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orangeblossomsintheair · 4 hours ago

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HONEY YOU’RE FAMILIAR | MV33

summary : For a second, he thinks about turning around. Walking out. Pretending he never saw you, because what’s the point? It’s not like he can just waltz up to you and say, “Hey, sorry I ghosted you for no reason other than I’m emotionally constipated. Want to get a drink?”

wc : 5k

an : writing this to distract myself from my other wips? ..i would never.. 😦 also i wrote this at 12 am so let this not be a place of judgement :))

Max sometimes forgets how small Monaco is.

It’s easy to do when most of his memories of the place are a blur of fast cars and glittering parties. He spends most of his time racing through the streets during the Grand Prix or holed up in a hotel room overlooking the harbor, which feels more like a fortress than a home.

When you’re constantly traveling the world, hopping between paddocks and podiums, the compactness of Monaco barely registers. It’s a speck on the map, a gilded bubble he never really bothers to think about until it’s right in his face.

But sometimes, like tonight, he’s reminded.

Monaco isn’t a city, not really.

It’s a playground. A handful of streets strung together like a necklace, choked with Lamborghinis, Rolls-Royces, and yachts so big they could be small countries. It’s a place where everyone knows everyone.

Or, at the very least, they know of everyone.

The millionaires gossip about the billionaires. The bartenders know who tips in cash and who never tips at all. Even the stray cats probably have dirt on the local royals.

It’s not just small in size. It’s tight.

Wealth wraps around this place like a noose, strangling it into exclusivity.

There are no dark corners to disappear into, no sprawling suburbs to lose yourself in.

Just a few restaurants, a few clubs, and a few streets where the same people circle each other like they’re on a carousel. If you’re here long enough, you’ll eventually run into everyone you’ve ever met.

Even the ones you’ve been trying to avoid.

Max doesn’t think about that when he walks into the bar.

He’s not in the mood for deep reflection or existential dread. He’s here because Daniel said he needed a drink, and when Daniel Ricciardo says you need a drink, you listen.

That’s how Max ends up at some overpriced lounge that smells like vodka and ambition, standing under soft, warm lighting that’s trying too hard to make the place feel classy instead of claustrophobic.

He’s nursing a beer, half-listening to Daniel tell some convoluted story about a failed date and a stolen Vespa, when he hears it.

A voice.

Your voice.

It’s the kind of thing that cuts through the noise without him even realizing why. It’s not loud or particularly distinct; it’s not like you’re screaming or making a scene. But it’s you. The way you talk, your cadence, the rise and fall of your words. It’s all so achingly familiar that it grabs him by the throat and yanks.

Max freezes. His drink doesn’t make it to his lips.

The years fall away in a blink, and suddenly, it’s like no time has passed.

He’s twenty-two again, still figuring out how to smile for cameras, while you’re draped over the back of his couch, talking absolute nonsense about whether or not the cars in Cars have insurance or not.

He doesn’t even realize he’s turned to look until he spots you.

You’re standing at the bar, laughing as you say something to the bartender. It’s loud, and Max can’t hear you properly, but he can feel you.

The way you lean casually on the counter, the tilt of your head, the way you wave your hand to punctuate whatever you’re saying. It’s so painfully, annoyingly you.

And God, you look good.

For a second, all he can do is stare. You haven’t seen him yet, thank God, because Max Verstappen does not know what the hell to do with himself right now.

You look different.

Not in a drastic way, just… grown.

Your edges are sharper, your presence more refined, like a photo that’s come into focus after years of being a little blurry. But the core of you is still the same. It’s in the way you throw your head back when you laugh, like the world isn’t slowly crumbling under the weight of climate change, billionaires, and whatever Kardashian family drama is brewing this week.

And suddenly, Max is thrown back years.

To a time when you were his person. The one he called when things went sideways, or when he won, or when he was just bored and needed someone to hear him rant about understeer.

You were his best friend.

No. The friend. The one. The only one who ever really got him. And then…Well, then he was an asshole.

He tries to tell himself that you two drifted apart.

People do that, right? It’s life. Except that’s a lie, and Max knows it. You didn’t drift; you held on like a freaking tow hook. You tried—texted him, called him, showed up to races, tried to remind him there was a world outside of 300 km/h and tire degradation.

Max doesn’t know what to do with this. With you. He’s not used to seeing ghosts in real life, and you might as well be one now.

Max debates his next move. He could just… not. Pretend he didn’t notice you. Slip out quietly, finish his drink somewhere else, and avoid whatever emotional grenade this is about to be. That would be the smart thing. The logical thing.

But Max has never been great at logic.

For a second, he thinks about turning around. Walking out. Pretending he never saw you, because what’s the point? It’s not like he can just waltz up to you and say, “Hey, sorry I ghosted you for no reason other than I’m emotionally constipated. Want to get a drink?”

But then you glance over your shoulder.

And your eyes lock.

He doesn’t have time to decide whether to stay or bolt

You see him.

And Max realizes he’s fucked.

For a split second, he thinks you might look away, maybe pretend you didn’t see him either.

He’s not sure if he’s hoping for that or dreading it. But then your face lights up, and the look you give him isn’t what he expects.

It’s warm. Familiar. Like you’re genuinely happy to see him.

His chest tightens. Max isn’t sure what he thought he’d see. Resentment, awkwardness, indifference, maybe.

But this? This disarms him completely.

You wave, and before he knows it, his feet are moving.

“Maxy,” you say as he approaches, your voice carrying that teasing lilt that could only ever be you. It knocks the breath out of him, so familiar and effortless it almost hurts. “Long time no see.”

Max freezes for the briefest of moments, the nickname hitting him like a slap and a hug all at once. Maxy. No one’s called him that in years. Not his family. Not his team. Not anyone.

No one except you.

“Yeah, uh, long time,” he manages, scratching the back of his neck in a gesture so awkwardly familiar it almost makes you laugh. He looks like he’s 17 again, shy and unsure.

Before either of you can say more, Daniel sidles up next to him, a beer in hand and an amused eyebrow raised as he glances between the two of you. “Know her?” Daniel asks, his voice dripping with curiosity.

“He does,” you reply smoothly before Max can fumble an answer. Your smirk is playful, but there’s no bite to it, just that same easy warmth Max hasn’t felt in what feels like forever. “I used to keep this one in line. Back when he was all awkward interviews and tragic haircuts.”

Daniel barks out a laugh, glancing at Max’s meticulously styled hair. “Tragic haircuts? Wait, this-” he gestures wildly at Max’s head, like it’s some architectural masterpiece “-is the improved version?”

You’re already laughing, and it’s the kind of laugh Max hasn’t heard in years.

He groans, dragging a hand over his face, though the corners of his mouth are betraying him with a faint smile. “Don’t encourage her,” he mutters to Daniel, but his tone is far too soft to have any weight.

It’s stupid how easy this feels. How natural. Max isn’t used to easy anymore.

Daniel, bless him, is soaking it all in.

“So?” he says, giving Max a teasing nudge. “Aren’t you going to introduce me, or do I have to guess?”

“I was getting there,” Max grumbles, shooting him a half-hearted glare before looking at you. For a moment, he falters. He doesn’t know what to call you. Acquaintance feels too cold. Stranger would be a lie. And friend? That feels like stepping too far into a past he’s not sure he’s ready to face.

“An old friend,” you offer, saving him effortlessly, like you always did. “And you must be the famous Daniel Ricciardo.”

Daniel grins, full of boyish charm. “Guilty as charged,” he says, tipping his beer in a mock toast. “And let me just say, I already like you. Great taste in insults.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Ricciardo,” you say, though your smirk says otherwise.

The three of you fall into an almost absurdly natural rhythm, as though you’ve all been doing this for years. Daniel’s effortless charisma bounces off your sharp wit, and Max finds himself smiling more in five minutes than he has in weeks.

Maybe months.

It’s like the weight on his shoulders has lifted, just for a moment, and he can breathe again.

You’re mid-story when he realizes he hasn’t felt this light in ages.

“So there I was,” you’re saying to Daniel, gesturing dramatically, “dragging Max out of his hotel room because he was refusing to face the world after a bad race.”

“I wasn’t refusing to face the world,” Max interjects, but there’s no real heat in his voice.

You give him a look that could level a building. “You were lying on the floor eating Haribo like it was your last meal,” you say, deadpan. “It was tragic. Genuinely tragic.”

Daniel’s cackling now, nearly spilling his beer. “Please tell me there are photos of this.”

“Sadly, no,” you reply with mock disappointment. “But the image is burned into my brain forever. It was that bad.”

Max groans, shaking his head, though the grin tugging at his lips is impossible to hide. “Why did I ever let you into my life?”

“Because no one else could handle you,” you fire back, and it’s so quick, so natural, it makes his chest ache.

Daniel takes a step back, still laughing. “You two are too much,” he says, pointing at the two of you like you’ve just performed a comedy sketch. “I’ll leave you to it. Don’t get too emotional without me, okay? I’m going to find another beer. Or maybe a Vespa to steal. Who knows?”

You watch him disappear into the crowd, still grinning. For a moment, the two of you are left standing there, and the noise of the party seems to fade just slightly.

“Daniel’s fun,” you say, breaking the silence.

“He is,” Max agrees.

When the music starts bumping up again, the two of you are faced with a whole other problem entirely.

