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sugxto · 11 days ago

Text

electrical storm - volt/eddie/reader

⋆syn: Eddie doesn't do well during storms. You and Volt help give him what he needs for some relief.

⋆wc: 3.5k

⋆cw: m/m/afab threesome, domestic fluff, comfort, explorations of chronic pain/fatigue.

⋆notes: reader insert uses g/n pronouns and is not described with feminine attributes. AFAB genitalia, terms used include hole, entrance, and cunt . no spoilers for any of the routes but it is a more established relationship. e/v masterlist.

⋆snippet:

You feel the smallest shiver run through Eddie’s body at the words, and his eyes flutter closed for the briefest moment before he inhales sharply. You bring your hand to his face, cupping his cheek once again. “Eddie,” you breathe into his mouth, “let us take care of you.”

It’s like your words flip a switch inside of him, relief flooding his body in a surge, and any stress in his shoulders simply melting away. You think, for just a moment, that his eyes might be sparkling with the beginning of tears, but he blinks, and the thought is gone.

“Do you want that, Eddie?” Volt whispers, the bolts of his hair sparking over Eddie’s face, his hand slowly encircling his neck. “Do you need it?��

electrical storm

Soft isn’t a term you would use to describe Volt or Eddie. Or, Volt and Eddie.

Maybe it’s because they are, in their basest form, unpredictable, powerful forms of energy, kept in check by each other’s presence as their essence flows through the currents of your own home. Their very touch sends sparks through your veins, electrifies your heartbeat, all with an unspoken potency that they could be far more damaging if they so choose. They are harsh, formidable, thrilling, alive.

But soft?

It wouldn’t be your first choice.

Except, there are glimpses of it on days when Eddie’s strained himself a bit too far. When the to-do list takes the three of you much longer than expected, or in the late hours cleaning up when last call was ignored, or after a storm, and he tries as hard as he can to hide the way he breathes a little deeper, pauses for a little longer. Maybe he thinks you don’t notice (Volt always does, and it did take you a while to learn what to look for), maybe he thinks it's not a problem. But it makes your heart bleed a little, when you can see the spark dimmed in his grey eyes, as yet another guest asks him for a drink that’s not even on the menu, and begrudgingly, he makes it without a single complaint.

It’s one of those nights, after a summer day where, promptly at 5:30pm by Timmy’s clock, the skies burst open, and lightning streaks through Wyndolyn’s panes all through the night. It’s been non-stop for weeks, the boys can hardly catch a break, and you just wish you could yell at the clouds and make them listen. Force them to understand the discomfort the constant brownouts and flickers do to your partners, to one of them in particular.

A clap of thunder makes the bottles behind you at the bar clink together, and you sigh. Even here, in the recesses of the Breaker Box, it felt non-stop. Miranda, strumming away on the velvet stage, pays it no mind, and it seems like none of the other guests do either.

Volt, mingling his way through the tables, looks up as he claps Dorian on the shoulder, the white light of his eyes immediately finding yours. He senses your distress, you know he does, because he promptly pauses his greetings and makes his way to the bar.

You sigh in relief at his presence, but then gasp at the shock on your skin when Volt’s hand finds your arm. He’s more charged during the storms, you’ve found, like all the electrons in the air swarm to him, powering him.

He tsks his tongue, removing his touch. “Ah, my apologies, live wire.” He doesn’t look hurt, only concerned, as his dark brows scrunch together. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no Volt, not at all.” To prove it, you take his hand again, finding the spark more calming since you’re expecting it.

“What seems to be troubling you then, hm?” He reaches up and runs a silver thumb over your cheek. He studies your face, tips your chin up to meet his eyes, and you see him realize it before you even find the words. “Ah. Our Eddie, hm?”

You nod, relaxing into Volt’s touch. “I just wish the storms would stop, this can’t be good for him.”

Volt tsks his tongue again, a quiet “I know, darling,” leaving his lips as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “I know it’s hard. Amps sake, I was created to help prevent his suffering, and it took me a very long time to reconcile with the fact that, much as I’d like to, weather isn’t for us to control.”

“But he’s so tired, Volt.” You know he knows, you know there isn’t anything to be done about it other than wait. But it helps to talk to someone who understands. “And I know you are too.”

“Hmm, maybe. But we’ve been through worse.” His thumb leaves trails of tingles on your cheek. “Remember, say, three years ago, that freak tropical storm that came our way?”

You do - it came with hardly any notice, changing directions and coming straight at your city in the middle of the night. You didn’t have power for almost eight hours, though you do remember it flickering on and off every now and again. “Were you hurt, during that?” you ask, and you start to wonder how the other experiences your home has been through has impacted its (previously unknown to you) residents.

“Not hurt, per say. Thrown through the ringer might be the best term for it,” he says, a hint of a smile as his brows relax. “We worked for every possible moment we could manage. Eddie… I’d never seen him like that before, or since. But then, when it was over, he slept for what must’ve been a week, good as new.” His white eyes go soft, making sure you look into them as he says his next piece. “The storms will pass. And he will be alright, and you and I can do all we can to lighten his load, yes?”

You swallow and bite your bottom lip. You’re still not sure, but you trust Volt. With everything. Of course you do. “Yes.”

Volt’s resulting smile is one of relief, but the concern is still evident in his brow. “Why don’t you go to him, hm? It’s not too busy, and I can manage the bar. Ah ah ah, no arguing, spark, I’ve decided that’s what’s going to happen, and so it shall. Upstairs, to Eddie.”

You know better than to disagree, Volt isn’t one you can easily win against. And, you don’t even want to - you just want Eddie. You turn to go, but Volt holds you still for just a moment more.

“Here, give him this for me?” he asks, before lowering his head and kissing your lips, lovingly, sweetly, softly. It ignites your heart, makes your head buzz, your lips tingle, and he breaks away, whispers against your lips, “and keep this one for yourself,” before kissing you again, deepening his hold on your cheek.

When you part, it’s because applause for Miranda snaps you back into reality, and you flush red at the glint in Volt’s eyes. “I’ll make sure to get it to him,” you say, slipping away up the stairs behind the bar, knowing Volt’s gaze follows you every step of the way.

You find Eddie, a bit unexpectedly, on the floor of the boys’ bedroom, with his head leaning back on the edge of the mattress. His eyes are shut tightly, his jagged brows nearly kissing in the middle of his forehead, jaw set firmly. You glimpse at his hands, relieved when you see they’re not shaking, just balled into fists.

You crouch to the ground, steady yourself with a hand on the mattress. “Eddie?”

He makes a small sound and blinks his eyes open before rolling his head towards you. “Hm. Live wire. You okay?” he asks, his voice haggard and gruff, more clipped than it sounds when he first wakes up in the morning.

“Me? Eddie, yeah, I’m okay.” These men, always worried about you, of all people. “Did I wake you?”

Eddie scoffs, then groans as he stretches his neck. “Not at all. I’m about as far from restful as you can get, I think.” He sighs, extends his legs out to lay flat on the floor. “Just trying not to exert myself too much. Everything alright downstairs?”

“Don’t worry about it right now.”

“Well, I’m a little worried by that answer.”

You roll your eyes, only because you know he says it in jest. “Everything’s fine, Eddie.” You move to settle on the ground beside him. “I’m just worried about you.”

You swear there’s a split second that a corner of his mouth twitches up, and his gaze changes, almost softens, when you reach out to hold his hand. “I know you are. But, I’ve been through worse. Not dead yet.”

You try not to grimace at the phrase. “Yeah, Volt told me about the tropical storm.” You squeeze his hand. “I wish I knew about you back then. I’m sorry you went through that.”

He shrugs, though it’s hardly nonchalant. “S’okay. Nothing you could do.”

It’s quiet for a moment, as he breathes with you. You remember something though, and shirt to face him. “Volt wanted me to give you something.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You cup his face, his stubble rough on your palm, and cautiously dip your head towards his. Gently, you meet his lips, delivering Volt’s message as best you can, and he hums gladly as your kisses deepens.

It’s a moment later when you pull apart, and your foreheads rest together. Eddie leans into your hand on his cheek, his steel eyes finding yours.

“Five star delivery, live wire,” he says, his voice low. “I’ll let Volt know it was received.” He cocks a brow and runs a hand over your thigh. “And what about you? You got anything for me?”

You let out a giggle and move your hand to his collar. “Just my love and devotion. And worries about your stress.”

Eddie nods, and you realize his hand is still making its way up your thigh. Thunder once again shakes the room, and you watch his face for any sign of distress, though it doesn’t come.

“And what if,” he says, his eyes moving to glance at your lips, “there was something I need from you?”

“Name it,” you respond, meaning it with all your heart.

He leans even closer to you, your noses pressed together, your lips only a breath away, and you feel his tough dip into your inner thigh, familiar sparks under his touch. “I need you, on our bed, with my cock inside you. Now.”

You breath hitches, like your brain has momentarily short circuited. You pull away, surprised - soft with his words, Eddie is not. But still, it’s not what you expected to hear. “Eddie, you’re -”

“What?” he cuts you off, and it looks almost like another storm is brewing in his eyes. “I’m what? Incapable of fucking as a distraction to my headache?” His grip tightens on your thigh, and you gasp. “Unable to want one of my partners just because of the weather?”

“I didn’t say that -”

“No, but you’re still worrying,” he says, almost with a laugh in his voice. “And I’m telling you, that right now, what would make me feel better, is fucking you. So,” he’s so close to you now, you feel his breath on your cheek, “you gonna let me?”

Well. It’d be rude to say no to that, wouldn’t it?

Your hand on his collar slides to the back of his neck, holding on tightly. “Always.”

Like lightning, Eddie scoops you up, and the mattress bounces beneath your bodies as you both land. You’re on your side, pressed close to Eddie’s chest, one of his hands cupping your face, the other pulling your thigh over his, making sure no space exists between you and him. He kisses you, but it’s not his usual hunger that you find on his lips, but something you’re not used to tasting. Something calmer, sweeter, softer.

His hand glides from your thigh up to your waist, leaving a current in its wake, and he squeezes your skin, not as hard as usual, almost like he’s grasping at something he expects to disappear. You moan into his mouth and grind your hips into his, and he bites your bottom lip in response.

“Little wire,” he groans after a moment, steel eyes dark and voice low, “I don’t want to wait, I need you, now.”

And you don’t need to be told twice.

You both shed your clothes without a moment’s hesitation, pulling at whatever piece of fabric you can find on the other’s body, and throwing it to the floor. When you come back together, press back to him as close as you can, the charge of his skin momentarily takes your breath away. Eddie’s skin is different than Volt’s, less electric, less shocking - it always brings goosebumps to the surface on your skin, almost hums under your touch, and you wonder if you could follow his veins like currents.

Eddie’s cock rests against the lips of your cunt, rocking gently against you, but he holds your hips still when you try to get even closer, and you whimper his name, your nails scraping at his chest.

“Fuck,” he breathe through gritted teeth. “I may not last long, baby.”

“I don’t care, Eddie.” You find his eyes, deep grey and bursting with love. “I need you too.”

That’s all the permission he needs, and he lifts your leg to angle his cock at your entrance. Your jaw goes slack as he presses his length inside you, your eyes never leaving his, watching the way they shine as he slides inside you. When he stops, your bodies fully combined, he breathes, shaky, and digs his fingers into your flesh.

He waits a moment, a breath, and he kisses you just as he starts to pull out, setting a languid, easy pace. Your body is liquid, puddy under his hands, and when you exhale, he inhales, sharing the charged air between you. You rock together, unhurried, Eddie’s hands roaming every inch of your sides, your back, your legs.

It’s different than usual. It’s patient. It’s soft.

“Mind if I join you?”

You hear Volt’s velvet voice rather than see him, but you can just imagine how he leans against the doorway, hands in pockets, some sort of grin on his face.

Eddie slows, doesn't fully stop fucking you, but his breath is heavy when he speaks. “Volt, you -”

“Already closed up early. Thought it best to soothe our little wire’s worries as quick as I could.” You hear a thud, and imagine it’s his jacket falling to the floor.

Eddie sighs, stills inside you, and his eyes leave your face, flit past your shoulder to the doorway, to Volt. “You can join, I just - I needed them, Volt.”

“Oh, my darling,” Volt coos, “I don’t doubt it.” Finally, he steps into your view, coming behind Eddie, dipping down to kiss his head. His lips brush Eddie’s ear, and silver fingers graze his shoulder. “How about, I give you something else you need, hm?”

“Do you want that, Eddie?” Volt whispers, the bolts of his hair sparking over Eddie’s face, his hand slowly encircling his neck. “Do you need it?”

“Y-yes. Yes,” he manages out, rocking his cock back inside you and digging his fingers into your flesh, making you gasp, making you ache.

Volt chuckles, grinning in a way that shows his teeth, and you notice for the first time that, like you two, he’s naked, his free hand slowly stroking over his cock, shiny with what you guess is lube that coats his fingers too. You feel the bed shift as his weight presses into the bed, effortlessly spooning Eddie so that they perfectly slot together. Made for each other.

You wrap your hand in the coils of Eddie’s hair, holding him steady with the help of Volt’s grip on his neck, and you squeeze the muscles of your cunt to keep his cock warm inside you. He groans, and Volt guides Eddie’s leg to rest atop your own, a jumbled mess of limbs and sparks and sweat.

Eddie gasps, and his eyes fly open, and he grunts something that sounds like Volt’s name.

Volt’s lips kiss Eddie’s ear, close enough to your hand that you can feel his breath, and you feel it when he says, “that’s it, that’s our good boy.”

“Volt, please -”

“Be patient, darling, just -” Volt says, and Eddie groans again, his grip on you tightening so much, you might find burn marks in the morning, “a moment more. And then you’ll have what you need.”

“I don’t, fuck, I don’t need prep, Volt, fuck I need you.” Eddie’s voice tumbles quickly from his mouth, his hips feebly trying to buck up into your cunt, his titanium eyes glossy with want, need.

Volt sighs, mutters an acquiescence, and his lightning eyes find yours over the head of your partner, their usual mischievous shine replaced with something deeper, something softer. Love, you realize it must be, and your fingers curl in Eddie’s hair, giving Volt the smallest nod.

You can’t see his movements as his fingers slip out of Eddie, but his eyes never leave yours as he adjusts Eddie’s legs again, then grasps his cock, finding Eddie’s waiting, needing hole, and presses his way inside. You watch each other as Eddie groans between your bodies, his body stiffening as he takes Volt inside him, and you, in turn, feel him twitch inside you.

Volt waits, just a moment, for Eddie to find his breath, and when you finally glance down at his face, you notice the streak of a tear that has fallen down his nose.

