you anywhere, and I don't think he had really planned it. It was just something heartfelt that he wanted to say as he sees you climbing up the stairs to the shrine. The sunlight hitting you perfectly and the sakura blossoms just cascading around your form. It's perfect, he thought.

You're a few steps further up from him and it makes him look up at you the slightest bit. With a shine in his eyes and a smile on his face he asks, quite sincerely "Have you ever felt like home was right next to you, Y/N?"

and before you could answer he answers his own question first. "I have, despite the storms and catastrophes I've gone through...Y/N, you're the home that my heart forever needs,"

Lyney

Lyney plans it, but doesn't do it in a grand way. He just wants it to be sincere and special. He thinks this place is cute, what with the little sort of gazebo with a small sitting space to just sit and drink tea.

He proposes to you as the two of you sit, you've never been here before and wonder why the two of you are out here, actually.

"Oh, is it strange? Haha, I just wanted a bit of a change," Rubs the back of his neck and starts to feel nervous.

You explain that you're not complaining, just curious, but you like it!

"Oh, that's a relief. I'm...Uh..." sort of fumbles with something in his coat, really funny seeing as he's a magician and is supposed to be nimble with his fingers. Recovers quite fast and manages to do his classic "flower-behind-your-ear" trick and hands it over to you.

He does the same trick, but this time takes a ring out. "Y/N, you complete me in ways words can't express...will you..." gulps before he continues "marry me?"

Neuvillette

Seems very posh but prefers to keep it simple. He thinks its more special rather than making a super grand gesture. He could of easily proposed in front of the Opera Epiclese, but instead did it at one of the small fountains in Marcotte Station.

The two of you are out on a nightly stroll and this is just where the two of you ended up.

Clears his throat before starting, takes your hand in his, but its his eyes that really do the talking. "I may not be the best in expressing my deepest thoughts and emotions...but there is one single thing that I am quite sure about," he stalls here and seems to look into your soul.

"And it's you, my love. As I take my next steps into this life I lead, I would be honoured if I take them with you by my side,"

Scaramouche

Has it on his mind but doesn't particularly plans when or where he's going to say it. Just knows that he wants to.

While out on an assignment the two of you pass by Mawtiyima Forest. You've always thought it looked like such a magical place. You request to sit on a hill for a bit before moving on.

Scaramouche, as usual, grumbles about this but relents and ends up plopping next to you as well. Truth be told he also liked this particular forest and how quiet yet vibrant it was.

No words are exchanged for a while, just the two of you looking at the view. Scaramouche sneaks a glance at you and you have that stupid, wide eyed look on your face, the glowing blue mushrooms reflecting off of your eyes.

He secretly thinks its cute.

He shows that by aggressively saying. "I don't know what you had in mind when you agreed to come with me, but you're stuck with me till the end now, got it?"

Yes. That's pretty much his proposal.

Tartaglia

Is one who would take you on a vacation off on an isolated, quaint and cute island like Petrichor with wonderful views of Fontaine's waterfalls.

Is the type to get down on one knee while this beautiful background is in sight. Totally plans it and is the cliche, basic proposal. Would totally love the townspeople to clap and cheer while this is happening too.

"Y/N, every day spent with you is a treasure, and I want it to continue for the rest of my life, will you marry me?"

Thoma

Has planned it. Makes sure you have a good time beforehand, probably at some festival and it's when the two of you are winding down, sitting on that rock with the lamp on it that he asks.

"Isn't it magical?" he asks as a starter and you ask what exactly he's talking about. "How it's always a good time and how easy life seems when I'm with you,"

You tell him that's because he always takes good care of you and he laughs heartily at that. "I'm glad to hear it," kisses your forehead and smiles down at you.

"Every day, Y/N, I just fall deeper in love with you...Do you think, maybe, we could spend our whole lives together?"

Tighnari

Plans it and is calm about it. Has everything under control. He chose Pardis Dhyai specifically for its aesthetics and specifically the inside in case it rains. (He doesn't want you to get wet as he proposes, but also doesn't want his ears and tail wet as it happens.)

Clears his throat before he starts, doesn't have a ring because he just doesn't seem the type, for him its more of a pact.

"Rather than talk about emotions alone, I'd want to highlight that you've been quite the mind-stimulating study partner," coughs into his hand "but of course, that's only one aspect of you that I like...it's safe to say that I like you enough to propose the pact of marriage...would that be alright with you?"

Venti

Where else would he think was a good place to propose? Of course he would do it here.

No roundabout way of saying it. Confident in all aspects, partly because he's a God but partly because...what has he got to lose, really?

Doesn't really propose marriage cause...he's not a mortal. Forever might be a thing for him but maybe not for you.

"It's been a while since I've felt really at ease with someone, you know?"

You jokingly say he seems to be at ease with everyone, specially after a few bottles of wine. He laughs out loud at that, and remarks back that no one can make him laugh the way you do.

"It's blossomed into something more beautiful than I thought it would be, Y/N. You, me, and us. Can we stay like this till the end?"

Wriothesley

Has planned it and has stuck to his plan. At a little vacation home at the Southeast of the Beryl Region. The two of you spent a few days relaxing there, under the guise that Wriothesley needed a break.

On the last day he surprised you by revealing that he had asked your family and friends, both from faraway regions and nearby towns to come and celebrate with the two of you.

Celebrate what, you ask.

That's when he gets down on one knee and pops the question "You know, I could still be mistaken," he grins at this but is clearly joking. "but I don't think I am and seeing as you've put up with me, Y/N, I think it's safe to say you're my forever person,"

It was days after when you realize how confident he is of this whole thing when you think about the fact that he had pre planned to invite all your friends and family over to "celebrate"

Xiao

Also a person who doesn't stray far from home. The rooftop of Wangshu Inn is actually quite romantic on quiet nights, with a view of Liyue and a gentle breeze.

To Xiao, marriage isn't really about a ring and signing papers. It's a contract and a promise to each other.

On one of the nights, he just thinks it's the right time to say it.

He's more quiet than usual and you ask if something's wrong.

He pauses for a while before answering. "...Apologies, there's a lot on my mind..."

Xiao has become a lot more open with you through the years.

"...I... just wanted to propose the prospect of being...binded together," you ask what that means cause you're not really familiar, you end up asking if that's the same as marriage.

"M-Marriage? Uh... Yes... I suppose that's what mortals call it... but being binded together is more..." stops talking and gets red in the face. "Let's... just leave it at that,"

I like to think that the process of binding is just that your souls are entwined together...So when one of you passes, you still remember them in your next life, type of thing. Cause if you're a mortal, chances are, you'll die earlier than Xiao. Anyhow, that's a completely different story.

Zhongli

Zhongli prefers the quiet and the nature. This is probably part of your occasional stroll when the two of you need some quiet time.

Zhongli, with how long he has lived, also doesn't see marriage as the normal get-down-on-one-knee-with-a-ring-thing, but for him, it's a contract. It's more binding than anything in the world.

"Y/N, we've walked this path countless of times before," he starts as the two of you continue to stroll. You reply saying that you like this particular area where the bamboos are.

"Is that so?" suddenly stops and looks at you. "In that case, would you care to listen to a proposal I have?"

Clears his throat when you give the approval. "As I've said, we've walked this path countless of times before..." he takes your hand in his "but for me, who has lived longer than you, I've traversed this path for even more times," he closes his eyes. "Yet, with you by my side, this path changes. It transforms into something resplendent. As if...every time had been the first time I've walked through it. It is with you, Y/N, that I discover life anew, despite the thousands of years I've lived. Would you consider forming a contract of lifelong partnership with me, and only me?"

End

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kianamaiart · 11 days ago

Note

I am honestly scared of a studio acquiring it, because I really liked the TV-14 theme it has and if it changes to 6-11 (which is the golden age range studios love), I think that she can have a blood tainted baseball bat, or a gun, or a lead pipe is 50% of what sets it a part of other magical girl shows, the other 50% is of course that Aika doesn't want to be a magical girl.

It feels good to see a story which isn't like completely all adult with sex and top violence but also not something for kids 6-11. There are so few examples of this middle ground, barely touched by big studios or even by the indie scene. CN's Infinity Train I think touched this middle ground but not much else recently that I remember.

I fully know a studio is way more stable and can allow to pay for all the people and everything needed if it ever becomes a full show, but with that my biggest concern with a studio producing more is the changes they would ask you to make with their notes.

I mentioned it in a different post, but pretty much only studios' adult divisions have reached out and the tv14 rating is something I feel strongly about keeping. This show would just fundamentally not be the same without it (the whole hook is the violence aspect lol).

I'm taking things slow and trying to be smart about how I navigate this process. I want to ensure I'm somewhere where the integrity of the show can stay intact but also find somewhere where I and any other artists I bring onto the project aren't fucked over. Continuing down the indie route isn't out of the question but something I want to make sure I handle correctly if I do.

#ask mai anything

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junezsq · 3 months ago

Text

nice to meet ya

harry james potter x fem!reader

summary: your first day after transferring to hogwarts is up to a good start when a certain black haired boy can't stop staring at you

warnings: none really? maybe first day nerves, does this count? lol

word count: 1.3k

a/n: maturing means realising harry is underrated in his own series. i was genuinely shocked by how few harry fics there are so decided to take matters into my own hands. here's the beginning to a whirlwind of a love story, enjoy! x

── ᵎᵎ ✦

before daring to enter the great hall of hogwarts for the first time you took a moment to observe the scene playing out in front of you. the grandeur of it all was slightly overwhelming — the enchanted ceiling stretching above like a sky full of clouds, the long tables brimming with students, and the shimmering candles floating in mid-air. a weird mix of excitement and nervousness started swirling around in your stomach.

starting as a third-year transfer, you were aware that the curious glances from some students, the quiet whispers of “new girl,” and the subtle judgment that often accompanies a fresh face were bound to follow you for the upcoming days — maybe even weeks. despite this, the warmth of the hall was undeniable. the voices of fellow students, the laughter, and clinking of cutlery, almost made it feel like home — even if it was a place you'd only just arrived at.

there was something magical about the space, something comforting, like a promise that this would soon be your place, too. the smells of the breakfast feast filled your senses, making your stomach growl.

you glanced down at the crimson and gold fabric of your tie, signifying the house you were sorted in only a moment earlier. your fingers brushed over the edges of the tie as you took a deep breath, feeling uncertainty rise, but you knew that if you'd linger too long, you would only feel more out of place.

with a quiet sigh, you tucked your hair behind your ears. you glanced at the gryffindor table, and after a brief hesitation you took the first step towards your future.

seated somewhere in the middle of the gryffindor table, harry, hermione, and ron were in the midst of their breakfast; the table was littered with plates of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon.

ron, toast in hand, glanced up from his plate, it was then that he noticed you walking through the massive doors leading to the great hall. "isn't that the new girl?" he asked through a mouthful of food, "i heard she just arrived this morning."

hermione, who was sat across the red haired, looked up in curiosity. “she’s a transfer, i think." she murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "i believe she used to go to beauxbatons."

ron tilted his head, watching you intently as you adjusted your tie. “do you think she’s... i dunno, nervous?” he asked. “this place is massive. i’d be proper lost if i was new here.” he glanced at harry, "i mean, we actually did get lost, remember, first year?"

harry, who was sat next to hermione and had been quietly eating, glanced at you as well. his eyes followed your movement as you slowly walked along the gryffindor table — obviously trying to find an empty spot — and his empathy kicked in with a brief tug of understanding. “it’s probably hard, starting a new school in the middle of the year,” he said quietly. “i wouldn’t want to be in her shoes.”

ron sighed, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “i know i wouldn’t. wonder if she’s looking for somewhere to sit... we could—”

“ron, don’t be daft,” hermione cut in gently, though there was a kind smile on her face. “she’ll find her way. besides, she might not want to sit with us just yet.”

the red haired grumbled but nodded in agreement, and while he returned to their breakfast, harry couldn’t help but keep a sidelong glance on you, curious about what your story was.

as you made your way along the great hall, you felt the weight of a pair of eyes on you. when you looked around, trying to find who they belonged to, your own eventually fell on the boy with messy jet-black hair. you could sense the quiet curiosity in his look, the way his eyes lingered just a moment too long before flicking away.

your heart beat a little faster, and with a deep breath, you made a decision. instead of shying away, you slightly fastened your pace towards where they were sat.

meanwhile, across the hall, ron’s voice rang out loud enough for hermione and harry to hear, not having noticed you were now heading in their direction. “so, what d’you reckon happened with her sorting? she's in gryffindor judging by her tie.” he asked, taking a dramatic bite of a sausage.

hermione shot him a slightly exasperated look. “ron, you’re not still on about that, are you?”

ron, however, was already getting into his own theories, grinning widely. “what, i’m just saying! i bet the hat had a real hard time deciding where to put her. probably because she's already got a few years of school experience. it’s got to be tough.”

harry, still a little distracted by you, especially since you were now making your way toward them, gave his friend an absent minded nod.

ron continued, oblivious to harry’s distracted expression. “maybe it was, like, really close between gryffindor and slytherin. could you imagine? the sorting hat probably tried to put her in slytherin first, but she was like, ‘no way! no way am i going there.’ which i completely understand, by the way.”

hermione raised an eyebrow. “really, ron?”

ron leaned in slightly closer, “or maybe,” he said dramatically, “the sorting hat was just so impressed with her bravery that it just had to put her in gryffindor. It could’ve been like, ‘you’ve got the guts to stand up for yourself — gryffindor it is!’” he looked up at hermione, beaming as though he’d cracked the case.

at that moment, you had reached their table. ron looked up, finding hermione with her lips pressed together — as if she was trying to hold in her laughter — and harry whose focus had shifted to somewhere behind him. with his mouth still half full of food, ron's eyes widened in realization. “oh — she’s behind me isn't she?” he muttered to the others, a little stunned by how quickly the conversation had shifted from theory to reality.

"surprise." you gave a small, somewhat shy smile. “this is the gryffindor table, right?” you asked, your voice quiet but clear.

ron, still a little flustered, blinked at you, momentarily forgetting his elaborate sorting tale. “oh, yeah! yeah, it is. you’re the new girl, right?”

hermione gave ron a harsh glance before looking up at you, her expression suddenly kind, “you can sit with us,” she said warmly. “we’re all in gryffindor. i’m hermione, by the way.”

you were slightly taken aback at her kindness, but sat down next to ron either way. hermione motioned to her two friends, "this is harry, and ron."

"nice to meet you." you spoke softly, glancing at ron before letting your eyes fall on harry. the pair of eyes that had followed you earlier still had a sense of curiosity to them, and you couldn't help but stare at him as a small smile formed on his lips, "nice to meet you, too."

ron spoke with a grin, causing you to snap your attention away from the boy in front of you, “don’t mind my stories about the sorting hat. i tend to make them up as i go along.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at that, "you weren't too wrong, it told me it could sense my bravery the moment i stepped into dumbledore's office." you shrugged, grabbing a strawberry, "whatever that's supposed to mean?"

a mischievous grin crept upon your lips as ron looked at you with wide eyes. the tension in your shoulders seemed to ease just a little. maybe hogwarts wasn’t going to be so intimidating after all.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

SOUNDTRACK // nice to meet ya, niall horan

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holdmytesseract · 3 months ago

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One Night or Forever?

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: When one thing leads to another, you and Daryl spend a passionate night together at the CDC. Unfortunately, neither of you is interpreting the signals right afterwards...

Warnings: 18+! MDNI! smut (not entirely graphic, but it's definitely there - like, you know exactly what's going on), uhhh sub and dom Daryl? unprotected rough-ish sex? Daryl gets a bj (yes, you read that right), he's a bit mean, too - but also a cutie patootie, uhh slight angst? bit of drama, alcohol - drunk-ish Daryl and tipsy reader, fluff, swear words, bickering

Set in Season 1!

Word Count: 4,5k

a/n: You want it, you got it, friends. I don't know what this is, though - or which demons possessed me as I wrote it. I really don't. I also don't know how I should feel about it. Embarrassed? Proud? Send help, lol.

Anyways, I hope you like this! Please go easy on me. Smut isn't really my forte...

EoH Masterlist °☆• LITRM Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

"Booyah!"

Daryl's toast had been the starting shot for an evening full of conversation, fun, laughter - and alcohol. Some would say reams of alcohol. Wine, booze, beer - you and the group stopped at nothing. That was probably the reason why everyone staggered somewhere on a scale between tipsy and shit faced drunk at the end of the evening.

You were currently on your way to your personal room - something you'd describe as a luxury. Sure, back at the quarry you had your own tent, but there was a huge difference between that and a whole goddamn room. With a own freaking shower! It was crazy. Who would've thought that something so plain and simple would become such a valued, precious thing? Most likely nobody, because it was something taken for granted.

Well... Not anymore. Not since the world went to shit.