“So, you’ve been busy!” you yell, leaning across the sticky bar top, your voice barely cutting through the bass thumping around you.

“What?” Max shouts back, leaning closer.

“I SAID, YOU’VE BEEN BUSY!”

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

“I KNOW! THAT’S WHY I’M SHOUTING!”

“WHAT?”

You throw your hands up in exasperation, but he just smirks, clearly enjoying this.

So you double down.

“DO YOU WANT ANOTHER DRINK?” you bellow, miming holding a glass.

“WHY ARE YOU YELLING ABOUT DRINKS?” he shouts back, baffled.

“BECAUSE IT’S TOO LOUD IN HERE!”

“WHAT?”

This back-and-forth nonsense goes on for an impressively ridiculous three minutes, the two of you getting progressively louder, until Max finally groans, shaking his head like he’s reached his limit.

He steps closer, leans in like he’s about to shout something else, then just presses a warm, steady hand to the small of your back. “Come on,” he says, not even bothering to raise his voice this time.

“What?” you yell, still committed to the bit.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he starts gently steering you toward the stairs, and you stumble a little, caught off guard by the unexpected physical contact.

“Where are we going?” you shout, craning your neck to look at him as you climb.

“UPSTAIRS!”

“WHY?”

“BECAUSE I VALUE MY HEARING!” he fires back, glaring at you over his shoulder.

“OH, NOW YOU CARE ABOUT YOUR HEARING?” you tease, but he ignores you, his hand still firm and insistent on your back as he guides you upstairs.

The VIP section is quieter, tucked away from the pulsating bass and the sweaty chaos of the main club floor. Max had slipped a word to a bouncer—who nodded in a way that made you roll your eyes—and now you’re here, sinking into the plush leather of a semi-circular booth with a ridiculous view of the dance floor below.

The second you step into the VIP area, the relative silence hits you like a warm blanket. You blink, adjusting to the sudden absence of aggressive EDM, and turn to Max, who looks much too smug for your liking.

“Smuggled into VIP like I’m some sort of black-market item,” you tease. “Careful, Verstappen. This is how egos start.”

“You’re welcome,” he says dryly.

“For what?” you shoot back. “The privilege of not getting tinnitus at 27?”

“Yes,” he replies smoothly, sliding into a nearby booth like he owns the place. “You’re lucky to know me.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you deadpan. “My life has improved immeasurably since you dragged me up here. I’ll write a thank-you card.”

“Make sure it’s handwritten,” he quips, signaling a waiter for drinks. “And don’t skimp on the stationery.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, rolling your eyes but you’re smiling, and he knows it.

He chuckles, leaning forward slightly. “Hey, if you’re going to criticize, at least admit this is better than shouting at each other over terrible music.”

You glance around the room, all dark wood and dim lighting, where a few scattered people are having hushed conversations or staring down at the dance floor with an air of superiority. “Alright,” you admit, “it’s not terrible. But the crowd up here…”

You nod toward a guy at the next table wearing sunglasses, inside, and sipping champagne like it’s water. “Is this your scene now? Bottle service bros and indoor eyewear enthusiasts?”

Max glances at the guy, smirking. “Not my scene. But I figured you deserved something better than sticky floors and overpriced tequila shots.”

You laugh. “Wow. I feel so special. Nothing says friendship like a quiet room and a drink I can’t pronounce.”

“Admit it,” he says, leaning back again. “You love it.”

“I love judging it,” you correct, grinning. “Big difference.”

Max watches you for a moment, shaking his head with an almost fond expression. “You haven’t changed at all.”

“And you’ve changed too much,” you shoot back, gesturing at his ridiculously put-together outfit. “Look at you, Verstappen. Fancy haircut, custom clothes, actual social skills. Who are you?”

“First of all, the haircut is functional,” he retorts, mock offended. “Aerodynamics.”

“Oh, of course. Wouldn’t want your hair slowing you down at 300 kph,” you say, pretending to be serious.

“It’s a real thing!” he insists, laughing now. “If you knew anything about racing-”

“If I knew anything about racing?” you interrupt, your voice rising in mock outrage. “Excuse me, I was there when you had to Google how to talk to the media without sounding like a robot. You think I don’t know the intricacies of racing, Maxy?”

“Don’t call me Maxy,” he groans, dragging a hand down his face.

“Oh, I’m definitely calling you Maxy,” you say, delighted. “I might even get a custom T-shirt. ‘Maxy’s Biggest Fan.’ I’ll wear it to a race.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “If you do that, I’ll steal your phone and delete every embarrassing photo you’ve ever taken of me.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t have backups,” you say smugly, sipping your drink.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters, shaking his head, but there’s a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

For a moment, the two of you fall into an easy silence, the noise of the club below fading into the background. You glance at Max, noting the relaxed set of his shoulders, the way he’s fiddling with the label on his beer bottle—a habit he’s had for as long as you can remember.

“So,” you say, breaking the quiet, “what’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve bought since you became all… you know.”

“All what?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You know,” you say, waving a hand vaguely. “World Champion. Multi-millionaire. Guy who smuggles old friends into VIP sections.”

He chuckles. “Ridiculous? I don’t know… probably the private jet.”

You stare at him, deadpan. “The private jet is the least ridiculous thing about you, Verstappen. Try again.”

“Fine,” he says, thinking for a moment. “I bought a sauna for my house. Didn’t use it for six months.”

You burst out laughing. “A sauna? For what? Post-race existential crises?”

He groans, rubbing his temples. “It was a bad idea, okay? I thought it would be relaxing.”

“Did it come with, like, a tiny man who throws water on the rocks for you?” you ask, grinning.

“No, but now I kind of want one,” he admits, laughing.

“God, you’re the worst,” you say, shaking your head, but your tone is full of affection.

“And you’re jealous,” he fires back.

“Of your unused sauna?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m absolutely consumed with envy.”

The two of you dissolve into laughter and the conversation continues.

Next thing you know it’s 3 am and you and Max are stumbling out of the club, too giggly for both of your sakes.

Daniel had hopped on to another place hours ago so it’s just you and him.

The cool night air hits you like a slap, but instead of sobering up, it just makes you giggle harder.

Max freezes mid-stumble, his head lolling back like he’s auditioning for Les Mis on the world’s worst stage. “Why’s the air so aggressive?” he slurs. “Feels like it’s… pushing me. Rude.”

“Why’s the ground so spinny?” you counter, stumbling sideways into him.

“'Cause you’re bad at walking,” he accuses, latching onto your arm like a barnacle while swaying dramatically.

“You’re bad at walking,” you fire back, immediately tripping over a shadow and nearly eating pavement.

“You can’t even walk straight!” Max protests, laughing as he catches you before you faceplant.

His arm slides around your waist, steadying you in the most unsteady way possible.

“You’re the one spinning,” you argue, slurring every other word. “Maaaybe you should ju- just stay still for once in your life.”

“Oh, because you’re the expert,” he fires back, wheezing as you nearly trip again. “Where- where are you even staying at?”

You squint at him, trying to focus. “Uh… good question.”

Max stops dead in his tracks, turning to look at you with a mix of disbelief and amusement. “What do you mean good question? How do you not know?”

“I don’t rememb- ber,” you admit, cackling as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.

Max groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re just- what? Homeless now?”

“Homeless for the night,” you correct, wagging a finger at him like that somehow makes it better.

Max laughs so hard he has to pause, doubling over slightly. “How- how do you forget where you’re staying?”

“’S not my fault!” you defend yourself, leaning heavily against him. “The hotel has, like… a name! A boring one! And too many floors!”

Max groans so loudly it echoes off the buildings. “Oh my God. You’re homeless now. You’re a wandering drunk with no home.”

“I'm trying a new lifestyle,” you say, grinning. “Like… nomadic, y’know? Spiritual.”

“Yeah, okay, Buddha, let’s find you a real place to sleep before you start befriending rats,” he mutters, dragging you down the street.

“I like rats,” you say cheerfully. “They’re just misunderstood.”

“You’re misunderstood,” Max shoots back. “Come on. You’re crashing at my hotel. I can’t leave you out here to, like, adopt a possum or something.”

“I don’t wanna!” you whine, digging your heels into the ground.

“Tough!” Max barks, throwing his arm around your shoulders to keep you moving. “You’ll thank me in the morning when you’re not spooning a garbage can.”

You groan dramatically, slumping into him. “Maxxyyy, I’m tired. Can’t I just sleep on a bench or something?”

“Nooo. No benches. Benches are gross. You’ll get, like… pigeons on you.”

“Pigeons are my friends,” you declare solemnly, as if this is a hill you’re prepared to die on.

Max shakes his head, clearly trying to stay serious but failing miserably. “Okay, Dr. Dolittle, you’re not sleeping outside.”

You groan again, dragging your feet even as he starts pulling you along.

“Stop whining,” he slurs, swaying as he tries to walk in a straight line. “It’ll be like- like a sleepover! Like when we were five.”

“Sleepovers at five were better,” you mutter. “Less… you.”

“Excuse me?” Max stops, glaring at you like you’ve mortally offended him. “I’m the best sleepover buddy. I let you steal my Haribo once.”

“You hid the Haribo under your pillow!” you counter, poking him in the chest.

“’Cause you’re a thief!” he says, grinning as he pulls you toward the street corner.

“Am not,” you huff, pouting.

“Are too,” he replies, but his tone is teasing as he hails a cab.

