#like almost all my favs??! in ONE GAME???

[fuschiarulerinthebluebox]

Honestly this is one of the things I like about Rook, they’re NOT qualified for any of the things they’re doing. Like yeah they’ve got some background qualifications but they’re pretty average, just a normal person thrown into trying to save the world. They’re just a little guy ™ who’s personable and pretty solid at planning and utilising the skill sets of people around them (and frankly that’s a deeply undervalued skill in itself, like if you’ve ever had a bad project manager YOU KNOW how big a difference it can make). And let’s be clear, if you’re only picking the generic dialogue options it’s obviously going to feel like Rook has no fucking clue, the faction/background options add so much flavor, I love the little moments where Rook gets to nerd out with the rest of the group. Some of them definitely feel more impactful (looking at you Mourn Watch) but they absolutely allow Rook to speak peer to peer and be competent. But it’s not like the professionals know what they’re doing all the time either, just look at Lucanis at Weisshaupt.

I’ve seen a lot of really interesting takes, my fav is from @fanfoolishness, that even though no one directly addresses Varric’s death with Rook, they’re supportive/ hold space in their own ways (eg. Neve at the Wall of Light, Emmrich in the gardens, Davrin just taking a walk, Bellara having Rook help her light the braziers for Cyrian, Lucanis having Rook help plan the funeral). And navigating a death that big is hard even if you know someone really well, I do wish they had spent a little more time processing that after Rook figures it out but I get why they didn’t as far as timeline. My first play through was MW and I definitely had a moment of “oh no, I haven’t done any rites for Varric”. I do really like the head cannon/ theory that Solas inadvertently tied a little piece of Varric to Rook when he did his little blood magic nonsense, and Rook really is seeing some echo of him.

Along those same lines, as much as I love petting Assan and playing rock paper scissors with Manfred, I wish they had let Rook interact with the party more at the lighthouse outside of the special conversations. Rook in a lot of ways does act like the group therapist, and I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. Can it be a little tedious as the player? Yeah, but for the characters it’s a natural progression of trusting what is essentially your coworker to becoming friends you rely on. Then there’s the twisted funhouse mirror of this same progression with Rook and Solas, going from almost-enemies to not-totally-truthful confidants and then unlikely-unsteady-forced-proximity allies.

I think at its core, Rook feels like a companion to all these “Main Characters” because Varric chose someone like him. Someone who is kind and helpful (see also: all those complaints you can play a mean/evil Rook), makes goofy jokes, listens to the people around them, and isn’t necessarily a hero but can make those hard choices if they need to. And yeah at a meta level it could just be poor writing or the game having been worked over by so many changes over a decade, but if we the player trust Varric we have to remember that Varric and Rook have been traveling together for more than a year and Varric trusts Rook. Rook is leading because Varric trusts them to do what’s right, not because they’re the absolute best at everything, not because they’re a hero. Trust.

This was probably way longer than it needed to be and rambled a little a lot , but I do think it’s a pretty solid game especially after so many revisions, and keeps the souls of a Dragon Age game.

What’s really jumping out at me on my second playthrough is that the writers of the first three games understood that your character was the main character. The Veilguard writers clearly thought that the main characters were their characters, the companions.

Every scene is about setting the companions up as cool or competent or sympathetic. Often, this is done at Rook’s expense. The companions get all the witty one-liners; Rook’s attempts at humor not only frequently fall flat, but are frequently called out for falling flat (even when they’re completely automatic and the player has no say in them).

The companions have all the knowledge and skills; Rook just brought them all together and gives them all pep talks so they can focus. I’m trying to edit out all of the comments where Rook is like “Um… what????” from my videos, and let me tell you, it takes WORK. There are A LOT of them. I can count on one hand the number of times when the Inquisitor or Hawke comes across as dumb, but it seems to be a built-in, unavoidable part of Rook’s character. I have not selected a single “purple” option in all of Act 1, and Rook is still coming across as the kid who tries to be the class clown to cover for the fact that he’s always confused. Rook’s role in most scenes is to say “Uhhh… what?” so that the companions look smart.

Rook is always the one offering sympathy and never the one getting it. No one actually comes to comfort you after Varric’s death. No one asks you how you’re feeling about having to lead the team now that Varric is gone. No one tries to reassure you or give you advice for dealing with the trickster god haunting your dreams. We’re told that Neve could keep Solas out of your head, but she never actually offers to do this for you. No one comforts a Shadow Dragon Rook when Minrathous is destroyed or a Grey Warden Rook when Weisshaupt is destroyed. Rook’s problems don’t matter. Only the problems of main characters matter.

Rook is a secondary character in their own story.

[mustasekittens]

i'm back in the fucking building

[lovesickeros]

☆ de fontaine

{☆} characters furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings angst, suicidal thoughts, hurt / no comfort {☆} word count 1.4k

This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair!