After passing a very drunk Glenn on the way, you more or less stumbled into your room. Tipsy... You were definitely tipsy. Without a single care in the world, you started to shed your clothes the moment the door shut close behind you. All you wanted to do was sleep. You had too much alcohol coursing through your veins to search for something you could use as a pyjama. You hadn't a problem with sleeping naked. Not tonight.

Unfortunately had your plan a catch... One that you weren't aware of yet.

This wasn't your room.

You were just about to free your body of the last piece of fabric you were wearing - a pair of admittedly beautiful dark blue lace panties, when a sudden voice managed to almost send you into cardiac arrest.

"Wha' the fuck 'r ya doin' in my room?!"

You startled so bad, that you almost lost balance and fell flat on your ass. Your balance was a bit off-track anyways, due to the wine...

With wide eyes you turned around to face the intruder.

"Daryl?"

You blinked. "What are you doing here?" He scoffed; his cheeks puffed out and reddened. He had been drinking way more than you did, and it showed. The archer's hands were fumbling clumsily with the fly of his jeans. "Jus' been taken a damn piss, 'n 'm comin' back to find ya standin' in my room." You crossed your arms over your bare - an information which hadn't reached Daryl's brain yet - chest. "This is clearly my room, Dixon." He scoffed again. "'S not!" "Yes, it is!" "'S not!" The man took a few wobbly steps closer. "Go bullshit someone else, I-" He stopped abruptly in the middle of his sentence; eyes widening to the size of plates. Now the information had been received and processed.

"Yer almost naked," he stated; bluntly staring.

Oh, you suddenly realised and remembered as well. He was right.

In any other situation, you'd have frantically tried to cover yourself up and perhaps even threw an insult at the man standing across from you, but the alcohol lowered your boundary of shame and loosened you up; making you see things more relaxed.

You huffed out a breath. "Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Daryl still blinked and tried very hard to not let his eyes drop, but that was an almost impossible task for the alcoholized man. "Why?" You shrugged your shoulders. "'Cause I wanted to go to sleep." The archer swallowed hard. "In my room? Naked? Ya lost yer damn mind, woman?" "It's my room," your tipsy self was still profoundly convinced, while you made your way over to the bed on slightly wobbly legs. Daryl just watched you; flabbergasted, speechless, shocked - and incredibly turned on. After all, he had a damn pretty woman in his room - no, bed. Half naked!

"You could join me, Dixon." He scoffed again and tried to walk in a straight line over to the armchair; accepting his fate. "In yer damn dreams. 'S ain't gonna help me - or my hard-on." You giggled at his words like a schoolgirl and rolled around in the sheets. "That the reason why you can't get that zipper up? You like me, Daryl? Like what you see?" You pestered him with questions; smirking, and watched his cheeks redden even more - if that was physically possible and your eyes didn't betray you. "Shuddup," Daryl just growled in response. You giggled again, before a long beat of silence passed between the both of you.

The alcohol didn't just lower your boundary of shame... It also caused you to become bolder. "I could help you with that, you know..." You tried to sound as flirty and seductive as possible and turned in the sheets once more, but now to face the man sitting across from the bed. You perched yourself onto your stomach and crossed your ankles in the air; swaying your legs.

Gods, you felt like a teenager again. Damn the alcohol and your crush on the archer. It was a dangerous combination, since you hadn't planned to actually act on said crush. Well, and here you were now in his - nu.uh, your - bed, almost naked and trying to seduce him.

Some might say this escalated quickly...

"Help me with wha'?" The archer finally responded after a long moment; dumbfounded. His usually very smart and witty brain slowed down by the alcohol. You thought for a hot minute that he had already fallen asleep on you. You rolled your eyes and groaned - acting like Daryl just said the stupidest thing in the world. "Your boner," you deadpanned - as if it was the most normal thing to say.

The archer swallowed hard; feeling his chest (and pants) tightening.

"Wha'?" He crooked out. The normally so talkative, glibly redneck seemingly rendered speechless by your boldness.

Once again, you rolled your eyes. "Do you reaaaaally want me to spell it out for you, D?" Daryl clearly needed a moment to recover, but once he did, he scoffed.

"Pf, yer bluffin'."

"I'm not."

"Yeah, ya 'r."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, ya 'r. Can tell. Yer way to innocent fer shit like tha', sunshine."

"Are you challenging me, Dixon?"

"Nah, jus' statin' facts."

Now you were the one who scoffed. He really asked for it, didn't he? You smirked and hid your face in the blanket beneath you. Oh, you were so going to prove him wrong.

You rolled your barely covered body around a third time, but this time to get up from the bed - which was a much more difficult task than expected, but you made it in the end - even though not gracefully and certainly not seductively. "Facts, huh?" You asked the crossbow-wielding archer then with a raised eyebrow and your hands on your hips. He crossed his arms over his plaid beige-brown shirt clad chest; bare forearms and biceps bulging with the movement. "Yes, facts." Although he stared into your eyes with his blue coloured irises, he still had a hard time for them to actually stay on your face.

"Well, you can go screw your opinions - or me. Your choice, pretty boy," you stated and shrugged your shoulders as you bridged the short distance between the bed and the armchair. Before the younger Dixon could even do as much as open his mouth for a snarky respond, you had dropped to your knees in front of him - between his manspread legs.

Daryl's eyes widened and his jaw slacked. "Wha' 'r ya doin'?!" He literally screeched and gripped the armrests of the armchair. "Proofing you wrong, pretty boy." You smiled up at him like a Cheshire cat; hands and fingers clumsily trying to open his jeans. "F-Fuckin' hell, wha'?! Yer insane, woman!" The archer cursed above you, but also didn't make any moves to stop you. So, you took that as a sign to continue. And continuing you did...

It took you a hot minute to get your eye-hand coordination straight and overcome the obstacles which were his jeans and boxers, but once you did, there was no holding back. "Ya really gonna do th- F-Fuck..."

You did.

"Told you, Dixon," you stated with a mischievous glimmer in your eyes; hands firmly cupping him. Daryl answered nothing. The archer had a hard time to control his breathing and rapidly beating heart. He was still gripping the armrests like a vice - his knuckles already turning white. He really couldn't believe this was happening right now. Was he asleep and dreaming? Was he hallucinating? Did the wine manage to fog up his brain so much that his eyes were deceiving him? But when he felt your lips wrap around him, he instantly threw all those thoughts overboard again. This was real. It had to be real. After all, he was feeling it, right?

"F-Fuckin' hell," he cursed again; feeling waves of pleasure crash over him. One of his hands loosened its grip on the armrest and went in your hair instead - tying your loose hair into a makeshift ponytail. You were already too far gone to care; the taste of him addictive.

Working your magic, you tried to grant the man above you as much pleasure as possible - and it seemed to work. Within a few minutes, Daryl was a whimpering mess - a side you'd never thought you were ever going to see of him. Not in your wildest dreams.

"Ain't... Ain't g-gonna last," the archer panted breathlessly; the hand in your hair twitching. You didn't want him to. You wanted him to fall apart. A gentle squeeze of your hand was all it took. "Y-Y/N, damnit, 'm gon'- Gonna cu-" His sentence got interrupted by a low moan that paved its way to the forefront of his lips. The hand in your hair twitched again as he attempted to pull you off him. You didn't let him, though, and easily dodged his lousy attempt. Instead, you helped him ride the wave. His thighs twitched; muscles tensing as his high crashed into him. Daryl felt like he had been hit by an eighteen-wheeler - but in the best way possible. It had been so long...

The gentle grip he had of your hair slackened; hand falling limply to his side. You lifted your head to look at him to witness his blissed-out state. Daryl's eyes were closed, and his breathing laboured. You smiled; hands gently caressing his clothed thighs. "You believe me now, D?" He gave you a mere nod. Clearly he needed another few moments to get his head straight again. Your smile never ceased as you kept up your fingers movements. Your knees protested by now, but you didn't care.

Another few moments passed, before the archer peeled his eyes open again. Seeing you still on your knees for him managed to send another shockwave of arousal throughout his entire body.

Wide-blown eyes stared at you intensely; the gears turning in his fogged up head.

"T-Thanks, I guess," he whispered then. His voice was still hoarse. You smiled up at him. "You're welcome, pretty boy. Said I'm gonna help you." Daryl nodded almost shyly and clumsily stuffed himself back inside his boxers. You eyed him thoroughly and started to giggle. "Didn't think you'd loose it so fast. Wouldn't have pecked you to be a... premature guy." Not that it mattered to you, but you couldn't help yourself but to tease him a bit. It was meant to be a playful comment, but you seemed to hit a sore spot...

You could practically see how his eyes darkened, before he narrowed them. "Whatcha say, huh?" He asked in a gruff voice and stood up; towering over you. You blinked - were a bit taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanour. "I-I, uh... Said I didn't think you'd be one t-to, uh, come too early..." The archer growled under his breath. "Ya better watch yer mouth, sunshine," he said in a threatening tone and grabbed your arms to pull you up on your feet. Daryl quickly noticed, though, that his legs were even more wobbly now that they've already been before; forcing him to take cautious steps. "What are we doing, pretty boy? You gonna make me pay for saying that?" You gave another sassy remark; provoking him and tickling his nerve ends even further. A grunt passed his chapped lips as he dragged you with him. Once close to the bed, he wrapped his arms firmly around your bare midsection and literally threw you onto the bed - wobbly legs be damned. You giggled at his eagerness and slid upwards to rest your head on one of the pillows; giving the man a confident look. "C'mon then, pretty boy, show me what you got. I know you want to." He scoffed and crawled on the bed. "Pretty boy my ass." You just giggled again. You felt intoxicated by the wine you had consumed and definitely aroused - which got only worse when you felt calloused, deft hands gripping your delicate skin. Daryl parted your legs and settled on his knees between them. His eyes were directed on your face. He looked like a predator - ready to attack his prey. It was incredibly hot.

"'M gonna shut tha' sassy mouth 'a yers, just ya wait," he growled in a deep voice, and wrapped his arms and hands around your thighs like a snake - holding them firmly and simultaneously keeping you splayed open for him, before he literally yanked you down; bringing your hips closer to his.

Your breath hitched in your throat at his sudden movement and the upcoming anticipation.

His fingertips danced over the skin on your hips then - and suddenly got your dark blue lace panties ripped into shreds.

"Daryl!" You shrieked, then gasped. "Those were my favourites, I-" "'S jus' a damn piece 'a fabric. Dun be such a crybaby," he interrupted you; instantly putting you in your place. Your mouth clapped shut. This was yet another new side of him. Sure, you knew he was hotheaded, but he literally just went from kinda submissive to dominant within the blink of an eye. Was it the alcohol? Or truly his temper?

The clinking of his belt ripped you out of your thoughts. Some shuffling and the rustling of fabric was the only premonition you got, before you felt him against your hot and pulsating center. Your hips instantly bucked; trying to get closer.

More friction.

More pleasure.

More of Daryl.

The archer hovering above you scoffed. "Look how needy ya are. Dun even hafta prepare ya." You could see the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smirk. "Tis all jus' from gettin' me off, huh?" You nodded and bit your lip. Daryl on the contrary shook his head, "Yer tha' desperate? Pf... Pathetic." and lined himself up, before hitting home.

Stars exploded in front of your eyes as his hips met yours. The most sinful moan the archer had ever heard in his life slipped past your lips; only spurring him on more. He picked up a firm, steady pace - leaving you a mess beneath him barely within a few minutes. Just what you did to him.

Revenge was sweet, wasn't it?

His precise, powerful thrusts carried you from one high to the next - and Daryl enjoyed it. He loved to see you fall apart beneath him. And this time, he was the one lasting longer. "Who's commin' too soon now, huh? 'S not me, sunshine. Told ya I'd shut tha' sassy mouth 'a yers," he growled lowly; slowing his pace to just give you a few moments of recovery. You moaned at the sheer endless pleasure he granted you. Your hands gripped his thick arms like a vice after he had planted both palms firmly in the mattress beside your head to gain more leverage. "F-Fuck, Daryl," you whimpered; fingernails digging into his sweaty biceps. "I know. Jus' one more, 'kay? Can ya give me one more?" You nodded wordlessly. "Good girl," the archer praised and picked up his speed once again; pulling another sweet moan alongside some incoherent noises from you.

Your hands travelled. They left his arms to rest on his chest, where they fisted the fabric of his plaid shirt with the ripped off sleeves. The fabric held a darkened stain - a puddle of sweat formed on his chest.

Your hands continued to fist his shirt, as you pulled - an attempt to undo a few buttons. But once the archer noticed what your mission was, he stopped dead in his movements. "Nah, dun do tha'," he scolded you instantly and peeled your hands away from the fabric covering his upper body. "W-Why?" You asked breathlessly; not understanding his sudden mood shift. "'"Cause I told ya to!" He snapped.

Just in that moment, you realised that you must've hit another sore spot... But this time one that actually seemed to get to him. Not one that managed to turn him on.

"S-Sorry, D-Daryl, I-" You immediately apologised, but got interrupted once more. "Keep holdin' on ta my arms, if yer need sum'thin' to hold on to." His voice was gruff, but way more soft than a few moments ago. The archer redirected your hands and placed them once more around his sweaty biceps. Without another word, he continued where he left off, causing your grip to instantly tighten. "There ya go," he praised you again and readjusted your legs with his thighs. Just the slight change of angle was enough to send you a third time over the edge. This time, though, you dragged him right with you.

A broken sound - close to a cry, left the man's lips as he pulled out and coated the supple skin of your stomach with his release. A single droplet of sweat rolled down his neck as he threw his head back in ecstasy. It was a sight to behold. A sight you might never forget for the rest of your life - no matter how long your life was going to be.

A few moments later collapsed Daryl on the mattress beside you. He was clearly spent. Perhaps this had been something you both needed. Who knew?

"Imma take a shower," the archer announced after a while and left the bed - but not before gentleman-like wiping the mess he made on your stomach away with his hand. Without another word, he left, while you just laid there - still naked and staring at the ceiling; recalling in your mind what just happened. The sex managed to sober you up a bit. Did that really just happen? Had you been dreaming this?

You heard the water run, but not how Daryl returned to the room and settled down for the night in the armchair. You had ventured off to dreamland at some point.

To say the next morning was awkward was an absolute understatement. Awkward was not even remotely enough to describe the vibe between the both of you.

When you woke up again, the archer was nowhere to be seen. Now sober, you left the bed, picked up your clothes, noticed that you truly were - in fact in his room, and tiptoed butt naked down the hallway into your room. Luckily nobody had seen you. That would've been scandalous, right?

Your luck was also that everybody was quite hungover from last night. Some more, some less. Therefore noticed nobody the way you and Daryl acted around each other.

You could barely manage to look into his eyes.

You felt ashamed; thinking that you pushed him too far yesterday night. Thinking, that you were too bold and unable to control your damn feelings. Thinking that you pushed him away, instead of drawing him in. You anticipated that the archer must hate you now - and you couldn't even blame him...

Nevertheless seemed a conversation inevitable. You didn't want to destroy the friendship - if you could even call it that - the both of you had before last night.

It took you days to bite the bullet and ask him to talk, though. Sure, you had been on the road again since the CDC was a dead end, but that wasn't an excuse in your eyes.

"D-Daryl?" You approached him cautiously as you found him alone in the stables of the Greene farm; saddling a horse to go looking for Sophia. "Whatcha want?" He asked you and gave you a short look. You swallowed nervously. "Can we, uh, can we talk?" "'Bout wha'?" You watched him work for a moment, while your fingers fumbled with the hem of your t-shirt; trying to gather all the courage you could find. "That, uh, night at the CDC..." Your words came out as a whisper, but Daryl heard them nonetheless - and froze in all his tracks.

"Why'd ya wanna talk 'bout tha'?" He asked nonchalantly after a beat of silence and continued his work; had seemingly shaken off the small 'shock' quite quick. "I-I..." You started and sighed. "Things f-feel so weird between us since that n-night, and... I don't want that. I-I'm sorry for what I did. I'm s-sorry for making you sleep with me." Your eyes were stuck on him. You watched him and tried to gauge his reaction - afraid of what was going to happen.

"Yer sorry 'bout it?" Daryl asked then - almost in disbelief. Then he scoffed. "Do ya regret it?"

That was a question you didn't see coming. A question you haven't thought about yet. Did you regret it? Your memories took you back in time; letting you relive that night you shared with him. The answer was clear - as you quickly discovered.

"No, I don't, but... It was wrong. I shouldn't have-" "Wrong?" He interrupted you. His voice appalled. "Tha's what ya think 'bout this? 'Bout... us?" Daryl accused you with a grimace on his face. Was that... sadness you could detect in his blue orbs? Hurt?

You blinked; "U-Us?" were definitely confused by his words. "W-What do you mean 'us'?" "Ya know wha' I mean, Y/N." You shook your head. "No, Daryl. No, I don't. We've been practically ignoring each other since the CDC. We can't even talk properly! Neither of us can look into the other's eyes! Everything is just... weird, and you talk about an 'us'? No, I don't get it. Tell me. Explain it."

