#to be clear: this is not a comment on anyone's skills

[queenlua]

okay, wow, uhhhh, apparently my comment section Yearns for me to do some mean-spirited unfair goofy dunking, lol.

here's the Cliff's Notes version, as a compromise between What The People Desire and The Spirit Remaining Relatively Inert In Me. there's probably not much new here if you already saw me yell about Chambers and/or Mishima over on Dreamwidth, but here we go!

(for context, the only Chambers i've read is A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet (henceforth referred to as ALWtaSAP). i've read Mishima's entire Sea of Fertility tetralogy plus The Temple of the Golden Pavilion.)

((SPEAKING OF WHICH: this is Total Desperation Hours, but if anyone reading this has read the entirety of the Sea of Fertility tetralogy, SLIDE INTO MY DMs IMMEDIATELY, I WISH TO TALK TO YOU AT GREAT LENGTH. SPECIFICALLY I WISH TO TALK ABOUT KEIKO AND THE FUCKING CHRISTMAS PARTY IN BOOK 4. i have only ever met one other human who read the whole thing & it was at a mediocre taco bar & i was so overcome with ECSTASY and WONDERMENT at finally getting to talk about THAT FUCKING SCENE that i accidentally doused all my tacos in far too much hot sauce to be even remotely edible, but i ate them anyway because i didn't want the conversation to end, and i suffered so hard for that but. it was so worth it. ))

anyway.

the lazy handwave-y case for "ALWtaSAP is fascist actually":

the way the narrative treated Corbin in ALWtaSAP REALLY bothered me, right?

all the other crew members in the book have very Nice™ interpersonal skills, and would flawlessly succeed in any corporate Crucial Conversations training...

...whereas Corbin is kind of a dick, has rough edges, and would absolutely get reported to HR for generally having a bad attitude, etc...

...but the narrative treats this as, instead of an instance of Normal Human Variation... well, it's treated as a profound and intractable moral failing.

it's treated this way to the point where, when Corbin's life is in peril, the whole group makes it clear they're only rescuing him out of their own magnanimity, not because he's, y'know, a fucking human worthy of consideration. he *deserves* to get fucked over for the "being a clone" thing or whatever, and it's implied to be related to his garbage personality (even though his personality has absolutely nothing to do with his predicament!)

first off: gross! even if you don't accept my mean-spirited "let's link this back to fascism" argument, it still sucks bigtime.

but you're here for me to kick hornets' nests, so:

you know how, e.g. the recent film The Zone of Interest portrayed the nice "domestic" side of nazi official life? there's that whole "herrenvolk retaking the countryside" meme, right. certainly one of the most visible fash aesthetics is Violent Masculinity and Glorious Battle and what-the-fuck ever, but... "tradwives preserving Family Values in peaceful farm-y settings" is a pretty essential part of the whole ideology too. Hedwig is just as much as complicit as Rudolf. you could perhaps call this the "soft"/"femme" side of fascism. which is lazy and hand-wavy and reductionist but here we go

so okay, ALWtaSAP is the soft/femme side of fascism. the entire narrative is very DOMESTIC, but like, Zone of Interest was very domestic too, right. there's a very thin veneer of queer-friendliness over it—the interspecies relationships/gay characters/etc are in fact considered Totally Fine... but the narrative makes it SO clear if you're not Nice and Interpersonally Polite in exactly the correct ways, they actually do view you as a bad person.

and, like, fascist ideology absolutely has carve-outs for "this is fine if you do it in Exactly The Correct Way," right. like, Intense Homoeroticism Between Manly Dudes is certainly a thing in fascism, as we'll get to in a bit. which doesn't make fascism queer-friendly, obv, but it makes it friendly to someone who's queer in exactly the right kind of heavily circumscribed way and God Forbid You Step Off That Path Slightly Or Piss Off The Wrong Guy

(isn't it weird how the entire crew of that fucking ship, sans Corbin, never seems to display any real interpersonal unpleasantness? how convenient for all of them. how fucking convenient. wonder what would happen if any of them did do anything to fall outside the Tightly-Prescribed Ideal Of Domesticity. they replaced "make babies" with "be nice to found family" but whatever it has the same vibe)

anyway yeah, i think that's sort of fucked! (especially given that, y'know, plenty of Real Actual Queer People are in fact not nice in exactly the correct ways but that doesn't make them less people or someone you get to jettison, etc)

you could push back against this argument by pointing out that these attitudes—(interpersonal Niceness, broad tolerance for certain types of non-normative activity so long as they can be rendered Legible, etc)—are more neoliberal-y than fash-y in nature. and you'd probably be right! i'm not much of a theory girl, haha. i would have to actually read some literature instead of just vibes-ing it if i wanted to make this anything more than a particularly spicy Vice article. but this is just a spicy Vice article, so....

...though, come to think of it, let's further bolster the "actually it's fascism" case: remember that bit in ALWtaSAP where Corbin "cures" Ohan?

brief recap for those who (wisely) bleached this book from their memory: Ohan is an alien whose culture revolves around the "Whisper," a virus that exclusively infects Ohan's species. if you get infected by the Whisper, you get much-enhanced intelligence plus the ability to pilot spacecraft (via enhanced reactions/reflexes/Knowledge Of Complex Space-Math or something)... but your lifespan is also drastically reduced. Ohan likes being infected by a Whisper very much; he was given full knowledge of the virus's effects prior to being infected; he understands it reduces his lifespan but is still happy just the way he is.

so, near the end of the book, Corbin just... non-consensually administers the cure to Ohan & kills the virus? lmao?? and everyone yells at Corbin a bit, but also the narrative does seem to lowkey endorse this as The Correct Outcome; now Ohan will get to live much longer!!! everyone agrees that's Good and Correct, right!!! like sure there WAS a moral dilemma here, but we gave The Evil Action to our Designated Shitbag, so now all the Good characters can just enjoy the good results of his bad action.

again: this is a huge part of Ohan's species's culture! they have a whole religion built around this shit! and the narrative just kinda endorsed... y'know... robbing him of that? on the basis of bodily integrity/purity...?

you see where i'm going with this, right. You Know Who Else Is Obsessed With Bodily Integrity/Purity? that's right it's the fascists lol

anyway.

the argument for "Yukio Mishima is the Macho/Hard/Manly side of fascism"... i think that case writes itself lol? uhhhh, lmk if i need to spell that one out, because i sure CAN blather on about Mishima at exhausting length, but i'm pretty sure i don't need to lol. like, i love me some Spring Snow just as much as the next bitch, and i don't think "damn this dude was fashy as hell" is the only reading you can do (particularly wrt Spring Snow, it's really interesting to think of it as a reimagining of the Tale of Genji story with modern sensibilities, its relationship to 18th-century romanticism, etc), but like... dude does make it pretty incontrovertibly clear that Heroic Violent Action Is The Only Way To Save Your Nation And/Or Yourself, the aesthetics are very Sexy Murder Poet, the books' absolute contempt for fragility/age/weakness are pretty clear, in book 3 whenever he's writing a female character you desperately wish he'd just go back to the universe where Everyone Is A Dude And Also Very Gay For Each Other, because while that universe was obviously also sexist you at least didn't need to read whole passages about how much of a bitch Honda's wife is for *checks notes* having a kidney condition... uhhh i'm losing the plot here somewhat lol. let me know if i need to go pluck some books off the shelf

anyway @bogfox @radicarian @spiralingintocontrol @pretty-rage-machine @vintar @midori-verte , as requested, that's the Take lol

"the work of Becky Chambers and Yukio Mishima are two sides of the same fascist coin" is a Take that would be mean-spirited & kinda unfair & extremely goofy, but... i do think i could pull it off. if the spirit so moved me.

it might be too niche of a comparison to actually piss someone off, tho, & if i went to all the work of kicking the hornet's nest only to hear a faint buzz in return then what was the point

[haleyusesherwords]

I love Jevin because the rest of the hermits have a perfect read of how insane their fellow hermits are, but lack the self awareness to understand that they too are also insane.

While Jevin understands that he’s a normal guy, but is totally oblivious to the fact that the rest of the hermits aren’t even the slightest bit normal.

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

Sometimes I want to read my friends' fics bc like... friends! Their fics! But then like... my brain reminds me the only fic I read is dmcl.

[izupie]

Waahhh I'm not looking forward to work today ;;

I already know its gonna be such a difficult shift. We're closed tomorrow for Easter Sunday and it makes people panic that they won't be able to get their coffee tomorrow, so they aaaaalllll come in today instead.

I need to take a deep breath and be ready for the chaos

There's 4 of us on shift today so at least there's enough of us to try to keep on top of everything (unlike usual lmao)

I just need to make sure I've got something nice planned for dinner later and maybe a good movie to watch or something to keep me going 🙏

[kadoodles-on-ao3]

It seems like you have a vendetta against Shulk/Fiora. Like, not just disliking it and preferring Shulkelia but straight up hate the canon ship of the game. Why?

Thank you for asking this! It's an interesting question and I have a quite a bit to say about it (as usual with me aha). So I'll put the details under the cut, but yes, I personally do not like any aspect of the canon relationship/writing of it at all (although I don't go into that here since I talked about much more than I expected lol, if you're curious specifically about what my opinions are on the dialogue/choices in the game regarding Shiora feel free to send me another ask!). Also if you've read my fanfics (genuinely not trying to plug my work haha I swear) and see how I write Fiora and her friendship with Shulk, and especially the fic where I write from her pov for the whole thing, you can see I don't hate her and try to be respectful to her creators and fans! Anyway, for a TL;DR:

Aside from my personal history (which also is part of why I like Shulkelia as much as I do) causing the way Fiora's attraction to Shulk is written to not come off very well to me, and even ignoring what I've seen on the Internet about how people react to these ships and those who like or dislike them, it's just A Thing About Life that there will be parts of media you really like and parts of the same media you really don't, and that's what makes art engaging and impactful and personal and fun to talk about! I'm just someone who always has a lot to say about anything, so don't take my diatribes as anything more than me being passionate about analyzing stuff haha. I still love Xenoblade 1 with all my heart, and me not liking parts of the series such as Xenoblade 2 (very much) or Shiora (at all) doesn't affect how much I enjoy what I do like! It's just another fun facet to delve into for me, whether it's a thing I like or a thing I dislike.

And when all you see and know of me is from a blog that's specifically just for talking about a small facet of one piece of media, I can come off as more melodramatic about my liking of Shulkelia and disliking of Shiora since I don't talk too much about the rest of Xenoblade as a whole, nor anything else for that matter, on here. I promise I don't truly care that much about this fictional love triangle in my day-to-day life, and I'm sorry if I came off as rude about it! If you like their relationship then... I do want to say more power to you, and count this as me having said so, but also I don't feel like I need to because, as you said, it is canon so the Xenoblade devs have been (and probably will be!) providing plenty of enjoyment for you, and so no one should care what a silly singular stranger like me thinks at the end of the day haha.