She thought, for one moment, she could put the mask down and breathe – for one moment of daydreaming, she thought she could just be Furina. She thought she would finally get to live the live she should've had in the first place, the life she threw away to play God to an audience who saw her as nothing but a circus animal, dancing to their whims. Furina just wanted to be selfish for one brief and fleeting moment..and it was gone before she could even grasp it in her hand. A comet soaring past far out of her reach.

She can barely keep her hands from violently shaking as she looks down at them – broken and bloody and more a corpse then a person – and she feels so numb she can't even feel the rain pelting against her back. None of this is fair, she wants to scream, why is it always me? But her voice is silent beneath the torrent of rain. She wonders if the ocean would take her if she sank into it's depths – just for a moment, she wonders how it would feel to finally be able to sleep at ease.

Furina is tired.

But Furina is nothing if not useful, isn't she?

So she forces her feet to move, dragging against the stone beneath her heels, and drags their bloodied body into the nearest empty building, letting the rain do the work of washing away the smeared blood following her path. The smell makes her feel sick, the feeling of it sticking to her hands and gloves makes her lightheaded, but she persists. Because Furina is useful, because Furina won't let them die out in the rain, because Furina won't stand by and just let them rot on the streets like some..pest.

Furina wants to go home. She wants to sleep and she isn't she if she wants to wake up, this time. But she keeps going anyway.

Because it's all she's ever done, and the habit sticks.

An Archon she may not be, not anymore, but the expectations of five hundred years still linger like eyes on the inside of her skull. They watch her, pry and prod at her thoughts, mocking laughter and judging eyes following her as she forces herself to dance to the song they weave with glee. Furina never stepped off that stage – she's still there, she thinks, watching the crowd stare at her in disdain as the curtain call looms above her like a guillotine. She still hears Neuvillette deliver her damnation and salvation with a trembling voice, still feels her hair stand on end when electro crackled like the crack of the whip, Clorinde's blade aimed at her like a loaded gun.

She's trapped on that stage and she never left, not really.

She hates it. She thinks she hates them, but it's not their fault. They didn't ask for this, didn't ask for everyone to turn against them, didn't ask for her to save them. Neither did she..yet here they are, she thinks.

She tries to tell herself she's in control this time, though. She can stop performing her part in this horrible, bloody play any time she wants. It makes her feel better, just for a little while, if she convinces herself she's still Furina, painfully human.

And Furina has always been good at lying.

It's the believing that's the hard part.

There isn't time for her to wallow in her own self pity, though. They're still bleeding out onto the dusty, creaky floorboards of some random, broken down house and she's just standing there as the blood stains the wood. She can fix it – she's good at fixing things. She's done nothing but fix things – try to, anyway – for five hundred years. She can fix a little wound, how hard could it be? Her hands are clenched so tight they ache as she kneels down, wincing at the creak of the floorboards beneath her heels– she hesitates just long enough to wonder if she's making a mistake before she peels away just enough of the outer layer of their clothes to see the deep, bloody gash across their chest. She tries not to think about it – it's deep, too deep, and she feels dizzy just looking at it, but she's handled worse, right?

Furina can fix it. That's what she's good at.

She doesn't feel so confident when she tries to wrack her brain for..something. Five hundred years, and a little wound stumps her? No, she had to have learned something, right? She's decidedly not trying to buy time because she's panicking, parsing through hundreds of years of memories like flipping through a book. Furina isn't made for this, not really – she's running on nothing but adrenaline and she's really not sure what she's doing, but she's trying. And just like before, it won't be enough, will it?

She'll fall short again – she'll be too late to fix it before she's alone again.

Furina was an Archon..used to be. What use would she have for that sort of knowledge? Which makes her predicament all the more harrowing and bleak. What was she supposed to do?

Furina had heard it first hand, that vitriol in Neuvillette's voice. She isn't sure she's ever heard him that..angry before. She's not sure he would listen to her if she tried, either. And that scares her more then anything. All of Fontaine was up in arms about this..imposter, yet here she was, staring down at them bleeding out in front of her, and she was trying to save them.

Why? Why is she throwing away her only chance at normalcy for a fraud? Why didn't she just turn them in?

They were dying – that should've been a good thing, shouldn't it? So why didn't it feel like it?

"Why you?" Her voice breaks as she speaks in harsh tones, grabbing the front of their shirt in trembling, bloodied hands. "Why now?" She wants to scream, to demand answers they can't give, to claw back the reprieve she was promised after five hundred years of agony..and all she can do is sob into their chest, pleading for an answer that will not come. "Why me?"

Silence is their answer, and it hangs heavy on her trembling shoulders as she cries.

Of course they don't, she thinks bitterly, no one has ever answered her pleas spoken in hushed sobs. Not her other self and certainly not them.

Furina has always been alone. Furina will always be alone.