When the cab pulls up, it feels like the world is tilted just enough that the ground might collapse under your feet at any moment. You both tumble into the backseat in a fit of giggles, your laughter echoing off the darkened streets.

It’s the kind of laughter that’s born of a little bit too much alcohol and a whole lot of absurdity. You could’ve sworn you heard a streetlight flicker in disbelief at the sound of your shared joy.

Max flops dramatically against you as if the very act of sitting upright requires more effort than it’s worth. His head lands squarely on your shoulder, and for a split second, you’re both tangled in the shared warmth of a really questionable decision. He looks up at you, eyes half-lidded, and grins like a kid who just got away with stealing candy.

“You smell like tequila and poor decisions,” he mutters with a lazy drawl, his words slow but somehow still cutting through the haze of the night. He’s not wrong, but that’s kind of the point, right? His voice has that familiar, teasing edge, the one that used to drive you crazy when you were younger.

You’re already shaking your head before you even speak, the words spilling out with that characteristic smirk you know all too well. “You smell like someone who wore Axe in high school.”

Max’s eyes widen in mock outrage. “I did not!” He shoots up from your shoulder like you just insulted his very existence, but the motion sends him veering dangerously toward the cab door.

He catches himself at the last second, gripping the seat like it’s a lifeline.

By the time the cab pulls up to Max’s hotel, you're both deep into a discussion about whether Axe body spray could be classified as a biohazard in certain quantities. It’s a ridiculous debate, fueled by far too much tequila and a complete disregard for logic, but it’s the most fun either of you have had in ages.

Max is practically in tears from laughing, his snort-laugh echoing off the walls of the cab as he tries to argue that Axe is, in fact, a perfectly fine product, just poorly misunderstood by society.

The cab screeches to a halt, and Max stumbles out first, holding the door open for you with the kind of exaggerated flair you’d expect from someone who probably practices his dramatic entrances in front of a mirror.

As he pays the driver, his wallet slips from his hands not once, but twice, and he’s already apologizing profusely, his face flushed from the alcohol and his own clumsiness.

Finally, he gets the wallet sorted, tucks it back in his pocket, and reaches down to drag you out of the cab like you’re a piece of luggage.

You’re both barely standing, teetering back and forth on your feet as if gravity itself is conspiring to make the night even more ridiculous.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Max says, throwing his arm out grandly to gesture toward the hotel lobby like he’s unveiling the Louvre. The marble floors, polished to a shine, the sleek, understated furniture… none of it compares to the visual assault that is the ugly carpet underfoot.

“Your palace has really ugly carpet,” you mutter, laughing as you trip over the offending fabric, your feet not quite able to keep up with your brain’s idea of where they should go.

Max snorts, his hand steadying you as you almost face-plant into a particularly gaudy potted plant. “You’re banned from the palace,” he retorts, giving you a playful shove.

You recover, and together, you stagger toward the elevator, which, for some reason, feels like an obstacle course in itself.

The elevator doors open with a dramatic ding, and Max promptly starts jabbing the wrong floor button in a series of random, very confident moves.

Each one is a miss, but he keeps at it, as if this were somehow part of the plan.

You lean against the wall, your body shaking with laughter as you struggle to breathe through the giggles. “This is why they don’t let you operate machinery,” you manage to gasp, watching him fumble with the buttons in disbelief.

Max grumbles under his breath but finally, miraculously, hits the correct floor button. He turns to you with an exaggerated wink. “See? I told you. Genius.”

You raise an eyebrow, patting him on the head condescendingly. “Sure you are, buddy. A true mastermind.”

The elevator ride is a blur of jokes and half-baked insults as you both fight to keep your composure. Max leans against the wall with a smug look, clearly reveling in his victory over the elevator button.

When the doors finally open, you both stumble out, holding on to each other uselessly.

At the door to his room, Max proceeds to fumble with his key card in a way that can only be described as tragically incompetent. It’s like watching someone try to solve a Rubik’s Cube with one hand tied behind their back. The key card slips from his fingers twice, and each time, he lets out a string of expletives that would make a sailor blush.

“Jesus. You okay there, Einstein?” you tease, leaning casually against the wall and watching him drop the card once more. You can’t help but laugh. He’s making the simplest task look like an Olympic event.

“Shut up,” he mutters, his voice already tinged with frustration. “Technology’s hard.”

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the door swings open, and Max stumbles inside with the grace of a rhino on roller skates. He turns to face you with a theatrical sigh. “There. I did it. Happy now?”

You’re already halfway to the bed, your shoes flying off in opposite directions, one ending up by the dresser and the other getting lodged under a chair. With a dramatic thud, you collapse onto the bed, your body sinking into the soft, luxurious comfort like it was the only thing holding you together.

“This bed is softer than my hopes and dreams,” you mumble, your voice muffled by the comforter as you stretch out like a starfish.

Max, predictably, flops down beside you with the subtlety of a sack of bricks, his arms and legs sprawling out in every direction. “Move over,” he grumbles, his face smooshed into the pillow.

“Nope,” you reply, barely lifting a finger to indicate where his side is. “Your side’s over there,” you say, pointing vaguely toward the edge of the bed, but it’s clear from the way your eyes are barely staying open that you’re not in any shape to play the “bedroom politics” game.

“Too bad,” Max grunts, grabbing your pillow from beneath your head and smushing it over his face. “This is a dictatorship, and I’m the dictator.”

“Goodnight, Haribo hoarder,” you slur, your words trailing off into nothing as sleep drags you under. The last thing you hear before you fully fade into unconsciousness is Max’s muffled laugh, and you can’t help but smile.

For a brief moment, it feels like nothing’s changed at all.

—-

Max’s eyes snap open, and for a second, everything is blurry. He blinks a few times, the weight of his eyelids making it feel like he’s wading through molasses. A dull ache sits in the back of his skull, a reminder of the questionable choices he made the night before.

He groans, dry, scratchy, the kind of noise that only belongs to mornings where you regret both your life decisions and your snack choices. He’s still in his room. So far, so good. Nothing seems out of the ordinary... except for that persistent feeling in the air that something is off.

Max stretches, or at least tries to. His arms flail in an uncoordinated spasm, which results in a series of awkward grunts and a pop from his back that sounds like a joint trying to jump ship.

For a second, he considers staying perfectly still, hoping his body will remember how to function like a normal human.

But then—

There’s something warm beside him. Something... alive.

Max freezes, eyes snapping wide open. His breath catches in his throat as he tries to process what’s happening. The warmth next to him isn’t the soft comfort of a pillow.

It’s... a person.

A person in his bed.

What the actual hell? His brain goes into overdrive, trying to make sense of the situation. His mind races through a thousand thoughts in a second, each one more ridiculous than the last. Did he... did he end up getting a stranger drunk last night? Did someone break into his room to cuddle with him? Did he... did he even get drunk himself?

Max’s eyes dart to his left, and it hits him like a freight train. There you are, sprawled across the bed, fast asleep, your hair tousled and your face peaceful, completely unaware of his mounting panic.

For a moment, Max just stares, brain failing to catch up. How did this happen? His head starts swimming. His mouth goes dry. His first thought is that he’s dreaming..except, no. This is far too real. He’s not that lucky.

“I need to call Daniel..”

168 notes · View notes

faithsotherhouseofchaos · 3 days ago

Note

Hey, I was anon on the old blog so I’m really excited to find you again and I hope this one is better environment for you ❤️❤️

Since you’re doing autistic reader could you do one with an autistic Räikkönen reader dating a Leclerc, maybe Kimi is suspicious of Arthur/Charles because she’s had some bad experiences before

Also for future reference do you write for Dennis Hauger?

thank you ❤️

Do you trust him|| Arthur Leclerc x Raikkonen!Autistic!reader

Word count —449

A/n I don’t know much about Dennis Hauger to write for him but if someone were to give me a rundown about him I could try

Trust has always been a fragile thing for you. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to open up to people—it was just that past experiences, particularly with an ex-boyfriend, had left you wary. You preferred your routines, your safe spaces, and most of all, the unwavering presence of your older brother, Kimi Räikkönen.

Kimi has always been your shield against the chaos of the world. So when Arthur Leclerc came into your life, with his bright laugh and unyielding patience, you knew it was only a matter of time before Kimi would scrutinize him under his icy, protective gaze.

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon when Kimi finally brought it up. You were sitting across from him at the kitchen table, absentmindedly sorting through puzzle pieces while he sipped his coffee.

“This Arthur,” Kimi said suddenly, his tone as neutral as always. “You trust him?”

You looked up, startled by the question but not entirely surprised. “I do,” you said softly, your fingers stilling on the puzzle piece you were holding.

Kimi narrowed his eyes slightly, leaning back in his chair. “Why?”

“He… he listens,” you replied, trying to articulate what you felt. “He doesn’t rush me or get annoyed when I need time to myself. He’s patient, Kimi. And he never makes me feel… wrong for the way I am.”

Kimi didn’t say anything for a long moment, his gaze fixed on you in that unreadable way of his. Finally, he gave a small nod. “If he ever hurts you—”

“He won’t,” you interrupted, though your voice was soft. “But I know. You’ll take care of it.”

Kimi smirked faintly. “Of course.”