But if you do, then here's what I have to say:

First off, I just enjoy really thoroughly dissecting everything I like, as well as dislike (as you will soon see!). I like delving into details and analyzing stuff, and sometimes that passion can be a little too obsessive, which can come off as me being passionate in my hatred of The Thing rather than passionate about analyzing why I hate The Thing (which is what's really going on). So it's important to me to say that when I talk about anything I dislike in depth like this, it's not ever meant to be hating on or attacking people who do like it! I just really find it fun to put things under a microscope, both when I really like them and really dislike them, because I enjoy discovering what, specifically, about them makes me feel that way.

I also think it's important to repeat that point about how this blog is both 1) meant to be near-exclusively about Shulkelia and 2) the posts I make here are pretty much my entire online footprint (outside of my fanfic account which is p much about the same topic aha), and as such these are the only things that strangers have to form an opinion about me (much like the common criticism brought up about parasocial relationships). When I log on to this blog I'm here to talk about my Xenoblade OTP or things related to it, and so that's all you see of/know about me. And even though the reason I made this blog is because of how much I like it (I'm kind of obsessive about the things I'm really passionate about, I've been that way my whole life, so that certainly doesn't help either haha), there are things I may like equally or even more, but because they aren't what this blog is for I don't mention them, and so anyone who doesn't know me won't know about them unless I talk about them. When you only see the fraction of me that I'm willing to share, then of course it'll seem like that fraction is the whole me if you never get to see the other 99%.

So much in the same way that I can seem super obsessed about Shulkelia (which, to be fair, I do get that way some days haha) it can seem like I really really hate Shiora too, since the only time I'm going to talk about it is on a blog that's dedicated to a different ship, and since I'm not really a multishipper nor do I enjoy the writing of it in canon, I won't ever have much nice to say about it. And because it's a canon ship that most people seem to enjoy, it's going to come up from time to time on art that either has Fiora/the love triangle involved or in the comments I see on it, and since I have something to say about it I do. Although I do genuinely not like it at all, I try to do it in a way where it's clear I'm not hating on people who enjoy it, either by trying to hammer home that it's just my personal opinion about it, or being super hyperbolic about disliking it in an attempt at humor. But tone and meaning can get lost from brain to text and I'm surely not the best at wording things sometimes, so I don't blame anyone for getting the wrong impression, and if that's happened I do apologize!

For example, if this blog was instead about my love of Mexican food (which is true!) and was meant for being a catalogue of recipes I come across, I'd probably talk in the tags pretty often about how I lament that so many recipes have cilantro in them because I have the weird cilantro-tastes-like-soap gene and so it tastes awful to me (which is also true!). When this happens over and over again on so many recipes that have cilantro, and when this repetition is all you ever get to see about me, it would probably seem like I have a burning hatred for cilantro, when in reality I barely think about it at all, and if something I want to eat has it I'll just politely ask for no cilantro or silently pick it off. I do think the weird gene is interesting, and I have a fun story about how I found out I have it which I enjoy telling, but I'm also just fine eating my food if no one wants to talk about it.

But that comparison isn't perfect, because there's a lot more going on in interpersonal relationships (fictional or not) and why people enjoy them or not. So let's get into that!

I did mention there were personal reasons why I feel the way I do, and to the extent I do, about these pairings, so it's only fair to explain what that's about. All throughout my life up until college I never had anyone show any romantic interest in me, even in high school, while in contrast all my friends as well as my sister had been in multiple relationships, so I felt rather lonely and figured there was something wrong with me if no one would want to date me haha. But I did of course have crushes of my own (that because of the aforementioned thought I had that I was unlikable I never acted on) and one of them was on a mutual friend that my best friend at the time also knew, as well as knew that I liked him. And all of a sudden one day they were going out and being affectionate all the time, including right in front of me even though my friend knew I liked him. That plus my loneliness from before obviously hurt really bad and made me pretty upset for a while haha.

Then on top of that later that year I would connect with someone like I never had before in my life and he "felt the same way", the very first person to ever tell me they liked me and I believed it. I honestly do still think he did like me... yet he would go on to get into a relationship with someone else and all the while repeatedly promise me that I was special to him and that she didn't get him like I did and he'd leave her for me but of course we can still have our deep talks about his personal problems and blah blah blah. There's a lot more to it than that but I'll cut it short and just say this happened for literally every single day for an entire year of my life, and it really deeply affected me for a long time, though I'm fine now of course. Well, it did change me as a human being, but you know what I mean haha. I don't say this to elicit pity (really, don't, I promise I'm fine) but to give you some puzzle pieces to help figure out the mystery of why I dislike Shiora.

So I'm sure you can see the parallels from my life to what Melia goes through, and that's precisely the mechanism that everyone uses to relate to and love fictional characters: they deal with horrible stuff that we can connect back to horrible stuff we've been through, and we empathize with them. That's one reason why so many people love Shulk (including me!), and Melia, and countless other characters. That's kind of what they're here for: to relate to. He just like me for real and all that. So, in the same way my life experiences make me relate so much to Melia, I can also relate those who I liked but never could be with to Shulk and relate their girlfriends to Fiora. And knowing how those real-life relationships ended up and why they didn't work out, I can really see parallels to how Fiora and Shulk's relationship is written, at least with the vibe I got from it on first and second impression. Therefore I both dislike it for personal reasons and the information those reasons gave me about good and bad relationships.

On a lighter note though, there's another aspect to the whole we-like-characters-we-identify-with thing with regards to shipping: I really do think the ships we like (if any) are based on and a reflection of ourselves and what we want in a partner (should we want to have one). Or in simpler terms, our OTPs are often made up of a character we can self-insert as and a character we would marry if they were real haha. And I don't mean that in a bad way at all! It's fun to make up fake scenarios with fake characters that you want to kiss, even when you're not writing direct-self-insert or xReader stuff (which I also don't bash)! I'm certainly guilty of this myself, even as much as I try to write them true to their character, relating so much to Melia and finding a lot about Shulk attractive for reasons that Melia also does means I'm just like everyone else haha. But on the other side of the coin, the fact that I cannot relate to Fiora in so many ways as well as do not vibe with how she treats her attraction to Shulk means I can't really enjoy the thought of them as a couple.

But outside of talking about the canon for just a second more, I think there's an interesting phenomenon(? idk what to call it lol) here that is in this ask as well as many other people's vocalized opinions regarding this game's love triangle: said canon. As in, the concept that someone could like Xenoblade 1 overall but dislike the canon relationship either confuses and/or upsets some people. Which is strange to me on its own, like do these people also get confused and/or mad when someone says they love hamburgers but hate when they have pickles on them? Everyone has their own tastes, and what you like or how much of it you do is just part of being an individual. (Plus I must say it's extra odd with regards to Shulkelia, as I've never seen the same comments/reactions to ships like Meliora, Shulk/Reyn, Shalvis, Dunban/Melia, etc, despite the fact that they're all equally as non-canon as Shulkelia. Maybe it's because the game firmly shoots down Shulk liking Melia so hard? But it also shows how much Fiora likes Shulk, so wouldn't Meliora [which is pretty darn popular as far as Xenoblade 1 ships go, at least from my browsing] be just as "anti-canon"?).

For extra context too, there are. SO. many friendzoned/"haha Shulk doesn't like Melia" memes and jokes out there (and if these people are so concerned with canon, it's weird how often they make Shulk and/or Melia act out of character super hard to push the joke!) which don't really exist to be pro-Shiora and more just anti-Shulkelia. I even came across a guy on reddit who would post Melia fanart every day, and so many of his posts were stalked by this one dude who would write a little rant about how Melia sucks and Fiora is the best, and would really go off if the fanart showed Melia's crush on Shulk in any way. Now he was super downvoted every time but... I've never seen anyone do that for Shulkelia. And yet I have seen quite a few posts of people complaining about Shulk/Melia fans shoving their ship in their faces and how much it sucks as a ship and I'm like i have been trying for MONTHS to find a single scrap of shulkelia content yet find barely anything and what i do find has SO many comments saying they still like shiora or that they hate the art since it's not shiora literally WHO are you talking about??? Like maybe I just am unlucky and have seen literally all 20 or whatever number of instances of Shiora fans being rude that ever existed but... they still do exist. I'm not making this up, in fact I encourage you to go out and search for Xenoblade fan content regarding this love triangle and see how people react to it! That's what I did and that's how I came across all of this!

Anyway, like was there a huge ship war in the early fandom days or something??? If so why can I find no mention of it anywhere except from salty Shiora shippers/Fiora fanboys, like barely any Shulkelia art even exists and I see zero talk from the supposed pushy Shulkelia fans? They have like 30 freaking fics in existence and half of them are Melia sulking about how Fiora is being lovey dovey with Shulk and showing they actually got together after all so don't even really count as Shulkelia fics!! In my searching for Shulkelia content I come across so many comments from people who like the ship trying to downplay their enjoyment of it and placate any potential Shiora fans reading their comments with "oh but Shulk/Fiora is cute too! i still like them together! i only like Shulk/Melia in a close friends kind of way, or just to make Melia happy idc about the ship i just like seeing her smile!" so like... What reality do these other guys live in where they got bombarded with Shulkelia over and over because I wish I lived in it!!! Something's up with some Fiora fans idk. Maybe I just had back luck in my searching, but try it yourself and see. I'm not crazy or making this up, I could just have been seeing all 20 or whatever number of Shiora's rude fans but... they do exist, and I have yet to see similar behavior from Shulkelia fans.

And this isn't all just me being a lurker looking at rando's comments as well. I even have a bit of a secondhand-experience story to tell about it! (The specific timeline of the initial details might be jumbled a bit, but I do remember the gist of it and still have the DMs to confirm some of the facts!)

I used to be active on Twitter, and I followed a lot of different Xenoblade fan artists on there. One day a certain artist posted a WIP of Melia and Shulk laying next to each other on a hill where Shulk was smiling at her, and although the artist deleted it (for reasons you will soon learn about) I think they wrote the Japanese ship name of the two on the tweet for it. Either way, I do recall before the WIP was posted they tweeted about liking Shulkelia, or rather ShuMeri as the Japanese ship name is called, (although in much the same "i like Melia so i like the thought of her being happy. Shulk belongs with Fiora though! i still ship them!" please-don't-be-mad-at-me way that I have never seen a Fiora/Shiora fan do) and wanting to draw something for it. Even though this particular artist posted in Japanese, a language I don't know 99% of, I was able to get the gist of their tweets through the translation feature and my knowledge of what the characters' names are in Japanese. And despite how hard this artist tried to be nice, tried to show how much they weren't trying to be mean to Shiora fans (they even had drawn Shiora art months earlier!), they got a wave of hate directed at them from Japanese fans which I saw in real time.