Because Furina never left that stage, never left that moment when she looked at herself in the mirror and took up a mantle too heavy for her to bear. She always finds her way back eventually. There's no one on the other side anymore – she stands alone on a stage, waiting for an inevitable end she isn't sure will come.

"Please," She pleads through tears and choked sobs, clinging to them like they are all that keeps her from sinking. "Please don't leave me, too." The words burn on her tongue – how pathetic is she that she craves companionship from the bloodied body of the imposter? Perhaps she's truly lost her mind after all these years..perhaps she's finally gone mad. She must have.

But their presence is like the first feeling of gentle warmth upon her skin as the sun crests the horizon, like the gentle lap of tides along her heels, the sway of branches and leaves as the wind blows through them like an instrument all it's own. They are the soothing sound of rain against the window as she watches the dreary skies in fond longing, the first bloom of spring as color blooms upon the landscape like paint had been spilled across the hills and valleys.

They are like the faint spark she carefully nurtures and stokes, so fragile even the smallest wind could blow it out like a candle. She cradles it within her palms, pleads with whoever will listen – prays that someone finally listens, because if not for her, then for them.

She's failed to protect too much already, let too many people with so much trust in her fall between the cracks of her fingers like grains of sand. She won't let them go – she can't.

If nothing else, if she couldn't be saved when she begged for salvation from that five hundred year long agony, even if she never got that chance..

Furina will make sure they do.

[ganondoodle]

im not lying when i say that i was just finally getting "over" totk, like i hate it still, but the immediate anger and need to rant has died down-

and then the elden ring DLC fucks with me in a very similar way, just even moreso focused on my favorite character in that entire franchise, completely unexpectedly, and the more i learn about it the worse it gets and now i feel even worse bc i dont have the energy anymore to get as angry as i did with totk and its just kinda ... depression and sadness ..

it was like the interest i could fall back to when zelda annoyed me too much or i needed a break from that and i was honestly thinking about doing more with it but now

i know i know i can always draw 'my own stuff' but being a fan of a piece of media or character is just fun and .. furfilling to me in a different way and now i feel so empty again ... and finding new things to obsess about is easier said and done bc i dont 'decide' to stop liking something and neither can just decide to obsess over something so im just kinda left hanging here ... and in a way, i still like it and care about it, frustratingly so, and dont WANT to just stop and find soemthign new ...

[klbzplb]

honestly still the biggest personal tragedy of session 5 is that when grian joined gem in the tower building. in gems episode, there were almost a solid 10 minutes of just that. them hanging out, calm, peaceful, no danger, away from people that could hurt them . and guess what ? grian left LESS THAN 3 MINUTES OF THAT IN HIS EPISODE dbjksffejw

[raetttriestowrite]

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

Thank you TK for the ask!!!! Fanfic Writers: Director’s Cut - author's pick!

So author's pick is a cruel cruel joke bc as soon as you sent that my head emptied of like. everything ever that i wanted to talk about 😂 and i could talk about a lot of things.

So! i'm going about this bit from Take the Photographs (and then like. The Bleeding Effect as a whole):

"[The animus] doesn't work like that," Desmond disagrees, shaking his head. "To pick up the skills you have to synchronise, and to synchronise is to invite them into your head to Bleed. Can't have one without the other."

So! Okay!! My kinda headcanon kinda How It Works in BTMTMIM for the Bleeding Effect, and the reason Desmond's all kinda fucked up about it.

There are 2 ways that the animus could work:

you watch your ancestors memories as like. a movie. 3rd party observer style

you experience the memories as though they're your own.

Rebecca is trying to move the animus towards the first way, to reduce the Bleeding Effect. But. okay. how much do you learn if you just watch someone else do a thing? i could watch martial arts videos all day and at the end i'd still be just as incapable as i was when i started. SO. Realistically the first way would achieve nothing to help train Desmond into a better assassin, which was the whole point.

Therefore, the second way, where you experience the memories as though they're your own, would be the way to gain the abilities of your ancestor. you'd build muscle memory off of their actions bc you're remembering them as your own actions. so it'd be functionally the same as practicing for the amount of memory-time that pasts. Kinda.

Which is where i come in with the sync thing. So obviously there's sync rates - higher is better, lower is worse. So the way i'm thinking of it is like. the more you can immerse yourself in the memory, the higher the sync and the more effective it is for learning shit, bc you move away from the 3rd party observer thing. but like. a memory is not only actions. it's thoughts and feelings. so the more Desmond sync's the more he feels like you is his ancestor, bc he's remembering the events as Altair or Ezio or Connor would remember them, and he remembers being Altair or Ezio or Connor. He remmebers being them. In that memory he stops being Desmond and becomes his ancestor.