“Eddie,” you say, in the softest voice you can muster, “you alright?”

He exhales a breath that may be a laugh, and it tickles your cheek. “Live wire,” he says, his voice finally sounding relieved instead of depleted, “I’m perfect.”

It’s like the word grants Volt the permission he was waiting for, and he drags his length almost fully out of Eddie, before thrusting back in a flash. Your legs are a mess, intertwined in such a way that you’re not sure whose skin is whose, but as Volt moves, Eddie’s hips move in tandem, and you squeeze your cunt to wrap around him even tighter, wanting, needing him as close as you’re allowed.

Usually, nights on this bed are rougher, with more teeth, nails, and shocks, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. But this… this softness… it warms your heart, livens your nerves like you’ve been plugged into a socket, and you never want to let it go.

Eddie groans, he whimpers, at Volt’s unrelenting cock, the searing grip on his neck. “Fuck, V-Volt, baby, I’m - please -”

You kiss his forehead, kiss his temples, softly, lovingly, as you whisper, “We’ve got you, we’ve got you, Eddie.”

“You’re doing so well, darling,” Volt adds, honey falling from his lips. “Doing so well for us.”

Eddie’s voice sputters just as his body stiffens, tightens, and you know he won’t hold out much longer. His fingers singe the flesh on your waist, your thigh, and his cock ruts into you even faster, chasing his release - before you can even offer him more reassurances, he cries out, louder than you’ve heard from him before, and you feel his cum fill your cunt as he bucks erratically through his release.

“Oh fuck, oh yes,” you whisper against his lips before his weight goes slack.

Volt doesn’t stop, in fact, he fucks him faster, harder, and a few tears fall from Eddie’s eyes at his unabating pace that you swiftly kiss away. Despite that, you know Volt can’t be much further behind, and you reach out your hand to find his cheek, needing to feel his skin on yours.

Just as you thought, soon Volt’s pace becomes more erratic, less precise, and his fingers around Eddie’s neck tightens as he too comes with a groan of Eddie’s name and a bite to your hand.

You stay there, the three of you, in the soft afterglow, until, who knows how long after, Eddie finally stirs, and sighs, a sound of contentment coming from the back of his throat.

“Well -” Eddie’s voice is best described as well and truly fucked - “my headache is gone.”

You and Volt smile, a shared successful mission completed.

It’s Volt that first separates from your pile of legs, returning in a blink with water, towels, a blanket. When Eddie rolls onto his back, his cheeks are flushed red, and the rise and fall of his chest is even for what seems like the first time in weeks. Volt throws the used towels aside and sits next to him, running a finger along his jaw.

“How’s our Eddie?” he asks, and you settle into the crook of his shoulder, throw your arm over his chest.

“Better.” You hear his voice in his chest, and know he has a smile on his face. “I got your message, earlier. Had a very good messenger deliver it.”

“Did you?” Volt glances down at you, sends you a knowing wink. “That’s good to hear. But, I have one to deliver myself, as well.” Eddie hums in satisfaction when Volt kisses him, and your heart flips in your chest at the sight. They separate, and white and steel eyes find yours before two sets of lips find your cheeks simultaneously. They’re soft kisses. They’re yours.

#date everything #date everything smut #date everything x reader #eddie and volt #volt date everything #eddie date everything #eddie and volt x reader #eddie x volt #eddie x volt x reader #sugxtode #breaker box boys

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goyardgoyangi · 26 days ago

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I am in LOVE with your street racer Sukuna!!! It's so good I wanna cry

I dunno if you take requests but I'd love to see how he'd react to someone hitting on you in front of him (or someone hitting on HIM in front of you)

Hi anon thank you for gooning over street racer! sukuna with me <3 mwah mwah MWAHHHHH here is a snippet from a fic i wrote that's similar to ur req 😚😝

someone hitting on you in front of street racer! sukuna

You expected champagne. Maybe even a full-on victory lap with Sukuna—him pulling you into his arms, wild with adrenaline and pride. You pictured the whole thing: arms around your waist, a cocky grin, the taste of sweat and sweetness when he kissed you in front of everyone like you were his prize.

Instead, second place earns a clenched jaw and dead silence on the ride to the restaurant.

Everyone else is buzzing—his team practically bouncing on their heels, thrilled he even placed at all. “Second in your debut? That’s crazy,” you hear someone say, followed by a solid clap to Sukuna’s back. It doesn’t shake the mood off. If anything, he just gets quieter, retreating further into his own storm cloud.

He slides his sunglasses on as he takes the wheel of the sleek black Porsche Cayman he refused to let anyone else drive. His hands grip the leather like it’s got something to answer for.

You peek at him from the passenger seat. “You were amazing out there.”

“Didn’t win.”

“It was your first pro race.”

“I don’t race to be almost the best.”

You sigh. He’s impossible when he gets like this—stubborn, coiled, biting at the edges of his own ambition. But under the frustration is something else. Something raw. So you reach across the console, slipping your fingers between his.

He doesn’t say anything, but he laces them tighter.

That alone makes you smile.

The restaurant is warm and buzzing—low lights, exposed brick, loud conversation rolling off the walls. You slip into the seat beside him at the long table, and he stays pressed close, his thigh brushing yours, hand resting just barely on your knee beneath the table.

He hasn’t touched his food. Keeps nursing a drink like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You looked so good out there,” you murmur again, leaning close enough that only he can hear.

Finally, he glances your way. Just for a second. But it’s different this time. Softer.

“You looked better,” he says, and you see the corner of his mouth twitch—half a smirk, almost a smile.

You nudge his knee under the table. “You know, I almost ran onto the track.”

That earns a full smile. “Yeah?”

“Wanted to kiss you through your helmet.”

He chuckles. Then bumps his shoulder against yours. “Next time.”

You’re mid-laugh when a voice cuts in.

“Didn’t expect to see someone like you here.”

You blink up at the guy—button-down shirt, expensive shoes, that unmistakable air of confidence that doesn’t quite reach the eyes. He isn’t part of the crew. Doesn’t even have a lanyard. You’re already annoyed.

“I’m with the team,” you say politely.

“With the team,” he echoes, amused. “That include him?” He nods toward Sukuna without making eye contact.

You straighten. “Yeah.”

There’s a beat where the guy just smirks, oblivious or stupid. Probably both. “Honestly, are you here for the cars, or a boyfriend?”

You shoot him a tight smile. “I’m only here for one person.”

“Damn,” he says. “Wish I was him.”

You don’t get the chance to reply.

Sukuna stands.

The chair scrapes against the floor and the whole table quiets. Conversation dies as six-foot-something of fury plants himself squarely between you and the guy, casting a long shadow across the floor. His expression is calm—but in that wrong way. Like the calm right before lightning splits the sky.

“You got three seconds to walk away,” Sukuna says. Voice low. Controlled. “Before I stop playing nice for sponsors.”

The guy stammers out something—hands raised, steps back. You don’t even hear what he says. Just the sound of retreat.

Sukuna doesn’t chase. Doesn’t puff his chest. Just turns back to you, jaw tense, eyes scanning your face for anything off. His hand finds your thigh again under the table—firmer this time, anchoring.

“You good?”

“I’m fine,” you murmur. “Are you?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His thumb starts rubbing slow circles against your bare skin. You can tell he’s still stewing. Still not letting it go.

“I was already pissed about second,” he mutters. “Didn’t need some idiot acting like you’re—” He swallows. “Like you’re not mine.”

You reach for his hand under the table and link your fingers again. This time you lift them to your lap, keeping him close. Warm. Real.

“I never am,” you say. “Not to anyone else.”

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psformybss · 3 months ago

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could you maybe do a fic with some small snippets throughout drew and secret fiancé’s relationship abt pregnancy scares they had? like the first time it happened and their reactions compared to the most recent time it happened. i totally get if it’s nit ur style but i love your series and your work x

Whenever It Happens

series masterlist

warnings: pregnancy scares, emotional conversations, long distance relationship, anxiety, soft domesticity

an: stop i love you, thank you for reading 🫶🏼

︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

The first time she thought she might be pregnant, she was nineteen and terrified.

Her dorm room barely qualified as a living space—just four cinderblock walls, a twin bed with a paper-thin mattress, and a flickering overhead light that made her feel like she was constantly under interrogation. The rain outside was relentless, smacking against the window like it wanted in, echoing the storm inside her chest.

Her hands shook as she fumbled with the box, nails biting into cardboard, the instructions already soft and wrinkled from how tightly she’d clutched them. The room was too quiet, too still, except for the buzzing of her phone against the counter.

Drew: Are you okay?

He was five hours away—somewhere between an English lecture and a caffeine-fueled study session. His schedule was a mess, just like hers. But his text came through anyway, like it always did in these moments when the world felt like it was slipping sideways and he was the only thing still tethering her to solid ground.

She stared at his message. Then at the test.

You: No. I can’t even breathe.

Her phone rang almost instantly, and she didn’t even hesitate. She pressed it to her ear like it was a lifeline.

“Hey,” he said, a little breathless, like he’d been running. “You’re okay. Just breathe, baby. Talk to me.”

“I can’t do this,” she whispered, her voice already breaking. “I’m so scared, Drew. I’m so scared.”

She slid to the floor, her back against the bathroom door, the cold tile biting through her leggings like the world wanted her to feel it all.

“I can’t even afford groceries this week,” she admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I haven’t eaten real food in two days. What if… what if it’s positive? What the hell do we do?”

“I’ll come to you,” he said immediately. “Tonight. I’ll skip class, I don’t care. I’ll figure it out. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“You have midterms.”

“I have you. That’s all that matters.”

She choked on a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “God, this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. We’re just kids. We’re not ready. We don’t have anything.”

“We have each other.”

He said it so softly, like he didn’t mean for it to land as hard as it did.

She glanced at the test. The little window was still blank. Waiting. Like her.

“It’s been two minutes,” she whispered.

Silence on the other end. A breath. A swallow. She could hear the fear in him now, even through the calm. It matched her own.

“I can’t look,” she said.

“I’ll be right here. Just breathe” he murmured.

So she did. Barely. Just enough to survive those last few seconds before the timer went off.

The beep startled her.

She reached out with shaking fingers and turned the test over.

Negative.

For a beat, she said nothing. Couldn’t. Her body was holding so much—fear, adrenaline, heartbreak, something she didn’t have words for yet.

“It’s negative,” she said finally, her voice small and far away.

Drew exhaled so quietly she almost didn’t hear it. “Okay. Okay. You’re okay.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. “It felt so close. Like we were on the edge of losing everything.”

“We didn’t,” he said, soft but steady. “We’re still here. You and me.”

She wanted to believe that. Wanted to take comfort in his certainty.

And maybe she did. A little.

⸻

The second time, they were sitting side by side on the bathroom floor of their Atlanta apartment, backs against the cabinets, legs stretched out until their knees bumped. The morning light filtered through the tiny window above the shower, soft and pale, but the silence between them was heavy.

The test lay face-down in front of them. Still untouched. Still waiting. Just like them.

She picked at the hem of her sleep shirt, heart knocking hard against her ribs. The first time it happened—back in college, in two different cities, two different lives—they had panicked. Separately. Over the phone. That version of them had barely known how to breathe through the fear.

But this time, Drew was next to her.

Their apartment smelled like coffee grounds and lavender detergent. One of her design portfolios was spread open on the dining table down the hall, and Drew’s audition sides were still marked up with highlighter on the counter. They were trying to make something of themselves. Finally. After years of being broke and tired and wondering if it would ever be enough, things were starting to move.

She’d landed two new clients that week. Drew had wrapped a project that could actually lead to something. The idea of a baby right now felt like throwing a wrench into a clock that had only just started ticking again.

“I keep thinking about how we’d make it work,” she said quietly, staring down at her knees. “Even though I don’t think I’m ready. Not really.”

Drew didn’t look at her, just nodded slowly. “Me too.”

She turned to him. “Does that make us awful?”

“No.” His voice was firm. Gentle. “It makes us honest.”

A breath passed between them.

“I thought I’d be more sure by now,” she whispered.

He let out a low sigh, rubbing his hands over his face before dropping them in his lap. “Same. We’ve got jobs now. A routine. We know how to be us without all the chaos. But… this? It’s big.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch. Just leaned back, his temple resting against hers.

“I want kids one day,” she said softly. “I want them with you.”

“I do too.”

“Just not yet.”

The timer buzzed.

Her breath caught.

Drew reached for the test, hand brushing against hers where it rested on the floor. He turned it over slowly.

Negative.

She exhaled like she’d been holding it in for days.

Not quite relief. Not quite sadness. Just a quiet ache that settled in the space between her ribs. Something wordless and gray.

She closed her eyes. “I thought part of me would be more okay with it. If it was.”

He turned toward her. “We will be. When it’s time.”

She opened her eyes, met his. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Whenever it happens, we’ll figure it out. We’ll be okay.”

She nodded and reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. He squeezed back, grounding her.

They sat there for a while, shoulder to shoulder, legs tangled, letting the weight of what didn’t happen settle. Letting the future breathe.

And maybe next time, she thought, pressing her cheek to his shoulder, maybe she’d feel ready.

But for now, this was enough.

⸻

The third time, she wasn’t scared.

She was hopeful.

She’d told Drew she was thinking about taking a test. Had even said it out loud a few nights ago, lying in bed with her head on his chest, tracing the lines of his collarbone while their dog snored at their feet. He’d looked at her with soft eyes and kissed the top of her head, murmuring, “Whenever you’re ready.”

But she didn’t tell him when that would be.

Because this time felt different, quieter. She wanted to hold the hope a little longer. Sit with it before it shattered or bloomed. The idea of telling him yes felt too precious to risk saying out loud before she was sure.

So she took it alone.

It was a Sunday morning. Rain tapped lightly against the windows, the house still and warm. Drew had gone out with Teddy for a walk, probably grabbing coffee on the way home, and she was wrapped in his hoodie, barefoot on the cold tile of their bathroom floor.

She didn’t pace. Didn’t stare at the clock. Just sat and waited, her heart thudding a little harder than she expected.

She’d felt it this time, the difference. Her body softer, slower, more tired. There had been a flicker of something low in her stomach all week. Not quite certainty, but close.

She turned the test over with trembling fingers.

Negative.

Again.

The ache came fast, deep, and familiar, pressing into her chest in the quiet kind of way grief sometimes does. No tears, not yet. Just the slow, sinking realization that she’d let herself believe. And it still wasn’t time.

She curled onto the couch in the hoodie she hadn’t taken off, the test shoved deep into the bathroom trash. Rain still fell steady outside, streaking the windows. The house felt smaller somehow, like the silence had teeth.

When Drew walked in twenty minutes later, coffee in one hand and Teddy’s leash in the other, he took one look at her and set everything down without a word.