And if you doubt this because the tweets are now deleted, and because even when they were up I only read them through an A.I. translation, I felt so bad for this poor artist that I DM-ed them (regrettably in English, since I didn't trust my knowledge of Japanese to not end up making me say something I didn't intend or in a rude/informal tone) to show there was at least one other person out there that enjoyed ShuMeri and was excited to see their art. And they fortunately understood my message and knew English to message me back and told me direct quotes of what was thrown at them, which I still have in my DMs and will quote:

"'You are denying the original story. It's too unsatisfying and ugly' 'It's not right to make Shulk and Melia lovers.' someone said. At other times, people have replied to my art, complaining about Melia's behavior in the story, as I tweeted the other day. I've had a lot of negative comments about ShuMeri and Melia." (With regards to the whole "complaining about Melia's behavior in the story" thing, if I recall that was from people saying she had no right to have a crush on Shulk in the first place, which... I thought you guys said canon is sacrosanct? It is canon that Melia had a crush on Shulk, and if you don't like that then you don't respect the canon/story and aren't a real fan. Do you see how silly this sounds???)

So. Tell me if you have ever seen any Melia fans or Shulkelia fans ever behave like this. Because I sure haven't. (Like even this ask [which I am not upset about nor trying to be rude to the anon at all, on the contrary I'm super enjoying talking about this topic! it's just the dichotomy here is interesting to me!) is proof to me: how many times can you say you've seen comments on Shiora art or asks sent to Xenoblade fanblogs asking why someone doesn't like Shulkelia, do you hate Shulkelia, what's wrong with Shulkelia? Like I get one is canon and the other isn't, but like... have you seen shipping culture? Literally all of the most popular ships for any given media are non-canon, that's half the fun of shipping!!!

"Don't let mean fans sour the original work" (and again, just to make sure I'm clear, I do not consider the anon who sent this ask to be mean or rude in any way! I'm referring to other randos here!) and all that, but it's kind of hard for me to like a ship when it has fans that act like this... going around projecting by accusing fans of a different ship of their own behavior, or saying things that contradict their own points about how important canon is to them. Thinking back on how we like characters we can relate to, isn't it interesting how fans of a brash, headstrong, do-what-I-want-and-fuck-the-consequences character who gets everything she wants in canon act in a pushy or even rude way to fans of a reserved, self-reproaching, I-will-do-what-is-best-for-others-first character who has so much taken away from her, and the latter fans always defer to the former and feel guilty when they talk about liking their character even as they do so much to be nice to them? It's pretty interesting I think, it's like when dogs look like their owners or something haha.

To end this off, since even though I have more to say (which if you would like to hear please let me know!) I've talked for far too long now haha, I really want to post the rest of the DM that the artist I talked to (who to this day hasn't made another Shulkelia/Shulkelia-esque fanart again, and interestingly never gets hate on their Shalvis art which is again a non-canon "story-denying" ship, too. Maybe they just blocked the rude people and if so good for them, but it's interesting still that they haven't draw Shulkelia since):

"I think it's useless to argue about who is better, Fiora or Melia, and I don't want them to get me involved in that fight. However, I received words of encouragement from many kind followers like you. I now understand important things; 'Don't worry about mean people' and 'Draw what I like.' Fan art should be free, shouldn't it? If I draw ShuMeri, some mean people might appear again. But there are many more kind people like you. When I think of that, I'm not afraid anymore. I will try to draw ShuMeri one day. Maybe I'll get depressed again because of mean people, but then you can tell me, 'You draw fanart freely, right!'... Please tell me that. You made me feel better and made me cry with happiness. Thank you so much. :)"

-Mirim, who can be found here currently, and their old account where the drama happened is here. This is the piece of artwork they got so much hate for. Shulk and Melia aren't even touching in it and Mirim didn't even mention their ship name.

[maxlarens]

Driver!reader and oscar starting the race from p1&p2 and before they put their helmets and stuff they kiss one last time on the grid and people go like "awwwww" because it was somehow filmed

i feel like u sent this in to be like a concept or something but I HAD to write it. i’ve been writing for lando so much lately i’ve very much been missing oscar + driver!reader. plus i’ve not ever written them in an established relationship before!

It’s not like you and Oscar are a secret.

It might have been easier that way, to keep your relationship from the public’s prying eyes, but it’s not really your style. It’s not Oscar’s either.

Being public comes with its problems— questions from the media, awkward interviews, your respective PR teams going a little buck wild, extra contracts and NDAs to sign— but it also has its benefits.

You like be able to talk about him, like being able to call him your boyfriend. ‘Oscar Piastri, the driver for McLaren? Yeah, that’s my boyfriend’. You like hearing him say things about you, praise your driving skills, talk about you as a rival and as his girlfriend. It’s all you can do to stop grinning like a madwoman whenever you’re in his vicinity. You equally like that the press can’t comment meaningfully on it, can’t speculate wildly about the nature of your relationship when you’ve made it clear.

Some people hate it. They think you’re a silly little girl with her head full of romantic notions. No room for skill, for ruthlessness. Which is funny, given that Oscar receives only praise for “bagging you”. You think they’re just jealous; if not of the fact that Oscar’s dating you and not them, then of your duality. The way you can love Oscar wholeheartedly and also race Oscar wholeheartedly.

They’re not mutually exclusive in your experience.

Naturally, there’s a massive buzz about you and Oscar being P1-P2 on the starting grid.

You’re not particularly surprised. The MCL’s had been performing well all through practice, just as you and Lewis had. You pull out pole in quail, fastest Q1 and Q2, with Oscar hot on your tail. There’s a barrage of bizarre questions in the media pen,

Do you think Oscar’s grid position will impact your performance during the race? Why would it?

Will this affect your relationship with Oscar? No.

What happens if one of you wins and the other doesn’t? The same thing that happens every time anyone wins ever?

You’re confused by it. Bordering on snarky and sarcastic the fifth time someone asks if you and Oscar might break up over this. Rolling your eyes, thinking your true feelings are obvious, you tell some Italian journalist that yeah no we might break up if he doesn’t let me win.

It’s funny, objectively it’s hilarious. You and Oscar laugh over it later that afternoon. Send the clip to a group chat you’re in with a few drivers closer to your age. And so what if it’s still funny when clickbait articles and gossip sites start saying that the two of you have broken up.

There’s even more buzz about it by the morning of the race. Journalists you’ve already talked to have suddenly become convinced that you and Oscar are on the rocks. You can’t help but play into it a bit— partially for the benefit of your PR team— arriving separately, forgoing the couple snap that you usually grace Kym Illman with, giving vague no-comment answers when the media accost you.

Maybe it’s a little childish, a little dramatic. But it serves them right for jumping to conclusions.

You avoid any presenters on the grid walk, sinking into the protective circle made by your engineers. Staying behind the roped off areas until about 10 minutes to race start when you finally hop over the MCL in P2.

Oscar’s drinking water, looking smug when you push through McLaren engineers, so used to your continued presence that they let you in with ease.

“Hey,” you greet, reaching out to smooth the collar of his fireproofs, “How’s it goin’?”

“Mm,” he hums, cutting a glance behind you, which you take to mean that there are cameras trained on the two of you, a reporter trying to get your attention maybe, “I’d be better if I was on pole.”

You hiss mockingly, “Yeah, too bad. You gonna break up with me about it?”

He raises an eyebrow, lashes brushing his cheekbones as he looks down at you, “I didn’t know you read F1 gossip sites?”

You shrug in response, “Don’t need to. The media make enough noise about it.”

He hums again, smile pulling at his mouth while someone from Mercedes shouts at you to get back. Rachel probably. You should go, you really should. But Oscar’s so close and so cute in those black fireproofs.

“Good luck,” you say,

leaning forward to kiss him, hand on the back of his head. A slip of tongue, not so much to be publicly obscene, but enough to leave him wanting,

“You’ll need it.”

You hear the sweet sound of him laughing as you slip away, back to where your car is sitting on pole. Ignoring the reporter dogging at your heels for a comment you don’t really need to give.

like maybe unrealistic. who cares!

[fishnapple]

How you can find love

This reading is about romantic love, but you can use it for other kinds of love, just change the details a little to suit you better. How you can find it or accept it, what are the obstacles and opportunities.

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (Read this post : personal reading)

AMETHYST

There's an element of downplaying yourself, settling for less, or just wanting to float on the surface. Maybe you've been used to the kind of relationship that only centre around the superficial mundane matters, just gliding on the surface without going deeper like talking, sharing about the past and the future together, about dreams, inspirations, fears, life philosophy, etc.

You might keep going for the same kind of people, those that remind you of something or someone from a distant past, the unconscious memories. Even though these people don't actually bring you fulfilment or help you going forward, on the contrary, some can even hinder you.

You also have the tendency to keep your thoughts to yourself, refusing to voice your opinions and feelings. Maybe it makes you feel vulnerable, or you're not too sure of what you actually feel about someone and how they feel about you. There's maybe lots of crushes, fleeting moments of attraction that you kept hidden, not allowing them to materialise into something more concrete.

All of this needs to be changed. You need to go to the opposite direction of these tendencies, to give yourself a new space to explore and dive deeper. You might feel the urge to runaway, to avoid when things start to get more serious, when you feel like you have to open yourself up and share a part of yourself while receive a part of the other person. Both the act of giving and receiving are scary but necessary.

If in the past, you were more tolerant of many behaviours of others that weren't in alignment with your values or make you comfortable, you would easily accept the possibility of a connection with someone if they managed to remind you of those familiar patterns. Now, you should be more selective of whom you can share that possibility with. There's a need to be more discerning and choose what's best for you. Choose someone who actually can go far with you, not just from shallow compatibility viewpoint. To do that, you need to be more vocal and express your desire more clearly, which starts from keeping a clear head even when you find yourself falling for someone.

But if you're sure of someone, don't try to hide it, don't try to stall for more time. The more you keep them hidden in your head and your heart, the more distorted their image are, you will begin to prefer the distorted version of them in your head rather than the real person.

ROSE QUARTZ

You have many conflicting ideas regarding love. This conflict of different ideas is what makes you feel confused and hard to find a suitable person who can satisfy all those criteria.