And that? that lingers. right. so sure there's 25? years of memories rattling around in his skull in which he's Desmond Miles. But there's also like. a decade worth of being Altair, and fucking. 4 decades of Ezio and another 2? or Connor. and there's a part of him that is convinced that he was that ancestor for that time. they're his memories.

(Which is what fucked up Clay so bad. He could remember too many people and couldn't figure out who was who was when.)

Anyway. So. Desmond achieved high sync which meant lots of memories of not being Desmond. and so the Bleeding Effect is just. when his memories of Alltair or Ezio or Connor are more who he is than Desmond. for that brief instant. So now he's desperately trying to organise the memories into some kinda way? and hoping that if he can box it all up right, acknowledge each memory as whose it is as Desmond and make it Desmond's memory, rather than his ancestors, he'll manage to curtail the Bleeding Effect personality shifts he's dealing with.

And then there was this bit from You'll Find a Man:

"It's good to meet you," Booker says perhaps halfway down. He's moving better now, easier, the drugs having worn off a bit. "And no offense, Jack, but I'm glad to be out of your head." "You as well, fratello mio," Jack says, crooking a smile at the pale blue-gold figure. It's as good a name as any of his others.

which long story short, and was not have been 100% clear in the story, but Des got a new personality wholesale bc like. He's wildly fucked up and Desmond couldn't deal with being in That Room in Abstergo. Self preservation kicked in and he ended up just. remembering everything from everyone, (where usually the Altair/Ezio/Connor shift's only remember themselves) and accepted the new name bc he wasn't really any one of them, but all 4. bc all memories.

and That. spoilers. is going to eventually lead into my Fix for Desmond's fucked up brain problems, where he does get a handle on the Bleeding Effect. bc like. Clay did it... (Clay doesn't count he rend himself down to code and could rewrite his whole being if he wanted.)... actually. there is a hint of this eventual solution in When The Lonesome Whistle Cries. kudos if anyone can pick it out and draw the correct conclusion. I've been building towards this for fucking ever and cannot wait to get to it proper in the fic.

i'm actually fucking pumped to get that whole bit out, even though it's. uh. ???? idk when it's gonna happen but it's there. it's one of those threads i've been carrying along from the start. Apologies if any of my readers wanted to wallow in the uncertainty and angst of the if Des will ever fix his brain. spoilers, i guess?

Anyway. there you go. that's my mildly incomprehensible and incoherent rambling thoughts on the Bleeding Effect, as it exists in Bless This Mess This Mess Is Mine 'verse. Thanks for letting me talk about it!! <3<3<3<3

[elisedonut]

so this is really niche and probably wont make sense to alot of people but amnesia memories Percy centric au where Oliver gets to be a little toxic as a treat and takes Toma's place, putting Percy in the cage(tm) in a messed up delusional attempt to protect him

[love-fireflysong]

Been back in ff8 hyperfixation ever since I found that mini-Rinoa, so I'm seriously considering replaying it once I finish my Tales of Graces platinum lol.

It's been like 15 years since I last played it, so I think it's due for a replay at this point anyways dhskslsjsl

The only question is which version I want to play. Do I dig out my og playstation copy and blow the dust off my ps2? Or do I shell out the $26 it costs for the remastered version with slightly more polished graphics and, most importantly, trophies (and a new platinum) to obtain? Hmmmm, decisions decisions 🤔

[orcelito]

ykno i was wondering if Dohalim would be promoted to the same level as Yuri Lowell in my mind. bc ive been in love with Yuri Lowell for yeaaars now.

and you know what. i think he already has been lmaooo

sorry Yuri, u got a rival in my heart

[chisungie]

.

[llamasgotoheaven]

So does anybody else dislike the art direction for the 3d graphics in dragon age inquisition and dread wolf or is it just me

[guubiiz]

heartslabyul would be named my favorite dorm if i didn’t despise riddle.

[lilacxquartz]

love you, love you, love you;

mr. crawling x reader

plot: some things are best expressed without the need of words — themes: spooning/cuddling, smut, maybe yan vibes — w.c: 1.1k

a/n: my first homicipher related fic. i want to try one for mr. silvair & mr. gap next, bc they were also my favs. this game has been taking over my life so much lately. like it’s been in my dreams, haaah.

masterlist • ao3

Mr. Crawling was always loud when he was excited within your company; his laughter filled out the vast empty spaces that were otherwise unadorned with familiarity. Whatever you once sought from those winding corridors was ever-fleeting, temporary, leaving you stuck within the confines of his company.

Yet, when he felt what you could only interpret as affection—that’s when Mr. Crawling then became different—quiet, soothing, kind but also… curious.

And when you would usually sleep, he would stand watch, knelt over the floor as per his usual stance but sometimes crouched near you, sometimes leaning back against the wall with his legs pressed up against his chest. He would watch you as his life depended on it, unwavering in focus and with eerie intensity. He would watch as your chest rose and fell, leaning close on occasion to catch the sweep of your breath and sometimes, he would trace the pad of his milky fingertips in long, languid strokes against your face. Always so delicate, so tender, but for the most part, quiet and even shy.