A frustrated huff left the archer's lips, before he started to gnaw at the pad of his thumb; averting your eyes. All of a sudden, the usually so confident redneck became all shy and insecure. "Dunno how," he started; merely shrugging his shoulders. "'S difficult, 'n I ain't good with words." "Try it, D," you encouraged him and gave him a soft smile. "Please. I want to make things right between us again." The archer nodded and took another moment - most likely to gather his thoughts. "'S tha' feeling, ya know? Can't pin it down. Always feelin' so strange whenever yer close to me."

Your heart skipped more than just one beat as his words urged to your ears. Could it be...? No...

"W-What do you feel? Can you... describe it?" Daryl lowered his gaze to the ground. The little stone laying beside his left foot suddenly became really interesting. "Jus' strange. Gets harder to breathe, 'n... My stomach's all messed up. Feels like an itch I can't scratch." You couldn't believe this was happening. Did that night cause Daryl to fall in love with you? "You're doing good, D. Keep going. What else?" You had to know.

He grunted; his foot playing with that little stone, before kicking it aimlessly over the concrete ground. "I... always go back to tha' night in my head. Can't forget it. Yer look. Yer touch. The way ya felt, I-" He stopped himself to take a deep breath. And you smiled. Perhaps having slept with him hadn't been a mistake. Perhaps you interpreted his behaviour wrong. Perhaps you just misread the signs...

"I jus' dunno how to act 'round ya. I dunno wha's happening to me. Tha's why I ain't talkin' to ya. Didn't mean to ignore ya..." Daryl apologised with his head still lowered.

You stepped closer to him and cautiously reached for his hand. He flinched, but didn't pull away. "Daryl, I... I think I know what happened to you," you whispered. "'N wha's tha'?" He asked; finally brave enough to lift his head to look into your eyes. You smiled and squeezed his hand. "I think you... are in love."

As quick as the man had lowered his guard, as quick was it up again.

He pulled his hand out of your grasp and scoffed, before he took a few steps back. "Pf. Love? Me? Tha's ridiculous, woman - 'n we both know it!" "Is it, yeah? You really think so?" "Yes!" He yelled, and wanted to rush past you - but you stopped him with your palm splayed on his chest. You didn't know if what your heart made you do was a wise decision, but it acted on its own will. Your head was powerless anyway.

Daryl's eyes travelled from yours to the hand on his chest and back. "Whatcha doin', woman?! Leave me the hell alo-" You had heard enough. You had held yourself back long enough. This was the only option you had left. It was do or die.

You cut the man off with standing on your tiptoes and connecting your lips to his. It was a chaste, gentle kiss - but nonetheless meaningful. It felt so right. So good. His lips so soft and warm - compared to his seemingly rough exterior. His blond-brown goatee tickled your skin in the best way possible.

Once more, Daryl froze to the ground; not moving a muscle.

When your lips left his again with a soft pop and you reopened your eyes, you could see how his eyelids fluttered slowly open as well. You could feel his heart galloping underneath your palm. "What do you feel now, Daryl?" You asked in a hushed tone. Your eyes never left his. The archer swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "I-I-I..." He stammered out; his cheeks heating up. "G-Good," he croaked out. "R-Real good." You smiled - happy that your heart had made the right decision. "Wanna do it again?" He blinked. The tips of his ears got red as well. "I-If yer willin' t-to k-kiss me again?" Your smile even widened, before you reached up to cup his beardy, red cheeks in your palms to pull him into another kiss. Daryl gasped against your lips; eyes falling shut and lips following your lead. It caused the kiss to get more intimate. More demanding. More passionate.

His hands acted on their own will, as they settled on your waist and pulled you closer. Your body crashed against his. You could tell that he hadn't kissed a lot in his life; his movements clumsy and messy - but perfectly Daryl. And you loved it. You didn't care how experienced or skilled he was. All you cared about was him - and all the love he deserved you wanted to give him.

He was far from perfect; had his flaws - but so were you.

"What do you say now about love, pretty boy?" You asked in a playful, yet loving manner; your hands crossed behind his neck. Daryl's hands gently squeezed your sides, "Shuddup." before he dipped his head to indulge you into yet another kiss.

Yeah... He was definitely whipped.

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @belitoxx @fictive-sl0th @marvelcasey05 @loz-3 @whore4romance @stitchintimefan @bigbaldheadname @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @km-ffluv @0-aubrie0 @sweetz1919 @mikaela-granger @secretsicanthideanymore @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @dixons-sunshine @cakesandtom @mayday2007 @dixonsdarkelf @huntedmusicgardenn @ffsjustletmesleep

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anchoeritic · 2 months ago

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the party & the after party

pairing: bbf!ellie williams + fem!reader

synopsis: was it really that bad if ellie hooked up with her best friend’s sister?

warning: eighteen plus only, minors do not interact. sexual intercourse (oral sex), clit play, thigh riding, hooking up in secret, vaginal sex (fingering), overstimulation.

They say some desires are better left buried. Hidden beneath polite smiles and the weight of expectation. But secrets have a way of slipping through the cracks, don’t they?

A fleeting glance, a touch that lingers just a second too long, a breath caught in your throat as her hand brushes against yours in the dark. It’s easy to pretend at first, easy to tell yourself that it’s nothing, that you’re imagining it, that you’re not standing on the edge of something dangerous.

But the truth is always there, simmering beneath the surface. The tension between you — electric and sharp. Coils tighter with every shared look, every quiet laugh, every moment when her eyes darken and her smile curves in that way that makes your breath hitch.

You tell yourself you’re in control, that you can walk away whenever you want. But deep down, you know you’re already too far gone.

It started with the way she looked at you when she thought no one else was watching. Her eyes would linger on you; slow and deliberate before her gaze would flick away, lips curling into a soft, knowing smile.

She’d sit close enough for her knee to press against yours beneath the table, close enough that you could feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of your jeans. And when she laughed, head tilted back, eyes glinting beneath the soft glow of the lights — you felt it then, that deep pull low in your stomach, dangerous and sharp.

She wasn’t supposed to look at you like that. You weren’t supposed to want her to. But it was impossible not to notice the way her auburn hair fell loose at the front, the soft curve of her neck when she tucked it behind her ear.

The way her lips would part when she was thinking, or the way her hand would brush over yours when you passed each other something. It was subtle at first; accidental touches, stolen glances, but your body knew long before your mind was willing to admit it.

And the worst part? She was your brother’s best friend.

You’d known her for years. Growing up with her hanging around your house, crashing on the couch after late nights with your brother, leaning lazily against the kitchen counter while she teased him about his terrible taste in music and women apparently.

Back then, you barely noticed her, she was just part of the background, another piece of your brother’s life. But somewhere along the way, that changed. Just last Thursday.

The party was loud. Bodies pressed together, the thrum of music vibrating through the floor. Your brother was across the room, laughing with his friends.

But she was next to you, her shoulder brushing against yours, the warmth of her body seeping into you despite the cool night air. Her hand found yours, fingertips brushing over your knuckles. Light. Teasing.

“You look good tonight,” she whispered, her breath hot against your ear. You could practically feel her lips. "Who for?"

Your pulse quickened. You turned to look at her, and the way her eyes darkened under the flashing lights made your heart race.

"Who else, Ellie?" You replied, leaning into her slowly, "take a good guess."

Her cheeks were a dead giveaway, growing warm at your words. If it wasn't for the dimness of the party, you'd be able to see the shade of red across her face. But her demeanour quickly changed as you became impossibly close, your lips nearly touching each other.

"Isn't that right?" Her hand sliding down your arm, fingers curling around your wrist, "I hope it's me."

"Didn't think you'd be so good at this game, Williams."

You should have pulled away. You should have smiled, made a joke, turned toward your brother and let this moment fade into nothing.

Instead, you let her lead you upstairs.

The door shut behind you, and suddenly the noise of the party faded into a dull hum beneath the rapid pounding of your heart. Your back hit the wall, and her hands were on you before you could breathe — soft but insistent, her mouth grazing the hollow of your throat.

“This is wrong,” you whispered. Your voice shook as her lips trailed along your jawline.

“I know,” she breathed. Her hands slipped under your shirt, fingertips burning against your skin. “But you don’t want me to stop.”

And you didn’t.

Her mouth was on yours before you could say another word. Soft. Hungry. Desperate. Your hands tangled in her hair as your body melted against hers.

Her lips were heat and pressure, coaxing your mouth open as her fingers slid beneath the waistband of your jeans. Your head tilted back, breath hitching as her hand pressed lower, and lower.

You knew this would ruin everything — your relationship with your brother, your peace of mind, the fragile line between friendship and betrayal, but as her lips moved against yours, as her body pressed you harder into the wall, all you could think was:

Let it happen.

"Keep going," your words were shaky, feeling her fingers press against where you needed her the most, "please, Ellie."

You were growing more and more desperate as she did too, your kisses becoming rougher.

Her fingers quickly found the waistband of your jeans and pulled them down, revealing your wetness. The scene in front of her only making the ache between her thighs more.

With the way you were staring at her; all desperate and needy.

“Patience, baby. Patience,” she mumbled, making her way down between your thighs, "so pretty."

Every thought you've ever had of Ellie, every scene replaying in your head. Everything came to you right then and there are she looked up at you from between your legs with low eyes.

Leaning in closer, she could feel the heat radiating off of your centre. The fabric wasn’t thick enough to hold her off as she let her tongue lay flat on the surface of the centre. The wet spot on your panties grew bigger, Ellie's tongue covering your entire pussy through your panties.

“Oh, F—fuck..” if it wasn’t for her hands holding you down by your hips, you would’ve started rocking them against her. She felt your hands gripping at her head, holding onto her hair for dear life. She hadn’t even started and already had you damn near on the edge.

A long stripe down your panties. that’s what it took to have her name fall from your lips, quivering at the last syllable, “Ellie, oh my god.”

Your head was thrown back waiting for her to continue, eyes fully shut as you only saw darkness. But as much as you saw nothing, you felt everything at the tip of her tongue. Quite literally, in this case.

“Look at me, baby,” she mumbles against your cunt, “let me see those eyes."

Obeying, your eyes fluttered back open to see hers already staring up at you; cold and dark. Only that look could send you over the edge.

The intensity of her gaze held you captive, a magnetic pull that made it impossible to look away. Her breath was warm against your skin, her lips hovering just above your core, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

You could feel the wetness of your arousal soaking through the thin fabric of your panties, the ache between your thighs growing more insistent with every passing second.

“Ellie,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. “Please…”

She smirked, her eyes never leaving yours as she finally pulled your panties to the side, exposing your slick folds to the cool air of the room. Her breath hitched at the sight, and for a moment, she just stared, taking in the way your body reacted to her presence. Her fingers traced lazy circles around your entrance, not quite giving you what you wanted, but enough to make you squirm.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ wet. Barely even touched you yet.”

You couldn’t answer, your mind too clouded with desire to form coherent thoughts. All you could do was nod, your hips lifting off the wall in a silent plea for more. She chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine, before finally giving in to your unspoken request.

Her tongue darted out, flicking against your clit in a slow, deliberate motion that made your entire body jolt. A moan escaped your lips, loud and unrestrained, as she began to work you over with her mouth. Her hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as she devoured you with a hunger that matched your own.

“Oh god, Ellie,” you gasped, your fingers tightening in her hair as she licked and sucked at your sensitive flesh. “Right there… don’t stop…”

She didn’t. Her tongue moved faster, her lips closing around your clit as she sucked gently, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. Your legs trembled, your knees threatening to give out as the pressure built inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with every stroke of her tongue.

“That’s it, baby,” she murmured against you, her voice muffled but still clear enough to send a fresh wave of heat through your body. “Let go for me. Come on my tongue.”

Her words were all it took to push you over the edge. Your back arched off the wall, a strangled cry escaping your lips as your orgasm ripped through you, intense and all-consuming. Ellie didn’t let up, her tongue continuing to work you through the waves of pleasure until you were a trembling, boneless mess in her arms.

When she finally pulled away, you slumped against the wall, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. She stood slowly, her lips glistening with your arousal, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips as she looked down at you.

“God,” she said, her voice soft but filled with a raw intensity that made your stomach flip. She leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, searing kiss that tasted like you, her tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your body ache for more.

You could feel the heat of her body pressed against yours, the hard lines of her muscles through the thin fabric of her shirt. Your hands roamed over her back, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened, the taste of yourself on her lips only fueling your desire.

“Ellie,” you breathed against her mouth, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need you…”

Her hands moved to the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head in one swift motion before tossing it aside. Your breath caught at the sight of her bare skin, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, the way her eyes darkened with desire as she looked at you.

Her fingers moved to the waistband of her pants, and with a deliberate slowness that made your pulse race, she undid the button and slid the zipper down. The sound of fabric rustling filled the air as she stepped out of them, leaving her in nothing but her underwear. The sight of her standing there, so confident and exposed, sent a jolt of electricity through you.

Your eyes traced the curves of her body, the way the dim light caught the subtle sheen of sweat on her skin. She was breathtaking, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride that she wanted you just as much as you wanted her.

Ellie closed the distance between you, her hands finding their way to your hips as she guided you backward until the cool surface of the wall pressed against your back. Her lips found yours again, this time more urgent, more demanding. You could feel the heat radiating from her, the way her body trembled slightly under your touch.

“Ellie,” you murmured again, your voice breaking as her hands slid under the fabric of your shirt, her fingers brushing against your skin. The sensation was electric, sending shivers down your spine.

She pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, her gaze intense and unwavering. “Tell me what you want,” she whispered, her breath warm against your lips.

You didn’t hesitate. “Touch me.”

A small, satisfied smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear. “Good girl."

Her hands moved to the hem of your shirt, and with a gentle tug, she pulled it over your head, letting it fall to the floor beside you. The cool air hit your skin, but it did nothing to quell the fire that was building inside you. Her hands roamed over your chest, her touch sending waves of pleasure through you.

You reached for her, your fingers fumbling with the clasp of her bra until it finally gave way, revealing herself to you. Your breath hitched as you took her in, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, the way her eyes darkened with desire.

Ellie’s hands found yours, intertwining your fingers as she pressed them against the wall above your head. She leaned in, her lips trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You tilted your head back, giving her better access as a soft moan escaped your lips.

She pulled back slightly, her eyes locking onto yours. “Mm,” she hummed, “use your words, baby.”

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of your desire and the gravity of the situation pressing down on you. But the way she looked at you—those dark, hungry eyes—made it impossible to hold back.

“I want to feel you."

Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile, and she leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear. “Atta, girl.”

Her hands slid down your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before settling on your hips. She pressed her body against yours, the heat of her skin searing against your skin. You could feel her thigh between your thighs, and it sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core.

Ellie’s lips found yours again, this time with urgency that left you breathless. Her tongue slipped into your mouth, tangling with yours in a way that made your head spin. One of her hands moved to the small of your back, pulling you even closer, while the other slid down to grip your thigh, lifting it to wrap around her waist.

The movement shifted your hips, and you gasped as the pressure against your core intensified. Ellie smirked against your lips, clearly pleased with your reaction. She rolled her hips against yours, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

“You sound so good,” she murmured, her voice rough with need. “Taste even better. S’good.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, and you tightened your grip on her shoulders, pulling her closer.

She groaned softly, her forehead resting against yours as she continued to move against you. Her hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve, every inch of skin she could reach. When her fingers brushed against your centre again, you tensed, your breath catching in your throat.

Ellie didn’t need any more encouragement.

Her hand slid between your legs, and you gasped as her fingers brushed against your wetness. She paused, her eyes locking onto yours as she gently traced your folds, teasing you with the lightest of touches.

“You’re so wet,” she whispered, her voice filled with awe. “All for me.”

You nodded, your hips instinctively rocking against her hand, seeking more pressure. She chuckled softly, her breath warm against your skin as she leaned in to capture your lips in another searing kiss. At the same time, she slid a finger inside you, slow and deliberate, making you moan into her mouth.

“Ellie,” you gasped, your hands gripping her shoulders tightly. “Just like that…”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Her finger began to move, curling inside you in a way that made your knees weak. Her thumb brushed against your clit, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You could feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with every stroke of her fingers.

You should have stopped then. You should have pulled away, straightened your clothes, and walked out the door. Back to the party.

But you didn’t. You couldn't. And that was the problem.

Neither of you cared enough to stop.

#Ellie Williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #the last of us #the last of us smut #tlou #tlou 2

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aleskie · 2 months ago

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CRASHED THE WEDDING | Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Max has always been good at winning races. But he's never been good at fighting for what matters most. When he receives an invitation to your wedding years after he makes a decision that ended your relationship for good, he's forced to confront everything he's been too afraid to face. His feelings. Your history. Everything that could have been if he'd only had the courage to reach for the stars.

Warnings: None. It's just a lil angsty at some points, but it's a happy ending!!!

The invitation feels like lead in Max’s hands, heavy and cold, a stark reminder of what could have been.