There's this definition of an ideal love and partner you've been observing from the community and the society you're living in. A traditional viewpoint that you can't help but subconsciously absorb it. It may be about how you have to do many hard work to be a perfect lover, a perfect spouse, how you have to have this skill or that skill, how you need to behave, how to talk and act in a manner that can attract potential suitors.

Then there's also your own version of idealistic love, what you think love ought to be. You put love on a pedestal, making it a sacred and mysterious concept that hardly any mortals can touch and possess it. This view might have been influenced by what you were taught and what you saw in the media. You've put love onto such a high place that you couldn't find anyone fit for it, nor did you find yourself capable or worthy of it. If someone managed to trigger an association with that perfect ideal, you would put that person also on a pedestal, trying to be the right partner to them, regardless of how you really are. On the opposite end, if they showed a sign of failing, you immediately judge them as not right for you and discard the possibility of a connection.

While a part of you think of love as a fairy tale, another part of you just want to live a normal, realistic life with mundane concerns. So then sometimes you might wonder, when will this ordinary life sparkle, transform into a fairy tale?

You might think that being in love will stifle your independence. The energy is directed inward. You're so used to spending time and effort on yourself, making your life as much fulfilling as possible. There's this tendency of when you are in a relationship, you focus on the security of yourself in that relationship while neglecting the necessary compromises to make a relationship work. These compromises mean changing your routines, making an effort to understand the other person's, working out your own shadows, and taking care of each other.

So to find love, a love that you can hold in your hand, not admiring from afar, you need to take the vision of love down from the pedestal, make it mundane and real with all the ugliness and awkwardness. Stop waiting for the moment when you'll become a perfect human to love and another perfect human will come to love you. Just remove the "perfect" part. What you need to be ready is how to be with another person. Not in an individualistic way like "I do my part, you do yours, then the relationship will work", but more like "we do this together". It's not wrong to look for an ideal love, but you need to realise that love exists just around you too.

FLOURITE

For this group, it is not so much about how you can find love, but it's more about how you can let love in. The thing that you need to realise is that it's okay to open yourself up, and that love can make you feel safe.

I think many people are attracted to you, but you seem to keep them at arm-length, not pushing them away but not letting them closer either. One part of you wants to love and be loved, but another part of you seems to doubt your ability to love and the chance of meeting someone who can truly love you. I think your end goal is marriage or a long-term commitment. So choosing someone means that person has to have the potential to be your life partner, someone you can see a future with.

I sense some negative talks surrounding you. Maybe they come from your own mind, you might worry about how you come across to other people, are you attractive enough, are you lovable. Or the negative talks could come from people around you, they might rush you to find a partner, or saying things that make you fearful of relationships, those opinions could come from their own experiences and their beliefs but their words have the opposite effect of encouragement.

There's a heavy shadow hidden in you that affects how you perceive romance and relationship. This could come from a domineering figure in your life that imposes a set of restrictions and control. Or some painful past memories that left a deep wound in your heart, making you build walls around yourself. There's this belief of being "deserving" or "worthy" of love. You tried your best to be someone loving, but sometimes you might feel that your efforts weren't rewarded, that you weren't appreciated enough. Which made you questioned yourself why it was so, and the answer that you've arrived at might not be entirely objective and correct, you might think that it's because you lacked something and you needed to try harder. While the answer might be just that you haven't met the right crowd, the right person yet.

The greatest components of an ideal relationship for you are the feeling of safety and unconditional love. Some people might seem perfect on paper, they might do all the right things but if you don't feel safe and accepted when you're with them, they are not the right one for you. What can be considered safe is pretty subjective. The definition could be formed by past experiences and upbringing. What one considers safe might not actually be healthy for them, so a certain level of objectivity is needed.

Someone who will not trigger your wounds and hurt you further, someone whom you can be yourself with, someone who can give you advice and guidance when you're feeling lost, someone who is strong enough to be your rock in difficult times. The person having these qualities will likely be the one who can get past your walls.

CITRINE

The answer can be pretty straightforward, you have the Sun stone landed on the centre. You can find love when you put yourself into the centre of your life. When you're confident enough and consider yourself being in a good place in life. It might sound egotistical, but focusing on yourself can mean many things.

One thing is you allowing yourself to shine your brightest. You might have some reservations about expressing yourself fully to people. Maybe you're afraid that you will be judged as selfish or too assertive. There's a desire to be rebellious, to be free, and do whatever you want, but there's also your ego wanting to be in control, to retain your dignity. Between them is a wall of fear that can be linked to the unconscious realm. You might be used to the idea of sacrifice, serving others, being selfless. Acting in any other ways would be considered not desirable. But by expressing yourself fully, you deliver the message to the world that you care about yourself and allow yourself the freedom to be. This message can be translated into the care you have for other people's expressions, the freedom you can give them. This can be very attractive and open up many new opportunities for you to explore.

Another thing about putting yourself into the centre is that you have a chance to examine yourself closely, getting to know yourself, unravel all the hidden desires, the unspoken fears, both the good and the bad.

I see a lack of action. There are things holding you back, gripping you immobile. There are offers of love and connection, but you don't see them, or you turn your back to them while focusing on other things. It's like when things come to you, you dismiss them because it's not what you want, you are waiting for the things that you want to come to you, they have to be chosen by you first. You get into a tunnel vision of seeing only the things you want. But then you tend to be passive and wait for them while falling into over-thinking mode, dissecting every nuance and scenario. In the end, too tired and pessimistic from the conclusion you've reached, you choose to stay still and withdraw. Another failed dream goes unto the archive.

So instead of waiting for love, this group truly needs to actively recognise and find love and seize the chance when it comes to you. This will require you to completely overhaul your beliefs. Especially about how one should act.

There's a greater chance of finding love through groups of friends, through a community of shared interests. An emphasis on communication, talking about what you love, communicating openly, sharing lighthearted joys while also being able to discuss more serious and philosophical matters.

TIGER'S EYE

I see that you're already on the journey of love. It started with an open heart in the subconscious realm. I feel that you're very guided and protected. It might come from your own intuition or a higher spirit. Who knows, maybe they are the same. Right now, there's a gate opened for you, a new opportunity, your intuition can guide you towards it.

But I also see there's a wall obscuring that opportunity from coming into life. You might be dealing with some difficulties in material, physical plane. Trying to stabilise yourself. You might think that now is not the right time to be in love, a relationship right now would be impractical. You would be in thinking mode, trying to be logical and staying still, denying the possibility of love even when your intuition is saying otherwise. It's like you're trying to restrict yourself, trying to control, to bring order into your life, which might be the opposite of what love could bring you. You discard feelings that you deemed frivolous and silly fun, only looking for serious commitment but failed to realise that frivolous fun can develop and grow into something more serious and long lasting. You're sceptical of the feeling when you are in a truly fulfilling relationship. Is that really wonderful like how those romantics are telling us? Or is it just an elusive idea, fused by loneliness and the longing for completion?

But there will be an event or events shaking you out of that mode. It will be when you decide to leave the old way of living behind and try to find who you really are. I see travelling to distant lands, somewhere with a different culture that can open your mind and expand your ideas, somewhere that can make you forget all about your current reality in a moment to find stillness within. Love comes to you when you have the space to hold it and can give it to others

You might find love from a faraway land but sustaining it, keeping it alive and growing with it will be an ongoing lesson that you need to never cease learning. It's easy to slip back into old thinking mode, putting on suspicion and caution. Sharing yourself with another person seems daunting enough, navigating all the ups and downs of a relationship will require even more hard work. But I think you are brave. Beneath all that scepticism is an unwavering faith and an adventurous spirit that needs to come out boldly to take the reign, once in a while.

RED JASPER

I feel that love is something very intense for you, something that you may get drunk on, putting it on a pedestal. When you're in love, you want to be all in, emotional fulfilment comes before anything else. If a connection doesn't elicit strong feelings in you and things seem mild and lighthearted then you could not sustain it for too long.

There's a tendency to be obsessive, especially with potentials. If you catch feelings for someone, you will immediately think about how to cement the connection and then worrying about potential discords. This tendency might have put you in situations that left deep scars. On one hand, you want to love blindly, on the other hand, you are cautious of potential hurts and pains, of the past repeating itself.

There's might be a focus on the unusual, a liking for the differences. The more someone is different from you, the more foreign they feel, the more likely they're to catch your eyes. Exotic features, foreign accents, alternative style and taste, an element of other-worldliness.

Physical compatibility might be an important criterion. You want to immerse yourself with the other person, holding them closely, both physically and emotionally, mentally. But doing that can put a burden on you, everything feels so heavy, sometimes to the point of suffocating. You hold yourself and the other person prisoners of love. And when the unbearable weight keeps pushing both of you down and down without a way up, one of you or both will want to break away, resulting in a seemingly sudden break.

The advice for you is to take things more lightly, lightly is different from not being serious. Seeing things in different angles, imagine being someone else looking in from the outside, detach yourself a little bit. Focus more on the mental compatibility, not just how many things you both agree with each other but also how you can disagree with each other, how different you are and how that difference contribute to the growth of the connection.

You might be in a more masculine energy when pursuing love, the act of going after something and trying to control it requires masculine energy. On the contrary, accepting love and nurturing it needs you to be in feminine energy. I'm not saying which energy is more preferable but there's a need to balance them out, to be in more of one energy when the other is being too dominant.

Then you will find love is not a burden to hold on your shoulders or a fruit that can be devoured completely, but like a plant you want to nurture steadily and see it grow day by day. It's something to be celebrated and enjoy, not something to be chased after and then be kept away in a safe.

[toruskiii]

"That's my wife!"

Synopsis: Your husband is consumed with jealousy. Genre: Fluff Characters: Yingxing x f!reader Warnings: Yingxing's personality might be a little ooc, you guys are married!!! (SHOCKER!!), he's so silly (I want him in me) A/N: this was supposed to be a multi character fic with all the Xianzhou men but I got lazy [masterlist] [about me]

Yingxing's hands glided over the gleaming steel, carving intricate patterns as he meticulously sharpened the sword's edges. He was a master swordsmith, and a skilled swordsman as well. Anyone who laid eyes on his creations could see the devotion and precision he poured into each piece.

But today, he couldn't help but notice something was off— his work felt sloppy.

He was in the middle of fulfilling a commission, with the client standing right before him, watching his every move. Normally, Yingxing preferred to work away from prying eyes, but today was an exception.

The real distraction, however, was that the gentleman in front of him kept stealing glances in your direction, as you assisted at a neighboring stall near his workshop.