When Arthur arrived later that evening to take you out for dinner, Kimi was waiting in the doorway like a silent sentry. You sighed, tugging at your sleeve as Arthur stepped forward with his usual easy smile, though there was a flicker of nervousness in his eyes.

“Good evening, Mr. Räikkönen,” Arthur greeted, his voice polite but steady.

Kimi gave him a long, piercing look before speaking. “Take care of her. That’s all I’m asking.”

Arthur nodded without hesitation. “I will. I care about her more than anything.”

For a moment, it was silent, the weight of Kimi’s scrutiny palpable. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, Kimi stepped aside, letting Arthur through.

As you grabbed your coat, Arthur leaned closer, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “Your brother is terrifying, by the way.”

You couldn’t help but smile, the tension in your chest easing. “He just wants to make sure you’re good for me.”

Arthur’s hand brushed yours as you headed out the door. “I’ll prove it to him. I promise.”

#arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc x y/n #arthur leclerc x female reader #arthur leclerc imagine #arthur leclerc fluff #faiths inbox #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #f1 x autistic!reader

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kj-crayons · 2 days ago

Text

1. The Prologue from Into the Woods

2. Was Gilmore Girls, anymore I don’t watch very much TV

3. Writing more than reading anymore. I used to be a huge reader but I just don’t have as much time for it as I would like

4. A cool summer breeze at midnight when the air is the best it’s been all day but still warm and in the 80’s

5. Noise canceling headphones + punk rock music + going for a walk

6. Eucalyptus and citrus scents. Cinnamon/ fally scents are kinda triggering, but anything that smells like spring is lovely

7. Honestly, myself. I feel like me when I am alone, or when I’m in control of my situation

8. Old, fuzzy fabric car interior chairs

9. I unfortunately don’t remember much of my childhood, but probably when I finally figured out how to ride a bike

10. Silly Christmas pictures with my baby brother

11. Weighted blanket

12. Weight, warmth, and music

13. Shower

14. Running tech on a new theater show

15. Toast with butter and cinnamon sugar

16. I haven’t decided what it is yet, but whatever my next cosplay will be

17. Time and attention and care. People who notice when I’m anxious or who will sit and talk to me after a long day. Being reminded to take care of my chronic conditions is rather ignore, being held and kept warm by another person

18. I imagine my 30’s. Financial independence from my parents, choose where I live and work and who I’m around, hopefully have a steady enough job. Freedom from the things that stop me from being me now

19. Haven’t ever received a love letter, and what I’ve written has been mostly sappy poetry 🫢

20. When I was 4 or 5 and my dad woke me and my brother up to see a Super Blood Moon at like 1am. It was so incredible to see how big and red the moon was, and it’s really stuck with me and influenced my love of fiction, my writing, and my creativity

21. Tea

22. “ Songs for Those Days ™️ (Alt/ Indie playlist) “

23. I’ve gotten flowers from friends, for plays and musicals, and for when I graduated

24. Best Friend is a kind of silly concept, but if there’s one thing I took from my ex it’s that anyone who deserves it or who loves me (platonically or otherwise) can be my best friend.

25. My soul is probably a dark turquoise. I do a lot of witchy shit and aura reading but reading my own is harder

26. Somewhere queer friendly, with good health care, and a north facing front door. Otherwise, I’m not picky

27. It’s hard to get motivated to but I love gardening. It’s actually one of my goals for new years to make a windowsill herb garden

28. I’m proud of making a life where I get and deserve to be happy and loved

29. I think I’m kind in the New Yorker sense. I don’t show it with words a lot, and have been told I come off as kind of intimidating but I’d give you my kidney if you needed it

30. Hobbies include Dnd, cosplay, descending into the void, cooking, and generally anything that helps me feel either a little bit lighter, a little bit happier, or a little less alone

✨soft asks✨

What song makes you feel better?

What is your go to comfort show?

Reading or writing? Why?

Whats your favorite feeling?

How do you like to take care of yourself?

What’s your favorite candle scent?

Who do you feel most like yourself around?

Whats a fabric/texture that’s nostalgic for you?

Best childhood moment?

When was the last time you laughed so hard you cried? (or just felt really good afterwards)

Do you have a comfort item? Tell us about it!

What calms you down?

Bath or shower to relax?

Whats something upcoming that you’re excited for?

Comfort food?

What’s something you want to create soon?

How do you feel best loved?

What age in life do you think you’ll feel most yourself at?

Have you ever written or received a love letter?

Tell us about a memory you hold close to your heart.

Tea, Coffee, or hot cocoa?

Name of your favorite playlist?

Have you ever received flowers?

Who is your bestfriend?

If your soul was a color, what would it be?

If you could live anywhere with anyone you want, where would it be and who would you bring?

Do you like to garden? Have you ever grown something?

What are you proudest of?

Are you a kind person?

What do your hobbies look like?

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rendogs-mailbox · 3 days ago

Note

[ a crow very urgently finds its way to ren's mailbox, fluttering with a distressed caw and landing upon it. the sender's letter is so hasty, that in fact, there is no usual seal that he would put upon the envelope. inside is a hastily scrawled message. ]

hello,

i do wish i could greet you formally and i swear i will at a later date. i will introduce myself and do all the formalities, and i will get you a greeting gift, but at the moment, i have a favour to ask of you.

you see, i've been messaging martyn, and he mentioned you, and i found you through the mailing system, and recently he mentioned that he wasn't feeling well. see the other letter packed into this one for reference. unfortunately, due to my own circumstances, i cannot leave my world to go check in on him, and you were someone that he trusted enough to name a dog after, so i thought, why not message you and ask you for help!

i apologize, i am usually very much more collected than this, but i think you can understand why i feel so panicked. please make sure that he's alright?

sincerely,

some guy.

@sincerely-some-guy

[he skims through the letter, reading over what the 'guy' had written. He pauses for a minute at the mention of a dog being named after him, he wasn't aware of that. He doesn't dwell on it, instead pulling out some paper. He knew Martyn had mail, maybe he could send him a letter?]

[he sits down next to his mailnbox, writing out two letters. the first to @itlw-mailbox]

Hi martyn!

I recently got a letter and found myself worried for you. The letter mentioned you not feeling too good recently (and something about a tog being named after me. I'll be honest, i'm quite flattered, but anywhoosle.. ) and I want to check if you are alright. How are you doing? RD

[with that letter written, he sends it off, using a dog sticker as a seal for the letter. now that martyn's letter is off, he decides to send a letter to the.. 'some guy' person]

Dear "some guy",

Thank you for your letter, i've reached out to my friend now. I wish we can also meet formally some day, in better circumstance. For now, I'm going to do what I can.

Also, i gave your crow some water. hopefully this letter is small enough that they dont get too tired carrying it.

Sincerely,

( @sincerely-some-guy )

#rendogs mailbox #rendog ask blog #life series rendog #hermitcraft rendog #rendog #hermitcraft ask blog #hermit mailbox ask universe #mcyt ask blog #mcyt rp

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manmuncher777 · 20 hours ago

Text

Toji x sugarmummy! Reader 🥰

(not prof read im sorry I really couldn’t be bothered)

18+ smut MDNI !

(oral, fem!recieving, unprotected sex, P in V, degrading, pet names, praise etc)

- he met you one night in a bar, an expensive bar. Somewhere that he wouldnt be unless he was surveying a target.

- He sat secluded in the shadows, blending in. No one paying any heed to the considerably underdressed man who stalked each patron from the corner. He may as well of had a giant “fuck off” printed on his forehead. Not that anyone would notice him anyway enough to approach. It was like he was part if the background, toothpick in between his scarred lips.

- majority of the night he spent unnoticed as per usual, that was until one of the waiters approached the booth he was sat in, he was preparing to tell the young lad to fuck off until he heard was he said.

“The Lady at the end of the bar sent this for you sir, enjoy” the young man said placing down an expensive looking glass of some kind of whisky. Toji raised the glass, taking a sip - shit it tasted expensive too.

- his eyes glanced up looking for whoever sent this too him, all of a sudden on his guard

- until he saw you, oozing glamour as you sipped ona glass of wine, your hair shining in the dim lights of the bar, your manicured hands tapping on the marble bar top as you watched him, a sly grin on your face. Like a cat, watching a little mouse scurry around on the floor. You were expensive as well, Toji thought. He could tell by the way you held yourself, the jewellery that adorned your almost polished skin, that dress you had on - God that dress

- Toji didn’t go as unnoticed as he thought. that’s unusual

- Fuck it, he thought to himself as he rose from the shadows, emerging into the warm light. Still no one paying any attention to him other than you. He was curious, whats someone like you doing sending someone like him a drink, he felt like a 20 year old girl who was being hit on. But still, he wears curious. After all you might be related to this mission - at least that was the excuse he was giving himself as he approached you, sitting on the bar stool next to you

- He went to speak first, but you beat him first. “What’s a handsome guy like you doing in a place like this?” you teased, the sound of you velvety voice was music to Toji’s ears. You were confident and he could tell, your merciless eyecontact with him, not giving him a second to faulter.