You are cordially invited to the wedding of Y/N L/N and Vincent Astor.

He reads the words over and over, letting them blur in front of him, as though if he stared hard enough, they might shift, might reshape themselves into something less painful, something he could dismiss as a mistake. But no—this is real, a reality he’d rather ignore but can't.

The phone rings, a muffled vibration in his pocket, and he glances at it, prepared to let it go to voicemail. But then he sees his sister’s name, and he hesitates before answering.

“Did you get the invitation?” she asks, her voice tentative, soft, as if trying to cushion a blow she knows he’s already felt.

“Yeah,” he replies, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, "Got it this morning. You?"

“Just now.” Her voice dips, caught somewhere between sympathy and a kind of shared grief. Through the line, he can hear the background chaos of her home: his nephews yelling, the clatter of something being dropped, laughter spilling over. The sounds feel like another world, one he’s distant from—a place full of warmth and distraction, the kind of comfort he could have used right now.

He can't help but chuckle, a brief smile breaking through despite everything. “They sound wilder than usual today.”

“Oh, you know,” she says, her voice lightening, “They’re boys being boys. Always testing my patience.”

A pause lingers, stretching between them as both try to find words they don’t really want to say.

“Are you going?” she asks, pulling him back, “I mean, I am. So are Mom and Dad. They already booked their flights.”

Max pauses, absorbing that information, the weight of it settling alongside the invitation in his hands.

“I don’t know.” He runs a hand through his hair and rereads the invitation. Somewhere in his mind he thinks that it could have been his name next to yours on the invite. If things were different. If he’d had the courage to fight for you all those years ago. But he knows it’s too late for regrets. The past is locked away now, sealed off with the wedding invitation and all the decisions he can’t unmake.

“Well,” she says, her voice gentle, “For what it’s worth, I think she’d be happy to see you again. Despite everything.”

He closes his eyes, letting her words settle. Despite everything. Despite the years, despite the silence, despite his hesitations that had cost him so much. There’s a part of him that wants to see you, to step into the past just one more time. But then there’s another part—a larger, heavier part—that wants to let it all fade away, like an old, bittersweet dream.

“You think?” he murmurs, almost to himself.

“I know,” she says, her voice steady now, as if willing him to believe, "Whatever happens, Max, just remember: this isn't the end of everything. Sometimes…sometimes it's just a chapter. It doesn't mean the whole story."

Her words sink in, lingering long after the call ends. Alone again, Max stares at the invitation, the names on it merging, blurring. Somewhere in that haze, he tries to find the courage to decide—whether to let the past lie or step forward and face it one last time.

Like most things in his life, Max first experiences you at the tracks.

He’s ten years old and has just won a race. His helmet’s still warm, and his heart is racing almost as much as it had on the course. But he knows it wasn’t perfect—he’d made a mistake, a sharp turn taken too quickly, nearly spinning him off the track. His dad is bound to mention it, and Max braces himself as he heads toward where the parents gather after races, moving slower than usual, almost savoring his last moments before the inevitable lecture.

But instead of the expected scolding, he sees his dad smiling, an expression rare enough that it stops Max in his tracks. Standing beside his dad is a tall, older man in a tailored jacket, hands resting in his pockets with a casual confidence that only seems to come with money.

“Max,” his dad says, almost proudly, “This is Joseph. An old sponsor of mine.”

The man laughs, a deep, booming sound, the kind of laugh that fills the air and puts everyone at ease. “Oh, Jos, let’s drop the formalities, shall we?” He turns his gaze to Max and crouches slightly, just enough to meet Max’s eyes. “Call me Joe. I’m a friend of your dad’s. He talks a lot about you.”

“Hi,” Max says, shy under the attention but also intrigued. Friends of his dad usually felt more intimidating than this; Joe seemed…different, like someone who liked people.

“Ah!” Joe’s eyes dart around, searching for something—or someone. “Y/N!” he calls, spotting a figure in the crowd. “Come meet Max!”

And then, Max sees you.

You’re a little taller than him, like most girls his age are, but there’s something about you that stands out. You’re dressed in a soft blue dress, hugging a worn lion plush tightly to your chest. There’s a small nervousness about you, like you don’t belong here but you’re trying to play along, and somehow, he feels an instant bond in that.

You step out from behind your dad’s leg and make eye contact with him, a hesitant smile spreading across your face. For a split second, Max forgets where he is, who he is, even the mistake he made on the track.

“Hello,” you say, your voice soft but clear, “I’m Y/N.”

He swallows, fighting down the nerves that seem to be scrambling for words. “Max,” he manages, his voice a little strangled, “I’m…Max.”

Your smile widens, and Max feels something shift in him, like a tiny door opening he hadn’t even known existed. At ten, he doesn’t have words for it, but later down the line, he’d call it love at first sight.

He’s thirteen when his dad brings him along to spend the summer in your family’s villa for the first time.

The car pulls up to the grand villa, white stone glistening against the lush greenery that surrounds the estate. Max peers out the window, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nerves twist in his stomach. He hasn’t seen you in years, not since that brief meeting at the racetrack. But he remembers your shy smile, the way you’d clung to that stuffed lion, your blue dress fluttering in the wind.

As he steps out of the car, your father, Joe, greets them warmly, his booming laughter and wide smile putting Max at ease. "Max, look at how you’ve grown! Gonna give us adults a run for our money soon, huh?" He claps Max on the shoulder and gestures toward the sprawling house, where Max can see the faintest silhouette of someone watching from an upstairs window.

“You remember Y/N, don’t you?” Joe says, a glint of humor in his eye as he leads them inside.

Max feels a flush of nerves, not wanting to seem too eager, but he nods. “Yeah, I think so,” he says, glancing around the grand entryway.

A few moments later, you’re there, standing at the top of the staircase, peering down with a curious look. You’ve changed, of course; he doesn’t recognize you at first. You’ve grown a little taller, but there’s something else—a quiet confidence in the way you look at him, assessing him with those bright, observant eyes.

You start down the staircase, and he swears the whole room goes silent, his nerves forgotten as he watches you approach.

“Hello, Max,” you say, offering a small, polite smile as if you’re not sure what to expect from him.

“Hey,” he replies, a little awkwardly, hoping he doesn’t look as out of place as he feels.

You hesitate, clutching a book in your hands, and then you smile, breaking the tension just slightly. “We have a pool out back. Do you like to swim?”

He nods. “Yeah, I mean, I’m not the best at it, but…yeah.”

“Cool,” you say simply, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “It’s quiet here. It’ll be nice to have someone else around.”

For the next few days, he watches you from a distance, the way you flit through the villa, always a little elusive, always with a book or sketchpad in your hands. You spend most of your time on the terrace, drawing or reading, occasionally looking up to watch him with a look he can’t quite read. Sometimes, when he walks through the hallways or lounges on the patio, he catches glimpses of you moving through the house like a shadow.

It isn’t until one warm afternoon that he finally gathers the courage to approach you.

You’re sitting on the stone steps near the pool, knees drawn to your chest as you sketch something on your pad, completely focused. He clears his throat, hoping not to startle you. You look up, and he nods toward the sketchpad.

“Can I see what you’re drawing?” he asks.

You glance down at the sketch, then back at him, looking almost embarrassed. “It’s just…a bird,” you say with a small shrug, turning the pad to show him.

It’s beautiful—far more detailed than he expected. The wings are outstretched, frozen mid-flight, and he can almost feel the energy in each stroke.

“Wow,” he says, genuinely impressed, “It’s beautiful.”

You duck your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks,” you mumble, then shift slightly, “Do you draw?”

“Not really. I mean, I think art is cool, but…I’m not very good at it,” he admits.

“That’s okay,” you say, meeting his eyes for a brief, intense second before looking back at the sketch. “You don’t always have to be good at things.”

You say it like you think he needs to hear it. And maybe he does. He thinks that’s what draws him to you, the way you always seem to know what’s going on, silently observing before you make your move.

He realizes he doesn’t feel awkward around you, not really. You’re both quiet in your own ways, but somehow, it feels easy to just sit here, letting the afternoon sun sink lower as you both watch the light dance across the pool.

And in that silence, he senses the beginning of something—small, unspoken, something that makes him look forward to the rest of the summer.

The two of you spend the rest of the summer clinging to each other, perhaps as a way of survival, being the only kids in the villa. But for Max, it becomes more than just a way to pass the time. It’s an opportunity to get closer to you—an unexpected chance to find something that feels real in a world of adults and privilege and things he doesn’t quite understand yet.

You take him to the woods behind the villa, leading him along winding trails and sharing your knowledge about the different plants and flowers you’ve learned to recognize. You talk his ear off about the flora in the area, your voice steady and confident as you explain the different species, and Max listens, captivated by the way you can make something as simple as a flower seem so important.

In return, he tells you about all his pets, the quirky fish in the aquarium, the lazy cat that never gets off the windowsill, the hyperactive dog that chews through shoes like it’s a hobby. He imagines the woods would be a terrible place for them, but you both debate how likely they'd be to survive out there. Your laughter echoes through the trees, a sound so pure and light that Max can’t help but treasure it.

You hang out by the pool, your sketchpad never far from your side. Max watches you draw, completely entranced by the way your hands move over the page, capturing the world with such precision. Sometimes you ask him to strike poses for your drawings, telling him it’ll help with practice, though Max suspects you just find the weirdest poses you can think of just to make him laugh. And laugh he does, usually awkwardly, but always in a way that makes the air feel warmer, easier.

You take him to the lake one afternoon, teaching him about the different fish that swim beneath the surface. He listens intently, trying his best to absorb everything you say, but when it’s his turn to share, he struggles to find a topic. So, he tells you about the different ways his mom cooks fish—nothing impressive, but it’s something, at least. You laugh. Though it’s not in a way that makes fun of him. It’s a sound so carefree and beautiful that Max can’t help but feel like he’s won something, though he doesn’t quite know what.

At night, when the villa is quiet and the world seems still, you sneak into his room, moving with the same grace and elusiveness that you always carry during the day, and you take him to a small, hidden room with access to the roof, and together you sit on the cool stone, gazing up at the stars.

“The stars are nice,” you murmur, your gaze fixed on the glittering sea above. “They make everything seem so small.”

Max isn’t really watching the stars. He’s watching you, captivated by the way your face glows under the moonlight, by the way your words drift into the night like they belong to the stars themselves. He doesn’t understand why it’s so easy to look at you, and yet so hard to understand what you’re thinking.

“I think I want to be an astronomer when I grow up,” you say suddenly, your eyes shifting to meet his, “I wanna write about the stars—where they come from, why they’re there in the sky.”

Max nods, but his words feel clumsy and out of place. He doesn’t know much about stars, and even less about what you’ve just said, but he doesn’t need to.

“That sounds cool,” he says, his voice a little quieter than he meant it to be, “You can even draw the planets…put your art skills to use.”

In the silence that follows, Max can’t help but feel the weight of it—the space between you both, the gap that somehow always feels wider than it is. He’s not sure what he’s meant to do with the way his chest tightens when you’re near, or the way his thoughts scatter when you speak. You might just be the first person that’s been able to shut him up.

He still can’t read you, still can’t quite decipher what’s going on behind your eyes. But God, he wants to.

He wants to know you more than this summer will allow him to. He wants to know the things you keep hidden, the dreams you have that you don’t speak aloud. For a moment, he lets himself imagine a future where he gets to be a part of that, where he’s not just watching you from the sidelines.

But for now, he’s content to sit there beside you, under the vast, endless sky.

“What do you want to do when you grow up?” you ask him, your voice casual but laced with curiosity.

Max doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll drive in Formula One,” he says, his words certain, as if the path ahead is already paved for him.

You look at him, unimpressed, and raise an eyebrow. “Is that what you want, or what your dad wants?”

The question hits him like a punch to the gut. It’s blunt, and Max is stunned by the simplicity of it. No one’s ever put it to him like that before. Everyone else has always seen the potential, the future that’s been laid out for him. But you—you—see him. And it’s more than a little disorienting.

He thinks about it for a moment, then shrugs. “It’s what I know.”

You nod, but your gaze is soft. “It doesn’t have to be,” you say, your smile gentle, reassuring, “We have so much time. You’ll figure it out.”

Max doesn’t respond right away, but your words settle in him, like a seed planted deep in the soil, waiting to take root.

After a beat, you look at him with a spark of mischief in your eyes. “But I’ll be there when you make it. I’ll try to make it to every race, so you have to do really well. You have to win everything.”

He can’t help but smile at how sure you are, how unshakable in your belief that his future is something worth rooting for. He likes that you’re not just thinking about the races, but about him, about his future. The idea that he’s a part of yours is something he hasn’t quite let himself acknowledge, but it feels like something real, something tangible.

Without thinking, he extends his pinky toward you. “I’ll win everything. I promise.”

Your smile widens, something brighter, something more pure than he’s ever seen, and you link your pinky with his. It’s a small gesture, but to Max, it feels monumental. The promise is a weightless thing, a thread tying the two of you together.

It’s the first of many promises he’ll make, but it’s the only one he hasn’t broken.

That summer gifts him with three things: time spent with you, your friendship, and—most importantly—your phone number.

The summer feels endless, stretching out like a road that Max is more than happy to walk with you. In the few short weeks you've spent together, you've become a constant in his life—more dependable than any of the things that came before. You make the dull moments feel full of possibility, even when nothing is happening. It’s as if you have this quiet magic, turning ordinary moments into something extraordinary just by being there.

He doesn’t want to leave.

No, he doesn’t want to leave you.

One afternoon, the day before he's supposed to leave, you both find yourselves by the lake again, the air still and warm, the water rippling lazily in the breeze. You’ve spent hours there, talking about everything and nothing, and somehow, you always circle back to the future—this elusive thing that neither of you can fully grasp, not at thirteen, not when everything still feels so wide open.

You’re sitting side by side at the dock, your legs dangling over the edge, your feet brushing the water as you look out over the lake. The sun is beginning to dip low in the sky, painting the water with strokes of gold. It’s the perfect end to a perfect summer, and it makes the thought of leaving feel unbearable.

Then, without warning, you turn to him and ask for his phone. Max hands it over, confused, but you take it in stride, tapping a few digits into it with quick fingers.

“Here,” you say, handing it back to him with a grin. “Now we can talk all the time.”

Max takes the phone, feeling a sudden rush of excitement, mixed with something else—something deeper, something that makes his heart beat a little faster as he saves your number. He hovers his thumb over the screen, unsure of what to say. It’s just a phone number. Just a few digits on a screen. But somehow, it feels monumental. Like crossing a line that’s only been drawn in the sand until now.

You nudge him gently, a playful look in your eyes. “Go ahead,” you tease. “Send me a text. I promise I won’t bite.”

He smiles at that, feeling a little shy suddenly. After all, it’s just a message, just a casual note between friends. But it feels like a step forward. A bridge between the two of you, no longer just the endless days of summer, but something more—something that could last.

Max types out his first message, his fingers a little hesitant as he starts the sentence.

Maxhey, it’s max. thanks for the cool summer :D

He presses send, his heart racing slightly as the words leave his phone.

Your response comes almost too quickly to be real, even though you’re right next to him. It’s as if the message was waiting on the other side of the screen, just waiting for him to type those first words.

Y/N Of course! Thank you for spending it with me :DDD It would have been soooo boring without you!

Max feels a grin tug at his lips, the warmth of your words filling the space between you both, and he realizes—this is just the beginning. Even though summer is ending, and everything about this place feels like it’s about to slip away, something has shifted. He holds the phone in his hand, knowing that this connection, this friendship, is something that will stay with him far beyond the villa, beyond the lake, beyond the months to come.

It’s just a few digits. But to Max, it’s everything.

The messages come and go at first, fleeting moments scattered throughout the day, each one a brief connection that feels more significant than it should. You send him pictures of the sketches you’re working on, and he responds with a blurry shot of his dinner, laughing at how terrible it looks. You talk about your families, about the little things happening at home, and slowly, those texts begin to fill in the spaces where the silence used to be.

He starts texting you late at night, when he should be resting before the race just a few hours away. He knows you’re asleep, but he likes the thought of you waking up to his messages, likes knowing that he’ll be the first thing you see when you check your phone in the morning. He likes imagining that you’ll think of him, even if just for a moment, before your day really begins. And he looks forward to your replies—there’s something about the way you respond that makes him feel seen

One night, a message from you makes him smile as soon as he reads it.

Y/N I think I’ll be asking for a telescope for my birthday. It’ll be perfect for next summer! We can see the stars from sooooooooo close!!!

Max grins at the thought, picturing you sitting on the roof with a telescope between you, both of you gazing up at the stars just like you did that one night in the summer. His grin widens at the mention of next summer, at the idea that you want him with you again. The thought feels natural, almost inevitable. It feels...real.

Max it’ll be great! we can bring snacks on the roof and you can tell me about the different stars !