He sat beside her. Reached for her hand. Waited.

“I took it,” she said, eyes still on the window.

His grip on her hand tightened. “And?”

She looked down. “Negative.”

He exhaled, slow and quiet, then pulled her into his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“I really thought this was it,” she whispered. “I don’t even know why. We weren’t planning it, not really. But it felt like maybe…”

His fingers traced the length of her spine, steady and familiar. “Because it’s what we want.”

She nodded. “I pictured it again. The nursery. The quiet mornings. You with a baby strapped to your chest, making pancakes.”

He let out a soft laugh, but it was laced with something heavier. “That image lives rent-free in my head too.”

“I know we said we’d let it happen when it happens,” she murmured. “But I think I’m done pretending I don’t want it.”

He leaned back just enough to see her face, cupping her cheek. “Then let’s want it out loud. Let’s stop being scared of hoping.”

Her throat tightened. “Even if it takes a while?”

“Even then,” he said. “We’ll try. Really try.”

She searched his eyes, finding nothing but certainty there. Not fear. Not doubt. Just love and the quiet kind of bravery that comes from choosing someone again and again.

“Okay,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Let’s try.”

Outside, the rain kept falling.

But inside, something steady took root— hope—this time, not quiet or tentative, but shared. Something they could carry together.

#drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x secret fiancee!reader #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x oc #obx #rafe cameron x oc #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #drew starkey obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #drew starkey #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey imagine

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periprose · 10 months ago

Note

Can I have a Logan Howlett x Angel!Fem!Reader where Logan sees the reader in the kitchen having a bit of a meltdown and uncomfortable feeling over holding a knife (for like, cooking reasons or smth) and he calms her down because the reader just doesn’t want to hurt anyone :(? I’d appreciate it thanks! (I’ve seen you wanted more Angel reader, so im here to reciprocate :3)

AHhhh this fits so well Anon (maybe unintentionally so, the previous fic had a little snippet about Angel's mom trying to stab her when she was young...) but I love your brain. I made it a bit longer and added some stuff and it's set before the previous Logan Gains a Guardian Angel fic (LGGA for short) so they're not together yet.

Knives Drip Chocolate (or, Logan Gains a Guardian Angel)

Word Count: 2.9k

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt with comfort, mutual pining, idiots in love, mild traumatic flashback stuff (but no violence)

LGGA Masterlist

Logan is always ready for a late-night snack.

It’s hard for him to feel full, a lot of the time– he didn’t always have the easiest access to food, and he’s known for a while, if there’s a brief period in his immortal-like life where he can just relax about food and supplies, he shouldn’t take that for granted.

Plus with an accelerated healing factor, sometimes his body starts digesting food too quickly, leading to faster body repair, but nothing to feel satisfied about.

So he’s got tons of cravings. Something that you are constantly bothered about, even now, as Logan knocks on your door, asking yet again if you’d accompany him to the kitchen.

Not that you actually mind. Sometimes you think you’d follow Logan into hell if he asked nicely enough, despite your occasionally evasive attitude keeping him on his toes.

“Angel, please. I’m starving.” Logan’s grumpy complaints are muffled behind your door, and you wonder why a nearly 200 year old man needs you so badly, to be by his side, when he’s spent so long being a loner.

“I’m coming.” You yawn, pulling yourself out of your bed– Storm is your roommate, and she’s passed out, stone cold. You quickly finger comb your hair, and fix your giant t-shirt, so your shoulder isn’t so exposed.

Silly, because you know Logan doesn’t care.

It’s bad. It’s really, really bad, because you don’t want to get attached to Logan, not when he’s sure to toss you aside like he’s done with the rest of them eventually. But you can’t help yourself– Logan is easy to be around, he knows your fears and little quirks, and he has never treated you like you’re so different for being a little quiet, like him.

You know everyone has noticed. When you open your bedroom door, and Logan stares at you for a moment– an unreadable, soft glance in his eyes, one that you could choose to ignore, but don’t, as you stare back at him– you know all the other X-Men see it. Some silly crush you have on him, that clearly confuses Logan himself as he shakes his head, and pulls you by the arm out of your room, your PJs and hair askew.

Logan himself looks good, you have to admit– wearing lazy sweatpants and a white tank-top, his arm muscles looking especially defined tonight– and you pull your arm away, embarrassed that you give into these feelings so easily.

He’s only ever going to be your best friend. Even now, there’s nothing romantic about the way Logan asks if you want a ham and cheddar sandwich, too. He’s just looking out for you.

Jean, Scott, and Storm have literally asked you, more than once, if you and Logan had maybe slept together, or kissed, or anything that would be a culmination of some supposed lust, in which case you always laugh awkwardly and deny everything.

Your excuse is that it’s deeper than that, and it’s one-sided. What would be the point of bringing it up if it would just end in heartbreak?

“Earth to Angel.” Logan shakes your arm, breaking your stride. “Hey, that’s kind of funny, isn’t it? You’re always up in Heaven. Daydreaming about who the hell knows what.”

“Haha, Logan.” You mockingly say in a deadpan voice. “What is it?”

“Your wings are flexing a little bit, again, like they’re about to open. They’re kind of pulsing.” He says it in a soft tone, ushering in some concern he has, and you find yourself wishing that you were someone normal, someone that Logan didn’t have to care so much about.

It’s not that you’re not happy to have his concern, it’s just that you don’t know what to do with it. Thank him for it? You have never been used to people looking out for you.

“It’s fine. Sometimes I get muscle spasms, it’s nothing to worry about.” You mutter, knowing it has to do with anxiety, but Logan looks a bit unconvinced.

“Okay. But if you keep having weird tremors, I’m taking you to the hospital wing so you can get diagnosed.” Logan states, and you open your mouth to argue, but he tuts. “No arguing about this. Last thing we need is for you to die from stress or cancer or something.”

Your heartbeat quickens, not at the mention of cancer, but because Logan used we and now you’re just thinking about how you’re always together.

Not like that, though.

“Okay, Logan. I get it.” You shake your head. “I won’t die.”

“Not yet. We got snacks to eat.” Logan agrees, as he leads you into the kitchen.

Logan’s got you working on making hot chocolate as he makes the sandwiches, pan-frying them till the cheese is hot and melty.

It’s not really a common mix, you think, but you’re just happy to be helping.

“Careful. Milk boils over fast.” Logan comments from next to you, mostly focused on his own side of the stove, and you roll your eyes.

“I know that.” You retort, but as you look away from the stove for one second, the pot of milk nearly does boil over, and you swear, reducing the heat quickly.

Logan starts laughing. “Told you.”

You shove him lightly, and he has a stupid grin on his face, one where you know Logan takes such joy in teasing you at times. Like this is one of the greatest pleasures in life.

You move the milk over to the counter, to let it cool, and then remember something semi-important.

“Logan? Don’t forget, Scott wanted extra ham for the Hawaiian pizza they’re making tomorrow–” As you’re reminding him, Logan wordlessly shows you the empty ham package, telling you that he used all of it for the sandwiches.

“You snooze, you lose.” Logan shrugs, and you close your eyes in partial defeat, trying not to laugh at his antics.

“I guess, but you never seem to lose, and Scott’s always chewing me out for your ‘mistakes.’” You point at yourself, tongue poking through the side of your mouth, and Logan raises his eyebrows. “Tell me: Am I snoozing, or are you just lucky that I take the blame?”

“Ah, Angel… you’re obviously asleep.” Logan smirks, and you scoff at his audacity, having expected a semi-apology from him. “No one ever said you had to take the blame for my snacks. You could’ve just told him it was Jean, and he wouldn’t have asked any questions.”

You blink at him. “Lying to our team’s leader aside, why Jean?”

“C’mon. Scott’s crazy over her, they’ve been together for however long, and he can never say no to her. It’s the perfect excuse– he wouldn’t even ask her about missing food, so not to offend his sweetheart.” Logan pauses, a thoughtful look taking over his features, and he scratches his chin. “I guess love really is blind.”

“Wow. You had that takeaway based on gaslighting both Scott and Jean? You really are an unfeeling old man.” You giggle, and Logan glances over at you, his face heating up at your laugh, a sweet sound that always pushes a warmth into his chest.

If Logan was honest, he understands Scott perfectly. Sure, he could play the part of the curmudgeonly old man, and lie to you– but in truth, he was doing that because he likes you.

Just like Scott. Logan likes you so much, that he would honestly lie to you just to protect your relationship– whether that be about missing food, or if you talk about some other dude someday, and he has to pretend he’s all ecstatic for you, as he often worries about.

He knows it’s bad. And he doesn’t like it, either. Logan insists to himself, in pure self denial, that this love he has for you doesn’t exist, because he would rather be given even a little bit of your presence as a friend, than to be entirely shut out by you upon imminent rejection.

But even he knows he protests too much. Of course he loves you, how could he not?

Logan thinks of you as his personal guardian Angel. It’s silly, of course– but you’re the one who helps him make better choices, doing the right thing more often than not. He’s an idiot– you’re a beautiful genius of a woman, and it bothers him so deeply that you keep to yourself.

He looks over at you. You’re chopping up a bar of dark chocolate, and your gaze is intensely focused– Logan has seen the same expression on you when you’re beating up a bad guy. You’re thinking, murmuring something to yourself, probably thinking about hot chocolate.

Your eyes turn wide, glassy, and you inhale sharply.

Logan immediately comes to your side. “Angel?”

Logan’s voice doesn’t fully register to you.

The knife gleams in the low lighting of the kitchen, as you turn it over and over in your hand, dark brown chocolate smudging the blade, and then you look down to your palms.

Where your hands are covered in dark, melted chocolate, after you’ve been holding the chocolate bar to chop it up– the liquid is almost amber in hue.

“...blood.” You whisper something unintelligible, but Logan catches the last word.

You retch to yourself, hyperventilating over the counter, back hunched over, the knife still clenched in your palm.

“Angel, hey–” Logan squeezes his way between the counter and your right arm, where your hand is holding the knife, and he firmly pulls it away from you, grabbing it blade-first without even thinking about it, and you gasp, shouting at him to get away.

Logan stops, at a loss for words. You’re trembling, you’re no longer holding the knife, but you can’t stop looking at your hands.

He grabs your arms a bit more gently, turning you towards him, and you’re lost in some train of thought that Logan can’t stop.

Mom sliced up one of my hands once… it’s been years, but it looked just like this.

Then I got her back, by accident… it was an accident, Angel.

“What’s wrong?” Logan looks down at you in fear, worry that something may actually be very wrong, and you haven’t told him a thing.

He thinks he shouldn’t have assumed you were always alright. He knows you aren’t– he just finds it difficult to surpass your avoidant attitude. He’s never seen you have a full blown panic attack like this before.

Your wings are subtly twitching again, folded against your back, but threatening to open up to full expanse, and you shake your head, lip quivering, as you look down at the floor.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” You utter so softly, so heartbreakingly tiny, and Logan feels himself turning cold at your words, wondering if you’d really done something that terrible.

With a kitchen knife, of all things. He wants to hug you firmly now.

He knows even if it was true– there’s no way that was your fault, no way Logan wouldn’t have sussed that out based on instinct.

“It isn’t…” Logan starts, wanting to say it wasn’t your fault, but he doesn’t know how that will go over with you. “You’re not going to hurt anyone. Where is that coming from?”

“Just a bad memory.” You say with a shaky breath, the most information you’re willing to give him at this moment, and you know– you know– Logan is never going to be satisfied with that answer.

You don’t want to scare him off. This is the first time you could even say you have a best friend, and you don’t want Logan to pity you or feel like you were incapable of taking care of yourself. You don’t want him to see you like your mother did.

Logan frowns. Then, instead of asking you a question, he traces the back of your wings, which causes a shiver in your body.

You close your eyes, expecting to feel tense, scared, and horrified, but instead you feel calm, almost placid. Being touched by Logan makes you feel like everything is going to be alright.

Your wings stop shaking, and Logan hands you a wet paper towel. You wipe your chocolatey hands, which puts you at ease, seeing your clean hands again.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to make you my caretaker.” You whisper, always worried about others’ perception of you, and Logan shakes his head.

“I don’t mind, Angel. As long as you’re alright.” Logan has a tentative look on his face, and you’re almost embarrassed, that you like being taken care of so badly, and he hugs you tightly, arms wrapped around your back, a near bone crushing hug that has you nestled in his chest, fit under his jaw as he places his head on top of yours.

Your heartbeat slows down. You’re not panicking any more, but it seems like Logan, too, is reaping some sort of benefit by being so close to you. He inhales deeply, and the sigh rumbles through his chest into you.

You could almost cry. You spent so much of your childhood never being close to anyone, and being held is cathartic in a way you can’t even describe.

Logan doesn’t let go until you do. Then he has the audacity to look a little sheepish, like he had done something un-Logan and uncool, and you almost feel pained, like you should push him away, and go to sleep on your own.

It’s such an odd feeling, to both want his concern, and to wish you never needed to do so.

You stare up at him, and Logan smiles, a soft smile that he hopes reads as comforting rather than a snarl, and you can’t help yourself for what you ask next.

“Could I sleep in your room?” You ask, biting back the immediate disclaimers of it’s okay if you don’t want to. “I’m just better when I’m around you.”

There’s also the thing of waking up Storm if you enter back in now, and explaining that you had yet another panic attack. She’ll be mad.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay.” Logan murmurs, wondering if you meant to make that sound so devotedly sweet, something that causes his insides to seize a little.

He feels better around you, too.

You’re usually good at hiding this side of yourself from him– it’s another step deeper, another step too far into your relationship to take back– and now you worry you’ll never really be able to separate.

Logan ruffles your hair, and all is right again.

He makes you eat at least a bite of the sandwich, and sip a little hot chocolate– the rest is placed in the fridge for some other mutant to eat.

Logan won’t let you go to sleep without a meal, or in this case a few nibbles, if he can help it.

“Moods are worse on an empty stomach.” Logan grins, and you smile, feeling a little more at ease.

“You’re not you when you’re hungry.” You joke, and Logan rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, save that for when we’re pilfering Kurt’s Snickers bars.” He snorts.

Logan leads you to his room, oddly silent the entire time. It’s not that Logan isn’t typically quiet, it’s that it feels more tense. He’s keeping to himself, and he doesn’t seem to have anything against you– he has only a kind expression for you, when you meet his eyes.

Finally, you both arrive to his bedroom door. Logan is lucky– he doesn’t have to room with anyone– and you’ve been in here plenty of times.

Still, that doesn’t explain why it takes him a second to enter in the room, as you follow him in.