- “Careful doll, I might think you’re flirting with me” he spoke after a moment of eye contact, watching your eyes light up at the fact he was playing along with your little game. He took anther generous sip on the whisky you bought him, wondering if you might taste as good

- “And what if I am… what can I say, you’ve been sat in the corner all night long, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued.” You spoke in a sultry tone, a hint of a smirk playing over your lips, you lean slightly closer, eyelashes fluttering as you gaze up at the dangerous looking man, main thing the eye contact that was creating an intimate atmosphere. The dim lights of the bar seeming to cast a delicate warmth on your flawless features, further alluring the man opposite you

- you extended your hand and offered the man your name, which he accepted. “Toji” he introduced himself, reclining onto the bar, biceps flexing. Your quick glance to his muscles not going unnoticed. A cocky smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he spoke “Maybe I was enjoying an evening to myself” he countered, words coated in arrogance

- “Oh please, don’t lie, if you weren’t interested you wouldn’t have come over” you chuckled at him, rather enjoying this interaction

- “Well it’s hard to ignore when a woman looking as good as you do sends me a drink… Or maybe I just came over for another glass of whisky” Toji’s eyes were trailing up your figure shamelessly at this point, stopping on your cleavage for a few noticeable seconds. You also took note of how his eyes travelled to your jewellery also, the diamond rings and sparkling watch you had on.

- “if you’re nice to me, ill get you as many glasses as you want” you stated without shame, you were quite intent on Toji, you’d do pretty much anything to get him. Despite only knowing him for an hour, you were drawn in. Toji’s charisma was palpable, playing his little hard to get role was really working for you

- “Im not so sure you could afford me sweetheart - and im anything but nice” He was close to you now, you didn’t realise but through this conversation you both had made your way closer and closer, pulled in by some unknown force. The smell of your perfume now engulfing him, a captivating blend of sweet notes that further blurred his sense. The alcohol flowing through his system not helping his inhibition, finding himself disorientated in that moment, his resolve weakening. He was thinking of taking you home right then, trying to stay strong and not imagine what faces you would pull as he fucked that cocky little smile out of you, or how you would sound as he cut off your cocky remarks by playing with your wet little cunt.

- You were both close enough now that one swift movement and his lips would be on yours, you couldnt take your eyes off of his. His whole energy promised you trouble. Good thing that was what you wanted, Not taking your eyes off his you pulled out a roll of bills, slamming them on the table, pushing them his way.

- “That enough for you pretty boy?”

- Seconds later you’re leaving that bar, your hand in his as you lead him out of the room. His eyes shamelessly watching your ass move in the dress, following you behind like a guard dog.

- As soon as your out of the car - you had a fucking private driver, toji was laughing in his head, you must be a real spoiled princess - Toji was itching to get you into your room, pressing into you behind as you fiddled with your keys, opening your door “down boy” you smirked at him

- That was it, Toji didn’t even let you get to the bedroom before he had his mouth on you, tasting the wine you’d been drinking earlier on your luscious lips. His huge hands roaming over any part of your body that he could access, relishing in those noises you made, god.

- He made quick work of that dress, throwing it off into the corner of the room somewhere before caging you in between him and the wall, lips unrelenting as he forced you into submission. He could tell even those lacy underwear you had on were expensive, the feel of them under his fingers.

- There was no space left between you as your lips fought each other with pent up passion, Toji had been thinking about this since the moment he saw you, and god that car journey was almost unbearable, having to listen to that honeyed voice of yours, teasing and taunting him when all he could thinks bout was how fast he could get you creaming on his cock. Hearing that voice of yours come out in beautiful broken moans.

-His lips finding their way to your neck, licking and biting the skin. Each movement filled with an undeniable hunger, you could feel him through his jeans. Your manicured nails finding your way to his back, tugging up his shirt and throwing it off in the distance like he did with your dress. Slowly dragging your nails down his now uncovered skin. He pulled away for a second, small strands of hair covering his eyes as he admired the many marks that he had left on you, they looked so good on your skin.

- Your eyes travelling down to look at his figured, and you weren’t disappointed. Your eyes roamed without restraint, drinking him in. The contours of his physique was captivating, he was so broad and so tall that he eclipsed you completely. You rubbed your thighs together just from seeing the deep V of his waistline and the broadness of his chest.

- “enjoying the view doll?” he purred, snapping you out of your little daydream. You couldnt do much else but nod. a pleasant fog shrounding your senses as you adhered to the dominance Toji exuded

- “oh? what happened to the girl at the bar? not so confident now are we sweetheart” he laughed as you just watched him with glossed eyes “No sassy comeback, shit youre already gone.” That arrogant smirk never leaving his face

- you couldnt even register that hed grabbed you and thrown you on the couch, only clocking back in when his fingers were ghosting over you wet cunt after having removed your panties. There you were, splayed out in a lacy bra, heels still on your feet as he kissed down your legs and nipped at your thighs, he was hardly even touching you but your hands still shot to his hair, trying to keep a grip of yourself. Hands grabbing gentle fistfuls of his dark locks.

- “easy princess, be a good girl and let me taste you” he murmured from between your thighs, pinning them down with his massive hands. You could do nothing but sit there and take what he gave you

- While his touches seems soft an gentle, it disguises his turn nature which is to have you trembling underneath him.

- He dives head first into your already dripping pussy, you juices dripping down his chin as he holds you quivering little legs up like the gentleman he is.

- He’s animalistic with it, every stroke of his thick tongue bringin out a sinful moan from those pretty little lips, every bump of his nose on your clit has you twitching and bucking underneath him, all hes trying to do is tame the spoilt brat your parents raised

- it not long until you releasing all over him, the noises of him sucking on your clit had the band inside you tightening until you thought you would break. when you finally do cum, you crying out his name and gushing all over that perfect face of his. Even then he doesnt let up, eating you until you’ve ridden out your high and are crying from overstimulation

- “that good huh princess?” you put all of your will into giving his hair a harsh tug, you still hadn’t released your grip as you lay there panting. Those taunting eyes of his staring at you from between your legs, you would say he looked angelic, but everything about this situation was far to sinful to be making such a comparison

-“Careful doll” he warns - Secretly getting more turned on by seeing you try to stay feisty

-Mere seconds later, not enough time for you to recover from that earth shattering orgasm, Toji is flipping you over, manhandling you into all fours as you allow him to move you as he wishes. He pushes you head into the cushions on your couch before positioning himself behind you

-You swear you were physically twitching as the sound of him unbuckling his belt. something that usually isn’t that erotic, but the way he was building up suspense and dragging it out had you quivering

-“God Toji, please fuck me. Please” You had completely given up on the confident act now, not that it lasted very long at all. All you wanted, no all you Needed was for this man to absolutely destroy you, rearrange your guts

-“Oh princess, did I get you all worked up? Look how much of a needy little whore you’re being for me” He’s dragging himself through the folds of your dripping cunt now. Slightly regretting not being able to see the expression on your face, but he knows it will be worth it in a minute for how deep he’s about to fuck you “See doll, isn’t this much easier than playing the spoilt bratty bitch. I would’ve taken you home a lot quicker if you said please like a good girl.. Matter of fact, say it again for me”

-“Please Toji, I need your cock, Plea-“ Tears were welling in your eyes as that pathetic whimpers and begs left you. Only to be cut off by Toji filling you to the brim in one thrust.

-You were sure you were about to choke, he was so deep it was like you could feel him in your throat. He stills, giving you a moment to adjust to his considerable size. Sure he gave off big dick energy at the bar, But you weren’t expecting him to be this big. You can hear him stifle a chuckle at your reaction to his cock

-Your walls so wet that the welcomed him with ease, allowing his throbbing cock to invade your velvety heat. Toji had to still himself as well, God you were so fucking right. Your pussy felt so good, even your pussy felt expensive

-Who knew the woman giving off an aura of glamour and class would be such a slut for some cock.

-His hand reached down, grabbing a fistful of your hair, giving it a tug. He began the move, throbbing clock sliding in and out of you in a teasing pace, it was almost torturing, but toji didn’t want to get ahead of himself. He wanted to have you unravel. you would be a cock drunk mess by the end of the evening he was certain. After all that’s what he was being paid to do

-“Oh my fucking god” you groan out, eyes rolling into the back of your head as his pace starts to increase. The crude sounds of his skin slapping against yours. balls hitting your clit echoed off your walls

-“Not God, just Toji princess” Smug fucker. If this wasn’t some of the best dick you have ever had you would slap him for how cocky he is

-His thick cock was stretching you in a way that was so delicious you were seeing stars. You were leaving on your elbows when the buckled underneath the pleasure, leaving you face first into the cushions, hands gripping onto them for dear life as the man behind throughly fucked the attitude out of you

-“Fuck- god this pussy is so good” He grunting and groaning, pulling at you hair to get a better grip on his thrusts. Th way you were arched right now had Toji hitting that spongy spot inside you. Your toes were curling, hot tears falling from you eyes and onto the cushions.

-Toji couldn’t believe his luck, he’d got out of that boring ass mission he was stuck in, he met a fucking gorgeous girl to take home with some of the best pussy he’s ever had. And she’s paying him more than he was going to get for the fucking mission anyway. Toji made it a personal mission to fuck you well, not because he was being paid, because he knew his services were worth paying for

-His free hand was soon making quick work of your clit, rubbing in tight quick circles. Focused on the bundle of nerves. You couldn’t help but grip him even tighter. Pulling him back in whenever he tried pulling back from your pussy

-“shit doll- hah” He had to screw his eyes such, trying to ward off his orgasm, he wasn’t yet ready to succumb to the pleasure he was feeling

-You on the other hand were crying out for your impending orgasm. “F-fuck Toji- i’m gonna-“ Waves rippling through your body, teasing you, warning you your climax was near. Your hips moving erratically, pushy squeezing Toji with each movement. Until he hit that spot in you again, and you were broken. Your legs trembled as your mouth opened in a silent scream. You stopped breathing for a moment as pleasure wracked through your body. “goddamn sweetheart.” he murmured, watching you, feeling how tightly you were clenching him.