Having once caught a glimpse of Mr. Gap in your blanket space, however, set something territorial off for Mr. Crawling and he was never able to recover from such an invasion. The very idea that someone else was able to infiltrate what he deemed to be your space—especially someone who he disapproved of—wasn’t something he could stand for. Especially with the sort of trickster Mr. Gap was, he couldn’t bear to see you get hurt. It would kill him on the inside (and on the outside, too).

So, just as you were getting into bed to rest up once more, he too, slipped in under the covers with you. At first, you were startled as usual, turning to face him with confusion evident in your eyes, murmuring out some words in a language that he still could not understand. He repeated something back, the meaning lost and indecipherable upon your ears, though soon surrendering to emphasis using gestures instead. A hug to bring you closer, a reassuring pat on your head and a small, longing kiss over your nose.

You listened to his words again, repeating over and over like a broken record.

Perhaps he meant no harm, after all.

You turned your back to him and settled into his chest, finding that he was surprisingly warm for what he was. His taller frame encased your body, wrapping his ashen arms around your waist—accidentally brushing the fabric that sat over your breast—nicking the cloth ever so slightly. Your breath hitched in surprise and as though in sheepish realisation, he withdrew right away, terrified that you were upset with him.

You drew out a long breath, reminding yourself again, that after everything that has happened thus far…

That, Mr. Crawling does not want to hurt you.

That Mr. Crawling has only ever helped you.

So perhaps, right now, Mr. Crawling only wanted to be closer to you.

You relaxed your breathing, settling into his comforting shadow once more and allowed for his presence to envelop you. He repeated the soothing motions of his grappling arm, although he held onto you softer that time. His hands explored your body with a delicate touch, as though afraid of breaking you—of upsetting you again—his motions growing confident the longer that you didn’t protest. It wasn’t long before he, otherwise not disturbed by your lacking, conscious awareness, decided to explore further with you. Mr. Crawling’s fingers didn’t ask for permission that time, creeping beneath the clinging fabric, feeling your skin against his palms, inviting a pleased, almost delighted smile to curl on his lips.

The silence remained unbroken as Mr. Crawling continued his explorative focus on you; the quickly-building evidence of his need growing harder the longer he pushed himself behind your body, the repeated touches arousing something warmer within him. To both his surprise as well as your own—you were not repulsed, allowing him to creep even lower, below the skirt of the dress and up, brushing his hand up to your exposed skin and, reading into it—you communicated your consent from the moment you parted your legs, allowing him to get even closer.

Confidence surged in Mr. Crawling as he pushed himself into your hilt, allowing his hardened length to slip inside. Betraying the stagnant silence, he shuddered out a ragged gasp before giving into his own rising need; grinding himself into your sopping sex with steadily increasing fervour. His fingers clamped around the curve of your hips as he held you in place, slamming every last inch of himself deep into your core.

Ever touch-starved yet wanting nothing more than to surrender to the sensation of you, Mr. Crawling continued to drive his cock into your needy cunt, soon wrapping his winding arms around your body and holding on tight. He bucked intensely as you soon succumbed to breathless whimpers, incoherently begging for his name. Equally desperate whines rolled off the slip of his tongue as he found his lips pressed into the crook of your neck, dampening your skin with sloppy wet kisses—as many as he could give.

It felt overwhelming for you in a way to be worshipped like this but you did your best to keep up with such intensity, especially as the warm, tingling pleasure built up inside of you, too. You held on just as tight as he did, your hand seeking out his own—fingers weaving into his bony digits—interlocking and squeezing tight the closer you got, your grip and otherwise clenching need tightening simultaneously. To feel him losing himself inside of you was dare you admit, addicting, feeling him completely fill and stretch you out leaving you almost dizzied from the impaling force.

Mr. Crawling, like you, soon surrendered to the rolling bliss from the flick of his hips, feeling a surging warmth mount and rise, encouraging him to lose himself to the searing heat of the moment and you. Encircling your body in a possessive hug, he suddenly began to mutter out a new word in a strained mantra, again and again.

Given how desperate he seemed to be, you understood the meaning as ‘close’, especially as his actions grew more strained and less controlled.

“Close, close, close,” he repeated.

It didn’t take his chased release to catch up as his hips grew to a stutter, rutting out one final pump before melting into you. Mr. Crawling cried into your neck, spilling out the entirety of his overflowing love, feeling the pent-up devotion trickle down your thighs—yet not letting you move away—still retaining his claim on you.

Instead, he kept you even closer than before, not allowing you to part from him ever again (despite understanding your yearning for rest).

Words were never the problem, it seemed.

Mr. Crawling would have always found a way to… connect with you.