It’s sparsely decorated in here– one poster of the Calgary Flames is on Logan’s wall, and there’s a mug with random, assorted pens on his desk. His bed has never been filled with loads of stuffed animals and pillows like other X-Men (read: Jubilee) would have. There’s a pile of assorted flannels, jackets, and scarves hanging off a coat rack.

It’s comforting, though. Logan is a simple man, and you like being close enough to understand him, to see the small remnants of things he likes.

“Well. The bed’s there, if you’d like. Don’t let me stop you.” Logan points to the bed, and he starts walking towards the leather recliner next to the window.

“Logan. Stop.” You grab him by the arm, and he pauses, slightly scared, mostly enthused by what you’ll say next. “It’s okay with me if we sleep next to each other.”

“...Okay.” Logan watches as you climb into his bed, hoping it’s comfortable, and doing a weird thing of personally memorizing the way you lay and snuggle down, in case you never do this again.

You’re next to the wall, so Logan stays on his side, lying down close to the edge of the bed. And you’re keeping your distance– so is he.

You turn, and Logan is already looking at you. He glances away.

“Good night, Angel.” Logan utters softly, and with that, you turn to your side, to fall asleep.

When Logan wakes up, he freezes, so not to move you. Somehow, through out the night, you ended up snuggled around him, sprawled against his chest, your arms lightly wrapping around him.

He loves it. He’s glad to see he’s been useful for once– he gave you a good night’s sleep.

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henrygrass · 6 days ago

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WIP Wednesday

Happy Wednesday! Here's a snippet from one of my projects for Smut Week, which can't come soon enough. Thank you for the tags, @carlos-in-glasses and @chicgeekgirl89! 💞

Carlos sits at the edge of the plush leather couch, hands trembling slightly as he places the glass of water down on the coffee table in front of him, on a blue coaster dotted with several bright yellow suns—each one intersecting the next.

He furrows his brow. The coaster is so unlike the rest of the room, with its sharp lines and monochrome tones—grays, whites, and blacks—modern and clean. The faint scent of sandalwood lingers in the air. The coaster feels out of place—just like Carlos.

Across from him, Christian—not his real name, but the irony isn’t lost on Carlos—leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, calm, with bright green eyes watching him—a gaze Carlos can’t meet, not with his heart pounding in his throat and his head spinning at how the light bends around the man’s frame: sharp jaw, plump lips, and his black button-down hugging his shoulders, sleeves pulled back enough to show the honey bee tattoo on his forearm.

Carlos looks down at his feet, only now noticing that he’s been nervously tapping one foot on the rug—he wills himself to stop.

“You look tense,” Christian says gently, walking closer. Carlos can smell his cologne again from this proximity—ambery, with musky undertones, inviting Carlos to look—and he does.

His eyes land on the dip at the base of Christian’s neck, and he wonders for a moment what it would feel like to press his lips there—whether it’s sweet and warm, or maybe rough and salty, or all of it combined. Familiar, yet different. If a single taste would be enough for Carlos to know, to ease his mind, to prove to himself that it’s just the allure of the unknown.

“I—uh—” Carlos swallows hard, momentarily stalling to withstand the force of those eyes—the confidence riding the storm within them, the promised comfort beneath each wave. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Sex?”

“Yes, I mean no.” He shakes his head, rubbing his clammy palms on his legs. “I—I'm straight,” he manages to say, pushing the words out despite his throat closing up—a rehearsed line to bottle down temptation, to repeat and believe in.

Open tag & @heartstringsduet @emsprovisions @alrightbuckaroo @welcometololaland

@thisbuildinghasfeelings @lemonlyman-dotcom @decafdino @ssealie

@bonheur-cafe @theghostofashton @firstprince-history-huh

@ladyknight1512 @eclectic-sassycoweyes @neversleepuntilfive

@herefortarlos @strandnreyes @carlos-tk @lightningboltreader

@ladytessa74 @paperstorm @everlastingday

@carlossreaders @pimento-playing-hopscotch @tellmegoodbye @afiendishthingynisba

@rangersoup @futures-tense @annoyingcloudearthquake

@whatsinthebox @liminalmemories21 @reyesstrand @my-beloved-lakes

@denizoid @sapphic--kiwi @ironheartwriter @butchreyes

(please lmk if you want to be added or removed)

#wip wednesday #tarlos fic #tarlos #carlos reyes #tk strand

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eyneyke · 6 months ago

Text

Trouble in paradise pt2

Pairing: Max Verstappen x PewDiePie!sibling Summary: What if Felix had a genius brother who works as a RedBull's engineer and is also secretly dating Max part 21 of A Calm to my Storm Masterlist

Twitter Thread: "The Chaos at Red Bull Before the Race, and Sam Kjellberg Keeping Everyone Calm 🚨"

1. Video: Sam Calmly Explaining to the Mechanics Again

The video starts with Sam standing next to Max’s car, explaining something for the third time to the same group of mechanics. They’re all still a bit tense, some even pacing back and forth, but Sam just keeps calmly talking them through it, pointing to different parts of the car.

Sam: "I know it’s untested, but we’ve run the numbers. It should work. I double-checked everything. This adjustment is solid. Trust me."

One of the mechanics finally nods, visibly less stressed: "Okay. Okay, if you say so, Sam."

Another mechanic adds: "Yeah, I trust him. If Sam says it’s gonna work, it’s gonna work."

Sam flashes a small smile: "Exactly. Just breathe. We’ll be fine."

Comments:

User 303: "Sam having to explain it 3 TIMES but still calm as ever. King of patience."

User 304: "The way the mechanics trust him even when Christian is having a meltdown in the background😂"

User 305: "It’s actually hilarious how Sam’s so chill while everyone around him is losing it."

User 306: "This is what a true professional looks like. Knows his stuff inside and out."

User 307: "Red Bull mechanics should just carry around Sam-shaped stress balls at this point"

2. Clip: Christian and Toto Talking Before the Race

This clip shows Christian Horner and Toto Wolff having a conversation in the paddock right before the race. Christian looks visibly tense while Toto’s expression is more curious than anything. You can hear snippets of their conversation as a journalist films from the side.

Toto: "I heard you’re having some issues with Max’s car. Something about a part not arriving from the factory?"

Christian nods, running a hand through his hair: "Yeah, we had an issue. The part we need didn’t make it here in time. One of our engineers came up with an alternative solution, but it’s untested, so…"

Toto, raising an eyebrow: "Untested? I wouldn’t take that big of a risk, Christian. Not speaking as a competitor, just as a... a colleague."

Christian sighs, looking even more stressed: "Believe me, I know. But I trust the guy. If anyone could do it, it's him, but yeah, I’m terrified."

Toto smirks: "Well, good luck then. Hope the gamble pays off."

Comments:

User 308: "Toto literally being like ‘I wouldn’t risk it like that, but good luck I guess’ 😂"

User 309: "This whole situation is wild. Christian putting his trust in Sam like that (and we all know it's Sam), so you KNOW Sam is good."

User 310: "Toto low-key hoping it all goes wrong for Red Bull but Christian’s like ‘no, Sam’s got this."

User 311: "The trust Christian has in Sam is insane but also so telling. They know he’s the best at what he does."

User 312: "Hope the gamble pays off’ Toto, you shady man 😂"

3. Video: Sky Sports Pundits Discussing the Situation

This video shows Sky Sports commentators discussing the tense situation at Red Bull before the race. The camera cuts between the pundits and shots of the garage where Sam is calmly talking to the team.

Pundit #1: "We’ve been hearing all morning about Red Bull’s potential issue with Max’s car. Apparently, there was a problem, and the part they needed didn’t arrive on time."

Pundit #2: "Right, and they’ve got one of their engineers—Sam Kjellberg—who worked on a fix that’s untested. A huge risk going into the race."

Pundit #3: "It’s a massive gamble, but from what we’ve seen of this particular engineer, he’s got a great reputation within Red Bull. I mean, he did intern and then work under and now with the great Adrian Newey. The team seems to trust him, even if Christian looks like he’s about to pass out from stress."

The camera cuts back to the Red Bull garage where Sam is still calmly explaining things while Christian hovers anxiously in the background.

Pundit #1: "It’s clear Sam Kjellberg has a calming influence on the team, but whether that will translate to the track is something we’ll have to wait and see."

Comments:

User 313: "The commentators really hyping up Sam like he’s the final boss of engineering 😂"

User 314: "I love how the whole of Sky Sports is like ‘Christian’s freaking out but Sam’s chill, so we’re probably good."

User 315: "They know Sam’s the real MVP. Christian might be losing it, but Sam’s got this."

User 316: "Even the commentators trust Sam more than anyone else in the garage. Iconic."

User 317: "Sam Kjellberg making headlines before the race even starts. We love to see it."

User 318: “I love how even the other mechanics are like, 'Yeah our boss is freaking out but Newey's wonder kid here is not so we're okay'.”

4. Picture: Sam Pointing at Max's Car While Christian Watches Nervously

A still shot captures the moment when Sam is explaining something technical to a group of Red Bull engineers, pointing at a specific part of Max's car. Christian stands a few feet away, arms crossed, watching the scene with a nervous expression.

Comments:

User 319: "Christian standing there like an anxious parent watching their kid on stage, while Sam’s doing his thing like a pro."

User 320: "Sam pointing like ‘this is where the magic happens’ and Christian looking like he needs a drink."

User 321: "When Sam points at the car, everyone listens. That’s the kind of authority he has."

User 322: "Christian just hoping Sam doesn’t let him down. The trust is real but the stress is too 😂"

User 323: "Sam is basically holding Christian’s mental state together right now."

5. Clip: Max Brushing Off Christian’s Concerns

This clip shows Max walking past Christian and Sam as Christian tries to get Max to stop and hear about the changes Sam made to the car.

Christian: "Max, wait! I, I know you have meeting with Connor but Sam made some adjustments. You should really hear this before you get in the car."

Max, without even slowing down: "I trust Sam to know what he’s doing! He'll explain it to me later."

Christian just stands there, momentarily speechless as Sam chuckles and goes back to explaining to the mechanics.

Comments:

User 324: "Max really just waved off Christian like ‘nah, Sam’s got this, I’m out’ 😂"

User 325: "Max fully trusting Sam with his car without a care in this world."

User 326: "Christian desperately trying to get Max to care but Max is like ‘Sam knows more than I do.’"

User 327: "Max: I trust Sam. Christian: But wait—Max: No, Sam’s got this, bye."

User 328: "I love how Max just leaves and Christian has no idea what to do with that 😂"

6. Meme: Christian Horner vs. Sam Kjellberg Before the Race

Someone posted a meme with a picture from the garage. On one side is a picture of Christian looking incredibly stressed with his hands in his hair, and on the other is Sam, calm and collected, one hand in his pocket while the other is pointing at something on the car.

Caption of the meme: "Sam Kjellberg - Fixing cars, breaking hearts and holding Christian's nerves on edge."

Comments:

User 329: "This is the meme of the year. Sam literally never gets rattled."

User 330: "Sam out here chillin’ while Christian’s about to have a heart attack."

User 331: "This sums up the whole dynamic perfectly 😂"

User 332: "Christian looks like he’s carrying the world on his shoulders and Sam’s like ‘I got this.’"

--- Sam’s calm confidence in the face of uncertainty won over not just his team but also fans, who are loving every second of the behind-the-scenes chaos.

#fanfic #max verstappen x male reader #writing #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #funny #pewdiepie x brother!reader #pewdiepie x sibling!reader #max verstappen x male oc

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sleeplesssmol · 5 months ago

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Snippets from Mesmer Jr's Anecdote

I highly recommend playing this one though. Lots of things to pick apart and analyze.

This anecdote takes place after Lilya beaks Vertin out of her forced coma in Ch 4, El Oro de Los Tigres. Mesmer and the rest of Laplace are cleaning up “Vertin's mess.” Mesmer doesn't seem angry with Vertin here, rather more annoyed by the work. She says this will be the “last time” she cleans up after Vertin. Medicine Pocket also makes a short appearance here.

Interesting fact: Midazolam is a real drug mentioned in the Anecdote. It's used to “calm down” patients in the anecdote. Midazolam is a Benzodiazepine (benzos), so it acts as a sedative. The other brand name for Midazolam is “Versed”, which is fun cause its “Reverse 1999” .

Cristallo is one of Mesmer Jr's patients. Tooth Fairy brings Cristallo in weekly for the equivalent of a cancer screening. They don't call it cancer outright, but it is described in a very similar fashion where a stray cell travels somewhere it's not supposed to and wreaks havoc. Cristallo discovers a journal of a Laplace psychiatrist known as Dorothea. This journal gives insight into a younger Mesmer Jr.’s life after joining Laplace and she was someone who looked out for Little Mesmer.

Little Mesmer Jr. had a patient’s blood splattered all over her face and clothing during an emergency procedure but she seemed to be the calmest one in the room. She also wore socks with little bears on them.

Arcanist blood subtly influences a child's development, impacting their hormones and emotions. Most arcanist children naturally discover and use their arcane abilities. However, a few experience severe physical and psychological issues, with their bodies rejecting their bloodline. In such cases, compensatory reactions can occur.

A patient from SPDM ended up in Laplace’s care. A student Mesmer recognized named Joseph. He had his legs amputated due to the compensatory reaction. Mesmer is the one who disposed of his legs after surgery.

Dorothea was later killed by a Manus Vindictae member, Jerry Wilson, who she was treating. Years later, Mesmer Jr. is the one who has to sign the release of Jerry Wilson. Mesmser Jr. isn’t aware that this is the Foundation’s scheme to locate Forget-Me-Not and the rest of Manus Vindicate by tracking Jerry.

The Mesmers’ authority over Mesmer Jr. was emphasized during the anecdote. Like Vertin, she is forced to keep calm and obey orders from people above her. However, it is implied that she is now a member on her family’s council. Mesmer also finds out Dorothea’s studies were funded by the Mesmer’s. Dorothea might have been another pawn used by the Mesmer's to further her agenda.

She feels responsible for Dorothea’s death. Mesmer’s Jr. guilt about what she did to Vertin manifests as Madam Z and Lilya berating her in a dream. Vertin got the Laplace treatment of having her legs broken before being placed in a coma despite the fact she wasn't resisting. Laplace takes these extreme measures with Arcanists suffering from Storm Syndrome, meaning it was uncalled for in Vertin's case but Mesmer followed her orders anyway. She blames herself for Isabella, The Ring, and the other children's reversal. In her dream, she is confronted by the many faces of people she feels she let down. When asked why she would do these things, she answers "Because I'm a Mesmer."