-Now that Toji’s mission was accomplished, He could finish up. Not that it was going to take much. The way you were moaning incoherently beneath him still reeling from your orgasm, and the warm depths of you walls as hit fat tip hit your cervix, Your body- back arched all for him. He was cumming minutes after you, his hips never slowing their piston like pace. You could tell he was close as his breathing changed and his grunts turned into moans. A sound you needed to hear more of next time “Fucking hell sweetheart, I love this slutty little pussy”

-His hips began to stutter before he planted himself as deep as he could go, his hips pressed tightly against your ass as he shot thick hot ropes of cum into you. You wriggled at the feeling, so intimate, yet so dirty

-This became a regular thing, something you were quite happy with, and so was Toji.

- you paid him for his services, and he would treat you like a princess - until you got home of course and he was fucking you like some whore hed met on the street.

- Your dynamic was perfect, just what you were looking for, and you couldn’t be more grateful for a man like him

- it wasn’t official that you were his sugar mummy of course, it was like you were casually dating, if he needed money to bet on something,, you were sending it over. Along with a picture of you in lingerie, letting him know you were waiting for him when he got back. You liked to spoil him, showing him in designer shirts and beautiful watches.

- When you bought him a watch he had expressed hed been wanting for a while, he had his face buried in between your thighs to say thank you. He didn’t let up in the slightest, showing his thanks by leaving your les absolutely quivering

- After a while, the lines blurred, it became less sexual and more about just enjoying eachothers company. You had movie night and cute dinner dates that ended up with you both snuggling on you couch. Or sweet little self care nights when you managed to convince him to let you put a face mask on him (he secretly loved it)

- Toji just enjoyed showering you in affection, it actually wasn’t all about them money for him - even though it meant he didnt have to work as much - he just liked being around you. he didn’t mind that you would pay for most things, he was a secure enough man to not let it effect his masculinity. after all he was masculine enough in every other area, treating you like a princess

#jjk #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji zenin #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu toji #toji smut #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji zenin smut #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro smut

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angstywaifu · 1 day ago

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Not Enough - Liam Mairi

Request: Would you maybe do a soft smut slash angst with liam where reader gets hurt in a challenge and storms off belittling herself and getting so down because her parents would have expected more from her and it all comes to a head when liam runs after her and she blows up on him screaming about how stupid she is and how she isn't enough and liam like shuts her up by kissing her and showing her that she is enough and how amazing she is - @elliot-rain

Masterlist | Support Me

The impact of landing on the mat runs through me as I lie there stunned, the pain in my leg barely noticeable. Shit. They were going to be disappointed me if they found out I got hurt and lost. I could already hear the lecture in my head.

”How could you lose?”

”You could do so much better.”

”You have a family name and reputation to uphold.”

I push myself up as best I can, ignoring the hand my opponent holds out to me. I couldn’t show weakness. I needed to be strong, even as my leg screamed at me to take the help. I limp off the mat, the crowd of riders parting to let me through.

”You ok?” Violet asks as I pass her.

I stop and turn to look at her, doing my best to hide my grimace. “Yeah, just going to go rest for a bit. I’ll be good.”

She purses her lips, but eventually nods at me. She clearly sees through me. She always does when one of us gets hurt. She knows what pain is like better than any of us, so it’s hard to hide from her when we are in pain. Before she can stop me, I turn around and do my best to walk out of the room. Now my challenge was done, I didn’t technically need to stay, meaning I had at least an hour till my next class. An hour to think over my mistakes, to explain them to my parents once they found out and no doubt demanded to see me somehow. For any other rider, losing on the mat would just be a bad day or their opponent just being better than them. But that wasn’t an option for me. My entire life I was taught to be perfect. No mistakes, no errors. Mistakes were punished, a lesson that they were not to be made again. I had a legacy to uphold.

I’m too lost in my thoughts to hear the rushed footsteps behind me until movement out of the corner of my eye startles me, causing me to jump and aggravate my leg, a pained hiss escaping my lips through gritted teeth.

”Shit, what happened?” Liam asks hurriedly as his eyes scan over me, his hands resting on my arms as he steadies me.

”A mistake, that's what happened.” I say as I avert my eyes from his.

I see him furrow his brow out of the corner of my eye, clearly confused at my words. “Mistake? Things happen all the time in challenges. It was nothing. You’ll come back better and stronger next week.”

I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut as tears threaten to break free as my emotions bubble over the edge. “To me it’s not nothing” I mutter out, part of me hoping he doesn’t hear, but I know he does.

”It is nothing Y/N. No one in there is going to care you lost a challenge. It happens.” He almost pleads to me, and I know if I open my eyes his blue eyes will be soft and caring.

”It’s not the people in there I’m worried about.” I say as I open my eyes, a tear rolling down one of my cheeks.

Liam reaches out to wipe it away, but I knock his hand away before limping over to one of the few cut outs in the wall, looking out into the empty Rotunda.

”I come from a family where I have certain expectations to meet. An image to live up to. Nothing but the best is tolerated. Anything less than perfect is….”

”Is what?” Liam's voice soft but demanding from behind me.

”Punished.” I say as I look at him over my shoulder, watching the colour from his face drain. “Anything less than perfect, than one hundred percent isn’t tolerated.”

”You’re safe here, they can’t pun-”

”Yes they can!” I yell as I turn on Liam, wincing as my leg protests at the sudden movement. “I am not safe behind these walls. They provide no protection from what they will do if they find out how stupid I was to let myself lose! They provide no protection from being told I am not good enough. That if anything I do is less than perfect will never be enough. I’m not en-”

Liam’s lips crash against mine, cutting off my frantic words. The heat of his kiss swallows the air from my lungs, silencing every self-deprecating thought spiralling in my mind. For a moment, I’m too stunned to move, too caught off guard to process what’s happening. But then the warmth of his hands, one cupping my cheek and the other steadying my trembling arm, grounds me.

The world falls away—the walls, the fear, the doubts—all of it fades into the background. All I can focus on is him: the way his touch feels steady, the way his kiss feels like a promise, fierce yet tender, as if he’s trying to piece me back together with every brush of his lips.

When he pulls back, his forehead presses against mine, and his breath fans across my face. His hands don’t leave me; instead, they grip tighter, as if afraid I’ll shatter the moment he lets go.

“You’re enough,” he says softly, his voice rough but resolute. “You’ve always been enough. Stop doubting yourself, because I won’t let you tear yourself apart anymore.”

I blink up at him, my chest heaving from more than just the kiss. “Liam, I—”

“No,” he interrupts, his voice firm now. “Listen to me. You are stronger than you think. You’ve faced so much, and you’re still standing. You are more than good enough, and no one—no one—gets to make you feel otherwise. Not even you.”

Tears sting my eyes, but for once, they’re not from pain or frustration. They’re from the raw, unrelenting belief in his voice, in his gaze as he looks at me like I’m worth fighting for.

“I’m scared,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

“I know,” he says, his thumb brushing a stray tear from my cheek. “But you don’t have to do this alone. Not anymore. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Something inside me shifts, loosens, as his words sink in. For the first time in what feels like forever, the weight pressing on my chest lightens, just a little. And for now, that’s enough.

#fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #the fourth wing #the empyrean #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing imagine #liam mairi #liam mairi x reader #liam mairi x you

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iwilltrytobereasonable · 3 hours ago

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Okay, I understand the spirit of this but because I know someone will read this extremely literally I’m gonna have to speak up for some ADHD people re: @thembo-x ‘s requirements.

Including, of course, myself.

I have been having trouble focusing on the written word since high school. I am every bit capable of sitting and reading a paragraph 10 times and still not recall what was in it. The brain gremlins say “No! If you focus go to sleep!” ALL the time.

It used to be that I could get around that if I was interested enough in a book, but some time around the beginning of adulthood even that wouldn’t save me and a book I desperately wanted to read would sit on my shelf for a decade. It took me two and a half years of concerted effort to read the 126 pages of the war commentaries of Caesar, even though I found them riveting.

Engagement with fans online helps a LOT. That’s how I got through Seven Pillars of Wisdom. But not every good book has an active fandom.

But! When I was in high school, I also figured out that I could hear better if my hands were doing something other than writing. Words on the page engage my auditory centers, but crocheting does not, nor doodling, peeling fava beans, drawing a very detailed face, spinning yarn, eating oatmeal. All of these fix the focus problem by keeping me engaged in production while not involving my auditory processing.

I can’t start books on the page and trust I can read through the opening chapters to the point of engagement. Audiobooks, however, allow me to use a fidget to fix the focus problem. And yes, I do sometimes need to rewind and catch something, but I’ve always needed to go back a reread here and there. Good books are often better the second time, any way you’ve read them.

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syndrossi · 14 hours ago

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Não sei se entendi muito bem como está funcionando os pedidos, mas vou pedir algo que estou louca pra ler.

Em Regnal, reação da família ao descobrirem que os gêmeos foram sequestrados.