"You're really skilled," the man remarked, admiring the sword in his hands. "Your craftsmanship is as fine as that woman over there." He chuckled, his eyes flicking over to you as you carried boxes to assist an elderly woman.

Yingxing felt a vein throb at his temple, his hands pausing briefly at the man's comment. "Thank you," he responded curtly, his tone icy. Normally, he was a man of few words, but rarely did his voice carry such a sharp edge.

Yingxing continued to etch the custom designs into the sword, his hands steady despite the occasional glance he cast toward his client. He wasn’t one to get easily jealous— his bond with you was secure, as was yours with him, but something about the way the man looked at you sparked an unfamiliar tension within him.

"Does that lady work at that stall?" No.

"I wonder what her name is..." You don’t deserve to know.

"She’s quite the beauty. I wonder if she’s spoken for." She does, me.

"Maybe I should ask her ou—"

Suddenly, a sharp screech echoed as Yingxing’s tool scraped harshly against the metal, causing the man to jolt and snap his attention back to the swordsmith.

The man watched Yingxing with a growing sense of uncertainty as he polished the sword with an almost aggressive fervor. "Hey, are you supposed to polish it like that? Isn’t that going to damage my sword?" he yelped, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he flinched at the fierce glare Yingxing shot his way.

"I apologize," Yingxing replied, his brow arching in challenge. "Are you the expert here, or am I?" He deliberately intensified his focus, sharpening the sword even faster, each stroke deliberate and precise.

The man's throat tightened as he gulped, his nerves getting the better of him. He shook his head, mumbling an apology as he realized he was facing the renowned calm and patient swordsmith— though the man before him seemed anything but calm in this moment.

As silence enveloped the workshop, soft footsteps echoed from the back door. You stepped inside, a warm smile on your face, only to be greeted by Yingxing’s soft voice. He noticed the client’s eyes widen in surprise. "Ah— miss, don’t you work at the other stall? You can’t just waltz into Yingxing’s workshop like this."

You blinked in confusion, your smile turning to one of bewilderment. "Huh?"

Yingxing felt a surge of irritation at the sight of the man's smug expression, wishing he could wipe that insipid smile off his face with a single strike. "Yeah, you—"

"That’s my wife you’re talking to," he interrupted, his tone firm and protective.

The air grew heavy with tension as the implications of his words settled in, leaving the man momentarily speechless. Yingxing’s eyes bore into him, a silent warning that was unmistakably clear.

The man stood frozen, shock washing over his features as embarrassment crept into his cheeks. He had just let himself compliment and gawk at you— right in front of your husband! The realization hit him like a cold wave.

"Oh— uh, I wasn’t aware," he stammered, scratching the back of his head awkwardly, his confidence evaporating. His eyes darted between you and Yingxing, desperately searching for a way to defuse the suddenly tense situation.

Yingxing’s expression remained stoic, but the protective glint in his eyes made it clear that the man’s floundering attempts at an apology wouldn’t erase his misstep.

"...No worries," Yingxing replied tersely, completing the final steps of the sword before turning to head toward the back to package it up carefully.

You stifled a laugh at his annoyed expression, finding amusement in his irritation. "Oh, don’t be so upset, 'Xing. The man didn’t know." You gently patted his back, watching as he meticulously wrapped protective layers around the sword before placing it in a sturdy box.

"How could he not know? Everyone has heard of me; there’s no way he hasn’t heard of my own wife," he grumbled, his voice thick with annoyance. He handled the sword with an almost fragile grip, despite the protective layers surrounding it. "Perhaps this man isn’t a true Xianzhou civilian if he hasn’t even heard of my wife."

You shook your head, relishing the glimpse of jealousy that flickered across his features before your gaze landed on something unusual etched into the sword.

傻瓜.

Did he really just—

"Dear, did you carve that on purpose?" you gasped, noting how deeply he had engraved the word into the steel. Yingxing could only huff in response, a subtle nod confirming your suspicion.

"You can’t just do that to your client because you’re upset!"

"It suits him," he shrugged, finally placing the sword into its box and scribbling the client’s name on a piece of paper. "Besides, I’m not charging him any extra for that little addition."

"Every time he swings his sword, his enemies will see just how foolish he truly is."

[ramp-it-up]

Cassandra’s Muse

Summary: Your job is to distract and read all who dare to go against Cassandra. And you take pride in your work

Word count: 2.5 K

Pairing: Deadpool x Reader; Wolverine x Reader; Johnny Storm x Reader; Deadpool x Wolverine x Johnny Storm x Empath Reader

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. S MUT Not Beta’d. DEADPOOL X WOLVERINE SPOILERS AHEAD of this line!Read at your own risk. S MUT! Morally Grey reader, sex worker reader, reader is an empath, lots of dark emotions, group sex, oral (m & f receiving) pansexual touch and intentions (it's Deadpool, folks) explicit sex acts, raw p in v (wrap it up), anal sex (f receiving) rough sex, dvp, squirting, copius amounts of cum, bukakke, after care. Reader has pet names from each hero: Sweets, Sweetie, Sweetheart.

A/N: Ok. I had to do it. If you inspired this, you know who you are, you menace. 😘 This occurs within an imagined scene between the scene where Pyro captures Johnny, Wade and Logan and when they were delivered to Cassandra Nova. This is pure filth. Let me know you like it by liking, commenting and reblogging!

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

————

“Let me put your hair up for you. So pretty.”

Wade Wilson cooed down at you to the music of his shackles clinking as he gently pulled your cloud of hair up and out of the way. 

“Need to have a clear view of you hoovering that anaconda.”

Your lips were stretched around Johnny Storm’s thick, tan cock as his blue eyes stared down at you and a steam of eloquent pornography flowed from his lips.

“Mm. That throat is so gatdamn tight Sweetheart. Can’t wait to fuck that tight little wet gash of yours. Holy shit, that’s good. I know you can take it deeper. I know you can. Such a sweet little innocent slut for us.”

He had no idea. You were in service to Cassandra. She called you her muse, a tool to service her future victims so that when she felt their minds up, she had something more to get off on. You were her little slut, her psychic empath who fed off of other’s joy and you loved your job.

Giving others joy got you off something fierce. The fact that Cassandra loved it and that kept you alive was an added bonus.

Johnny’s hand snaked around the back of your neck to encourage you to take more of him. You looked up at him, eyes wide with tears streaming down your cheeks, while saliva escaped from your stretched-out lips.

“So pretty for us like this, Sweetie.”

Wade’s mask almost seemed to be emotive as he looked down on you, his long fingers fisting his cock with increasing speed as he watched you take Johnny down. It was disconcerting that he was completely naked except for his mask, but that was none of your business. He was sincere, despite the sarcastic monologue.

“I’ve always wanted to say that in real life and not just in my 1D/Destial crossover fanfics on Tumblr. Username is MrsLarryDestiel (no spaces) if you want to follow.”

Wade was leaning over to Johnny, who had steam rising from his head as he gazed down at you with devotion. You felt his amusement at this entire scenario. You tried to smile back around him, even though you knew his affection was only due to your skill.

After all, you’d just met him less than an hour earlier. 

“Get your hand off my ass before I burn it off, Wade.”

“Was just trying to help you push it in her tiny little mouth. Wasn’t trying to cop a feel of what looks a lot like America’s Ass, not really,” quipped Wade who was stroking and looking down at Johnny’s derriere.

Before anyone got injured, you pulled off of the hot one’s dick and licked Wade’s thick plum shaped tip.

“Sssss. Ahhhh, yes!”

 Wade groaned and threw his head back.

 “Suck that dick like your life depends on it, Sweetie. It may be our very last night on earth. I mean, in the void.”

You sensed no fear in Wade, only irreverence.

You followed his direction and opened wide as he slid his long, thick, Deadpool dick along your outstretched tongue. Wade was still talking, of course, even as he made eyes at Logan, who was lurking on the edges of the light, pulling on his dick with two hands and making low, almost indiscernible grunts. 

Now there were about a thousand different emotions coming off him, irritation, rage, despair, grief, a deep sadness, and foremost right now, need and frustration. You tried to watch him through your tear-filled eyes.

Wade and Johnny took turns with your mouth as Logan just moved nearer, his large, impressive cock raging against those impossible abs. His stare, and his body, made you drip even more in the dirt floor of the cave they were captive in for the night.

You needed him inside you, to at least extinguish his need. But yours was growing too.

“Why don’t you relax over there while we get her ready, Mr. Grumpy Pants. Little Miss Triple Threat looks like she’s almost ready to take three cocks at once in all of her holes.”

The Wolverine grunted, but went to a spot just a few feet away and reclined against a cave wall as he continued to handle himself.

Wade looked down at you and stroked your hair again, stage whispering to you as you deep throated Johnny’s cock down your throat.

“I know he seems like a party pooper and not down for this at all, but the fact that his beautiful meat is hard and leaking precum, which is delicious, bee tee dubs, oh, AND HE'S NAKED, means he definitely is.”

You smiled around the dick in your mouth and nodded as you pulled off Johnny, a string of saliva connecting you three as Wade grabbed you by the hair and plunged down your throat, barely giving you time to take a breath.

As you choked, you could see Logan jacking off faster from the corner of your eye as you swallowed Wade whole. Even with the mask, you could tell when his eyes rolled back into his head as you took every single inch.

“Get over here and sit on my dick.”

You were surprised at Logan’s voice, not having heard much of it during his ride in the cage, except to tell Wade and Johnny to shut up. Currently, his tone was more intense and raspy with desire.

You did as you were told and the action moved from the fireside to where Logan was reclining. 

“Move the fuck around, asshole.”

Wade stomped his foot.

“That’s what I’m trying to give you, Wolvie, baby.”

But he moved from in front of you so that you could take your throne.

“C’mere.” 

Logan reached up for you, the tender gesture a contrast for the crude situation you are in: fucking these men because it was the last night of their lives, which it almost surely was. You knew when Pyro let you into the cave halfway to her lair where they stopped for the night that no one escaped Cassandra.

You almost felt sorry for them. But when you read their emotions, you sensed no fear in these heroes. Only a myriad of other things including pent up tension, stress and desire for you. And for freedom. Or at least the sensation of being free.

Fucking all three of them would free your own soul, if only for the short time you would spend with them. They were all fine, and they looked like they would be a good time. If they only knew that your purpose was distraction, to keep them busy and not trying to escape.

If you searched their emotions hard enough you might find that they knew what you were about, and that they didn't care.

You accepted the offer of Logan’s hands and settled on his muscular thighs, glancing at the other men stroking themselves by firelight to the sight of you stretching yourself around the thick head of Logan Howlett, the Wolverine’s, cock.