#reverse 1999 #mesmer jr.#feel free to add more #there was so much content in this anecdote that could analyzed further #these are just shallow bits and pieces compared to playing through the whole thing

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thegingerwrites · 2 months ago

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Sunday Snippet- May the 4th edition 💫

In the back of my mind, I thought I was going to be able to finish this fic by today. It's very close to be done but not quite there yet so here's a piece of a fic I don't have a title for yet but that I keep calling "magical euphoria" based on this post with another snippet posted here

Obi-Wan is responsible for Anakin.

Anakin would hate it if he knew that Obi-Wan thought of their relationship in those terms. He knows very well that others, the Council especially, think of their partnership in that way. Obi-Wan tries not to, knowing just how badly Anakin craves respect and equality and independence.

Anakin is not his padawan anymore. They have a chance now to stand side by side as equals and Obi-Wan refuses to squander that rare and precious opportunity.

But part of Obi-Wan will always look out for Anakin, will always want the best for him, will always strive to guide him towards the light. The role is too much a part of him to give up now.

The war and the missions they take side by side have all but cemented their status as a team. The Team. With nothing they can’t accomplish so long as they are together. Anakin’s unique abilities, his connection to the Force unlike anything in the galaxy’s long memory, with Obi-Wan to keep him in check, make them unstoppable. When someone needs to do the impossible, when the odds are at their most dire, that’s where they come in.

“That’s enough, Anakin!” Obi-Wan shouts into a windstorm.

His words are ripped from him the moment they leave his mouth, utterly inaudible, but he has to say something. Has to do something, even if it means nearly being knocked to his knees by the wind, fighting to keep his eyes open despite the grit.

His lightsaber trembles in front of him, lighting the way, dispersing larger pieces of debris that come his way. It leads him on toward another shock of blue light in the distance, at the center of the storm.

In a real storm, the center is calm and still. Obi-Wan tries to keep that in mind as another piece of rubble threatens to hit him in the head. If he keeps moving, he will find Anakin, he will be able to hold onto him, he will be able to calm him down. A gust of wind, throwing something long and metal—a piece of a droid? —takes him by surprise, sending him sprawling to the ground on all fours. Obi-Wan snatches at his lightsaber before the wind steals that from him too. He squints up into the wind, catches sight of the blue light, and starts crawling.

The storm gets worse before it gets better.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan inhales some dirt, coughs and tries again. “Anakin, you can stop!”

His shoulder gets pelted with roofing shingles, signs that Anakin’s storm is beginning to tear apart the city they were sent here to protect. The cloud of dirt and the threat of flying debris is worse closer to the center. Obi-Wan can only hope that Anakin is safe at the center, as the cause of all this.

The light from Anakin’s saber moves and shifts ahead of him, as though he is fighting some unseen enemy. There isn’t anything that could make it through this storm, nothing with sense would think of surviving it. Obi-Wan has no idea what Anakin thinks he’s doing, if he is thinking at all.

When Obi-Wan finally breaks through the worst of the wind, he falls to the ground gasping. The last layers of windstorm wrapped thick around Anakin at the center were thick with dust and strong enough to steal his breath away entirely. His attempt at holding his robes over his nose and mouth to keep the worst of it out were utterly useless in the final onslaught.

His ears ring in the absence of the howling wind. His arms tremble beneath him as they adjust to the sudden stillness. With his face pressed against the ground, Obi-Wan nearly chokes on dust and dirt all over again but at the sight of Anakin before him, tall and proud and still at war, he swipes at his face and presses up onto his hands and knees.

It is calmer here, close to Anakin. Almost peaceful in the quiet. In front of the towering wall of sand and dirt and debris, Anakin looks like one of the marble reliefs in the Temple. He might be in a training salle working through the practiced forms of his katas until he became their perfect embodiment.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan pants. His balance is shot as he stands to full height. “The battle’s over, you can rest now.”

He nearly misses it when Anakin swings at him.

Obi-Wan gets his lightsaber up just in time to meet Anakin’s. Blue on blue.

His body is tired. A battle, the trek through Anakin’s windstorm, and now this. The force of Anakin’s strike makes his arms shudder under the stress. Without thinking he moves to block the next blow and the next. Obi-Wan is tired but his body knows how to do this. He takes Anakin’s strength and redirects it.

If Anakin’s excess energy is focused on Obi-Wan, perhaps the storm will die down around him. Perhaps the winds will stop tearing away at the nearby houses. If Obi-Wan holds onto him for long enough perhaps Anakin will come back to him.

Anakin’s eyes are glassy and unfocused when Obi-Wan tries to meet them, like he is seeing something beyond the two of them on some layer of reality Obi-Wan can’t reach. The rest of his body, however, is very much present in the here and now and it takes everything Obi-Wan has to keep up.

There is no stopping Anakin when he gets like this. Obi-Wan has made that mistake before. There is no pinning him down, no incapacitating him. His connection to the Force in these moments makes him almost untouchable. So Obi-Wan doesn’t try to strike out at Anakin, at least not to hit. He keeps his movements small and economical. His legs and footwork are strong and quick to support him. Obi-Wan lets Anakin unleash everything he has left and hopes that he is strong enough to withstand it.

And then Obi-Wan trips.

He steps back, on the retreat, leading Anakin away from the buildings and back onto the battlefield, and suddenly the ground isn’t where he thought it would be. His boot slides on a rock, his knee gives way, and then Anakin is standing over him, ready to deliver a final powerful blow.

The gleaming blue of the saber goes up and for a split second, Obi-Wan isn’t sure there is anything he can do to stop it from coming down in time. Anakin is just as strong and fast and clever as he is. His connection to the Force when he gets like this is unmatched. If Anakin sees fit to strike him down now, there is nothing Obi-Wan can do but take the blow.

But then the winds die down. The cloud of dust and debris surrounding them falls still and silent. Anakin lowers his saber a little and then a little more.

“Obi-Wan?”

At the sound of confusion in his voice, Obi-Wan doesn’t hesitate. He is on his feet in an instant, shutting down and batting aside Anakin’s saber in order to take him in his arms. He pulls Anakin close to him. One hand tangles in his hair while the other takes hold of his face. Yes, good. Whole and present, once again.

They breathe together, Obi-Wan exaggerating his inhales and exhales until they fall into sync. “That’s it,” he says. “That’s alright.”

“Is it over?” Anakin asks. His eyes are back, focused on Obi-Wan, sharp and aware, but his voice is still slightly out of reach.

“Yes.” Obi-Wan pats Anakin on the shoulder, a grounding touch, something to steady him. He takes one of Anakin's hands and brings it to his lips. Here, safe and unharmed. “It’s over.”

#my fic #obikin #sw #magical euphoria

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chock-and-bates · 1 month ago

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hi! i hope this doesn't come off as pushy but do you plan on finish sparks fly or has the story been abandoned :(

looking forward to all your upcoming works as well <3

hello loves!!

the good news is no, sparks fly absolutely hasn't been abandoned! i really, really want to finish it. i miss writing omegaverse, and i feel like i've been getting a bunch of signs that it's time to return to it, so hopefully that will happen soon.

the bad news is that i have no idea when i'll update. every time i make a promise about a fic, it falls through :( for now all i can say is that i fully intend to complete it.

i'm very sorry about the wait, i feel terrible, believe me. i wish my muses/adhd would cooperate.

but thank you for checking in!! it's not one of my most popular fics, but the people that read it seem to be very dedicated to it, which makes me so happy since it's my special little project that got me back into writing ❤️

here's a snippet in the meantime.

Charles’ face twists into an ugly snarl as he watches the little whore sidle closer to Max again. He jerks against Joris' hands around his arms, his friend holding him back and pleading with him to calm down and not go storming over there. Andrea’s voice is suddenly in this mix as well, sternly telling Charles to get a hold of himself before his stress levels push into dangerous territory-

He hears none of it, the rage inside him spiking as he watches the other omega put a hand on his true mate’s chest. Even from across the club, Charles thinks he can see his fingers flex-

Charles' vision goes red, Joris and Andrea’s increasingly frantic words drowned out by a dull roaring that fills his head.

A feral growl rips from his throat, straining against Joris’s hold so he can go break all of the omega whore’s fingers one by fucking one for daring to touch his true mate, for getting his undoubtedly putrid scent all over him, for even having the audacity to look at him when he’s Charles’-

His quick spiral into ferocity is abruptly halted when he watches Max shove off the presumptuous man himself.

Charles falls still, watching in astonishment as his alpha’s face twists into a scowl, Max’s mouth moving with what looks like sharp words of reproachment that have the offending omega quickly backing away, his hands raised in apology.

Mon dieu.

The sight of his alpha rejecting an omega is exhilarating, sending Charles' heart stumbling in his chest. But while it should soothe his omega instincts, the display seems to only make Charles feel even more out of control, his hindbrain buzzing and frantic.

He is still desperate to cross the club, to get to Max, to let everyone see them together, to see that it's him that Max wants, see him cover himself in his alpha’s scent and be scented in turn, let them see Max’s hands all over him, see Charles bare his neck for his alpha, let everyone see how good Charles is for him- A low whine slips from his mouth as he strains towards Max.

“Charles,” Andrea is barking in his ear, his hand tight on his shoulder, “Breathe. You need to calm down. You’re working yourself up too much. You’re going to-”

A familiar heat abruptly blooms in his belly, traveling quickly through the rest of his body, his abdominals tightening and slick suddenly- oh, merde.

A stress heat, he’s about to have a stress heat.

Charles has barely realized it himself when he sees Max’s head snap up.

His alpha stands tall, scenting the convoluted chaotic club air and looking around frantically, until stuttering to a stop, his eyes locked on Charles.

#asks #sparks fly #lestappen #snippets #writing tag #🍃 posting

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ducktoo · 9 months ago

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Syncing Dream [Aespa x M!Reader]

21. Su-su-su-su

Note: this is my fav dance from them lol. Might as well have fun with it.

Masterlist here

"Su-su-su-supernova"

The comeback had finally arrived. After months of preparation, long rehearsals, endless adjustments, and an unexpected tension between the team behind them, "Supernova" was officially out.

Aespa’s comeback had been released to the world, and it took the world by storm.

Y/n stood in the living room, watching as the girls scrolled through their phones, monitoring the reactions online. The buzz was already huge—fans were flooding social media with posts, comments, and reactions to the new track. The music video had hit millions of views within the first few hours, and Supernova was trending worldwide.

“Look at all these fan edits already,” Karina said, her eyes glued to her phone as she scrolled through fan-made clips. "They’re so fast."

Ningning chuckled from her spot on the couch. "We have some seriously talented fans. Some of these edits look better than the original!"

Giselle nodded in agreement, casually flipping through TikTok videos of the "Supernova" dance challenge that had already taken off. “It’s wild how quick people jump on these trends.”

"Even the clips we took with other groups popped up as well." Karina acknowledged.

The group had been recording short-form content all day to promote the comeback, from TikTok dance challenges to behind-the-scenes snippets. Their fans loved it, and the girls seemed energized by the response.

Y/n stood off to the side, observing the whirlwind of excitement around him. The comeback had been a success so far, but in the quiet moments, he felt a familiar itch—a reminder of his trainee days when he used to dance in the practice rooms late at night, dreaming of his own debut.

Now, as a manager, those dreams were behind him, but sometimes, the urge to move to the music still caught him off guard.

The song’s dance break had been stuck in his head all day…to the point that it's more than drugs. Every time he watched the girls perform it, his hand waved along instinctively. Finally, after everyone had recorded their content and things started to calm down, Y/n found himself alone in the living room, "Supernova" still playing on repeat in the background.

He glanced around, making sure no one was around. The girls were in their rooms, probably checking more reactions or resting from the hectic day. He had a few minutes to himself, and before he could talk himself out of it, Y/n stood up and stretched, cracking his knuckles.

"Why the heck not," he muttered, replaying the dance break in his head. It was muscle memory at this point—he’d watched the dance break more than enough times to know the moves by heart.

“Don’t forget my name…!”

He pulled up the music on his phone and set it to play. A moment of silence until…

"Su-su-su-supernova!"

The beat dropped, and before he knew it, Y/n was in the middle of the living room, executing the sharp moves of the dance break with surprising precision. It felt good to move again, to lose himself in the rhythm. For a moment, he was back in those practice rooms, a trainee with everything to prove.

Suddenly, a loud snort broke the silence. He froze mid-dance, turning slowly to see Ningning leaning against the doorframe, her phone pointed directly at him. She was recording.

“Y/n-oppa,” Ningning began, eyes gleaming with mischief, “what in the world are you doing?”

Y/n’s face turned crimson as he scrambled to turn off the music. “N-Nothing! I was, uh, just… stretching.”

“Stretching?” Ningning smirked, walking closer. “Right. Stretching your ability to dance, maybe.”

Y/n’s face flushed deeper. “I was just messing around. You know, for fun.”

“Oh, this is too good,” Ningning teased, still recording. “You know I have to show the girls, right?”

“Ning, no! Please!” Y/n lunged to grab her phone, but she dodged easily, laughing.

“Sorry, Y/n, but this is content.” She grinned, already typing something on her phone. “They’re gonna love this.”

Moments later, Karina, Winter, and Giselle rushed into the living room, clearly intrigued by the string of notifications from the group chat.

“What’s going on?” Karina asked, looking between Ningning and Y/n suspiciously.

Ningning held up her phone triumphantly, playing the video she just recorded. “Caught our manager in the act. He’s out here trying to join the dance line.”

The room exploded with laughter. Y/n groaned, burying his face in his hands as the girls crowded around Ningning’s phone, watching the video over and over.

Winter’s laugh was the loudest as she flopped onto the couch beside Y/n. “Ya idiot, you’ve been holding out on us! It’s been too long since we’ve seen you popping off!”

Karina, still chuckling, shook her head. “I mean, should we be worried? You’re looking a little too comfortable with that choreo.”

Y/n waved them off, trying to recover from his embarrassment. “It’s just muscle memory! I’ve seen you guys rehearse it a thousand times.”

Giselle smirked. “Right. You were just stretching, huh? Looked like a full-on performance to me.”

Before Y/n could defend himself, Karina raised a hand dramatically. “Wait, I have an idea. What if…” she paused for effect,

"Rina, don-"

“we challenge him to record an actual dance challenge with us?”

Y/n’s eyes widened in horror. “No, absolutely not. I’m not getting dragged into this!”

Ningning grinned wickedly. “Too late. You already danced for us once—you might as well go all the way.”

Winter, always ready to stir the pot, added, “Come on, Y/n! What’s the worst that could happen? Mys will love it.”

“Yeah, they’ll love it alright. Me, not so much,” Y/n muttered, shaking his head.

Karina crossed her arms, leaning in teasingly. “Are you saying you can’t handle it, manager-nim?”

“Ya, don’t pull that reverse psychology on me, Karina.”