Ou melhor ainda, reação ao descobrirem que os gêmeos são imunes ao fogo. Estou ansiosa pra ler sobre a reação de Jaehaerys e suas suspeitas sobre a profecia.

I decided to go with Jaehaerys reacting to the twins' fireproofness!

x~x~x

“You are certain?”

His son nodded, arms tightening around his twin grandsons, who were sitting quietly in his lap. His face was pale and haggard, as though he had not slept in days—not unlike his very brief visit to King’s Landing shortly after the twins’ birth, when he had come for the dragon eggs.

Baelon the Brave, his son was called, yet grief and loss had stolen that carefree surety. It would make him a better king, Jaehaerys suspected, but it had hollowed out the man.

“I saw their cradle after. It was burned near to ash, and yet there was not a mark upon them when Daemon pulled them from the fire.” Even the retelling seemed to drain his son, though a tug at his collar by his namesake did draw a faint smile. He kissed his grandson’s head. “I am sorry, Jon, you shall have ample time to gnaw upon your father’s hair later.”

“How did Daemon fare?” His grandson had looked hale enough when greeting him, and only half as sullen as when last they had spoken.

“He avoided the worst of it in his haste. I feared for his hands, but they seemed to suffer no worse than if the sun had burned him.”

That in itself was noteworthy. Jaehaerys’s eyes shifted to the candle upon his desk, and he saw Baelon tense once more. “I must see for myself,” he said.

“Do you call me a liar?” his son demanded.

“You knew that it would be necessary,” Jaehaerys admonished, “or you would not have brought them alone.”

“I brought them alone because my good-daughter would gut you for even suggesting it, Kingsguard or no.”

“Nevertheless,” he said, holding his arms out for the younger child, Aemon.

He truly did have the look of Jaehaerys’s second son, purple eyes alert and watchful as they returned his gaze. Jaehaerys carefully removed the babe’s shoe and stocking on his left foot, then slowly brought it toward the candle’s flame. As he did so, the babe’s twin brother let out an unholy screech, causing him to flinch back in momentary surprise.

Baelon hurriedly rocked him, but the other babe’s arms and legs were flailing wildly in protest. Jaehaerys made quick work of his task, holding Aemon’s foot to the flame. The babe showed no discomfort, other than what might have been concern over his brother’s disconsolate wailing, and when he pulled him back, the skin of his was not even reddened. Jaehaerys stared, running a finger over the skin.

It is a song of fire, for certain, but what of the ice?

Jaehaerys gave the babe back to Baelon, along with his shoe and stocking, and took his twin next. His wailing had ceased upon the return of his brother, but his brow was etched in a fearsome scowl as Jaehaerys took him in his arms. It was all too easy to see the babe’s father in him, despite his Royce coloring.

He made it as difficult as possible for Jaehaerys to bare his foot, his sticky hands grabbing and pulling at his beard while his legs wriggled. But finally, he was able to repeat the test, to identical results.

The babe’s squirming had finally stopped, his grey eyes steely with challenge as they locked upon Jaehaerys’s. His instincts failed him, recognizing too late that young Baelon was preparing to spit up, and it dribbled down the length of his beard.

“I sired thirteen children,” he informed the babe, unable to set aside the suspicion that it had been intentional. “I assure you, I have suffered worse.”

A washing basin was brought to him, and a servant carefully washed and combed his beard clean while his great-grandson watched. Jaehaerys dismissed the servant then, along with the sole Kingsguard who had remained in the room.

“What does it mean?” Baelon asked once he had finished the task of putting the other babe’s shoe back on.

Jaehaerys did not know. Aegon’s prophecy had spoken of one prince, not two, and he had no notion of what the ice in question might be. The mountains of the Vale?

But the signs were unmistakable. One or both of the children must be Aegon’s promised prince.

And yet Viserys is Baelon’s heir, not Daemon. Daemon who himself had not suffered the full effects of retrieving his sons from a burning cradle. Are there signs that I missed before?

He had been considering it regardless, given Aemma’s difficulties carrying a child. An heir with two sons was preferable to one with only a daughter. Aemon and Baelon themselves had been proof of that.

“It means that we must speak of the succession.”

#resonant nye2025 ask game #jon's not afraid to use his baby advantages to their fullest

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illdiealonelyguy · 2 days ago

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Apartment Story (Spencer Reid x BAU!reader)

We'll stay inside till somebody finds us, do what ever the tv tells us, stay inside our rosy minded fuzz.

My first time writing something like this, and i'm sure its not very good and there's room for sooooo much improvement, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless!

Summary: You've reached the groggy, grey winter months where nothing much usually happens, but this year is a little different. This year, you have Spencer Reid by your side. To combat the post-christmas blues and make some use of the last remaining weeks before you both head back to your desks at the BAU, Spencer attempts to find solutions for you both to remain as calm and content as you possibly can.

Tags: Spencer Reid x BAU!reader, fluff.

Word Count: roughly 789

You were roused by the sound of shuffling sheets beside you,and a temporary loss of warmth, before an arm reached itself under your side of the bedsheets to the small of your back. Eyes still heavy and closed, you nuzzled back towards the main source of heat - your own personal central heating system: Dr. Spencer Reid. Gently, you opened your eyes, head still resting against his chest, and peered up to be welcomed by his adoring smile.

"Good morning," Spencer whispered as he kissed the top of your head.

"Morning," you croaked, still squashed against his body, your breath against his neck making him giggle.

You open your eyes wider, this time gauging an impression of today's weather: grey and wet. just like everyday since the start of November, it seemed. This specific state of the weather was sure to weigh heavy on your heart until the end of March, when things would start to brighten up and look more alive.

"Hey, what's gotten you looking so somber?" Spencer inquired while turning your head towards him with his hand on your cheek.

"The weather! i just feel so trapped in such a monotone season. Eveything looks like it's been stripped of life," you lament into his caring eyes, a hint of worry working it's way into them. "You make me feel better, though. I remember once telling you that i think i chase the sun. It makes me feel far more alive and productive and full of ideas. Anyway, i came to the conclusion that you are my sun. Just being around you is enough to, for a while, help me forget about how much the winter months tend to weigh on me. So, thank you for that." You smile up at him while a faint flush settles over his cheeks, clearly bashful at such a - as he would put it - poetic metaphor.

"You're thanking me for being myself?" he chuckles.

"I suppose i am," you affirmed, leaning in to kiss him. He replied with a hum as he kissed you back, contentedly.

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

You both spent your morning cuddling, reading and drinking tea (well, coffee for Spencer) and after the afternoon hit it's peak, the daylight seemed to be sucked away too fast for your liking.

Returning from the kitchen with two cups of tea occupying both of his hands (Spencer's new year resolution to only drink coffee in the mornings for a better night's sleep seemed to be going well, you thought) Spencer padded towards you in his fuzzy-sock clad feet, sitting beside you on the sofa and turning to you, thoughtfully.

"I think we should buy you a SAD lamp. Oh, and also stock up on puzzles, sudoku books, crosswords and other activities which will stimulate both of our brains. Well, I of course tend to these activities more than you- there's nothing wrong with that by the way! You enjoy more creative hobbies and i logical ones, but we could build puzzles together as i'm very, very bad at creative activities. Oh! I could also run to the pharmacy and get some vitamin c tablets. They'll be good for us to take in the winter," Spencer offers in a breathless frenzy.

You chuckle at his despiration "Are you still thinking about what i said earlier? Spencer, it's common to feel slightly more down in the winter months, i don't want you worrying about me too much!" you reply with a comforting smile, reaching out to take his hand in yours, squeezing it a few times as if to physically transmit your words into him.

"I know, i know. I just care about you so much and i'de hate for you to feel the weight of the shorter days wearing you down. I feel less motivated this time of year, too. But - not to steal your beautiful metaphor here - i think you might me my sun, too. Sunlight increases the production of sterotonin which helps improve mood and promote feelings of happiness, and spending time in the sunlight can reduce levels of cortisol in the body. You have the same affect on me."

"The science in your metaphor made that sound far more romantic," you giggle as you consider his words, Spencer gazing at you lovingly. "I think we will survive, love. We've got eachother, and our books, and yes if you like you can buy a bunch of brain stimulating puzzles," Spencer gazes downward shyly at your words.

"I think we've got an arsenal of things within ourselves to battle the winter blues away. Especially eachother." You end with, softly.

Leaning towards you, Spencer takes you in his arms. "I think you might be right." He mutters into the soft material of your shirt, holding you tightly.

#dr spencer reid #spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #fluff #one shot #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #Spotify

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blessedbyahuntress · 18 hours ago

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i saw your post asking for requests so i have one! odysseus x chubby!reader who is insecure about being his queen due to their weight?

Alright! *Excited clapping of hands* Thanks for the request!

Too Good

Pairing: Odysseus x Chubby!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Nah, just insecurity on Reader's part

Word count: 690

You stared at your reflection.

Your handmaiden swayed slightly from holding the mirror for so long, snapping you out of your daze. You waved your hand to dismiss her.

As she left the room, you stood, running your hands down your dress. You tried to ignore how large it was; nothing was just your size exactly. The only time you could find anything that wasn’t too small or wasn’t too large, was around your day of birth, when you always asked Odysseus if you could get fitted for a dress.

You looked at the mirror across from you. Gods, this room had too many mirrors. You ducked your head to avoid the searing eyes of your reflection as you shuffled toward your bed.