Sometimes, your message threads are full of lighthearted memes, just silly things to make each other laugh. Other times, they’re more thoughtful, more serious.

Y/N Isn’t it kind of sad how the stars are just, like, out of reach? Like, they seem so close, but they’re so out of reach.

Max it’s still nice to know they’re out there. like, you look at them and you know you’re not alone ://

Neither of you reply immediately. But then, every now and then, your schedules collide, and you end up talking for hours. It doesn’t matter that the messages come at odd hours, or that the conversation takes unexpected turns—sometimes, the silence between them feels like its own conversation, a shared understanding that doesn’t need words. It feels like a memory waiting to be made, like everything that hasn’t been said yet, but will be, under the summer skies.

Somewhere along the way, Max realizes something without even noticing when it happened: your texts are no longer just words on a screen. They’ve become something more—pieces of something real, something tangible, something he can’t quite explain. They’ve become a thread that ties you to him, a connection that stretches beyond the distance.

And in those moments when he stops to think about it, he starts to believe that maybe, just maybe, the stars aren’t as far out of reach as he once thought.

The invitation sits on the bedside table like a weight, an anchor keeping him in place as Max paces the room. His empty suitcase lies open on the bed, a quiet reminder of the decision he still hasn’t made. Should he go? Should he leave you be? Why would you invite him? Why would you want him there on what’s supposed to be the happiest day of your life?

Why don’t you hate him?

Maybe that’s the real question he can’t stop circling back to. Why don’t you hate him enough to leave him out of this entirely? After everything?

There’s a small, dangerous part of him that thinks—maybe, just maybe—you still feel the same. He shuts that thought down immediately. You aren’t the same people you were back then. You’re older now, and wiser, maybe, though it doesn’t feel like it when his heart still races at the thought of you. The two of you aren’t nineteen anymore—but God, he wishes you were. He wishes he could go back, that he could do it all differently. That he could be braver.

He would’ve changed everything.

He would’ve given up everything—every championship, every trophy, every podium—to have you by his side. He’d settle for second place every year if it meant you’d have stayed. If it meant you were his and not—

He stops the thought before it can finish, dragging a hand through his hair as his eyes drift back to the invitation. It’s taunting him. A reminder of what he lost and what he’s still too afraid to face.

Max opens the closet, rifling through his clothes without any real focus. If he decides to go, what would he even bring? He wasn’t in a rush—there were still a few days left to RSVP—but the indecision gnawed at him. His usual jeans and t-shirts clearly wouldn’t cut it, so he shifts to the back of the closet, to the suits he rarely wears. His fingers pause on a familiar one—the classic black tuxedo you’d helped him pick out all those years ago. The memory flashes fast and sharp: your laughter as you adjusted his tie, the warmth of your hands smoothing the lapels, the way you’d looked at him like he was someone worth looking at.

He pulls his hand back like the fabric’s burned him.

There are other options. Safer ones. Ones that don’t feel so tied to you. But even those feel wrong somehow, like they don’t belong in a moment where you’re promising forever to someone else.

He thinks about calling his sister, half ready to ask for advice, but he stops himself. He knows exactly how that conversation would go. She’d convince him to go. She’d tell him it’s the right thing, the mature thing—and maybe it is. But he’s not ready.

He’s not ready to see you again.

Not if it means watching you end up in the arms of someone else.

He digs deep, pulling out every combination he can think of—shoes and watches included—before something catches his eye. A box, tucked away in the farthest corner of the closet. The design is intricate but worn, the edges faded like it’s been handled a thousand times and then forgotten. And it has been. He put it there for a reason, pushed it out of sight so it would stay out of mind.

But it calls to him now, quiet and insistent, pulling him closer until his hands are brushing against the lid and—before he can stop himself—he’s opening it.

The first thing he sees is you.

Not literally, but it may as well be. The box is filled with pieces of you, pieces of everything you’d given him over the years.

There are the little trinkets you brought back from your family trips—strange, whimsical things that you’d pressed into his hands with a grin, telling him they reminded you of him. He remembers the first time, the utter confusion he felt staring at a tiny wooden monkey carving. You’d laughed at his expression, and even though he didn’t get it, his heart had raced at the thought of you thinking of him.

He sets the monkey aside carefully, and there’s more. The crafts you made during those long, quiet days at the villa: a woven bookmark, a beaded bracelet, a tiny frame with delicate pressed flowers. He traces a finger over the petals, softened by time but still intact. He wonders if you kept the ones he made you—though his hadn’t been perfect like yours. His hands were clumsy with thread and beads, and his art never quite captured what he wanted them to. But they’d had his feelings in them, even if he never said it out loud.

And then there are your drawings.

Every single one you’d ever given him, carefully kept and hidden away like the fragile, precious things they are. Birds in flight. Trees bending in the wind. The stars you loved so much. Him. You.

He thinks his favorite is the one of him sitting on the villa’s roof, peering through your telescope with a look of quiet wonder on his face. Or maybe it’s the sketch of the night sky, dots and swirls of ink creating something so vast and beautiful it almost feels alive. Or maybe it’s the self-portrait you gave him, the one that captures you in a way no photograph ever could—the softness of your expression, the hint of a smile, the light in your eyes.

He remembers the day you gave it to him.

It was right before his first race in Formula 3. You’d slipped it into his hand when no one was looking, your fingers lingering just a little too long.

“So you don’t forget what I look like when you travel,” you’d said, trying for lightness but not quite managing it.

“Why would I forget?” he asked, genuinely confused. He could never forget you. He would never forget you. You were forever etched into him, someone as familiar as his own heartbeat.

“What if you get busy and we stop being friends?” Your voice was soft, your eyes darting everywhere but him. You’d sounded so small, so uncertain—and it hit him then, the fear in your words, the possibility that you’d already started to feel the distance that hadn’t yet formed.

“I could never stop being friends with you,” he said, the words sure and immediate. “You’re my best friend.”

And the smile you gave him…God, it’s still ingrained in his mind. It haunts him.

Because now, years later, he knows he’s the reason you stopped smiling at him.

He grips the paper a little too tightly, slightly smudging the ink. He lets out a dry chuckle.

He keeps ruining you.

Even now—years later, miles away—he still manages to leave marks on the things you gave him. Still leaving evidence of his carelessness. Of the way he could never quite hold on to you without hurting you in the process.

The drawing shakes in his hands, and he forces himself to set it down, smoothing the corner like it’ll erase the damage he’s done. It doesn’t, of course. It never does.

He sits on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. The invitation stares at him from the bedside table, pristine and elegant, with your name in curling script next to someone else’s.

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

It shouldn’t feel like the air’s been knocked out of him every time his eyes catch on those words. But it does. God, it does.

Why did you invite him? Why did you want him there? Why are you putting yourself through the pain of having him there?

Maybe it’s pity. You’d invited everyone else in his family, after all. It would have been strange to leave him behind.

Maybe you’re offering an olive branch—a final act of kindness before you leave him behind for good.

Or maybe—and this is the thought he’s afraid of, the one he keeps buried—maybe some small part of you still wants him. Maybe you’re hoping he’ll show up. Maybe you’re hoping he’ll…

No. He can’t let himself think like that.

He stands up abruptly, crossing the room before he can talk himself out of it. The invitation is cool and smooth between his fingers. He flips it open again, scanning the details he already knows by heart. The date. The venue. Your name.

His chest tightens.

He shouldn’t go.

He shouldn’t put himself through this—shouldn’t sit in the crowd and watch you promise forever to someone else. Shouldn’t watch you smile at someone the way you used to smile at him.

But then his eyes drift back to the open box on the bed. To the life you built together, piece by fragile piece. To the promises you made when you were too young to know how easily promises could break.

And suddenly, the idea of staying away feels so much worse.

He closes his eyes and breathes. He thinks about the way you looked that first summer, standing by the lake with the sun painting gold into your hair. He thinks about the sound of your laugh in the dark, your hand warm in his as you made him pinky swear on dreams you both believed you had endless time to chase.

He thinks about your voice over the phone after his first big win, giddy and proud, as if the victory belonged to both of you.

He thinks about all the things he never said.

Maybe it’s too late. Maybe it always was. But if there’s one thing he owes you—if there’s one thing he’s sure of—it’s that he can’t let you go without showing up one last time.

Even if it breaks him.

He sets the invitation down and reaches for his phone. The screen glows in the dim light, and his finger hovers over his sister’s name.

He takes a breath and presses call.

“I need help finding something to wear,” he says when she picks up. His voice is rough, but steady. “I’m going to the wedding.”

Something old. Something new. Something borrowed. Something blue.

You’d chosen everything but your something blue.

The old necklace your fiancé had given you on your first anniversary, warm with memory and love. The new pair of shoes his mother had gifted you, delicate and perfect, still pristine in their box. A borrowed pair of earrings from your grandmother, their vintage shine whispering stories of the past. And…

You stare at your jewelry box. The golds and silvers and gems shimmer in the light, casting reflections that dance across your room—bright, elegant, easy choices. But your eyes settle on something far more understated. A slightly faded blue bracelet, its woven threads fraying just a little at the edges.

You hadn’t seen it in so long. You’d buried it deep in the box for a reason.

Because it hurt.

It hurt to see it and remember the boy who’d tied it around your wrist with a grin, so proud of the clumsy thing he’d made for you. It hurt to think of simpler times—of long summers at the villa, of lazy afternoons by the pool sketching him while he complained about the weird poses you made him do. Of midnight adventures on the roof, staring at the stars like you could reach out and touch them if you just wanted it badly enough.

You wanted to be an astronomer then. He’d wanted to race in Formula One.

Only one of you got what you wanted.

Your fingers brush against the bracelet, lifting it carefully as if it might crumble in your hands. The blue has faded a little over the years, but the knots are still tight—sturdy, despite everything. Despite time.

You wonder if he even remembers giving it to you.

You wonder if he kept the things you gave him, too. The pressed flowers, the sketches, the tiny trinkets you picked up from family trips because they reminded you of him.

You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to push the memories back into their quiet corner. But they come rushing in anyway—the way they always do when you think of him. You remember the way his eyes lit up when you talked about the stars, the way his voice softened when he promised you’d always be friends. You remember the way he used to text you before his races, even when you were countries apart—how it felt like you were still right there beside him.

You remember the day he stopped.

The bracelet trembles between your fingers. You shouldn’t wear it. You know that. It doesn’t belong in this new life you’re building. It doesn’t belong in the future you’re about to step into, with a man who loves you and sees you.

A man who chose you. A man who you know will keep on choosing you.

But still, you hold it close to your heart. Because there’s a small part of you—one you never quite managed to silence—that never stopped wondering. Never stopped hoping.

And maybe, just maybe, wearing it will feel like keeping a piece of the past with you. Even if it stays hidden beneath the sleeve of your dress.

Just like the feelings that still linger.

You close your eyes, the bracelet pressed tightly to your chest, and let yourself remember the day he gave it to you.

“I got news the other day,” he’d said with a grin, his brows furrowed in concentration as he fiddled with tiny beads, his fingers struggling to string them together. The thread kept slipping, the beads kept rolling away, but he didn’t seem to care. “I think you’ll be proud of me.”

“I’m always proud of you,” you said, popping a blueberry into your mouth as you lounged on the picnic blanket you’d set up together. The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting golden streaks across his face, and you watched him with a quiet kind of fondness you never quite managed to hide.

“This time it’s different. Better.”

You tilted your head, curiosity blooming in your chest.

“We got a call yesterday.” His smile broke wide and boyish—so full of joy that it was almost blinding. “They want me in Formula One.”

For a second, the words didn’t quite register. And then—

“Oh, Maxie!” You barely let him finish before you launched yourself at him, arms wrapping around his shoulders in a tight, breathless hug. “I’m so happy for you! This is everything you’ve ever wanted.”

You didn’t even think—didn’t hesitate—before pressing a quick, excited kiss to his cheek. It felt natural, instinctive, the kind of thing that happened when your heart was too full and there were no words big enough to hold your happiness for him.

But when you pulled back, both of you froze.

Your breath hitched. His eyes widened. And for one terrifying second, you thought maybe you’d ruined everything—that you’d crossed some invisible line you couldn’t step back from.

“I—” You opened your mouth, scrambling for an explanation, an apology—something to take the moment back before he decided he didn’t want to be near you anymore, before he decided you were too much, too—

He kissed your cheek.

It was light and quick—barely there—but it said everything you needed to hear.

The air shifted, the space between you suddenly too small and too charged, and he reached for your hand, his fingers warm and sure around yours. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was heavy, thick with everything you were too scared to say out loud.

With his free hand, he kept working on the bracelet, the tiny beads slipping but eventually falling into place. When he finally tied it around your wrist, the knots were clumsy but tight, and the beads—small and delicate—shimmered a pale, translucent blue. The color reminded you of his eyes.

“I’m going to be busy,” he said, his voice soft but certain. “But I will always make time for you. I promise.”

He looked at you then—really looked at you—and you saw the truth of it in his face. In the way his hand tightened around yours. In the way his eyes softened like you were the most important thing in the world.

“You’re…everything.”

Your heart stumbled in your chest.

“Everything?” you whispered.

“I’m not good with words,” he admitted, his voice rough and a little uncertain. But then his hands found your face—gentle and steady—and the way he held you felt like a vow. “But that’s what you are to me. I want to give you everything. Everything I can give.”

Your eyes burned, and you placed your hands over his. “You’re enough.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek before he pulled back to fiddle with the bracelet again. “I’ll get you a better one soon,” he promised. “So keep this safe until then.”

You looked down at the simple, imperfect thing wrapped around your wrist, your heart so full it ached.

“This will always be my favorite, though,” you said.

And you meant it.

You still mean it.

Even after all these years. Even when he broke every promise he gave to you. Even when he stopped choosing you. Even when you stopped being his everything.

Maybe that’s why you invited him. Because a selfish, mean part of you wants him to see how happy you are—wants him to sit there and watch you promise forever to someone else. Or maybe it’s because you want to see him—because you want to ask how he’s been, want to hear his voice again, want to look into his eyes one more time and see if they still soften when they land on you.

You wonder if they’re still as intense as you remember. If they still light up with that quiet warmth, that gentle steadiness that always made you feel safe. But you push those thoughts away because they don’t matter anymore.

You’re getting married soon.

You like your fiancé. You like your life now.

You’ve finally—finally—healed from him.

You don’t love him anymore. You don’t love him anymore. You don’t love him anymore.

…Right?

Max Verstappen is eighteen years old and high off of winning his first Formula One race when he kisses you for the first time.

A real kiss this time. Not the chaste pecks on the cheek he’d been giving you thus far. No, this time Max Verstappen had taken you to a private hallway at the Red Bull garage, cupped your face, and put his lips on yours.

Logically, he was sure it was just a few seconds. But when you kissed him back—soft and certain, like you’d been waiting for this just as long as he had—it felt like a forever that was finally in his reach. His heart pounded, not from the race this time, but from you. Always you.

Your lip gloss is slightly smudged when you pull away—strawberry-flavored, he realizes, as he runs his tongue over his lips. Your eyes are wide, your breaths deep, and he thinks, in that moment, that you are the most beautiful thing in the universe.

The universe—something he learned to love, to appreciate, because you loved it. Because you taught him the names of constellations on long summer nights, because you whispered stories about galaxies and planets as if they were fairy tales meant just for him.

Because you had learned to love and appreciate his world of racing, even when it took him away from you. Because, to him, you were like the stars—distant at times, maybe, but always there. Constant. Something that would never leave.

He exhales shakily, resting his forehead against your shoulder, letting himself sink into the warmth of you. “I always want you with me,” he murmurs, barely more than a breath, as if saying it too loudly might make it less true. “I love you.”

Your arms wrap around him, holding him tighter, anchoring him in place. Your voice is soft but certain, filled with all the things he’s been aching to hear.

“I love you too.”

Max Verstappen is nineteen when he has his first serious talk with your father. Joe has always been kind to him—always treated him like part of the family. Max liked that about him, how welcoming he was. But, most of all, he could relate to him when it came to you, when it came to loving you and cherishing you. He knew exactly what it felt like.

He remembers Joe being happy—ecstatic, even—when you’d told him the two of you were finally together.

“It’s about time!” Joe had laughed, giving Max a firm pat on the back. “I was wondering when you two were gonna realize it.”

Max remembered his cheeks flushing, his smile sheepish at the thought of everyone recognizing your feelings for each other long before the two of you had.

But the tone now was different. The mood was different.

They were sitting at a table by the pool, admiring the view, talking about life. Joe gave great advice and even better observations—kept everything real and blunt. It was something Max appreciated and realized you’d inherited as well.

“Max, my boy,” Joe let out a slow breath. “Please take care of her.”

Max looked at him. Really looked at him. And he saw something in Joe’s expression that wasn’t there before—a plea, a quiet desperation begging to be heard.

“She’s my baby girl.” Joe’s voice softened, but the weight of his words made Max’s chest ache.

“I’ll take care of her,” Max promised without hesitation.