The teasing was relentless, and before Y/n knew it, he was standing in the middle of the living room again, the girls huddled around him with their phones ready to record. He sighed in defeat as the familiar beat of Supernova started playing.

“Alright, fine,” Y/n grumbled, “but if this ends up online, I’m quitting.”

The girls burst out laughing, their phones already aimed at him. As the music hit the dance break, Y/n moved through the choreography again, this time with the girls cheering him on and recording every second.

When the music ended, the girls erupted into applause, and Y/n collapsed onto the couch, his face flushed from both exertion and embarrassment.

“I can’t believe I let you guys talk me into that,” he groaned. "I should go bury myself to the couch."

Winter patted his shoulder with a grin. “You did great! You might even go viral.”

Y/n groaned even louder. “Please, no.”

But despite his protests, he couldn’t help but laugh along with them. Moments like these were rare—where the stress of the job faded, and they could all just have fun, like the group of friends they’d become.

Ningning smirked, her phone still in hand. “I think this is the best comeback content we’ve made yet. MYs are gonna love it.”

Y/n sighed dramatically, but deep down, he didn’t really mind. This was their comeback era, and he was just glad to be part of it—even if it meant embarrassing himself along the way.

“Well,” Karina said with a playful smirk, “you did say you wanted to be more involved in this comeback, right? Looks like you got your wish.”

Y/n threw a pillow at her, laughing. “This is not what I meant!”

A few days had passed since Y/n’s impromptu dance break to Supernova. The girls had their fun teasing him, and he thought that would be the end of it. He went back to his usual routine—managing schedules, overseeing rehearsals, and making sure everything was running smoothly for Aespa’s comeback.

However, fate had other plans.

It started with a ping on his phone. Y/n glanced down at the notification—just another mention on social media. Ever since the video of his dance break had been recorded, Ningning had been sharing bits of it in their group chat for laughs, but surely none of that had left the circle, right?

Another ping.

Then another.

Y/n’s brow furrowed as more notifications poured in. He opened his phone to see a flood of new followers and likes on his social media accounts. Confused, he quickly opened his notifications to see a name that sent a chill down his spine: TikTok.

“Oh, sht…” he muttered, clicking the app. "Those girls did not…"

Sure enough, there it was: the video of him dancing to Supernova, uploaded by one of the girls, had gone viral. Thousands of comments, likes, and shares. People were remixing it, dueting it, and even tagging Y/n in their own versions of the dance challenge, comparing his moves to the professionals.

The caption was innocent enough: “Our manager getting in on the #Supernova 🔥”. But the video had blown up. Millions of views, thousands of comments, and even some fans speculating on his trainee days.

“What the—” Y/n muttered as he scrolled through the comments.

“Wait, is their manager an ex-trainee?? No wonder he’s so good!”

"Pretty sure he's also the knife-blocking manager back then as well. Damn, I'm in love."

“This is actually smooth though, not gonna lie.”

“Petition for Y/n to debut with Aespa. We need a fifth member!”

“Manager-nim, when’s your solo debut?”

“Can we get a full version?!”

He groaned, slumping back into his chair. Woooow, the heck?!

As if on cue, the dorm erupted in laughter as the girls rushed into the living room, phones in hand, giggling uncontrollably.

“Y/n-oppa!” Ningning was the first to speak, barely able to contain herself. “You went viral! You’re a star! Even more than last time!”

Winter, following close behind, was practically in tears from laughing. “Idiot, you might need to start your own fan club at this rate. Paboya should be the name.”

Karina smirked, holding up her phone to show the video. “Looks like the fans want more content from you. What do you say?”

“I say I’m gonna hide under a rock for the next year,” Y/n muttered, trying to process the fact that his dance video had somehow made him the center of attention. “How did that even past the door to the editing room in the first place?”

Ningning crossed her arms, pretending to look hurt. “Come on, you knew this was going to happen eventually. You’re too good to stay in the background!”

Giselle gave him a pat on the back. “Besides, now that you’re famous, you’re basically one of us. Get ready for more filming.”

Y/n groaned. “No, no, no. This is you guys' comeback. I’m just the manager—behind the scenes. You know, managing.”

"Oh? Those that mean you want your own song?" Giselle raised her eyebrow, clearly amused.

"Don't twist my word, Uchinaga-"

But it was too late. Karina was already scrolling through their schedule. “Well, there’s a content shoot tomorrow. You might as well join in! You’ve got fans now too, after all.”

“I am not joining—” Y/n began, but Winter cut him off.

“You are,” she said firmly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “And you know what? I think we should make this official. TikTok content, dance challenges, behind-the-scenes videos—Y/n, you’re part of the comeback promo now.”

He was about to protest, but the excitement in their eyes was too much. Y/n sighed, knowing he was defeated. “You guys are really not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope!” they all chimed in unison, laughing.

Before he could fully resign himself to his fate, Karina had an idea. “Okay, since you’re already going viral, let’s make it a real series. Each of us will teach you a dance from Supernova, and we’ll film the whole thing. The fans will love it.”

Winter leaned closer to him, her grin pure chaos. “Starting with the hardest part of the choreo.”

Y/n buried his face in his hands. “I’m never going to hear the end of this…”

As the evening began to wind down, Y/n found a rare moment of peace at the practice room. He had just survived another TikTok shoot with the girls, and despite the whirlwind of attention his viral dance break had stirred up, he finally felt like he could catch his breath while the girls are busy practicing.

That is, until his phone buzzed again.

He hesitated, half-expecting it to be another fan comment or notification. But instead, the name that flashed on the screen sent an entirely different wave of panic through him: Minji

“Ah sh- here we go again…”

Before he could even think about answering, the door to the dorm flung open, and in walked Minji, followed closely by Jihoon and Joon. All three had identical sht-eating grins plastered on their faces—grins that spelled trouble.

"Y/n!" Minji sang out dramatically, echoing the way the girls had teased him earlier. "Or should we say… new soloist?"

Y/n groaned, burying his face in a nearby pillow. "Please, no. Not you guys too."

Jihoon chuckled as he crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "Oh, you bet we’re here for this. Do you have any idea how many fans have been tagging our groups in aespa's videos? You’ve blown up more than some idols, man."

Joon, not one to miss out on a good teasing opportunity, added, "I thought we were managers, not content creators. Looks like you’re breaking all the rules now."

Y/n sat up, glaring playfully at the three of them. "You guys are supposed to have my back, not pile on."

Minji smirked and gave him a light nudge. "Oh, we have your back, alright. That’s why we’re here—to support you in your new career as a viral sensation."

"Yeah, and by ‘support,’ we mean teasing you relentlessly," Jihoon chimed in, grinning.

Before Y/n could even think of a comeback, the aespa members joined in, gathering around the group with wide, mischievous smiles.

"Y/n really thought he could escape the teasing," Giselle laughed.

"Not a chance," Winter added, grinning from ear to ear.

"Guess what, oppa," Ningning said, eyes twinkling. "We’ve been thinking… should we make a new TikTok featuring all of us? You, Minji, Jihoon, and Joon can join too! A special ‘managers edition’ of the Supernova challenge."

Y/n’s eyes widened in mock horror as Minji raised an eyebrow. "Oh, now that’s something I’d pay to see," she said, clearly enjoying the idea. "I’m down."

Jihoon and Joon exchanged amused glances before nodding enthusiastically.

"Absolutely. What better way to support our fellow viral manager than to get in on the action?" Joon said, already pulling out his phone as if ready to record right then and there.

Y/n stood up, hands raised in protest. "Wait, hold on. Let’s not get carried away, okay? I’m already deep enough in this TikTok rabbit hole."

"And let's send it to Seulgi as well"

"Minji-noona, don't you dare-"

Minji crossed her arms, a playful glint in her eyes. "Too late. You’re already a star. Might as well ride the wave."

The girls, clearly delighted by the chaos they had started, egged the managers on even further.

"I think you’d all be great," Karina said with a teasing smile. "We could choreograph something simple."

Giselle nodded, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Y/n’s already mastered the hard parts, so you guys will be fine."

Y/n glanced between his fellow managers and the girls, realizing there was no escaping this. They had all teamed up against him, and as much as he wanted to complain, he couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"Fine," he sighed dramatically. "But when this goes viral, I expect bonuses"

Ningning, never one to miss a beat, gave him a sly grin. "Deal. Now let’s make some good content."

And so, with the cameras rolling and the teasing in full swing, Y/n—alongside Minji, Jihoon, and Joon—joined aespa in a new round of TikTok chaos, proving once and for all that no one, not even managers, were safe from the Supernova challenge.

…."Su-su-su-supernova!"

#aespa #aespa x reader #aespa giselle #kpop #aespa karina #aespa ningning #aespa winter #karina #ningning #giselle #aespa x you #aespa x male reader #x reader #kim minjeong #ning yizhuo #yoo jimin #aeri uchinaga

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leoneliterary · 11 months ago

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Happy belated Father’s Day to Amatus! Hope he’s doing well in his (temporary) nursing home lol

Ahh I'm late, but here is a belated Father's Day snippet from Amatus's rest home!

"And you've come all the way to the city, but haven't had the chance to request leave to see your mother?!"

Merikh could hear Amatus's distraught voice through the wall and couldn't contain his irritation. For a man that was supposed to have been at death's door, he was full of vigor. And conversation. So much conversation.

Everytime Merikh entered the study, he could hear Amatus talking to any and everyone. The servants that brought him food, the soldiers that were supposed to be guarding him. Fires of creation, even Yemoja's aunt had started visiting him!

Merikh slammed down his ink brush, knocking his chair over as he stood up. Stalking over to the hidden entrance, he stormed in.

"What is going on in here? Why do I have to remind you not to associate with-Levon are you...crying?"

In the room he saw Amatus, calm as ever, patting one of his soldiers, Levon on the back. The young soldier sat up quickly, wiping his eyes and sniffling.

"Sorry Merikh, I was just-"

"Go back to your post," Merikh said, already pinching the bridge of his nose.

After Levon left he turned his attention back to Amatus, who looked at him with a lazy stare. Like he was a cat sunning instead of a prisoner and patient.

"What game are you playing, thief?" Merikh finally asked and Amatus chuckled.

"Do you know what goes on around this time of year? In this part of Hashind people celebrate Tulath's Harvest. Legend says that Tulath and his family were so honorable that a spirit granted them a boon and created a river so that they would be able to grow food, even in the desert. Now it's a holiday that celebrates family and farming,"

"I didn't come in here for culturally enrichment. I came in here to understand what you're up to," Merikh said, barely restraining himself from yelling.

He didn't understand this man, nor your connection with him, nor the odd hold he seemed to have on people.

"Your soldier is still just a boy who misses his family around this time of year. I know you do too. I can see it underneath the anger. Maybe not on days like today, but on some days, when you look up and see the stars are in the right place, I know you think about whatever people you have. Or had,"

If Merikh didn't need this man to keep you, he would have strangled him. Now he understood why Levon was crying.

"How dare you? If you think I'll fall for your mind games-" Merikh's rage was beginning to pick up momentum before Amatus's sorrowful tone stopped him short.

"I miss my kids. I hadn't missed anyone in years. I had let everyone and everything go, and then I met those kids. I taught them how to climb, how to have the softest footsteps and the quickest hands, but they taught me to care again. Just when I had given up. My ducklings,"

Merikh suddenly didn't feel angry. A shiver of something too close to guilt clung to him.

He raised an accusatory finger at Amatus but dropped it when he saw the man wasn't even looking at him.

"Stop...talking to my men," Merikh finally settled on and turned to leave, hoping to outrun the uncomfortable feelings in the room.

"It's alright to be sad, young lord. It doesn't have to be anger," Amatus calls out as he closes the door. "From one bastard to another, it isn't your fault that not all fathers deserve the sons they're blessed with,"

Merikh doesn't look back as he slams the door.

#Merikh #Amatus #snippets #interactive fiction #honor amongst thieves #if wip #game development #interactive novel #worldbuilding #ros #hat if

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clawsandthunder · 5 months ago

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Claws and Thunder: Why I support RoLo!

Hey there, Claws and Thunder squad! 🌩️ Welcome back to your favorite place for all things Wolverine and Storm. Today, I’m tackling a hot topic I've been itching to discuss: why I’ve never supported Ororo Munroe with T’Challa, and why Ororo and Logan make the perfect couple.

Now, I know this might ruffle some feathers among Black Panther fans, but hey, I’m just here to share my opinions— so no apologies for honesty around here.

Marvel's Marketing Strategy: A Convenience, Not a Connection

Let’s address the elephant in the room. Marvel’s pairing of Ororo with T’Challa seems more like a business strategy than a genuine match. Back then, before the monumental success of the first Black Panther movie, Marvel wanted to ramp up T’Challa’s popularity by linking him with Ororo—one of their most cherished characters. Sure, it made business sense, but it never really rang true for Ororo’s character.

Diminished Powers and Character

Whenever Ororo and T’Challa were together, it felt like Ororo’s powers and individuality were dialed down. We all know Ororo as the independent, strong goddess we admire, but in this pairing, she was often reduced to a sidekick role. This diminished portrayal did an injustice to her powerful legacy. Remember, Ororo was worshipped as a goddess, an Omega-level mutant who should never be overshadowed. It’s disappointing how Marvel even re-scripted her history to show T’Challa saving Ororo instead of Ororo’s original rescue of him. I'm still so pissed about this and every Storm fan should be upset about this.

Goddess vs. Queen: Misplaced Priorities

The argument that T’Challa "made Ororo a queen" has always been baffling. Ororo was literally worshipped as a goddess—a title far more significant than that of a queen. By focusing on her role as a queen in their relationship, Marvel downplayed her true history, essence, and power. Ororo’s myriad titles—orphans, street-thief, goddess, mutant, leader—are critical parts of her character. Reducing her to just a queen feels like a disservice. I’m so tired of Black Panther fans acting as if he did her a favor by marrying her.

Ororo and Logan: The Perfect Equation

When it comes to Ororo and Logan, their partnership is a powerhouse of equality, respect, and complementary strengths.

Equality and Balance

In their relationship, there's no overshadowing. Both Ororo and Logan retain their strengths and independence, fighting as equals. This dynamic ensures that Ororo continues to shine just as brightly as Logan, with no one playing second fiddle. Whether it's leading the X-Men or taking down formidable foes, they both bring their A-game.

Complementary Personalities

Ororo’s calm and serene nature perfectly balances Logan’s fiery intensity. This dynamic interplay creates a relationship that is both compelling and balanced. They are nature's children, deeply connected to the elements around them. Here’s a snippet from one of my fanfics to illustrate their connection:

“She was the sky—vast, powerful, and calming—elemental and boundless. He was the hunter—unpredictable, primal, and relentless—rooted in the wild’s raw rhythm. Together, they formed a symphony of stability and chaos, their bond unbreakable. In his arms, she could unleash her inner tempest, knowing he’d embrace and accept all of her, just as she did him.”