Their attention only made you wetter and you slid further down Logan’s thick staff than you thought you could. When Johnny and Wade each grabbed a nipple as you whined and got even slicker the sensations allowed you to encase that extra inch at the base of him.

You were so full, not having been stretched like this in a while with a human, visually pleasing partner in a long time. You moaned in pleasure and closed your eyes, biting your lip at the delicious sting of taking him.

Logan looked up into your eyes and then commanded you with that deep, sexy voice.

“Open your eyes, look at us, and bounce on this cock Sweets.”

The smack on your ass spurred you on as Johnny leaned against the wall, watching your tits bounce as he jacked himself, and Wade got behind you, straddling Logan's thighs and rubbing them. You thought you knew what was coming next as you felt Wade’s hot breath on your shoulder as his hard length slid through your slick folds. But you were surprised as he entered you, although not in the hole you expected.

Within a few seconds, Wade was nestled deep within your cunt, cock alongside Logan’s in your snug sleeve, making you mad with pleasure. An obscene groan from you accompanied Logan’s warning to Deadpool.

“Watch it fuck face.”

Loan’s voice was husky, and there was a glimmer of a smirk as he grasped your breasts, roughly pulling on your nipples. Fear of his claws coming out and injuring you caused the contractions of pleasure in your belly to quicken, even as Wade sassed him back.

“You can fuck my face later buddy. Right now, let’s both concentrate on fucking this beautiful, nice, accommodating lady’s beautiful, nice accommodating cunt..”

The two men fell into an oddly synchronistic, sinful rhythm, both of them filling you to the brim in the best way possible, sexy groans finally replacing the smart words coming from Wade and literal grunts and groans coming from Logan.

Johnny moved, filling your mouth and causing your moans to vibrate around his shaft as Logan and Wade fucked you stupid.

“Holy fuck!”

Johnny rasped as you started sucking his balls, your legs shaking as Logan and Wade pounded you into oblivion. You feel a tremendous pressure and you tried to run from what was coming, but Wade’s fingers were circling your clit and Logan’s hands are around your waist, his mouth latched onto your left nipple. That and the feeling of Johnny’s fingers massaging your scalp collided to make your impending doom come much more quickly.

You pulled off of Johnny's unit to scream.

“Oh shit, oh shit, ohhhhhh shitttttt, I- I- I- I’m cummingggg!”

“Holy shit, she's gushing like Old Faithful all around us!”

You soaked Logan as you squirted, seemingly never endingly, all over. everywhere. Wade slipped out of you and so did Logan, but instead of giving someone else a turn with your pussy, Logan growled in your hair and pitched you forward onto his chest with his hands underneath your thighs. 

“Want that ass.”

You clenched around nothing as Logan lifted you up and squeezed your ass cheek in order to give his hard, thick cock access to your puckered hole. You were so wet that he kept slipping around until you felt Wade reach in and grab Logan’s dick, pumping it a couple of times before guiding it home inside your tight ass.

You saw the sneer, and you heard the ‘schnick’ of Logan’s claws coming out and Wade’s giggle as he explained. 

“Just trying to help with the mission, Boss.”

You didn’t care about any of it as your head lolled back on your shoulders because Logan was filling you up deliciously.

Wade retreated and pulled his mask up to lick his fingers. He and Johnny resumed stroking as they watched Logan pounding you mercilessly from below, your cum making it embarrassingly easy. You locked eyes with him, and grabbed the tufts on top of his hair for purchase as you screamed and came again, just from his cock in your ass.

"Ahhhhh! Shittttt!"

“Mmmmnhhh! Incoming, Sweets”

Logan’s cum spurted inside you and began to leak out around his cock, making you even messier than before.

“Ugh. Fuck. So good.” 

He kissed your forehead as he softened inside you, then lifted your thigh to slide out from underneath you. You braced yourself on the wall as you tried to catch your breath and savored the feeling of him dripping down your legs and the peace, if only momentary, emanating from his soul. You didn’t realize that your eyes were closed until you felt  a new desperation accompanied by a hand on your arm and two hands on your ass. 

“Don’t usually go for sloppy seconds, but I’ll take it tonight.”

Johnny’s sparkling blue eyes and sincerity held you captive. His tender kiss on your lips distracted you as you felt Wade’s hands on your ass and you lowered yourself down around Johnny’s long cock.

Johnny slipped easily inside you because Wade and Logan had stretched you out, but he was so hot, literally, that you quickly clenched down on him. Your hands caressed his shoulders and trailed down his sternum and his happy trail to where you were connected. 

The way he looked at you from under his long eyelashes made you want to give him a show. You bit your lip and circled your clit, earning a groan and an appreciative stare from him as you started to ride. 

You sensed a sudden a wave of mischievousness from Wade and felt his tongue in our ass. He moaned, sending vibrations up your spine as he caused you to clench around his wet muscle and Johnny’s cock. He slurped you up, and pulled away momentarily to come up and whisper in your ear.

“Mmmm. You and Logan taste so good. You’re doing amazing, Sweetie.

He was down again and licking you clean, causing irritation to emanate from Johnny.

“I’m tryna cum, here, Wilson. Stop licking my balls, you jerkoff.”

Wade came up and wiped his mouth.

“So sorry, that was a total mistake. Didn’t mean to touch your huge, full, sexy balls with my velvet tongue. Not at all, Johnny.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m trying to concentrate on this Sweetheart right. Here.”

Johnny kicked Wade away, stroked upward to make you moan, and then grabbed you by the neck as he flipped you over onto your back, grasping your thighs and folded you in half like a pretzel. 

“You ready to take this hot cock?”

You nodded enthusiastically as Johnny Storm began to fuck you relentlessly, his long cock reaching that magic spot inside you as you tightened around him, much to your chagrin.

It was going to be over too soon. You wanted him to use you longer.

“Mmmmph, Darlin’ I feel you, still so tight around me even after these two knuckle heads fucked your cunt silly. Should be loose, but damn, girl. C’mon. Cum for me like you did for Wolverine and Wade. Gimme that shit.”

Johnny reached down and strummed your clit, as Wade came and held your legs in place, his oddly beautiful cock hard against his abdomen. You stretched your neck and teabagged him, earning a choked, garbled moan, and no words from him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Logan standing over you and stroking his hard-for-you-again dick.

“Shit, shit, sheeeeiiittttttttt this pussy is so good. Fuck!”

Johnny pulled out and stood over your body as you scrambled up on your knees to open your mouth for your reward. The men gathered around you as first Johnny spurted white, hot cum all over your face, then Logan jerked on your tits, rubbing his bulbous tip all over your nipples, and Wade just sprayed everywhere as he watched the show.

You collapsed on your knees, wiping your face as strong arms lifted you up and took you to the other side of the cave and started washing you off with a bucket of water that had been warming by the fire. You looked up into Logan’s eyes and he avoided your gaze, concentrating on getting the cum out of your hair.

“You can rest now. We’ll cook up this bird that Pyro threw in here for food and you can sleep for a while.”

You sensed genuine tenderness, and another spark of a future need within him. You knew that they would wake you up for more than food later.

And you were more than okay with that. 

So you just smiled at him as his hand trailed the water down your body, this moment a respite for all of you, in the chaos of Cassandra’s world.

——

If you liked it, hit Reblog!

[surftrips]

luke x daughter of aphrodite!! maybe a super cute fluff where they help luke show percy around and just their experience with percy!

-🥽 anon

stop this prompt is soo cute ! thanks for sending it in <3

"You okay?" Luke asked the newest camper in his cabin.

"Super."

"We all have them, you know." Luke clicked his tongue. "Intense, recurring nightmares. That's normal here. For the first time in your life, you're just like everyone else."

"So are you also... Do you not know who your..." the blonde boy began to ask.

"Am I unclaimed?" Luke shook his head. "No, Hermes is my father. That doesn't matter though, we're all on the same team here."

"Why is it okay they ignore some of us?"

"Spend too much time figuring out what the gods do whatever it is they do, you'll drive yourself crazy. Sooner you can stop worrying about that, the sooner you can enjoy what this place actually does offer."

"And what's that?"

Luke smiled, guiding Percy out the door to show him the rest of camp.

The two boys ran into Clarisse and the Ares kids first. Luke explained to Percy that the Ares kids were always confrontational and brutally honest, but he had nothing to worry about, as long as he was around.

"Come on, let's go figure out what you're good at."

After crossing off archery and metalworking, and dodging several near death experiences, they sat down for lunch.

"Is there a Greek god of disappointment?" Percy sighed.

"We're gonna find the thing you're good at, I know it," Luke reassured him. "We should try-"

Before he could finish his sentence, Luke's eyes lit up and a smile crossed his face, causing Percy to turn around.

A girl came over to Luke's side of the table and kissed the top of his head. "Hi, love."

Luke beamed, turning toward Percy. "Y/N, this is Percy, I'm giving him the tour. Percy, Y/N. She's in Aphrodite."

That much he could tell, Percy thought she was one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen.

"Ah, bonjour! Comment ça va?" she asked him.

Percy looked confused, only recognizing the first part of the sentence. "Uhhh... hello?"

Y/N smiled softly, "Guess he's not in Aphrodite then. Any luck finding out your skill, Percy?"

"No, unforunately," Percy grumbled.

"Aw, don't worry. Soon enough you'll be like Luke here," she had moved to sit in his lap by now, one of his arms curled around her waist. "Did you know he's the best swordsman at camp?"

She looked at Luke proudly, Percy swore he saw hearts instead of pupils in her eyes.

"I think it's come up once or twice," Percy responded.

The Aphrodite girl smiled again, "Have you shown Percy the lake yet?" she asked Luke.

"No, not yet. Do you want to come with us?"

"You mean, do I want to show him the place where we met? Is that even a question?"

The trio finished up their food and headed back outside. Y/N led the way, her presence enough to clear a path in the group of campers idling outside. Luke and Percy followed a few feet behind her.

"So... how long have you two been...?" Percy asked shyly.

"Three years. Since we were 16," Luke responded. Though Percy had only known Luke for about a day at this point, he couldn't help but notice how Luke's entire demeanor had changed since Y/N's arrival.

"Oh, wow. That's a long time."

"I got really lucky."

"What do you mean?"

"Before I got here, I had nobody. I mean, there was Annabeth and Thalia, but they're like my sisters. Y/N was the one that showed me what love is."

"Is that what you meant earlier? About enjoying what this place has to offer?"

He smiled. "You might be surprised, Percy."

"Are you boys coming or not?" Y/N called back toward them.

"Yes, ma'am!" Luke yelled back, jogging up to where she was. They were almost at the lake by then.