“Can you?” Joe asked, his eyes steady and serious. He ran a hand through his graying hair. “You love her, Max. I can see that much. But sometimes that isn’t enough.”

“What do you—”

“I mean…” Joe interrupted gently, searching for the right words. “I mean that reaching your dreams at this age is an incredible feat. You worked hard, you took great care of your ambitions, and now you’re reaping the benefits. But, Max…what about the people left behind? What about Y/N who watches from the sidelines? How do you take care of her? How do you keep the balance?”

The air grew thick with tension, with questions Max didn’t know how to answer. The silence stretched between them.

“She’d never say anything,” Joe said after a moment, his voice quiet but firm. “She would never ask you to choose her over your life’s work.”

“But?” Max’s throat tightened.

“But you’re never there anymore.” Joe met his gaze, unflinching. “You rarely visit. You wait for her to come to you. You miss her events. Your phone calls are cut short. I’ve been told texting has gotten rarer. I—” Joe stopped himself, taking a long, steadying breath. “I want it to be you, Max. Because I know you. I know how much you love her. But I don’t want to keep asking the stars for you to just…be there for her.”

“I…” Max takes a breath, his voice quieter than before. “What do I do? I don’t know how to be better... how to make things better for her.”

Joe watches him for a long moment, his face soft with understanding. When he finally speaks, his words are gentle but steady. “That’s something you need to think about. I’m sure you’ll find a way. But Max… the question isn’t just how to make things better. It’s if you’re willing to.”

Max feels the weight of those words settle over him, heavy and suffocating. He wants to protest—to say, of course, he’s willing. But the truth sticks in his throat because there’s doubt creeping in, and he hates himself for it.

He just nods, even though his mind is spinning. He still doesn’t know what to do. But…he does wonder…does he even deserve you? Can he give you everything you want? Everything you deserve? He’s not sure anymore.

Max Verstappen is nineteen when he realizes he can no longer be enough for you.

“I think I want a summer wedding,” you tell him one day.

You’re lounging in his hotel room, binging on room service with the sound of a movie playing in the background. The sun’s setting outside, casting a warm, golden light over the room, and for a second, Max lets himself imagine it—imagine you in white, your hand in his, laughter in the air. He lets himself imagine the perfect proposal—at night, under the stars, or at a planetarium standing underneath the universe. He wonders what kind of ring you’d like, what kind of venues you’d look at, what kind of cake you’d choose.

The thought fills him with joy—it does. But there’s a certain tightness in his chest too, one he can’t quite explain.

“Summer’s nice,” he says, trying to keep his voice light.

“It is,” you agree, picking at the fries between you. “Warm, but not too warm. And the nights are perfect for stargazing.”

There it is again—stars. Your first love. The thing you’ve dreamed about since you were kids. And he wonders when the last time was that you even got to look at them. When the last time was that you weren’t stuck in a hotel room or an airport lounge, waiting for him.

“What about you?” you ask suddenly, eyes on him. “What kind of wedding do you want?”

He freezes. Because the truth is, he doesn’t know. He hasn’t thought about it—not because he doesn’t want it with you, he does—but because every day is a blur of circuits and races and media appearances. His life is fast-paced, and sometimes it feels like the only time he gets to slow down is when you’re there. But even then…even then, you’re always the one making time for him.

“I…” He hesitates, and the silence stretches just a little too long. Your smile falters, just a little.

“That’s okay,” you say softly, brushing it off like you always do. “We’ve got time.”

But do you? The question hangs heavy in his mind.

Later that night, when you’re asleep next to him, your hand resting against his chest, he stares at the ceiling and wonders what you see when you look at him. Does he still feel like your everything? Or is he just an anchor, keeping you tied to a life you never asked for?

He thinks about your father’s words. About the quiet way you always say, “It’s okay,” when plans fall through. About how the stars you used to love so much feel farther away than ever.

And for the first time, the thought crosses his mind: maybe loving you isn’t enough. Maybe the best thing he can do for you…is let you go.

Max Verstappen is nineteen when he loses you for good.

“Did I do something wrong?” you ask, your voice trembling as tears well up in your eyes. The words barely come out, strangled and thin, and the ache in your chest tightens when you see the way he looks at you—like you’re already slipping through his fingers. “What did I do, Max?”

You’d come to see him at a race, though you weren’t staying for the actual race, just qualifying. You had school after all. And now here you are, in his hotel room just hours before your flight home, feeling the ground crumble beneath you.

“You didn’t do anything,” he says, his voice low and strained, chest tight with the weight of what he’s about to do. “You were perfect.”

“So, why?” The word cracks in the middle, and you can’t stop the way your hands start to shake.

“Because I can’t give you what you need.” His voice rises just a little, frustration and heartbreak bleeding through. He looks away when he says it, like he can’t bear to meet your eyes.

“You don’t get to tell me what I need, Max.” The desperation creeps in, your breath catching on the words. “I just need you. That’s enough for me.”

“But it shouldn’t be!” The words burst out of him, his hand raking through his hair, his face contorted with anguish. “You need someone who’s there for you. Someone you can count on to celebrate you, to show up for you. You deserve someone who will at least do the bare minimum—call you back, text you—who remembers your birthday without it being a last-minute text or a bouquet of flowers arriving days late.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off, his voice gathering momentum.

“You need someone who isn’t me. Because I can’t be that for you.” His voice cracks on the last word, and it’s like the floor drops out beneath you.

“I just need you, Maxie.” The nickname slips out, soft and broken, and the tears start falling before you can stop them. You scrub at your face, trying to hold yourself together. “You’re busy, I get it. But I can make time for us. I’ll call more, visit more. I’ll—”

“Baby.” The word is so gentle it breaks you further. He steps forward, his thumb brushing the tears from your cheeks. “That’s my point. You sacrifice yourself for this. And it’s not worth it.”

“It’s everything!” Your voice rises, sharp and pleading. “You’re everything! You said I was your everything!”

The sight of you like this—sobbing and shattered—makes him want to take it all back. Every single word.

“Why are you doing this to me? Why don’t you want me anymore?” Your voice wavers, heavy with heartbreak.

He still wants you. He’ll always want you. But wanting you isn’t enough when it keeps hurting you.

“You promised me, Maxie,” you whisper, your voice breaking under the weight of it. “You promised you’d make time. You promised you’d always be with me. You promised to stay.” The sob builds in your chest, raw and ragged. “So fucking stay.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. It’s all he can manage to say. It’s all he can think of saying.

In the silence that follows, you swallow your tears and move to grab your bags.

“Baby—”

“Don’t.” You glare at him, the fire in your eyes cutting through the pain. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.” You take a deep breath, turning to face him fully. Your face is flushed, and he can see the marks left by the tears. “When I walk out that door, we’re over. For good. No second chances. You don’t get to call me. You don’t get to text. If you see me on the street, you don’t have any fucking right to talk to me.”

He stands frozen, the weight of your words sinking in, but before he can even think of how to respond, you’re moving again—zipping up your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“Don’t do this,” he whispers, his voice cracking.

But you don’t even look at him when you say it.

“You already did.”

The door closes behind you with a final, hollow click.

And as the silence of the empty room wraps around him, the regret comes fast and hard. It knocks the breath out of him, leaves his chest aching like he’s just been hit. He sinks down onto the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, and for the first time in a long time, Max Verstappen breaks.

He reaches for his phone before he even knows what he’s doing—his thumb hovering over your name. But he remembers your words, the sharp edge of them, and his hand falls away.

He’s made his choice.

And now he has to live with it.

Weddings are supposed to be the best day of your life, something special to cherish and keep in your heart. Weddings are also notorious for the stress they bring, for the storm that comes before the perfection of the day. You expected to crash out, to crumble under the weight of it all. But you didn’t. Instead, all you felt was… nothing. A hollow, quiet nothingness that settled deep inside your chest.

It was your wedding day. And you felt nothing.

You wanted to say that the sight of yourself in the mirror showed the image of a glowing woman, excited for her big day. And in some ways, it did. Your make-up was flawless, the dress fit perfectly, the accessories were dainty and meaningful. Every decision you’d carefully made and poured over in the year you’d spent planning this event had come together exactly how you wanted it.

So why did everything feel so empty? Why did you look so… distant? So detached?

The woman in the mirror looked like you, but there was something missing. The spark. The light you used to have when you dreamed of days like this. You tilted your head, studying the reflection—searching for something, anything—but you came up empty. And the longer you stared, the tighter your throat felt, the harder it was to breathe.

A soft knock on the door pulls you from your spiraling thoughts.

“Wow,” a familiar voice says, warm and full of love. Your father peeks his head inside, his eyes lighting up when he sees you. “I know we chose the dress together, but seeing it in this setting makes it even more wonderful.” He steps inside and shuts the door behind him. “You look beautiful, my darling.”

You smile—or at least, you try to. “Thanks, Dad.”

He takes a slow step closer, his eyes softening as they take you in. “I can’t believe my little girl is already getting married,” he says, his voice quiet and nostalgic. “Are you ready?”

You force another smile, one you’d perfected over the years of pretending that things were fine, that you were fine, that nothing bothered you. “Almost. Just need a moment.”

But your father knows you too well. He always has. His head tilts, his brows knit together as he studies you—just like he always did when something was off. “Is everything alright?”

You want to say yes, to brush it off and blame the nerves, the pressure, the overwhelming nature of the day. But the words won’t come. They stay stuck in your throat, heavy and unspoken, because you know the truth.

And the truth is scarier than any storm.

“I just…”

There’s so much you want to say. So much you want to admit—not just to him, but to yourself. But the truths you ache to speak sit heavy in your chest, tangled up with fear and doubt, and you’re not sure you’re ready to set them free.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his voice warm and steady, “Whatever you decide, I’m with you. If you aren’t sure—”

“I’m sure,” you interrupt, but your voice wavers, cracking under the weight of the lie. “I like what we’ve built together.”

And you do. You really do. You’ve enjoyed the life you’ve created with Vincent—your fiancé, your safe place. He’s kind and patient, steady in a way you’d once thought you needed after Max broke your heart in a way you still haven’t fully recovered from. Vincent has been yours, wholly and without hesitation. And you’ve tried to be his.

But when you think of forever…

The ache in your chest flares, and your fingers brush against the faded blue bracelet hidden beneath the delicate lace sleeve of your dress. It was reckless, sentimental—stupid, even—to wear it today. But when you’d reached for your “something blue,” nothing else had felt right. Nothing else had felt like…him.

Your heart twists, the ache deepening.

“Talk to me, hun,” your father urges, his voice gentle as he guides you to the couch in your changing area. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whisper, your eyes glassy with unshed tears, “But I know I have to.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because I need to stop not seeing things through,” you say, voice thick with emotion. “For once in my life, I need to finish something I start. I need to prove I can.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you know that’s not always true.” His hand finds yours, warm and familiar, and he brushes away a tear that’s slipped free. “You don’t have to torture yourself for the sake of accomplishing something.”

“But I’ve let so many things slip away,” you confess, the words pouring out before you can stop them. “I wanted to be an astronomer—remember that? I worked so hard, I was on that path, and then I just…let it go.”

“And look at what you’ve made for yourself,” he counters gently, his smile soft and proud. “You’re a corporate force to be reckoned with. It may not be what you always expected, but you’ve built a life of success and grace. That’s not a failure at all.”

He pulls you closer, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. “We need to let go of things that hurt us, things that give us pain.” He takes your hand in his. “If we can do that, then we’re free. Then we can heal. Be happy. Love without fear. That’s what we all deserve, bub.”

You just nod. It feels like you’ll start bawling if you say anything. So you don’t, choosing to bask in the comforting silence instead. But he understands. Your dad always did. He always knew how to sit with your silence without trying to fix it, without pushing you to speak before you were ready. And for that, you were grateful.

“Is he here?” you ask after a moment, your voice soft, barely above a whisper.

“He’s here.” He nods, knowing exactly who you’re talking about.

The air shifts, heavier now, pressing down on you with the weight of things unsaid and years you could never quite get back. You take a deep breath, trying to ignore the way your heart races, how your palms grow damp, how your throat dries up. You shouldn’t want him here. But you do. God help you, you do.

“Do you want to see him?”

“I—” The word sticks in your throat as your mind spins. You think about what’s waiting for you outside—the vows, the promises, the life you’ve built with someone steady and kind. But then there’s him. Somewhere in the crowd, a ghost you’ve never quite been able to shake, a part of you that still aches in his absence. He taught you how to fall, and how to break into pieces. And now he’s here. At your wedding. And you don’t know what to make of it.

But you want to figure it out.

“Can you… Can you bring him here?”

Your dad studies you for a beat, the corners of his eyes softening. “You really wanna see him?”

“It’s time to let go, dad.”

He nods slowly, squeezing your hand. “Alright, bub. I’ll go get him.”

Max Verstappen is twenty-seven when he sees you again.

He arrives at the venue with his family, his mom and dad reuniting for the event, awkward as it is. His sister brings her husband, the two of them playing middleman for the parents. They find seats somewhere in the middle, though Max opts for one near the exit. Just in case everything gets to be too much to handle.

The air is thick with celebration, but it feels suffocating to him. Every smile, every laugh, every perfectly placed decoration makes his stomach twist. He shouldn’t be here. But he couldn’t stay away either. Not when it was you.

He sits quietly, trying not to draw attention to himself. The familiar ache he thought he’d buried long ago starts to creep back in. He can hear the hum of conversation around him, the soft music floating through the space, but it all feels distant—like he’s watching the world through glass.

“Max?”

The voice startles him, familiar and warm, and when he looks up, Joe is standing there. He looks just as Max remembers him—steady and kind, smiling gently, like he was still part of the family even after everything. Like Max hadn’t broken his daughter despite Joe’s words of caution all those years ago.

Max stands quickly, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. He feels suddenly unsteady, like the ground beneath him is shifting.

Joe studies him for a long moment, and Max braces himself, half-expecting him to tell him to leave—to save them all the trouble. To spare you from whatever pain his presence might stir. But instead, Joe reaches out and pats Max on the shoulder. Firm and determined.

“She wants to see you,” he says, his voice gentle but his eyes filled with something Max can’t quite place. Hope, maybe. Or worry. Or both.

Max freezes, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. “What?”

“She asked for you,” Joe repeats, his voice soft but sure. “Do you…do you want to see her?”

Every instinct in his body screams yes. But fear—sharp and cold—holds him still. “I…I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Maybe it isn’t,” Joe says, watching him, patient and knowing, “But she asked for you.”

And that’s all it takes.

He nods, swallowing the lump rising in his throat. “Okay.”

Joe gestures for him to follow, and Max’s legs feel unsteady as they walk through the venue. Every step brings him closer to you, and with each one, the memories flood back—the laughter, the fights, the promises, the love. The heartbreak. The feel of your hand in his. The sound of your voice calling his name.

By the time they stop in front of a door, his palms are damp, his heart racing.

Joe turns to him, his voice soft and steady. “I don’t know what’s going to happen in there,” he says, “But whatever it is—just know that everything will fall into place.”

Max nods, his voice barely a whisper. “Thank you.”

Joe knocks gently on the door, his voice warm and calm. “Bub? He’s here.”

The door opens slowly, and Joe gives him a reassuring pat on the back before stepping away, leaving Max standing there with his heart in his throat. The soft click of the door shutting behind him feels deafening, and then—

There you are.

There’s a familiarity in the way the sight of you knocks the air out of his lungs—a feeling he hadn’t realized he missed until this very moment. You stand there in your wedding dress, the delicate lace brushing against your skin, embroidered flowers cascading down the train like something out of a dream. The soft glow of the room casts a gentle light on you, making you look ethereal.

But there are changes, too—subtle, quiet things that hit him just as hard. The tiredness around your eyes, the way your shoulders hold a weight they never used to, the reserved grace in the way you carry yourself. And yet, despite all of it, you’re still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Just as beautiful as the day he lost you.

And the vulnerability of standing here, of seeing you like this when you’re about to belong to someone else—it hurts. It hurts in a way he isn’t sure he’ll ever recover from.

“Hi,” you say, your voice soft and tentative. It’s the first word you’ve said to him in years.

“Hey,” he manages, his voice rougher than he means for it to be.

And then there’s silence. The kind of silence that isn’t empty—it's heavy and full of everything unsaid, everything they’ve both carried for so long. The weight of it settles between them, and neither one seems to know how to break it.

He looks at you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, and maybe you look at him the same way—like you’re seeing a ghost. But neither of you moves, and the silence stretches on, thick and aching.

“You look beautiful,” he says after a beat.

You smile and turn slightly—as much as you can with a heavy dress anyway. “You think so?”

“I mean, you’re right in front of me.” He smiles, taking a tentative step forward. “I only said what I saw.”

Your eyes soften, but there’s a guardedness there too. You let the silence stretch between you, the weight of unspoken things filling the space. “Thanks for coming,” you say after a moment, your voice quieter.