A Rich, Shared History

Ororo and Logan share a rich history, filled with shared experiences, adventures, and mutual respect. They've faced countless challenges together, further solidifying their bond. This shared history adds depth and authenticity to their relationship, making it more than just a romance—it's a partnership forged in the fires of battle and tempered by mutual respect.

Best Moments in the Comics

Their partnership has given us some of the most memorable and heartwarming moments in the X-Men series. Whether it's their seamless teamwork in battle or their tender moments of mutual understanding, Ororo and Logan's relationship has always been a standout. These moments highlight the strength and beauty of their bond, making them, in my humble opinion, Marvel’s true power couple.

Conclusion: The True Power Couple

Marvel’s decision to pair Ororo with T’Challa may have made business sense, but it never felt true to Ororo’s character. In contrast, her relationship with Logan is built on equality, respect, and complementary strengths. Together, Ororo and Logan stand out as Marvel’s ultimate power couple—two individuals who shine independently and together.

Thanks for reading, Claws and Thunder fans! I’d love to hear your thoughts. Are you a RoLo supporter? Let’s keep the conversation going in the comments below! 🌟

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dandelion-blues · 1 year ago

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Hold Fast, Captain.

A Percy Jackson and Pirates of the Caribbean adventure!

The Prince of the Sea.

Oh! the dead dare to dream.

The cursed sought to claim,

If only the red blood would remain.

You dare touch the Storm’s chosen,

The one crowned by black roses.

Yo ho! A pirate may lust,

But will never earn his trust.

So pretty, the pearl of the sea,

Singing the siren shanties.

Drown in the depths of his eyes.

Oh! He'll be your demise.

Yo ho! Dancing till dawn,

The Hero won’t be treated as a pawn.

Oh! Lavish him in your riches,

To evade swimming with the fishes.

~~~

Many a pirate felt the calling of the sea in their very blood. They felt the sea salt air thicken as the waves crashed against their wooden vessels. The clear sky seared into their being.

Oh, it was the calm before the storm, they knew. Something was coming. For the Goddess of the Seas called her fish back, leaving the pirates blessed by her domain without their meals. It was her way to protect all those of the sea and send a message to thee. Only a fool would choose to ignore it, lest they wished for their death.

Their dreams filled with a young man, his face never clearly seen, but had the eyes not of a man but of the sea. Oh, blessed one of the seas.

“The Prince is coming,” the Goddess whispered in their dreams, to all those traveling on her waters. Her voice like the very tides. Ebbing and flowing in a soft crescendo. But in her voice held power, a power that spoke of a Goddess with many depths. A low symphony to her hidden trenches, deep and dangerous underneath the crystalline voice of her shallow shores.

Oh, Goddess of the Mirror World. Calypso, the Goddess of summer tides, the sea’s storm and might, the rescuer of the souls lost at sea, and the final judge of all those who dare journey her seas! Don’t mistake her for the daughter of Atlas, for she is more powerful than thee. She is this world’s Goddess of the Seas!

~~~

Dark eyes open. He swallows deeply, his voice but a whisper amongst the ship’s rocking waves, “The Prince is coming.”

Jack Sparrow, captain of the Black Pearl, looks to the horizon. Somehow, he knows he's in for something grand once again. He’ll survive this trial, this test, from the Goddess of the Seas. He knows he can.

For now, though, he’ll be drinking his weight in rum to forget the coming storm.

Notes:

Here's a little snippet of this idea that I've had on the backburner for a while now, but I finally decided to write.

I honestly really love this! And there really needs to be more Percy Jackson and Pirates of the Caribbean crossovers!

Also, I am fully headcannoning Captain Jack Sparrow as Aroallo!

"...my first and only love is the sea." ~Jack Sparrow.

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k9effect · 2 years ago

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Hangster as exes haunts my mind often, I forgot I wrote this snippet so I'm posting it on here, enjoy <3

Jake tried to breathe through the tight chested panic and residual fury he was feeling as he pushed the front door back open. He hadn't even been here for a full ten minutes.

Jake couldn't be around him. Not after everything.

He had made eye contact with Bradley from across the room right after he arrived. Bradley had stared him down like Jake was a deer and he was on a hunting trip. It had immediately set off every alarm in Jake's brain.

So he left.

The few party goers in the front yard didn't spare him a glance as he stormed off, letting the door close quietly behind him. He didn't want to make a scene. He was uncomfortable already, he was leaving quietly. That's all that was happening.

He didn't think much of it when he heard the door slam open. He didn't think much of the thundering footsteps. He was almost down the block when he heard someone call his name.

"Jake!"

He frowned as he turned around, having recognised the voice immediately.

Bradley was charging at him like a bull seeing red. Nostrils flaring, obviously drunk and pissed.

"So what, you can't even be around me? Is that what it is?" Bradley growled.

"What I feel is no longer any of your business, Rooster." Jake tried to keep his voice calm despite the way his heart was thundering against his chest.

"You turned tail the moment you saw me! You're a fucking coward who can't even exist in the same space as his ex!" Bradley jabbed a finger at him accusingly.

"Don't you dare call me a coward." Jake hissed, "I'm not the one who got scared and ran off when it got too real between us. I'm not the one who cut off his boyfriend and ghosted him for weeks without explanation. I'm not the one who brought up his boyfriend's shitty family life as an excuse to break it off!" Jake roared, everything bubbling up and boiling over.

Bradley's breathing was quick and heated. Jake had struck a nerve.

"I did what I had to do-"

"What? Because you wanted out? You could have just said that!" Jake threw his hands up, turning around a few steps then pacing back. "You fucking hurt me, Bradley. More than you realise." He snapped.

They stared at each other. The heated fury Jake had been feeling was dying down to coals and embers. He was back to that resigned numbness he had been drowning in since the break up.

"I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, Bradley." Jake's voice was uncharacteristically calm and quiet, shrouded in numbness. "I really, truly loved you."

He turned and left before Bradley could get another word in. He pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket and tried to not let the tears fall.

#sam writes #hangster #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #hangman #rooster #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick #top gun #tgm #top gun fanfiction #top gun fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction

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moonlight-records · 1 year ago

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So American | LN4 & MV1

pairing: lando norris x oc x max verstappen

summary: Snippets of times that Storm, an up and coming American figure skater, being Lando and Max's favorite American soon to he partner friend

warning: fluff! some mad thirsting from Storm. but really just fluff!

FC: @/simimoonlight on instagram!

WC: 4.7K

a/n: Storm is genderfluid uses all pronouns fluently so the pronoun shifts are intentional, to showcase how they're presenting! yes! it is based off of 'So American' by Olivia Rodrigo! Yes, i did added the lyrics in! No, i do not own the song and all rights to her!! also, i blame @norrisleclercf1 for getting me on the norstappen train!!! so enjoy my first attempt at this!!

Drivin' on the right-side road. He says I'm pretty wearin' his clothes.

“Surprise!” Storm beams a bright smile at the older McLaren driver, arms stretched out wide for a hug while standing outside his hotel room. She almost cackles at the surprised expressions Lando is currently sporting before he rushes over, laughing and smiling as Lando pulls Storm into a tight hug, spinning her around before putting her down in shock. Storm is trying so hard to stay focused on Lando words as he rambles about them being here for Silverstone and all the things they’ll have to do before he stops, glances down, and laughs.

“Is this my hoodie?”

Glancing down at themselves, Storm feels her face suddenly on fire from being called out but she keeps her cool as she looks up at the Brit, “yeah. You left it at my place so now it’s mine. If you want it back, you’ll have to fight me for it and Max already took his back.”

Lando laughs as he shakes his head, “Calm down. As much as I love this hoodie, it looks much better on you. Max only took it back because Sassy loves to hide in his hoodies but I think I can part with this one if you promise to wear it often,” he beams that stupid heart stopping smile with a wink, “did you drive here?”

“Yes Lando, I drove here from the airport” making a face, “I don’t need someone to drive me around, Lando.”

“Booooooooooooooo! Return the car! I’ll drive you around while you’re here.”

“I think you just want an excuse to make fun of my driving and show me how to “properly drive” as you claim.”

“Am I wrong?”

Storm gasps and smacks Lando’s arm who is not fast enough to avoid it but he’s laughing. “Asshole!” Storm claims, “so the answer will be no.”

Crossing their arms over their chest, Storm studies Lando. She can’t help the small smile that appears on her face as Lando whines and complains that there’s no reason for Storm to drive when Lando is right here to be her personal chauffeur, especially at his home race. Storm shakes their head refusing to budge on the subject as Lando starts to coax them to put their things down so they can get drinks in the lobby.

And he's got hands that make hell seem cold.

“Jesus,” Lando hisses as his hand brushes against Storm’s hand as he takes his drink from her, “why are your hands freezing?”

“Maybe it’s because you run extremely hot all the time?” Storm counters.

“No no—put that down.”

Storm does and she blinks when Lando takes her hands into his. His hands are gigantic, completely engulfing her own, and they’re so “Lando, what the fu—”

“Storm, you're freezing. How are you okay with running this cold? And spare me the ‘I’m an ice skater’ bullshit. I know they’re all thermal so you don’t freeze.”

“How do you know that?”

“Common sense,” Lando states before speaking after a beat, “also cause I know you mentioned your tights ripping and money was a bit tight—”

“You bought me tights? Lando you didn’t have to do that. I have to pay you back—”

“No. Just take them. No strings attached. Really. Also stop distracting me from the fact you run way too cold—”

Storm laughs softly and shakes her head. They’ll die before admitting aloud that she has low iron and that she’s been taking iron pills but had forgotten to take one while traveling all the way out to the UK. Instead, she shrugs softly, “maybe it’s just the UK I’m allergic to,” she jokes with a grin.

Feet on the dashboard, he's like a poem I wish I wrote…I wish I wrote.

“Put your feet down!”

“No way!” Lando laughs as he shifts in the passenger seat with his feet up on the dashboard, “you refused to let me drive you around so now I get to play passenger princess! They do this all the time, why can’t I?”

“Cause god forbid I break short or something and then boom! Broken legs or worse, amputated legs,” Storm glances at the Brit trying her hardest to not cave and break this facade she’s put on, “I’ll buy you—fucking ice cream or something and won’t tell your trainer if you take your feet off the dashboard so I’m less stressed.”

Lando tilts his head from side to side before finally moving his legs off the dashboard, sighing dramatically as if Storm banned him from having fun. Storm laughs at the dramatic antics from the Brit but keeps driving as she steals a glance. Lando’s scrolling through his phone for something, maybe a song, but Storm can’t help but watch how his curls blow in the wind or how he’s got this glint in his eye when he focused or how sometimes he’ll end up making a duck face in thought and somehow make it work. Forcing her gaze away Storm continues driving and pushes the feelings down.

When he laughs at all my jokes and he says I'm so American. Oh God, it's just not fair of him to make me feel this much.

The days leading up to Silverstone felt like a dream that Storm did not want to wake up from. From the late night chats to the gaming to the shopping to the exploring, Storm can’t really pinpoint the last time she’s had this much fun, even if it’s just lounging around in his hotel room, Storm high out of her mind while Lando is basically giving her a fashion show for an outfit for media day.

“Your tolerance must be shit,” Storm says while sprawled out on the bed.

“It is,” Lando glances at her from the mirror while buttoning his shirt. Sea green eyes meet brown and Storm smiles and is thankful he looks away to finish getting dressed, “I’ll have some time during summer break but not much. Might have to stick to carts until the season ends.”

“One hit and you’ll be seeing god.”

“It’s better than the American on my bed,” Lando smirks in the mirror.

I'll go anywhere he goes and he says I'm so American. Oh God, I'm gonna marry him if he keeps this shit up.

“Well, this American will now stop giving fashion advice since the Brit seems to know so much more.” Storm starts, “and I guess this American just will sell her Hungary tickets a—”

“You’re going to Hungary too?!” Lando turns sharply to face Storm.

Sighing dramatically, Storm looks at the ceiling “Well, not anymore since someone would rather see God than the American.”

“I was kidding!” Lando starts and Storm just dramatically tosses her head to the sigh before Lando is launching himself onto the bed. Storm screams slightly and rolls so she’s not suffocated or injured and covers her mouth out of shock. Lando’s laughing and Storm shifts, grabbing a pillow. “Asshole!” Storm swears and smacks him with the pillow just as he sits up and she gasps before cackling at the McLaren driver falling off the bed.

I might just be in lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-love.

Silverstone was not the results McLaren wanted. They were too greedy and the calls were all off. Why were the boys being left to make these decisions? Why didn’t they do a double pit in the beginning when McLaren was p1-p2. Storm debated if a lifetime ban from the garage would be worth cursing the race engineers out but Storm decided it wasn’t worth it in the long run so instead Storm took to stepping out of the garage to not get banned.

Watching the podium from her spot in the garage, she couldn’t help but smile sadly. As much as she was proud of Lewis for getting his home win, she knew that this meant so much to Lando (and George who didn’t even finish) as well and Lando was so close. If the calls were just right maybe it would’ve been a different outcome.

Storm hears the anger in his voice when Lewis points out they pitted Lando a lap too late. She winces slightly at it before she depearts and starts making her way to see the podium, hanging closer to the back as the boys appear. She’s thankful Max is up there as well, to be a support beam for Lando. Storm refuses to imagine what this would’ve been if Max and Lando let Austria really get to their friendship, even if she hasn’t talked much even with Lando there.

When the podium is over and everyone’s finishing up, Storm is lingering around the McLaren garage. Scrolling through her phone, she glances up seeing the Red Bull driver and pockets her phone as she steps forward intercepting his path. “Max,” Storm starts with a smile, backing up slightly seeing she had startled the male.

“Oh–Justice, is it?”

“Uh, yeah but everyone calls me Storm. Call me Storm, please.”

“Okay. Storm it is,” Max smiles and nods.

“Thanks. I also just wanted to say thank you, for today.”

“You’re welcome for…what exactly?”

“Trying to cheer Lando up. I saw you really tried ever since the race ended,” Storm admits, “he really needed that so thank you. Especially after Austria..” letting her voice trail off for a moment, “it means a lot coming from you so, I just wanted to say thank you. Now if you excuse me, I have to deal with a moping Lando for the evening.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Max offers, “to have help while he’s moping. He can be–”

“A lot,” Storm finishes, “I know but…I’d appreciate that a lot.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you in the hotel lobby. We can–take him to the bar there or I can buy something on the way back and we can drink and just relax in his room.”