“What am I going to do with myself?” You asked no one in particular, flopping down on the perfectly made sheets.

You stayed there all day, the only one allowed to come into your room being your handmaiden.

As she brushed your silky hair- you couldn’t see what more to be brushed; it was the only part of your body that you were proud of- she began speaking. “Queen Y/N, are you going to appear at the feast tonight?”

“No,” you mumbled into your pillow.

She sighed, removing the brush from your hair. “Shall I tell King Odysseus?”

“No.”

That earned you another sigh. “He won’t be pleased,” she warned.

“I know.”

Odysseus was more worried than furious. He knew you didn’t like going to the feasts he arranged, yes, but he thought you’d want to be at this one.

“Y/N,” he said, marching into your room. He took one glance at your figure, and concern flashed in his eyes.

You scowled, shifting slightly so that your eyes met his. “You didn’t knock,” you said stiffly.

Odysseus raised his eyebrows.

You groaned as he came closer. “Go away.” You threw an arm over your head.

“Love,” he started. “What’s all this about?”

“Ody,” you whined as he sat down beside you. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Odysseus snorted. “I wasn’t going to press,” he said, gently stroking your hair.

“That sounds like such a ‘you’ thing to do, though.”

Odysseus made a disapproving noise in the back of his throat before breaking into a smile. “I- yes. That sounds a lot like me,” he admitted.

You returned his grin triumphantly. “Ha, ha, ha!” You cried, imitating how he always acted when he managed to fool you. “I was right!”

Odysseus’s smile turned into more of a smirk. “Oh?” He asked. “And who says?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, though it didn’t have much effect, as seeing you were still laying down. “I do, that’s who.”

“Well, maybe I was just trying to get you to laugh.”

You blinked.

“Ody-” You were rudely interrupted by Odysseus, who put a finger to your lips.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he scolded. “I think I know what this is all about. You’re feeling insecure about your body again, aren’t you?”

You huffed indignantly, which was answer enough for Odysseus.

“Ithaca couldn’t have survived with me being away for so long without you,” he began. “You kept the suitors at bay- and yes, I’ll remind you that you had a hundred and eight suitors lined up to marry you-”

You flicked your wrist. “We both know that they were only here for the title of ‘king’.”

Odysseus shot you a glare. “Shush,” he ordered. “I wouldn't care if you were the skinniest woman in the world, nor the prettiest.” He leaned over to tap a finger on your forehead. You went cross eyed to glare at it, causing Odysseus to laugh. “All I care for is your smarts and your intellect- very impressive way you fooled the suitors for that long, by the way.”

You groaned and looked away, swatting at his hand. “Why are you so good at this?”

Odysseus blinked, false innocence written all over his expression. “Good at what?”

“You’re too good at making me feel loved,” you complained.

Odysseus let out a low chuckle. “Well, that was always the point, wasn’t it?”

#epic musical #epic the musical #epic fandom #epic the ithaca saga #epic odysseus #epic the musical x reader #jorge rivera herrans #odysseus #Odysseus x reader

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makeitagoodoneeh · 2 days ago

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I need Europeans to understand that we don't have any TIME.

"Why do Americans drive so much? Why do they rely on microwaves? Why don't they hang their clothes out to dry? Why don't they get regular preventive healthcare? Why don't they travel? Why don't they spend time outside? Why do they buy so much convenience food? Why don't they walk? Why don't they vote? Why don't they protest? Why don't they burn the system to the ground?"

Some of your countries experienced an explosion of automation and productivity in the 20th century and at least SOMEBODY in power said "okay, let's try to make sure most people aren't miserable," and it stuck long enough, that enough people got not-miserable enough, to hang onto and slowly expand the rights and resources that keep them from living in misery.

In the US, the people in power went "okay, let's use all this automation to WRING EVERY LAST DROP OF PRODUCTIVITY out of the populace". Every time some group has won any significant struggle for more rights and social protections, there has been massive backlash orchestrated by powerful people using primarily racism but also other bigotry to sow fear and hatred and break our solidarity.

So everything about our social systems, our public spaces, our working lives, our cultural expectations, and even the private infrastructure of our homes (successful people have a dryer and multiple cars) is set up to maximize the profit of corporations with almost zero regard for our own long-term wellbeing.

The politicians and the corporations did this to us on purpose. They sold us washers and dryers on the promise that we wouldn't have to spend so much time doing laundry, and then they sold us MORE CLOTHES which means we have to spend a lot of time on laundry anyway. Oh wait, the dryers are actually not that good for the clothes, so they fall apart faster, and oh look! That means we have to buy more clothes! And that means we need bigger washers with fancier settings and now THOSE break faster but you can't repair that part, sorry, it's cheaper to just buy a new machine.

I don't even have a job outside homemaking and I don't even have kids, and still the thought of having to hang everything on a clothesline and then take it down again, instead of just tossing it in the dryer and pulling it out again, is fucking exhausting. I don't have time for that. Also I am not a small human, and I wear a lot of heavy clothes because it's fucking cold here -- I would need a lot of space in my house to do this, because it's definitely not happening outside most of the year in this climate.

Sure, it costs a little money for the electricity (and/or natural gas) to run the dryer, and it costs money to buy the appliance in the first place. But it costs a lot of time and space to use a clothesline, and our country is set up to make it much harder to spend time and energy doing things for myself than to spend money on something that will grow somebody else's profits.

Sometimes the cheapest way to pay is with money.

Ok, so something I've noticed that is utterly baffling to me is that all the Americans I know primarily dry their clothes using a machine called a dryer. I don't even own a dryer. So, I need to know:

#posting this rant i found in my drafts

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howlsofbloodhounds · 2 days ago

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I have a couple of questions, the main two being: 1: what ships do you dislike/hate? and why? 2: are there any ships you enjoy/like? and why? I am an anti-shipper myself, so hearing other ppls opinions on ships is interesting to me.

Only ships I really hate are like, incest, pedo or zoophilia, and Killermare and Bad Sans Poly.

I hate Killermare because it is trafficker/kidnapper/abuser x victim/captive and that is just..baked so completely in their narratives I find it ridiculous to ignore it.

I hate the narrative that Nightmare ever genuinely saved Killer, he didn’t—Color was the one putting in hard work and tears trying to protect, understand, befriend, and earn Killer’s trust. He was the one being threatened with death and stabbed and attacked for trying to help like he was asked to— by Killer himself—to help. He’s the one constantly risking his life and safety and well being for Killer’s freedom.

I hate how certain shippers treat this ship, how they treat Killer, and how they definitely treat Color—like Color’s somehow the bad guy because they want to pretend that Nightmare is somehow good for Killer’s safety or that Killer would ever be happy with him. Or as if Color only has selfish intentions and motives for Killer. Even more so when they pretend it’s one sided and Killer doesn’t grow to feel the same eventually—even when they’re extremely rough and certainly not friends in the beginning.

As if Killer wasn’t the one asking Color to save him. As if Killer didn’t say he kinda likes Color, and Nightmare had to tell him to literally shut up—as if Color isn’t the only one besides Toriel Killer has admitted to liking before, compared to when he said he doesn’t like anyone when asked. As if Color wasn’t the only one Stage 1 Killer ever felt comfortable asking, pleading with, for help—trusting him enough to admit he wants to be saved.

As for ships i enjoy, there’s Colorkiller obviously—but I also enjoy them as a friendship, or queer platonic, or them in general. Lifeafterdeath most definitely. Reapertale Chara x Core!Frisk (I don’t know. if they have a ship name) is wonderful.

Epic Sanses poly, Delta x Color, Epic x Color, Ccino x Color, just other Color ships in general i like. Chromatic Crew poly could be interesting.

But honestly what I really want is more of Killer in platonic relationships.

Color is special to him and this is just an undeniable fact, and Killer doesn’t strike me as the type to be very interested in friendship outside of what he managed to build with Color—but i think he should have more social connections, even if they aren’t what he has with Color because he does not trust most people at all.

I’d love to see more of Ink and Killer. Not really as a ship, but as pals—I feel they’d understand each other. Ccino and Killer and Lust and Killer and Color too. I’d like to see Ink and Color content as well, and Color and Dream.

I feel I’d be interested in seeing more Killer and Horror content, but there’s barely any outside of Bad Sans Poly or MTT Poly—and even in those ships there’s hardly anything.

I’ve found myself turned away from most Killer and Murder dynamics because, similar to Kross and killermare, these two always have to have some sort of “sexual tension” or something and it’s actually just beating eachother half to death or being lovey dovey and so in love. (Or when Killer is portrayed as a desperate whore for dust’s attention and begging him to love him or something.)

I think I’d find them more interesting in fandom depictions if 1. It wasn’t always just about how “hot” they are together and how “hot” is it that they hate eachother or whatever, and 2. people focused more on how they’re different rather than how they’re similar.

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project-sekai-news · 1 day ago

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The Pegasus - An Interview

Welcome back to PJSK News! I'm your host, Tenma Saki, and because Hoshino couldn't be here today, I have brought a special guest! Special guest, how about you introduce yourself?

Good evening, everyone! I am Tenma Tsukasa, a world star! Many of you know me by my stage name, the Pegasus!!! Saki here is actually my little sister!

Hehe, Onii-chan, no headpats on camera! Anyway.. I have all the interview questions right here! Are you ready?