His breath hitches. “You sent me the invite.” He looks you in the eyes for the first time in years. “Why?”

You break the contact and stare at the ground, the lace of your dress brushing against the floor. “I don’t know,” you whisper. But that’s not entirely true. You know why—you just aren’t sure you’re ready to say it.

Max watches you, the way your fingers twist together, the way your shoulders tense like you’re holding something back. And he can’t help himself.

“Is it because you wanted me to see this?” he asks, his voice soft but steady. “To see how happy you are without me?”

You blink up at him, startled. “No. That’s…that’s not just it.”

“Then what is it?” he presses, his voice low and urgent as he takes a step closer. The space between you feels too small, too charged. “Because I know why I’m here. We both know why I’m here.”

“Don’t,” your voice shakes, and it’s barely above a whisper. “Don’t say anything else.”

But he can’t stop. He never could when it came to you.

“Y/N, tell me I’m not wrong. Tell me you want me here. Tell me you miss me too. Despite everything. Despite how I hurt you.” His voice trembles, the pleas spilling out faster than he can contain them. “Y/N, all you need to do is say the word and—”

“I never pushed through with astronomy,” you interrupt, your words sudden and sharp.

He freezes, confusion flickering across his face. “What?”

“I switched majors. Went into corporate after graduation.” Your voice is calmer now, but there’s a weight behind every word, like they’re stones sinking to the bottom of your chest. “I wasn’t like you…I never became what I wanted to be.”

You take a step closer, your eyes never leaving his. “It wasn’t fun anymore. After what happened. I had no one to talk about it to. No one to watch the stars with. They didn’t seem as beautiful anymore.”

He inhales sharply, and the sound feels like a knife twisting in the air between you. God, he ruined it all for you.

“So, I wanted you to hurt,” you continue, your voice breaking. “I wanted to make you see me happy without you. You deserve that much.”

And he does. He knows he does.

“I needed you, Max.” The words come out raw, almost broken. “All I ever needed was you. And you left. You left after you promised me you wouldn’t, after you promised to give me all you could. You left after you made me fall in love with you!”

Tears stream down your face, and before you can pull away, his hands reach for you—gentle and familiar—as his thumbs brush the tears from your cheeks. He’s careful, so careful, like touching you too harshly might shatter you completely. And God, he hates that he caused this. Hates that even now, he’s still making you cry.

“You know what the worst part is?” your voice cracks.

He shakes his head, his throat too tight to speak.

“You ruined me for everyone else.” You let out a bitter, broken laugh. “You left after you made sure I could never feel the same kind of love for anyone else. And now I’m here marrying someone who makes me feel absolutely nothing.”

“Why then?” The word comes out like a breath, like he already knows the answer but can’t bring himself to accept it. “Why do this? Why marry him?”

“Because he’s nice. Safe.”

“That’s it?” Max’s voice rises, his frustration breaking through the surface. “You’re marrying him because he’s nice?”

“He chose me, Max.”

“Y/N, I could do that too!” The words are loud and desperate and aching.

“But you didn’t!” You pull away from him, and the loss of your warmth feels immediate and brutal. “That’s the point, Max, you didn’t!”

Your voice breaks, and you bring your hands to your head like you’re trying to hold yourself together. “And I’m so, so tired of not being someone’s first choice. My mom left, my dad had work, you chose your career. And, God, I just want to be someone’s first.”

Max takes a step closer, his voice soft but urgent, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you. “I wasn’t good enough for you, Y/N. I didn’t deserve you anymore. Not after I kept on hurting you.”

His fingers brush against yours before he takes your hand fully, his grip warm and familiar. “I was afraid that you’d wake up one day and realize that you wanted someone better than me, someone who could actually be around. I didn’t want it to be too late for you. I didn’t want to hold you back.”

“You never held me back. I never needed anyone better,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the emotion that’s been building since the moment you saw him again. “I only ever wanted you.”

The weight of your words settles over him, and his thumb moves in soft circles over your knuckles. The touch is tentative, careful—like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t. You never do.

And then his eyes catch something. A sliver of color peeking out from beneath the delicate lace of your sleeve. His breath catches as he lifts your wrist, his fingers brushing against the worn, faded blue of a familiar bracelet.

“You kept this?” His voice is barely above a whisper, his eyes locked onto the reminder of a love he thought he’d lost.

“I kept everything.” Your voice is soft, but there’s a quiet kind of fierceness in it. A truth you’ve never let go of.

A beat. “So did I.” His eyes flick up to yours. “Every drawing, every bookmark, every bracelet. I still have it all.”

The room feels smaller, the space between you shrinking with every second. He inches closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“Max,” you breathe, and there’s a tremble in your voice—a plea, a warning, a hope.

“I miss you,” he admits, his voice breaking. “I miss you every day. Every single day since I made you leave.” He presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist, soft and reverent. “If I could go back, I would. I’d fix every mistake I made. I’d risk every championship just to have you again.”

His hand moves to your face, cupping your cheek with the gentleness of someone terrified of breaking what’s already so fragile. His thumb grazes your skin, wiping away the tears you hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“I can’t go back,” he says, his voice rough with regret. “But I can tell you I miss you. And that I still want you. And I never stopped lov—”

“Max, please.” You rest your forehead against his shoulder, your body trembling. “Don’t say it unless you mean it. Don’t say it unless you’ll stay. I don’t think I can handle you leaving a second time. So, please.”

“Y/N.” He tilts your chin up, his eyes searching yours. “Tell me what you want to tell me. And I’ll tell you what I want to say. No regrets for either of us.”

Your breath shudders, and your eyes dart away before finally settling on his. “You hurt me, Max.”

“I did.” His voice is steady, but there’s a crack in it, the guilt bleeding through.

“I didn’t need perfect. I wanted you. I wanted us. And you walked away. You took that away from me.”

“I know,” he whispers, his forehead pressing softly against yours. “I’m so sorry.”

“And now I don’t know what to do.” Your voice breaks again, and the tears spill over once more.

He presses a kiss to your cheek—soft, tender, full of all the things he never got to say. “I love you,” he breathes against your skin, the words a gentle confession. “I love you.” Another kiss, this time to your forehead. “I never stopped loving you. I don’t think I can.”

“Max…” Your voice shakes, and there’s fear and hope and longing all wrapped into his name.

“Come with me,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. “Don’t marry him. Come with me.”

Your heart pounds so hard it hurts, but for the first time in a long, long time—you feel something.

“Where do we go, Maxie?”

“Anywhere you want.”

Hope.

EPILOGUE

Max Verstappen is twenty-nine when the two of you elope.

It’s nothing extravagant—just the two of you, a quiet courthouse, and rings that fit just right. You wear a simple white dress, the fabric light and flowing around you like a second skin, and he’s in a crisp button-down and slacks, the sleeves rolled up just enough to hint at the easy intimacy of the day. And yet, despite the simplicity, it feels like the most perfect thing in the world. Because the only thing that matters is the way he looks at you when he says his vows—like you’re his whole world. Like you always have been.

The words come softly but with certainty, and his hands tremble just slightly as he slides the ring onto your finger. You squeeze his hand in reassurance, and the emotion in his eyes nearly undoes you. You exchange quiet promises and soft kisses, and when it’s done, when the judge finally pronounces you husband and wife, Max doesn’t hesitate. He lifts you off your feet and spins you around, his laughter ringing out into the afternoon air, joyful and unrestrained. And for the first time in a long time, you feel weightless.

The photographer you hired captures it all—the laughter, the stolen glances, the way his hands never stray far from yours. Outside the courthouse, the two of you pose in front of the steps, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Each photo feels alive, like a memory in the making, every smile a testament to the love you fought so hard to find your way back to.

Max is thirty when you tell him he’s going to be a father.

You hadn’t planned it—not now, not yet. But when the two little lines appear on the test, you can’t stop the tears from falling. You sit there on the cold bathroom floor, the weight of the moment pressing down on you until you can hardly breathe. It’s fear and joy and disbelief all tangled up inside you, and you don’t know how to move, how to think—how to tell him.

You wait until late that evening, when the two of you are curled up on the couch, the soft hum of the TV filling the room with a comfortable stillness. Your heart pounds so hard you’re sure he can hear it. Your hands tremble as you reach for the tiny pair of baby shoes you bought that afternoon—the only thing you could think to get, a physical thing to make this real.

“Max,” you whisper, your voice uncertain. He turns to you, his brows knitting together when he sees the tears in your eyes. “I have something for you.”

You hold out the little shoes, and for a moment, he just stares at them. His eyes go wide, his breath catches—and then the realization dawns. “Are you—?” His voice breaks, and when you nod, his face lights up with a joy so pure it steals your breath away.

He’s holding you before you know it, his arms wrapping around you tight, his laughter soft and disbelieving. “We’re having a baby,” he whispers against your hair, the words thick with emotion. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes shining. “We’re having a baby.”

You nod, tears falling, and he kisses you—again and again—like he can’t get enough of this moment, like he’s afraid it’ll slip through his fingers if he lets go. “I love you,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. “I love you so much. And I love them already. So much.”

And just like that, the fear fades. Because you know—no matter what comes next, he’ll be right by your side facing it with you.

Max is thirty-one when he tells you he’s retiring from Formula One.

It’s after the baby’s born, when he’s holding your daughter in his arms, her tiny fingers wrapped around one of his. There’s a softness in his eyes, a peace you hadn’t seen in him before—like the weight he’d been carrying for years had finally been set down.

You’re standing next to him on the terrace, the cool night air brushing against your skin, as he rocks your baby to sleep. His voice is low and soothing as he tells her about the stars above, pointing out constellations and weaving stories about the shapes they form.

He tells her about Andromeda and Orion, about how the light she sees traveled for thousands of years just to reach her eyes. He promises her that one day, when she’s older, he’ll take her to watch the stars properly. That they’ll lie on a blanket in the grass and map out the night sky together.

You just hug him from behind and bask in his scent, appreciating the calm and quiet the night brings—the three of you under an endless expanse of stars. The same stars that you used to watch together all those summers ago at the villa wishing for something you never thought you’d ever have.

“I’m done,” he says quietly after a moment.

You blink at him. “What?”

“I’m retiring,” he repeats, his voice steady. “I want to be here. For you. For her. I missed too much before. I don’t want to miss a second more.”

The words take a moment to settle, and your heart twists—not with fear, but with love, with gratitude for the man who once walked away and now refuses to leave.

“I don’t want you to regret it,” you say, your voice soft. “You’re still at the peak of your career and—”

“You didn’t regret it, did you?” he asks gently, his eyes finding yours. “Leaving with me that day?”

You move closer, placing a hand on his arm. “I would never.”

“I won’t regret this either.”

And just like that, the ache you didn’t even realize you were still carrying eases. Because he’s here. He stayed. He chose you. And every day since, he’s kept choosing you.

Above you, the stars twinkle—bright and infinite, like they’re bearing witness to the life you’ve built, to the love you’ve found again.

“I love you,” you whisper, brushing a kiss against his temple.

He smiles, looking down at the life you made together. “I love you more.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fic #max verstappen #mv1 #mv33 #f1 fanfiction #f1 imagine #formula one #f1 x reader #✩ allie's writing ✩

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written-in-knife · 12 days ago

Text

Dressing for the Cloudcall

Leona Kingscholar x fem!Reader, pre-relationship

Word count: 4680 (dialogue heavy to start, stick with it, I find a rhythm in there somewhere)

Category: one-shot, fluff, angst if you squint really really hard

Leona's family is sneaky and knows him very well, and you get roped into some Cloudcalling dress up. And maybe Leona is into that.

I loved Cloudcalling on the Savanna but I was a little disappointed we didn’t get even a hinted outfit, and this idea has been bouncing around in my little walnut brain for MONTHS and it finally spilled out in the span of like two hours. Tried to keep Yuu ambiguous, female, hair long enough to braid and put into a bun, and she’s shorter than Falena’s wife. Your Yuu is six feet tall? Cool, Falena’s wife is taller 👏AS👏SHE👏SHOULD👏BE. Reading back, I think I have a crush on my own version of Falena’s wife, as I should. I just imagined the most beautiful woman I could.

Kifaji had to step away to take a phone call while everyone was checking out the food stalls and Leona almost looked grateful to see his back disappearing into the crowd as he handed you one of the baobab hibiscus teas. You thanked him quietly before sipping on the drink, as refreshing as promised. Grim was just about to pull everyone over to a meat vendor-- surprise surprise-- when Kifaji returned, a sly looking smile on his face.

"What's got you so happy, ya old bird?" Leona huffed as Grim drooled over the meat.

"My apologies, but I need to borrow Miss Yuu for awhile." Kifaji said simply, turning his ominous smile to you.

"What for?" Leona practically growled, putting a hand on your shoulder before you could even think to step away from the group.

"On such short notice, we could not procure an outfit for her." Kifaji explained, folding his hands behind his back. "I, however, did not want her to feel left out, so I made arrangements which are now ready. I will return her at your next destination."

"It's fine, Leona." You tried to assure him, patting his hand gently. "I do feel a little left out of the fun."

Leona clicked his tongue in annoyance before releasing your shoulder and crossing his arms.

"We're headed to Ivory Springs after this. Do not be late." He directed the command at Kifaji rather than you.

"B-But, Yuu look at this! And these!" Grim was actually drooling over the meat in the stall, turning back to you with tears in his eyes that practically begged you to let him stay.

You sighed heavily and shook your head. "Vil, can you keep Grim out of trouble for me? I won't be long."

"Of course." Vil nodded, glancing down at the direbeast as he cheered and danced around in a little circle. "I'll try my best to not let him eat through Leona's entire fortune."

"Good enough for me." You chuckled before turning to Kifaji, who smiled again and held an arm out for you to lead the way out of the markets.

You walked side by side with Kifaji to the entrance of the market, only for him to place a hand on your upper back to direct you towards a waiting black car just up the street. As you approached, a beastwoman in full guard regalia opened the back door for you to enter. You thanked her quietly before stepping into the blissfully air conditioned car, Kifaji getting in on the other side.

"It's not that far to the hotel," you chuckled as the driver reentered the car, "and I'm not as prone to heatstroke as Jack is."

"Oh, we aren't going to the hotel." Kifaji said, as if just remembering he "forgot" to tell you about it.

"Oh?"

There was a minute of silence as he didn't answer your unspoken question. A few turns through the city, he broke it, turning to you with a pleasant smile.

"Tell me, Yuu, what is the nature of your relationship with Prince Leona?"

You were shocked for a moment at the bluntness of the question. "Is this because I'm the only girl? Because I can assure you, we're all friends--"

"My apologies, that isn't what I meant." He cut you off with a small chuckle and a lift of his hand. "If you'd humor me?"

"I mean... we're friends? Friendly, at least." You explained, wringing your hands in your lap. "He's helped me out of a few tough spots, I've helped him. We hang out on occasion. He's nice, I dunno." You wouldn't dare say it out loud, especially to the chamberlain, but you sometimes secretly wished there was more there.

He gave you a warm smile, much like a father would give to a daughter talking about her crush. "I see. As you well know, I've seen to Leona since the day he was born, and I haven't seen him so... protective of someone since... well, ever. That boy has never exactly been friendly, let alone "nice" to just about anyone since his mother passed. It's refreshing to see."

You could feel your face getting hotter with each word the chamberlain said. You desperately wanted the subject to change. "S-So, if we aren't going to the hotel, where are we going?"

"The Royal Palace." Kifaji said casually, as if you were on your way to some unnamed park.

"What?! Why?"

"As I said, I made arrangements for your outfit. You need to look the part to represent your team!" He said, another sly smile on his face as he pumped his fist in front of him in an imitation cheer. "And, I regret to say, you stick out like a sore thumb among those boys."

"But-- I-I thought-- we--"

"And here we are. A short drive, is it not? The walk would have been significantly longer."

You looked out the window at the palace, a grand stone building at the top of the hill. It almost looked as if it were carved out of the rock itself. You were startled out of your thoughts as the driver opened your door for you again, the chamberlain outside waiting to give you a hand out. You thanked them both as you took the offered hand and stepped out, following Kifaji closely as he walked.

"So, uh... just pop in, change clothes, and head back down to the market, yeah?" You asked nervously as you glanced at the guards you passed by, feeling eyes on your back.

"Just so." Kifaji assured you, another sly smile as he stopped at a large set of doors already opened, swinging a hand out for you to go first.

You weren't sure what was about to happen. Maybe you'd be thrown in a dungeon for fraternizing with their prince, or maybe they meant to keep you here until Leona himself came to find you, or--

"There she is!" A booming and excited voice came from across the room as you entered, startling you to turn and look.

A mound of long ginger hair twisted into braids was running up to greet you, perched atop a muscle-bound mountain of a man. He was dressed similarly to Leona, but wearing white instead of black, still adorned in gold, an enormous smile on his face. The guards at the door stood at attention as he got to your side of the room, clasping your hand quickly in a firm and enthusiastic handshake.