[azsunaa]

the fact that "ive never heard of it" is at 50% is not surprising, but damn..

Requested by @jukeboxnt and @mqole

[soulwrencher]

Hi!!!! I don’t know if you take request.. but I can’t stop thinking about vi coming home from the gym, or reader going to meet vi at her gym? But her sweaty abs? Those back muscles? Those arms? 😩 and vi just being so smug about it because she knows the effect she has on reader 😭

yesss i like this! note: i don't really workout at the gym (embarrassing i know...), so if this is super unrealistic just... gawk over her body! be horny!

also you should totally read this by my fav writer ever if you haven't already, you'll be OBSESSED. kisses n hugs @vampiefemme 😘

1, 2, 3, 4,... were you counting your own reps or vi's? your mouth was practically on the floor, eyes ogling at her back from afar. there's quite the distance between you and where she is working out at, but that doesn't stop you from dislocating your neck to watch her do pull-downs.

there is just something about the way she's built, tattoo climbing down her neck as well as the usually headache inducing overhead lights making the sweat on her traps shine, and her big, to drool over, triceps. and fuck were they moving with every pull too, actively flexing underneath her drenched tank top. absolutely soaked, (you or her?) vi takes her tank top off, you almost slam the weights. feeling the blood rush through your body from the embarrassment of just almost pissing people off (and the fact that you've been staring for full 5 minutes), your mind carries you away, to your bed, underneath vi, who's doing pushups over you and then smiles at you, how dreamy.

and then she smiles at you. wait, what? a small but very potent 'fuck' escapes your mouth. she's done with her sets and quickly redirects her focus to cleaning the machine.

vi is grinning like an idiot, it's hard to stay oblivious when she literally felt something (your pretty eyes) burning into her back. and besides, it was super hot watching you too. she overthrew her whole workout routine just because of 8 little words:

'heyyy i heard you go to the gym?☺️'

it took her an hour to reply, Yeahhh I do, erase, We should go together, erase, I think you're really cute, erase, I'm going this Friday you wanna join me cutie? send. vi wasn't stupid, it takes two to play a game. and you were going to lose.

"you looked distracted," vi chuckles, sweat dripping down her forehead.

slam. "oh god, that startled me, haha." you look around, 'i'm sorry' plastering your whole face. you feel the heat rush up into your head and accumulating there. what the hell.

"is it fun watching me?" she continues. she's facing you, arm stretched out and resting on the leather of your seat. you're fucked.

"i was just trying to see when you're done—" you pause to look at her, but vi's eyes are elsewhere, further down, was she checking you out?

"—not sure if i'm doing this right," you say as your eyes wander to her stretched out arm, suddenly you feel warmth spreading from in between your thighs...

she hums in response, scoff-laugh following. vi gathered that you weren't going to lose easily.

"can i?" she asks and you nod, hot palms adjusting your foot placement on the board. you like how her hands feel, they were rough and calloused but still so, so warm.

you press against the board, small grunts and groans escaping your lips. fuck, you sound a little too good, vi totally did not just imagine all possible (well, rather a small selection) of scenarios where you'd make exactly those noises.

she tries to distract herself from her thoughts where you are moaning her name, so she strokes your left hamstring to make sure you're... to make sure what exactly? you immediately look up, but the way vi is looking at you... you can't help but get lost in her eyes, you wanted her to get lost in you. and she couldn't ignore the throbbing that was practically begging to be taken care of from just looking at you and touching your skin.

one thing leads to another and her fingers are filling you up and pumping into you as slick gushes out from the sides of her fingers. iiiiin the bathroom of the women's locker room. gross, absolutely, but you're too busy trying to swallow your moans.

"not sure if i'm doing this right." vi whispers into your ear. you roll your eyes, she's obviously mocking your awful attempt at covering up the fact that you were staring.

"'doing, mhmmmh, just fine," you slur.

fuck, you were driving vi insane. she throws her head back, hard nipples graze against the fabric of your workout top as she thrusts her body against yours, pressing your back against the stall wall. and she's still inside you, vi is still curling her fingers against the walls of your gaping cunt. you dig your nails into vi's back, "more," you whisper.

"fuck, i—" vi slowly slides out her fingers, you successfully flustered her, she's completely worked up, cute. and then, seemingly out of nowhere, she brushes a lose strand behind your ear, it feels like you're dripping onto the gym floor. kinda gross, but whatever, because vi's hand is right there where you want it, cupping your face.

"let me take you to my place," she then says, voice low. she watches a small smile appear on your face. "sure, show me your home workouts," you wink, causing vi to turn the same color as her hair.

got you.