"So, Percy, anyone at camp catch your eye yet?" Y/N asked, her hand wrapped around Luke's arm.

"Babe, he just got here." Luke said.

"So? I knew I liked you the second we met."

Luke blushed, caught off guard by her sincerity. That was one thing he wasn't sure he would ever get over, her ability to express her emotions so unabashedly. It was something he still struggled with from time to time, but for her, he would let down all of his walls.

"I wouldn't say I have a crush on her or anything- she kinda just scares me but she did catch my attention," Percy interrupted Luke's thoughts.

"What's her name?" Y/N asked.

"Annabeth, I think."

Y/N nodded knowingly, looking over at Luke. "Well, I guess we'll just see if anything special blooms there. Anyway, we're here!"

The sun was beginning to set over the horizon now, painting the sky in beautiful hues of purple and pink. A gentle breeze accompanied the three as they sat down by the water.

Y/N leaned against Luke's body, savoring the warmth he offered. He absent-mindedly twirled a piece of her hair.

"Three years ago, I was sitting right here, when I saw someone a few feet away from me. He was throwing rocks into the lake and disturbing my peace," Y/N began. "When I looked over to see who it was-"

"You saw the most gorgeous man you've ever laid your eyes on," Luke cut in.

"Hey!" Y/N playfulled smacked his shoulder. "I know you've heard this story one hundred times but Percy hasn't yet."

"Yeah, I haven't yet!" Percy backed her up.

The two older campers laughed. "Thank you, Percy. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, I saw this boy with curly dark hair and soft brown eyes, and I thought that's him. He's the one. This was before I was claimed by Aphrodite, but I just had a feeling, you know?"

Percy nodded, even though he wasn't sure he had experienced that feeling yet.

"But anyway, this boy looked kind of sad, so I decided to sit next to him."

"I think that's why he was throwing rocks into the water," Percy broke in.

Y/N giggled and Luke nudged her shoulder to continue.

"You're right, Percy, I had the same thought. When I sat next to him, I sensed that he was annoyed."

"Okay, love, let me finish from here." Luke softly kissed her shoulder and she buried her head in the crook of his neck.

"I wasn't annoyed-" he clarified. "At least, not at you. I had just been claimed by my father, but I was still frustrated with the whole idea of gods having children and just ignoring them. Then, this angel sat next to me and for the first time, I felt seen."

Y/N looked up at her boyfriend, her face full of nothing but admiration. No matter how many times she heard this part of the story, she still couldn't believe how she got quite so lucky.

"Percy, our parents may never redeem themselves for their wrongdoings, but I thank the gods every day they sent me Y/N." With that, Luke gently placed his hand on her cheek and leaned in to kiss her.

"Hello! As lovely as this story is, still a minor here!" Percy waved his hand in front of their faces enthusiastically, causing all three of them to burst into laughter.

[writingbuckets]

The Hot Take: Part 1

paige bueckers x influencer!reader

wc: 1.7k

a/n: here's part 1 to my influencer!reader fic based on the poll i posted a few days ago. i took a few days to write out the first few parts to this storyline, so i shall see yall in a few days <3

**********

Sitting in the studio, you shuffle through the day's notes as you wait for Taylor, your partner and co-host, to get ready. You glance around at the familiar setup: soundproof walls, the big red “ON AIR” sign, and Taylor’s mic with her distinctive bright blue pop filter across from you. The Hot Take has come a long way since you and Taylor first started recording episodes in a makeshift studio in your apartment.

Finally, Taylor takes her seat, grinning like she’s got a secret. You recognize that glint in her eye; it’s the same look she gives you right before she drops a bombshell on air. You chuckle, half expecting her to share some wild celebrity tidbit or throw in an off-the-cuff comment that’ll leave fans buzzing.

“All right, ready to kick things off?” she asks, sliding her headphones on. You nod, pressing record, and the familiar flow of the episode begins.

The conversation starts with your typical lineup of the week’s big pop culture and sports events. You trade opinions on a recent basketball draft, discuss an unexpected celebrity breakup, and riff on a few new album releases. Fans love the way you and Taylor can pivot from debating sports stats to analyzing the latest music trends—all with a laid-back vibe that feels like a natural conversation between friends.

As you move toward wrapping up, Taylor flashes you a mischievous smile, one that promises she’s about to shake things up. Before you can question her, she clears her throat, leaning close to the mic with a conspiratorial whisper.

“So, Y/N, we always promise full transparency on this show, right?”

You nod, slightly suspicious but playing along. “Right...”

She grins, eyes sparkling. “Well, I feel like it’s time I share something personal—a bit of a confession, if you will.”

You raise an eyebrow, curious. “Oh, really? Do tell.”

“It’s about my celebrity crush,” she declares, and you feel your eyebrows shoot up. Celebrity crush? That’s…random. But Taylor’s got that devilish glint, so you know she’s leading somewhere.

“Oh, please, Taylor,” you say, laughing. “Are you seriously bringing up your celebrity crush right now?”

“Of course! It’s relevant to sports, I promise.” She laughs, her voice dipping into an almost-reverent tone. “Because it’s Paige Bueckers.”

There’s a beat where you try to process that. Paige Bueckers—a name practically synonymous with college basketball greatness, a player with such raw talent and drive that her highlight reels are legend. Of course, Paige has the kind of skill and flair on the court that would make her anyone’s “celebrity crush.”

Without thinking, you roll your eyes and let out a laugh. “Oh, Paige Bueckers? Come on, Tay. Isn’t she a bit…overrated?”

The words escape before you have time to reconsider, and you catch Taylor’s jaw dropping in mock horror, her hand flying to her mouth. Her eyes go wide, as if you’ve just blasphemed on live radio.

“Overrated?” she exclaims, her voice full of exaggerated shock. “Y/N, you’ve officially crossed into hot-take territory. Are you serious?”

You shrug, leaning back in your chair as you play it off. “I mean, yeah, she’s good. She’s really good. But let’s be real—people act like she’s already the GOAT, and she’s, what, twenty-three? I think she’s talented, sure, but maybe the hype’s a little…excessive?”

Taylor shakes her head, laughing as she turns back to the camera, knowing your listeners will eat this up. “Listeners, you heard it here first—Y/N thinks Paige Bueckers is overrated. Prepare for the inevitable Twitter meltdown!”

You chuckle, figuring it’s all in good fun. You and Taylor are known for your candid takes; it’s what fans love most about the show. This will be just another talking point, something people can debate online. You wrap up the episode, signing off with your usual mix of humor and playful barbs, and end the recording.

**********

A few hours later, you’re back at home, scrolling through Twitter out of habit. Normally, after an episode drops, fans will post funny clips or start discussions around your and Taylor’s latest takes. You expect some buzz, but this? The reaction is way bigger than usual.

Your notifications are packed with tags, mentions, and—oh. There it is. A clip of your “overrated” comment has already gone viral. One account with a sizable following has posted it, captioning, “Did Y/N just call Paige Bueckers overrated?!” The clip has already racked up thousands of likes and retweets, with fans both defending and attacking your opinion.

Curious, you start scrolling through the replies. A lot of fans are indignant, passionately defending Paige’s talent and listing her stats, achievements, and highlights as if you’ve personally insulted them.

“Overrated? Y/N clearly hasn’t seen a game.” “She’s one of the best of her generation—how can you not see that?” “Bet Y/N wouldn’t last five minutes trying to guard her.”

But there’s also a crowd that’s rallying behind your comment. Some fans are laughing, glad to hear someone finally say what they’d been thinking. “Finally, someone not drinking the Kool-Aid,” one user writes. Another adds, “She’s great, but let’s not pretend like there aren’t other amazing players out there.”

The debate is heated, and the takes are piling up faster than you can read them all. A quick glance at Twitter’s trending page reveals that your name and Paige Bueckers are both climbing the ranks.

You sigh, amused but slightly annoyed. It’s one thing to have fans debating, but Twitter is practically ablaze, turning what you thought was a lighthearted comment into a viral controversy.

By the next morning, things have escalated even further. As you sip your coffee, you notice that your notifications have doubled overnight. And this time, it’s not just random fans. Paige’s teammates are chiming in too.

Azzi Fudd has posted a clip of Paige landing a flawless three-pointer, captioned, “@Y/N, this looks overrated to you?” Jana’s added her two cents with a subtweet: “We all have opinions, I guess. Can’t wait for the next episode.” And KK has dropped a classic response: “Hot takes are like free throws—not everyone hits.”

Each comment comes with thousands of likes and retweets, adding fuel to an already blazing fire. You find yourself chuckling, impressed despite yourself. They’re all coming to Paige’s defense with such witty precision that it’s hard not to admire the loyalty.

Yet, you also feel a prickle of defensiveness. Sure, Paige is good—great, even—but does that mean everyone has to agree that she’s the best thing in sports right now? You pride yourself on being honest and not falling for the hype, but as you scroll through the seemingly endless tweets, part of you wonders if you went too far.

Taylor texts you with a stream of laughing emojis. “Looks like you got the basketball world up in arms. Congratulations!”

You text her back, trying to stay cool. “All in a day’s work, right? Who knew Paige Bueckers had such a dedicated fanbase?”

“Did you really think people would let you get away with that one?” she teases, sending a gif of a player shrugging. “I think you just made Twitter history.”

You laugh, trying to play it off, but as the morning wears on, you can’t stop refreshing the timeline. More comments flood in from basketball fans, analysts, and even a few pro athletes. It’s spiraled into something you never intended—an opinion piece turned viral moment.

That night, you’re lying in bed, scrolling through the remnants of the day’s chaos when a new notification catches your eye. It’s a message request, from someone with a verified blue check. Your heart skips a beat as you read the name.

Paige Bueckers.

You hesitate, not sure what to expect. You’ve been in the public eye long enough to know that some people thrive off the chance to “clap back,” and you half expect Paige to lay into you.

You click to open the message, bracing yourself, but what you read is the last thing you anticipated. The message is short, her tone direct but surprisingly playful: “Overrated, huh? Bold opinion. Care to explain?”

For a moment, you just stare, processing the fact that Paige Bueckers herself has taken notice of your podcast—and your opinion. There’s something oddly thrilling about the attention, and you can’t help but wonder what this conversation might lead to.

With a smirk, you hover over the reply button. You know that a response could pull you further into this whole debate, maybe even turn the interaction into something bigger than a passing Twitter controversy. But there’s a thrill in it—this was Paige Bueckers, after all. The fact that she’d reached out, even playfully, meant you’d gotten her attention. For someone so used to being idolized and hyped up, maybe your perspective had struck a nerve.

Do I play it cool? Double down?