"You must be the girl Kifaji told me so much about!" He beamed at you, reminding you so much of Kalim in this moment. Wait.

"So much?" You parroted, looking at Kifaji, who simply shrugged.

"Oh, you must tell me how you got Leona to be so... docile? That isn't the right word. He listens to you?! Insane!" The man rambled, still holding onto your hand. "You must tell me everything!"

"Falena, you'll scare the poor girl." Another voice rang out from the other side of the room.

The man, Falena, finally released your hand and turned to see the woman walking towards you. She was elegant and gorgeous and so poised, dressed in similar colors and patterns to her husband, also adorned in gold. You suddenly felt very intimidated as you finally realized just where you were standing.

"Oh, but my love," Falena sighed, still smiling, "think of everything we could learn! What's Leona like at school, anyhow?"

"H-He, uh..." you hesitated as the woman joined her husband’s side. It probably wasn't a good idea to tell them exactly how he was, and it wasn't a good idea to lie. Rock and a hard place. "He's certainly there."

Falena let out a booming laugh at this, his wife joining in with a laugh that sounded like bells in the large chamber.

"We know of Leona's troubles at school." She assured you, holding out a hand to shake. "I am Shani, and I'm sure my husband, Falena, did not introduce himself before launching into his questioning."

"I'm Yuu," you said, gently grabbing her hand and shaking it, "a pleasure."

"Likewise." She smiled warmly at you as you both retracted your hands. "Kifaji has asked me to dress you for the occasion."

"The festival?"

"Leona brought a girl home!" Falena cut in, the smile surely cemented on his face at this point. "A sign things are turning around for my little brother, to be sure!"

"O-Oh! No, wait, I'm--" You practically choked on your words trying to get them out fast enough, feeling your face burning again, "Leona and I aren't a couple!"

"I know! But everything Kifaji told us over the phone just makes it all the more interesting!" He gushed grabbing your shoulders. "Forgive me for being forward, but you smell like him! You must be together often!"

"I-I just keep watch while he naps, it's not like we--"

"Falena. You are making her nervous." Shani said sharply, trying to hide her amused smile as she swatted his hands off you and looped her arm into yours. "Come, we should get you into something else before Leona comes looking for you."

She didn't wait for a response before pulling you off towards the door she came through. You glanced back to Kifaji and Falena, seeing them both smiling at you, though Kifaji's looked nefarious. You faced forward again, looking up at the glamorous woman holding your arm, still amazed that you'd just met the crown prince and princess. Shani led you down the hall and into a large bedroom, turning quickly into a nearly equally large closet. Gorgeous outfits-- if you were to judge just based on the fabric-- lined the walls on either side, the far wall was large, open windows looking over the expanse of the savanna, and the wall behind was adorned with large mirrors. You couldn't help but be impressed as Shani practically floated across the room and picked up a dress that was already waiting on a chair and held it up for you.

"I hope you don't mind, I already picked something out for you." She explained as she approached. "Don't worry about the length, we can work with it however we need. This is going home with you."

"What? No, I couldn't." You said quickly as she deposited the dress in your hands.

"Do you see where we are right now? You absolutely can." She laughed, gesturing to the lines of clothes. "Go ahead and get changed, I'll be right outside, just let me know when you're ready."

Her nose scrunched up adorably in her excitement as she smiled even wider at your for a moment, her hands clapping under her chin once before she exited the room, closing the door behind her. Alone, you sighed at the absolute whirlwind you'd just gone through. You turned to the large mirrors on the closest wall and held the dress up to your body. It would definitely be long, but Shani was a tall woman who seemed to like wearing heels, so you weren't terribly surprised. Resigned to your fate, you began to change out of your current outfit. The dress had very thin straps, so your sports bra would have to go. Once actually in the dress, it fit remarkably well, other than the length. The thin straps spread down into a V neck and stretched to the skirt in the back, the skirt itself starting a little below the bust, similar to a halter top. You couldn't help but notice the patterns on the fabric coordinated to Leona's cloak, bright orange and black not helping the case. You folded your clothes into a neat pile in front of the mirror, honestly a little relieved how well the dress held up to movement, no risk of spilling out the sides or front when lifting your arms or bending over.

"Shani? I'm ready." You called to the door, hiking the skirt up to walk over.

She entered the room again with an excited smile, looking you up and down as you stood there.

"You are definitely shorter than me." She laughed as you let the skirt go, a few inches of fabric bundling up at your feet. "But we can fix that, easy. Ten minutes. First!" She walked over to a chest of drawers, pulling off a length of fabric she'd set on top. "Do you know how to wrap your hair? Keep it off your neck and out of your eyes."

"I do not." You shook your head prompting her to wave you off.

"I can teach you, it's very easy." She smiled, joining you at the mirror again.

She turned you to face the mirror, standing behind you and draping the fabric over your shoulders. She undid the braid your hair was always in, gently combing the knots out of your hair with her fingers.

"I always used to do this with my little sisters." She explained softly as she styled your hair to the top of your head in a large bun. "I love Cheka with all my heart and soul, but I do so hope we have a little girl some day, I miss having girls around to dress up with and do hair and everything."

"What, Cheka doesn't let you do his hair?" You smiled at her in the mirror as she began wrapping the scarf, making sure you were carefully watching her steps.

She laughed brightly. "He does! But as he gets older he may not. Plus, there isn’t exactly a ton of hair to work with, he prefers to keep it short."

"No, I get what you mean though." You said fondly. "I used to have my mom do my hair all the time, but she was always there to fix it when I eventually took it out and complained about it being in my face."

"Where are you from, by the way?"

Your face fell at the question. "It doesn't really matter. Crowley doesn't seem like he's able to send me back anyhow."

Shani looked like she was about to press further, but stopped herself. "There, all done." She said with another warm smile as she smoothed out some of the wrinkles in the turban style she'd done. "Not half bad, if I do say so myself."

"It looks great, thank you." You were smiling again, not pointing out the, again, same fabric Leona had on his scarf. Maybe it was a common pattern? You somehow doubted it.

"Now, I have a few accessories for you to tie it all together." She explained, walking over to a shelf opposite the chest of drawers. "I will have you put these on to see how they look, then you give me the dress and I will hem the bottom up for you."

"Thank you for this, Shani." You said sincerely, turning to look at her with a warm smile. "You really didn't have to go to these lengths."

"Nonsense, a friend of Leona's is a friend of ours." She assured you. "We want to make sure you enjoy your first time to the Sunset Savanna to the fullest."

Leona and the others had arrived at the palace, Leona planning to swipe a car to avoid having to take Kifaji with them. However, to his surprise, Kifaji was already outside speaking with one of the guards at the door.

"Oh for fucks sake..." Leona growled as he connected the dots.

"What?" Kalim asked, glancing over to the chamberlain. "Oh, it's Kifaji! Hey Kifaji!"

The chamberlain looked up in surprise at the call of his name, locking eyes with a furious Leona and giving him another sly smile.

"Wait here." Leona snapped at the group, not giving them a chance to protest before marching over to the door. "What the hell?!"

"Ah, Prince Leona." Kifaji said coolly as the guard stood at attention for the prince's approach. "I was under the impression you were not coming home during your visit."

"That why you brought Yuu here?" He spat. "Thought you were goin' to the hotel."

"I don't recall ever saying my arrangements were at the hotel." Kifaji said, though the infuriating smile and raise of his eyebrows suggested he knew exactly what he was up to.

Leona pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering expletives under his breath before looking back up. "Where is Yuu? We're goin'."

"She is changing, currently. You and your friends are more than welcome to wait inside, if you'd prefer."

"Yeah, ya’d like that, wouldn’t ya. Did Falena put you up to thi--"

"UNCA!"

Leona nearly instinctively side stepped the little ball of fiery orange that flung itself into his arms, grunting as the fuzzball impacted into his abdomen. Kifaji, while now safe from the verbal lashing Leona wanted to deal out, was not safe from the deadly glare that was shot his way.

“Quit clingin’ to me like that! Knock it off!” Leona snapped halfheartedly at his nephew who, undeterred by the tone, continued to beam up at him.

“I got so excited when I heard you were coming home!” The boy chirped quickly, grabbing his uncle’s hand and swinging it back and forth. “Can I hang out with you guys?”

Leona ignored the amused muttering of his schoolmates behind him as he rolled his eyes at the child’s antics.

Cheka continued, still swinging Leona’s arm around. “Mama said to be on the lookout for you! Do you wanna come play with me? We could play tag, or hide-and-seek, or--”

“Cheka.” Leona snarled, finally making the boy stop. “What was that about your mother?”

“Oh… I wasn’t supposed to tell.”

“Oh for fff…” Leona let the curse fizzle out into a loud grumble, trying to rub away the headache blooming in his temple. Of course it was Shani’s idea.

“I should go tell Mama you’re here!” Cheka said excitedly, darting off before Leona could stop him.

You slipped into the newly hemmed dress, a new length of fabric now flaring out the bottom that, once again, highly suspiciously matched the fabric of Leona's pants. Three times makes a pattern, damn if it didn't look good though. You were about to call out to Shani when you heard giggling through the door, and a boy's voice talking. You waited a moment before Shani knocked, sounding amused.

"All ready in there?" She called out.

"Yeah, ready." You called back, prompting her to enter the room.

Her smile grew ever wider as she looked at your outfit. "I've one more thing, and we need to be quick. Seems we've been found out."

There was a small gasp as Shani walked into the room, a tiny mess of ginger hair standing in the bedroom.

"I remember you!" Cheka said excitedly. "You're Unca's friend! From school!"

"I am! It's nice to see you again, Cheka!" You replied just as enthusiastically as Shani pulled one more thing off the shelf.

"It's nice to see you too! You match Unca!"

"I knew I wasn't crazy!" You nearly shouted, turning to Shani as your face burned again. She at least had the decency to look a little guilty.

"Yuu, you are a beautiful girl in an unfamiliar place." She explained, walking forward and wrapping something around your waist. "These are recognizable patterns of the leader of the Sunset Warriors, of the second prince, no one would dare do anything to you while you are wearing these."

"Do anything?" You echoed as she fastened the belt, which matched the rest of the boys'.

"Swindle you, pickpocket, worse." She listed grimly as she adjusted your necklace. "Sunrise City is as safe a city as any during a heavy tourist season. We want you to enjoy your time here, not wonder where your wallet may have gone."

"I..." you sighed heavily. "I get that. Thank you, really. This is all very generous."

"You can pay me back by marrying my brother in law." Shani teased as she exited the closet, making your face burn tenfold.

"Hey!"

"YOU AND UNCA ARE GETTING MARRIED?!"

"Oops…"

Cheka insisted you carry him through the halls, Shani nearly telling him to return to his studies before you assured her that it was fine. You spent the entire walk trying to explain to the boy that, no, you were not marrying his uncle. Cheka, however, kept talking about the imaginary wedding and all the things you needed to have there. You resigned yourself to not stopping him. He was talking about the cake when you entered the large room you'd first met Falena and Shani.

"Aha! There she is! A much more appropriate look for your guest, don't you agree, brother?" Falena said, prompting you to turn your gaze from Cheka to him, looking just in time to watch him clap Leona on the back.

Leona said nothing, just staring for a moment before clicking his tongue and looking away. You took this as annoyance for a moment before Cheka spoke up.

"Unca, unca!" Cheka said excitedly from your arms. "When you two get married you need to have a BIG cake, okay? And there needs to be chocolate, and 'biscus, and--"

"Married?" He asked incredulously, turning back to look at the boy, not able to hide the red on his cheeks now, before looking to Shani. "What did you do?"

"Children have impressive imaginations, don't they?" She asked pleasantly, taking Cheka from your arms to hers. "Thank you for letting me dress you, Yuu."

"Thank you for dressing me," you smiled at her, ignoring the burning on your own cheeks, "it was fun."

She smiled before taking your hand and leaning in to whisper to you. "If you cannot go home for school holidays, our home is open to you, just say the word."

You nearly teared up at this, simply nodding and squeezing her hand. "Thanks for everything, Shani."

Falena laughed as you walked over to join him and Leona, who had his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "I'd give you some words of warning, but you seem to know how to handle my brother better than I do at this point!"

"He's not so bad." You chuckled as he pointedly refused to look at you. "It was nice to meet you, Falena."

"You too! Come back anytime!" He beamed down at you before Leona grabbed your arm and started dragging you out of the room.

You waved back to the crown prince and princess as you were hauled out of the room and into the hall. Leona dragged you towards the entrance before making a sharp left a few doors down into another hallway.

"Leona--?"

"Shut up."

Your mouth closed with a clack of your teeth at his words, and you suddenly felt ashamed of your actions. Were you supposed to text him an SOS as soon as you realized where you were? When you realized what was happening? Before you could think about it further, he dragged you into a room at the end of the hall and shut the door, quickly caging you with his arms against it.

"What did they tell you?" He growled low, a dangerous tone you'd only heard a few times since you first stepped on his tail in the garden.

"N-Nothing--"

"Don't play dumb with me right now, herbivore, what did they say?"

"Kifaji and Falena kept saying that you're nice to me, and Shani said if I wore your patterns I'm less likely to get robbed." You said quickly, omitting her comment about marriage. "I was mostly with Shani, we talked about her sisters and my mom and the outfit, that's it."

His green eyes stared into your soul for a moment before he grumbled something under his breath, leaning forward to press his forehead against the wall next to your head.

"Leona?"

"Shani thinks she's funny." He said quietly, you could feel his breath against your ear as he spoke. "Makin' you match me, in public no less..."

"I'm sure she didn't mean anything by it--"

"Are you?" He asked, pulling back to look you in the eyes again, closer this time. "She's making fun of me."

"She's not."

"You don't know her."

"She's not making fun of you." You whispered, not breaking eye contact.

"You don't know what I say in those phone calls home." He muttered back. "Lemme guess, Shani already had that dress picked out for you, as if she plucked it from her own closet."

"...Yes?"

"You think the crown princess would ever wear the second-born's pattern?" He leaned in again, his jaw bumping your cheek as he moved to whisper in your ear. "She had that made for you, on purpose, for the day you eventually showed up."

"W-What do you say... in the calls home...?" You asked hesitantly, resisting the urge to reach your arms around him.

"Too much, apparently." He chuckled softly, lips grazing the shell of your ear. You felt like you would combust into flames any second. "Looks good on you though... suits you."

"L-Leona?"

He pulled back again, close enough to bump noses. "We have to get to the springs, otherwise our resident pretty princess won't play tomorrow." He whispered, still making no move to pull away.

"What..." your wet your suddenly very dry lips, not missing how Leona's eyes flicked down for just a second to catch the motion, "what did you mean by "when I eventually showed up...?""

"I said, don't play dumb, Yuu. You think I let just anyone braid my hair? You think I didn't notice that you do that while I'm tryin' to sleep?" He chuckled again, his grin almost looking like he was just flashing his teeth at you. "I pretend to not notice a lot of things."

"I'm not just anyone...?"

"You haven't been "just anyone" for awhile now." He muttered leaning in just a little closer, his nose brushing against yours gently before he stopped. "We need to go."

He let the moment hang in the minuscule amount of air between you for a second longer before finally pulling away, glancing over your outfit again as he did, making a triumphant little noise.

"Looks good on you." He muttered again before grabbing you by the arm to pull you away from the door.

Once you were out of the way, he opened the door again and walked out into the hallway, leaving you feeling like your knees were about to give out. With a moment to look around the room, you realized he'd pulled you into a bedroom that looked a little too similar to his back at the college.

"Herbivore." He barked from down the hall, kick starting you again.

"Y-Yeah!" You called back before hiking your skirt and jogging to catch up to him again.

If your friends, namely Vil, noticed the similarities between your outfit and Leona's, they were gracious enough not to say anything about it. You were, however, highly complimented on it, Kalim making a point to spin you around to see the dress twirl. Kifaji had a very self satisfied look on his face off to the side, which was quickly wiped away when Leona finally announced his plan to leave him in the dust.

Back at Night Raven College, you and Leona went back to your normal routine as if nothing had ever happened. You almost wondered if it had been a very sweet dream until you saw the dress in your closet again. You grabbed the skirt, rubbing the fabric between your thumb and index finger, as if to remind yourself that it was real. It had happened.

"What? You longin' for the Sunset Savanna again?" Grim asked from your bed, you'd nearly forgotten he was there. "I am. You really missed out on that meat, hench-human. I wouldn't mind goin' back."

"Yeah... me neither." You sighed, releasing the dress. You stared at it longingly for another moment before shutting the closet door to continue getting ready for bed. A very sweet dream indeed.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE MY WORK TO TRAIN AI

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #leona kingscholar #twst leona #leona kingscholar x reader #twisted wonderland fic #fem!reader #cloudcalling on the savanna #mine #the beginning is a little rough but i've been up for over 20 hours it gets better pls i dont know how to start a fic naturally #listen this is the first time i've felt comfortable posting a fic in SUCH a long time pls be nice

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