[youreverydayfangirl]

DELICATE

pairing: max verstappen x singer reader

summary: the one where she has reservations, everything's a bit fragile for her and hes persistent

warning: self doubt

a/n: THREE UPDATES????

face claim: sabrina carpenter

f1 masterlist

main masterilst

series masterlist

jimmyandsassysdad has requested to follow

y/nsprivate accepted the follow request

y/nsprivate has requested to follow

jimmyandsassysdad accepted the follow request

y/nsprivate has posted

liked by jimmyandsassysdad, thatoneartgirlalex and 20 others

y/nsprivate still looking for my flynn

thatoneartgirlalex YUMMMYYYYYYYYYY

-> y/nsprivate i was legit drooling over you

keekslikestospammmm HAWWT

-> y/nsprivate STOP I MISS YOU

livbereallydumb hey so can u give a girl a warning first 😍

-> y/nsprivate me anytime i see you

itssabrinaaa u free rn 😏

-> y/nsprivate waiting for you

jimmyandsassysdad look no further

-> leosfather HES GOT GAME

-> thatoneartgirlalex 😱😱 y/nsprivate

-> keekslikestospammmm 😱😱 y/nsprivate

-> livbereallydumb 😱😱 y/nsprivate

-> itssabrinaaa 😱😱 y/nsprivate

-> y/nsprivate 🤭 how about that second date???

-> leosfather HE SHOOTS HE SCORES

f1gossip

iked by exbsf and 126, 098 others

f1gossip some snapshots of your fav f1 couples at Charles Leclercs halloween party last night!!

Tagged: charlesleclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, estebanocon, flavybarla, pierregasly, francisca.cgomes

user1 exbsf in the likes??

-> user2 all she does is try and insert herself into WAG activities tbh

-> user3 right! she did the same thing when lando was still with you know who

user4 alex and charles in the third pic omg

user5 anyone else find it weird that a lot of the grid was invited but lando wasn't

user6 is that y/n y/ln in the last slide

-> user7 IS THAT MAX VERSTAPPEN

-> user8 OMGG????

-> user9 delusional as shit

------------------------

It had been a couple weeks since y/n last saw Max, but the memory of the night was still fresh in her mind. Since then she had spoken to Max over text a handful of times. When the Charles' halloween party came around, she wasn’t entirely surprised to find herself standing beside him, his broad figure decked out in a Top Gun flight suit that looked almost too good on him.

He gave her an appraising look, clearly amused. "So, Rapunzel, huh? Looks like you were ready to let down your hair," he said with a grin, glancing at the long, braided wig she’d chosen for the night.

She laughed, giving a mock curtsy. "Only for special occasions," she teased.

As they mingled through the crowded party, he leaned down, an amused glint in his eyes. "So… does this count as our first date?" he asked, his tone light but a little hopeful.

Y/n smiled, feeling her cheeks heat up as she glanced sideways at him. "Depends," she replied. "Are you going to sweep me off my feet like a real first date?"

Max chuckled, taking her hand with a confidence that made her pulse quicken. "Guess I’ll have to step up my game, then," he said, pulling her closer into the crowd of people dancing.

y/nsprivate has posted

liked by thatoneartgirlalex, keekslikestospammmm and 21 others

y/nsprivate some cute flicks

jimmyandsassysdad GIZMO MENTIONED

-> y/nsprivate HE ALREADY MISSES THEM 😭

thatoneartgirlalex CUTE CUTE CUTE

-> y/nsprivate YOUR CUTE

livbereallydumb wonder who bought those flowers 🤔

-> itssabrinaaa 'just a friend'

-------------------

It was a quiet Sunday night, and the city’s noise was muffled by the gentle sound of rain tapping against the windows. Y/n curled up on the couch next to Max, feeling the warmth of his arm around her as they watched bones together in comfortable silence. His cats, Jimmy and Sassy, had claimed their spots on the other side of the couch, while her own cat, Gizmo, was nestled comfortably in her lap. It was a picture of peaceful simplicity, the kind of evening she never wanted to end.

Max reached for the remote, lowering the volume during a quiet part of the movie. She glanced up, and he looked down at her, eyes soft, as if he’d been waiting for this moment all night. Her heart skipped a beat at the intensity of his gaze.

“Y/n, can I ask you something?” he said quietly, his voice a bit more serious than usual.

“Of course,” she replied, straightening up slightly, her hand absentmindedly scratching Gizmo’s ears.

He hesitated, running a hand through his hair as he searched for the right words. ��I just… I need to know, Y/n, what are we?”

Her heart sank, the warmth she’d felt just moments before now turning to panic. She hadn’t been ready for this, not yet. The future, a label, something real, she knew that was what he deserved, but she didn’t know if she could be the one to give it to him. The words choked in her throat, refusing to form.

“Max, I…” she stammered, eyes darting away. Her fingers instinctively went to pet Gizmo, as if somehow grounding herself to reality, but it wasn’t working. The room felt too small, the air too thick. “I don’t… I don’t know if I can give you an answer right now.”