“Sounds like a plan. See you soon.”

God, I'm so boring and I'm so rude. Can't have a conversation if it's not all about you.

“I was thinking–are you even listening to me?”

“Hm? Yeah, totally.”

“Liar. You’re not even looking at me. You haven’t spoken in thirty five minutes. You’ve just shut me out.”

“Just because I’m not looking at my phone doesn’t mean I’m not listening. Also the fact you know how long I’ve been quiet is a bit weird.”

There’s a noise on the other end, “It’s not weird when you’re typically always talking. What are you doing anyway that’s apparently so important?”

“Looking for costume ideas for my competition,” Storm mutters while glancing at his phone for a second then back to his laptop, “what were you saying again?”

“So you were ignoring me. That’s rude, you know”

“I wasn’t ignoring you. I was just prioritizing my competition--"

"Competition for what?"

"Figure skating," Storm glances at the screen then away, "and being genderfluid sometimes suck cause that means more costumes to fit the mood. Doesn't matter since you’re just talking my ear off and probably will continue talking my ear off for another another three hours about your cats,” Storm jokes and smirks hearing the noise that comes from the other end of the FaceTime call before he starts to mimic Max’s rant.

Storm has heard the same playful rant so much that Storm has accidentally memorized it ever since the end of Silverstone with Storm and Max talking more often now, especially with Lando spending time with family and Quadrant which…Storm didn’t hate at all.

The way you dress and the books you read.

Storm was truly no better than a man or woman or person. Deep in the back of Storm’s mind, Storm is kicking himself right now for staring shamelessly at Max but how could they not? Any other time they’ve spoken to Red Bull’s current golden boy, he’s always in Red Bull merch which did not do him any justice.

The plain black t-shirt and jeans with sneakers and a backwards cap? That was doing him all the justice in the world as the two sat at the bar, waiting for drinks. Storm knew where he should look but he was going to take every inch of Max’s figure in while he could.

Storm started at his thighs. It was a shame Max didn’t wear shorts as often because he had some killer thighs. Honestly, Storm bet he could crush a watermelon easily with them…or Storm’s head. Either way, Storm would be very content. They also looked so rideable. Storm would love nothing more than to just swing a leg over and get himself off on Max’s thigh.

Moving his gaze up, Storm sucked his bottom lip between his teeth while staring at Max’s chest. The way the shirt clung to his chest was impossible to ignore. The way his muscles twitched and flex with the simplest of movements. Storm would kill to sink his teeth into his biceps or have a bicep around his waist or his throat.

Looking up more, Storm settles on studying Max’s face. How his eyes shine from the bar lights, how his jaw twitches slightly or his lips are together as he looks over before smiling brightly at Storm. Storm blinks before smiling back but glancing away, embarrassed for just staring Max down like a piece of meat.

I really love my bed, but, man, it's hard to sleep when he's with me. When he's with me.

Time really does fly when you’re having fun. Storm had come to Monaco to hang out with Lando since he had the time off but he was stuck in meetings all day. Storm didn’t really want to sit in their hotel room by themselves so they had called Max. Max was more than kind to let Storm hang out at his apartment while Storm waited for Lando to finish his meetings.

What was meant to be a few hours turned into Storm walking around holding Jimmy and Sassy while Max was in the kitchen cooking dinner. What was just meant to kill some time turned into Storm trying to explain how wonderful Waffle House was to Max and “when you guys come to Austin, I have to take you!” What was meant to just be a quick stop turned into Storm and Max on the couch watching some really cheesy spoof movie with the cats just dissecting the movie.

“Oh my fucking god it’s almost midnight!” Storm proclaims when they finally check their phone. They don’t feel as bad since Lando sent a text apologizing that he’s been in meetings all day and had to handle stuff for Quadrant and he’d make it up to them, “I need to get back to the hotel–”

“Just stay.”

“What?” Storm looks.

“I said stay. It’s late,” Max forces himself to prop himself up on his elbows, “or I can take you back but you shouldn’t be driving. All the crazies are out.”

“That’s a kind offer but it’s fine,” Storm is looking around for their jacket, “besides. If you drive me, then I won’t have a car. What am I going to do then? Huh?” Turning to face him, “have you or Lando drive me all over town?”

The silence that falls upon the apartment is almost comical. Storm is waiting for Max to answer but all instead they just get a blank face and finally an eyebrow raise as if Storm’s question was a stupid one. Shaking their head, Storm turns back around and grabs their things as there’s shuffling behind them.

“I appreciate the offer,” a silent one that is, “but really. I can handle a twenty minute drive back,” Storm turns and nearly jumps out their skin with how close Max is, who’s currently got his arm outstretched to grab a jacket, “what are you doing?”

“Walking you to the car.”

There’s no point of arguing with Max once his mind is made up. Any other time, Storm would argue but it’s late and Storm is counting their blessings that Max was letting them drive back to the hotel. The two chatted all the way there and Storm waved bye as Max watched them drive off.

Laying in their hotel bed, Storm stares at the ceiling before looking at the digital clock on their nightstand. 3am. Looking back at the ceiling, Storm tries to convince themselves that they can’t sleep is totally not because talking to Max was so easy and nice and they would’ve much preferred to stay up all night hanging out with him. They’re wide awake because they had to drive back and they’re struggling to fall back asleep.

It doesn't work but Storm can try.

When he laughs at all my jokes and he says I'm so American. Oh God, it's just not fair of him to make me feel this much.

The week in Monaco is a blur in the best way possible.

Storm found herself with Max when she wasn’t running around with Lando. For most of it, they just hung out at his apartment watching movies or Storm learning way too much about F1 while Max was on the sim. Hell, she happily sits in the corner when he streams and swallows her giggles though it doesn’t matter. The chat can see Max turning to look back at Storm with that stupid, stunning smile.

I'll go anywhere he goes and he says I'm so American. Oh God, I'm gonna marry him if he keeps this shit up.

Storm wasn’t a huge party person. Sure, they enjoyed going out but the consistent partying like other celebrities and pro athletes? Not really and they always got teased about it by their friends.

Storm found themselves out at a club in Monaco, vibing to the music as they gently sway from side to side against the wall. “I should’ve taken being teased,” Storm mutters to themselves as they glance around the club. How people went clubbing by themselves, they would never know and they gave them so much credit for being that confident. Sighing gently, at least Storm could say they tried it and it wasn’t their vibe.

“Storm!”

Perking their head up, Storm’s a bit surprised to see Max making his way over, “what are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you the same thing.”

‘He’s tipsy’ Storm thinks. Between his accent being thicker, the very slight slurred speech, and the alcohol–Red Bull and vodka–Storm deduces he’s tipsy at least. Putting their lips together, they can’t help but smile slightly as Max leans against the wall, wincing slightly when he hits it a bit harder than probably intended.

“I asked you first.”

“Lando. Well Lando and Charles. They wanted a night out and I did promise Lando ‘next time’ and well,” gesturing to the club, “here I am.”

“Ah.”

“You?”

Storm instinctively leans back slightly when Max leans in slightly, “ If I had known Lando was organizing something, I probably would’ve come with you guys but I tried solo clubbing.”

“Find anyone?”

Storm practically jumps out of her skin at the new voice. Turning their head to the side, they see Lando on the other side, clutching their shirt. Relaxing when they realize that it’s just Lando, they settle against the wall to look at the two drivers. Mulling the question over, Storm tilts their head slightly.

“Is that all you think about?” Storm quirks a brow, “not everyone is looking for someone.”

“Are you?” Max asks.

“No–” Storm internally winces at how fast they answered, “I mean, not particularly,” they correct themselves considering the only two they would want currently have them trapped between them, “I’m a bit…”

“Picky?” Lando leans in with a smirk.

“Guarded,” Storm retorts.

They notice Lando’s eye dart to Max and they glances at Max, who shoots a look back at Lando. Unsure of the silent conversation happening right now, Storm decides as much as they would love to stay and be the center of these boys' attention and talk to their friends, they decide to give them the time to talk.

“Well,” Storm announces promptly, “this was a great chat but I have to go. Been here so long, you know,” pushing off the wall and just out of their grasp, Storm turns to them with a smile, “and I have a flight to catch in the morning so I’ll see you guys!”

Storm proceeds to slip onto the dance floor as the music drowns out the pleas from Lando and Max as the crowd swallows Storm whole before they exit on the other side. They cover their face in embarrassment. How stupid could they have been? That was the perfect situation to be in with their two crushes and yet they panicked and chickened out. Hopefully something eventful happens and they forget about this interaction.

I might just be in lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-love. I apologize if it's a little too much, just a little too soon but if the conversation ever were to come up I don't wanna assume this stuff…

“That was a really good job out there. I think you’re gonna do great at World’s this year. Maybe even win.”

“Thanks coach,” Storm says, skating over to the edge of the rink with a smile before waddling off carefully to sit on the bench and take her skates off, “you think so?”

“Yeah. Just keep up with what you’re doing. Don’t overwork yourself,” coach jokes as Storm ties her boots and grabs her bag, standing up. Laughing slightly, the two exit the rink before parting ways.

Taking their phone out, Storm checks her phone as she walks to her car. She opens her messages and is greeted with pictures of Jimmy and Sassy and Lando memeifying them. She sits in her car, laughing to herself as she finally answers.

STORM - LN

There you are! - MV

Here I am - ST

How was practice? - LN

Good! Coach thinks I can win World’s this year but I think she’s being nice. - ST

No, I think your coach is right. - MV

Yeah, your coach doesn’t say that shit slightly. You’ve told me first hand. - LN

Yeah but, I don’t know. One step at a time, you know? Let me get through the competition this week. - ST

WHAT? You’re competing and didn’t tell us?! - LN

I did! I said I’m gonna be busy with practice for the competition this week! Max, back me up. - ST

Lando’s right. We were unaware. - MV

Really? Shit, sorry guys. I swore I told you guys. - ST

BOOOOOO. I wanna see you compete :( - LN

Me as well. - MV

Well, maybe next time! Or I can, you know, teach you guys how to figure skate and do something. - ST

PLEASE. - LN

For Lando to break something? I don’t know. - MV

HEY. - LN

Haha, true. Well, I gotta drive home, talk to you guys soon! - ST

Laaaame, drive safe though! - LN

Text us when you get home. - MV

Text you. I’m stalking their location as we speak! - LN

But ain't it love? Think I'm in love.

“And our first place winner, taking it by a tenth of a point is…Justice Storm Thatcher!”

Storm stood dumbly in her spot on the side before she moved as the crowd erupted in applause. Making her way onto the ice, Storm skated over to the podium, thanking the other two winners when they offered their hands to help her up, smiling wide. She bent down for her medal before standing back up, smiling brightly. She couldn’t believe that she won her competition.

After photos and congratulating the other two, who returned the congratulations, Storm made her way off the ice and hugged her coach tightly, beaming. She was speaking, they both were, but it was hard to hear over all the noise of everyone talking and leaving.

Eventually, Storm emerges from the locker room in sweatpants, sporting her leotard as a top. She’s trying to find her friends that she knew came and she turns to hear her name being shouted. Spying a hand in the air, she starts making her through the crowd, half apologizing and half not caring. She sees an opening and bursts through before stopping in her tracks at the sight before her.

“Storm!” Storm stumbles back when Lando barrels into her chest and she hugs back, not as hard as Lando, still in shock as Max makes his way over.

Pulling back, Lando puts his hands on her chest, “You were amazing!”

“I–what are you guys doing here?!”

“You thought you’d have a competition and we wouldn’t be here?” Max asks, offended.

“Well no it’s just–” Storm is baffled. She really isn’t sure what to say and Lando laughs as Max pulls her into a hug that she also semi returns.

“Are those for me?” Storm asks as she’s handed a bouquet of flowers, looking between the two.

“Of course dude. You thought we’d show up empty handed?” Lando scoffs.

“It’s not a proper celebration if we don’t go out,” Max adds, “Storm, where are we going?”

“Applebee’s.”

“...I’ve never been to an Applebee’s,” Max admits and Lando nods in agreement

“What?! You guys haven’t been to an Applebee’s?! Oh come on. We have to go! I want my bucket of alcohol–”

“Bucket!?”

“That cannot be possible,” Max shakes his head.

“Come on!” Storm starts leading the charge out of the door, “let’s go! Bucket of alcohol and half-apps! On me!”

“You are NOT paying!” Lando and Max shout as they follow after her.

When he laughs at all my jokes and he says I'm so American. Oh God, it's just not fair of him to make me feel this much. I'll go anywhere he goes and he says I'm so American. Oh God, I'm gonna marry him if he keeps this shit up…

Introducing Lando and Max to Applebee’s was better than winning any competition. They sat at a high top table, Storm seated across the two drivers. Storm nearly chokes on her water seeing the pure shock / joy that forms on the boys faces when the drinks arrive and Storm is handed a small bucket of alcohol.

“Could we just have a few more minutes to decide?” Storm asks the waiter and smiles when the waiter agrees and leaves.

“What are you getting?” Max asks.

“Appetizers.”

“You just gave the performance of your life, and you want to get appetizers?” Lando asks.

“And?”

“You need food.”

“It’s half apps! You don’t come to Applebee’s at this hour to get an actual meal, you come for drinks and half apps. Trust me,” Storm huffs seeing the look Max and Lando exchange, “I’m telling you guys.”

Lando decides to follow suit with the appetizers and Max, begrudgingly, also follows suit when the waiter comes back around. Storm can’t help but cackle when they realize how big the portions are for just appetizers and the three end up staying for roughly an hour just talking and chatting while working on their food and drinks.

Storm isn’t entirely happy that Lando and Max refused to let her pay or even help with the tip after she explained how tipping works. The three head out and the smart thing would be heading home and getting some sleep.

Instead, Storm finds herself stirring from her slumber the next morning as the sun creeps through the blinds. Rubbing her eyes, she closes her eyes and shifts hearing someone grunt. Storm tries to settle down but now she notices a weight on her and opens her eyes again.

Propping herself up on her elbows, she looks over seeing the digital clock read 2:10pm. She was supposed to stay a few hours but Max, Lando, and her had spent so long talking and goofing off that by the time someone, she can’t remember who, declared bed time, it was almost 4am.

There’s a leg tossed over hers and an arm. Storm looks around and realizes she’s between bodies. Rubbing her eyes again, her eyes focus on blonde hair tousled to her left and curly dark hair to her right realizing that the three of them ended up in a cuddle pile.

Storm makes the mistake of trying to sit up before Max and Lando both make some form of protest and Storm is pulled back down between them. Staring at the ceiling, Storm lets out a silent laugh.

I might just be in lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-love ~

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