His face softened, though she could see the hurt flicker in his eyes. “I understand if you’re scared. I just want to know if I’m someone you want to try with. I’ll wait, Y/n. But I need to know if there’s something to wait for.”

The vulnerability in his voice shattered her, and she could feel the words bubbling up, desperate to explain herself. But the more she tried to force them out, the more trapped she felt. She swallowed hard, feeling the sting of tears welling up, and before she even fully understood what she was doing, she stood up, gently displacing Gizmo from her lap.

“Y/n?” Max’s voice was laced with concern, but she couldn’t look at him. The room was spinning, and she felt like she was drowning.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, barely audible. “I just… I need to go.”

She grabbed her things, barely managing to gather Gizmo in her arms before heading to the door. She could feel Max’s gaze on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn around. Not when she felt so raw, so exposed.

The last thing she heard before she closed the door behind her was the quiet, broken way he’d called her name. And it stayed with her the entire way home, echoing in her mind as she fought the urge to turn back, knowing she wasn’t ready to face the fear or the love that waited for her on the other side of it.

------------------------

Y/n sighed, her eyes lingering on the messages Max had sent her. She replayed his words in her mind, but the part that made her heart race—the moment he’d asked, “What are we?”—had also made her freeze. She didn’t quite understand her reaction, why that question had shaken her so deeply.

It wasn’t that Max had done anything wrong. He’d been everything she could hope for—patient, caring, thoughtful. She knew she felt something real for him, that he’d somehow slipped past every wall she’d built since her breakup with Lando. But beneath that realization, a dark feeling had crept over her, like ink spreading across a page. She was scared. No, she was terrified.

After everything she’d been through, the idea of letting someone in again felt overwhelming. She’d barely managed to piece herself back together after Lando, and she knew that if things fell apart with Max, she might not have the strength to do it again. With Max, she’d fallen fast and hard, in a way that felt both thrilling and dangerous. And how could she not? He was almost too good to be true. Yet, she couldn’t shake the voice in the back of her mind whispering that trust like this came with a cost.

Her relationship with Lando had taught her so much. They’d loved each other, but they’d been unwilling to bend in the ways that mattered. There were too many conflicts, too many moments of stubborn silence. She knew, deep down, that they were never meant to be.

But with Max, it was different. He saw beauty in parts of her that Lando had once found flaws. The qualities she had found exhausting in Lando felt effortless in Max. He was everything.

Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to fall completely, because if she did, Y/n didn’t believe anyone would be there to catch her.

--------------

Y/n had barely slept the night before, her mind stuck on the way Max had looked at her when he asked, “What are we?” She’d messaged him, asking to meet up, but now, waiting for him here, her stomach twisted with nerves. When she saw him walking toward her, hands tucked in his pockets, that gentle smile on his face, her heart clenched. How was it that he could make her feel both safe and completely vulnerable at the same time?

“Hey,” he greeted, his smile fading a little as he studied her face. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, though the words tangled in her throat, refusing to come out. Max, sensing her hesitation, took a step closer, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and patience.

“Y/n, talk to me,” he murmured, his voice a soft anchor.

“I… I don’t know why I panicked,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “When you asked what we were.” She saw the flicker of hurt in his eyes and felt guilt wash over her. “It’s not you, Max. You’ve been everything I could want.”

He looked down, nodding slowly as he absorbed her words. “But something’s keeping you from trusting this,” he said gently, sadness tracing his voice.

She exhaled shakily, looking away. “After everything with Lando, I just… I’m terrified, Max. The thought of letting myself fall again, of opening up like that—it scares me. If something went wrong… I don’t think I’d be able to put myself back together.”

He was quiet, letting her words sink in. Then he reached for her hand, his thumb brushing softly over her knuckles. “Y/n,” he said, his voice steady and calm. “I know you’re scared. And I understand that trust isn’t easy when you’ve been hurt before. But I’m not him. I’m here now, and I want us—whatever that looks like for you.”

He tilted her chin up, his eyes meeting hers with a fierce sincerity. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with the emotions she’d kept buried. “You deserve someone who’s not this… scared.”

Max shook his head, his expression unwavering. “I want you, Y/n—all of it. The good, the bad, the parts you’re afraid to show. I know I’m asking for a lot, but please, let me in.” His gaze softened, and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “We can take it as slow as you need. I’m here for that.”

Y/n felt a weight lift from her chest as she looked into his eyes, realizing that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to carry the fear alone. She didn’t have to be fully healed to let herself love him.

With a small, tentative smile, she squeezed his hand back. “Thank you, Max. For being so patient with me.”

A look of relief and warmth spread across his face. “You’re worth the wait, Y/n.”

-----------------------------

a wayyyy more wordy one for you guys

thank you for all the love on this you guys omgg

also i thought id do a couple now cause halloween is coming up and im gonna be bussyyyy

------------------------

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