A few clever responses run through your mind, each one more sarcastic than the last, but you decide to keep it simple and direct. After all, Paige’s message had a vibe—she wasn’t attacking you. She was…what? Curious? Challenging you? Either way, it felt like an invitation, and you weren’t about to back down.

“Guess I’m just not a fan of hype,” you type, keeping it short but loaded. You hit send before you can second-guess it.

Not even a minute later, a new notification pops up.

“Fair enough,” she replies. “But if you think it’s all hype, maybe you’ve been watching the wrong games.”

You stare at her reply, feeling a flicker of competitiveness spark to life. She was biting back, not with hostility but with confidence—clearly ready to defend herself without missing a beat. Part of you is annoyed, but a bigger part admires the quick comeback.

So you respond again, more playful this time. “Guess I’ll have to tune in to one of your good games, then.”

A couple of seconds pass, then another message from Paige appears, this one laced with a challenge: “Tell you what—how about courtside seats to the next game? See if you still think I’m overrated.”

For a moment, you’re caught off guard. Was she…inviting you? To her game? This was turning into something more than just a Twitter exchange. The idea of seeing her play up close, watching her skill in real-time, fills you with a mix of intrigue and resistance.

You sit with her offer, fingers poised above the keyboard. Every instinct is telling you to throw a snarky response back, but curiosity gets the better of you. Before you realize it, you’re typing, accepting her offer with a short, “I’ll be there.”

[ltash]

Poked

You had barely been in the SAS for a week, and already, you were causing a stir. At first, people underestimated you. You were smaller than most, a little too pretty for the rough world of special forces. But you had grit. And, more importantly, you had a wicked sense of humour.

You’d always had a sharp tongue and a reckless streak, but messing with Ghost, well, that was a whole different game. The moment you stepped into the SAS, it was clear you weren’t like the others. Sure, you were skilled, maybe even more so than a few of your male counterparts, but it wasn’t your combat abilities that made you stand out.

It was your mouth. More specifically, how you used it to get under Ghost’s skin.

Lieutenant Ghost, the infamous, towering man whose reputation made even the toughest soldiers stay in line. He was cold, distant, and never let anyone get too close. But you couldn’t resist poking the bear. You weren’t afraid of him, in fact, you found his brooding nature kind of amusing.

So, naturally, you started catcalling him.

At first, it was subtle. You weren’t dumb, you knew Ghost wasn’t someone to mess with lightly. But something about the way he carried himself, all silent and brooding, just begged you to poke at him. You were like a kid pulling the tail of a lion, waiting to see if it would roar.

"Looking sharp today, Lieutenant!" you'd call out across the training yard, watching as Ghost’s shoulders tensed under his tactical gear. He’d never acknowledge it, at least not at first, but you always knew he heard.

It began as a harmless joke. You spotted him across the base one day, walking with that signature, menacing swagger, and you couldn’t help yourself.

"Looking good, Lieutenant!" you called out, smirking when he stiffened, stopping mid-stride to look over his shoulder at you. "Who knew you could fill out that uniform so well?"

The other soldiers who heard you quickly turned away, not wanting to get involved, but you just grinned wider. Ghost gave you a look, one that said *don’t even think about it, but you could see the flicker of confusion in his eyes. No one had ever talked to him like that.

That only encouraged you more.

Over the next few days, you found every opportunity to throw playful comments his way. Whenever Ghost passed by, you’d lean against the wall, give him an exaggerated once-over, and whistle. "Hey, Ghost! If you ever get tired of being a killing machine, modeling could be your next gig!"

His reaction was always the same, a deep, rumbling growl under his breath and a piercing glare. But the more you did it, the more you noticed the subtle changes in him. His shoulders would tense before you even said anything, as if he was bracing himself for whatever you’d throw his way.

And while you loved riling him up, there was something else beneath the teasing. You weren’t just messing with him for fun, you were intrigued by him. The way he moved, the quiet power he exuded, the way his presence seemed to fill a room without him even trying. There was something about him that made your heart race in a way you didn’t quite understand.

Then, you got bolder. During drills, you’d deliberately station yourself near him, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you "complimented" him.

"Hey, Ghost, ever think of doing a calendar shoot? You know, something for the ladies, maybe a topless spread for June?”

You swore you saw his hand tighten around his gun, but he never said anything. Not yet.

The others found it funny, at least for a while. Some of the younger recruits would stifle their laughs when you catcalled him, while the veterans gave you the side-eye, clearly wondering if you’d lost your mind. Soap warned you a few times, telling you in that thick Scottish accent, “Ghost’s not the kind of bloke you want to push too far, lass.”

But you? You were fearless. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. The more you poked, the more you could feel the tension building between you and Ghost. Every snarky comment, every playful whistle, it was like stretching a rubber band tighter and tighter. You were waiting to see when it would snap.

One day, you pushed it a little too far.

Ghost was at the shooting range, going through his drills, when you wandered over. You leaned against the fence, watching him in action. You couldn’t deny how impressive he was, his movements precise, his focus unbreakable. But you weren’t about to let that stop you from having your fun.

“Damn, Ghost, you’re really showing off today,” you called, your voice carrying over the sound of gunfire.

He didn’t acknowledge you, but you saw his jaw tighten beneath the mask. You smirked, pushing off the fence and walking toward him, your steps deliberately slow, knowing he could hear you coming.

When you got close enough, you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “Bet you get all the ladies with that aim.”

This time, he paused, lowering his weapon and turning to face you. His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto yours. For a moment, you felt a flicker of nervousness—but you shoved it down. You weren’t about to back off now.

"You’ve been having fun, haven’t you?" he said, his voice low and gravelly. There was no humor in it, but there was something else. Something darker. Something that made the air around you feel suddenly thick.

"Just a little bit," you replied with a grin, though your heart was pounding harder than you’d like to admit.

Ghost stepped closer, and for the first time, you realized just how much bigger he was compared to you. He towered over you, his broad shoulders casting a shadow. But you refused to back down, even as he closed the distance between you.

"You think it’s cute, don’t you?" he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he leaned down, his face inches from yours. "Messing with me."

Your smirk faltered slightly, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “Maybe I do.”

He chuckled, low and dangerous, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But there’s only so far you can push before I push back."

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You swallowed, your heart now pounding in your chest. You had been playing with fire, and for the first time, you wondered if maybe you were about to get burned.

But instead of stepping away, you lifted your chin, your voice steady despite the way your pulse raced. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Ghost’s eyes darkened, and before you knew what was happening, he moved even closer, backing you up until you were pressed against the wall of the range. His hands planted themselves on either side of your head, trapping you there. The closeness of his body was overwhelming, his scent, leather, smoke, something undeniably masculine, filling your senses.

“You should be,” he whispered, his voice so low it sent a thrill through your body.

Your breath hitched as his gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there for a second too long. The tension between you was palpable now, electric, and suddenly your teasing didn’t feel so harmless anymore. It felt dangerous. Intense.

But instead of retreating, you felt a surge of boldness. “Or maybe you’re the one who’s scared.”

His eyes snapped back to yours, and for a split second, something flashed in them, something raw, something primal. And then, before you could say another word, he moved.

Ghost stared at you for a long moment, the tension between you simmering like a live wire. You could feel the weight of his gaze, dark and dangerous, but just when you thought he might do something, close the gap again, say something that would send a shiver down your spine, he did the opposite. He stepped back.

You blinked in surprise as he straightened, his eyes never leaving yours, but something in his expression had shifted. It wasn’t defeat, but it wasn’t victory either. It was calculated. Measured. His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but close enough to make your stomach flip.

Then, without another word, Ghost turned on his heel and walked away, his broad back retreating, leaving you pressed against the wall, heart still hammering in your chest.

For a second, you thought you’d won, that maybe you’d finally gotten under his skin enough to make him back off. But as you watched him go, that strange, unsettling feeling lingered. Something about the way he left, the way he didn’t retaliate, didn’t push back immediately, left you on edge. He wasn’t done.

No, this wasn’t over.

It came to a head one day during a routine briefing. You were sitting in the back of the room, half-listening to the mission plan, your eyes occasionally drifting over to Ghost, who stood at the front, arms crossed over his chest, silent as ever.

That’s when you went too far.

As Captain Price wrapped up the details, you leaned back in your chair and called out, loud enough for everyone to hear, “So, Ghost, when are you going to take me out to dinner? Or are you afraid I’ll outshine you?”

The room went dead silent. Every pair of eyes snapped to you, then to Ghost, waiting to see what would happen. Price’s eyebrows shot up, but he wisely said nothing, though you could tell he was biting back a smile. Even Soap looked a little pale, as if he was bracing himself for the fallout.

Ghost didn’t react at first. He just stood there, his face hidden behind his mask, completely unreadable. But you noticed the way his fingers twitched, just a little. His entire body seemed to go still, as if he was debating whether to address your latest insult or let it slide like he had with all the others.

For a moment, you thought maybe you’d gotten away with it. Maybe you’d gone too far, but he’d let it go.

Then, he spoke.

"Stay after the briefing," he said, his voice low and calm, but there was something in it, something dark that sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed, your bravado faltering just a bit. But you were committed now. You couldn’t back down in front of everyone. So, you flashed a cocky grin and shrugged. “Sure thing, Lieutenant.”

The briefing wrapped up, and the room emptied out, the others giving you quick glances on their way out, as if they were watching someone about to walk into the lion’s den. Even Soap gave you a sympathetic look before slipping through the door.

And then it was just you and Ghost.

The door clicked shut behind the last soldier, leaving the two of you in the dimly lit room. Ghost hadn’t moved from his spot at the front, his eyes still fixed on you. You could feel the weight of his stare, heavy and unrelenting, as if he was sizing you up, deciding exactly what to do with you.

You stood up slowly, trying to maintain your usual confidence. “So, what’s this about, Ghost? Gonna tell me off for embarrassing you in front of the boys?”

He didn’t say a word. Just stood there, his gaze never leaving yours. The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. You felt your pulse quicken, but you forced yourself to stay calm.

Finally, he moved.

In two strides, he closed the distance between you, towering over you with that imposing frame. He didn’t touch you, but he didn’t have to. His presence alone was enough to make you feel like you were pinned to the spot.

“You’ve been having fun, haven’t you?” he said, his voice low, almost a growl.

You swallowed hard, your bravado crumbling slightly under the intensity of his gaze. But you weren’t about to let him see you back down. “Maybe I have. Didn’t think you minded.”

Ghost tilted his head, studying you. “Is that what you think?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, he took another step closer, backing you up against the wall. His hands planted themselves on either side of you, trapping you in place. The closeness of him was overwhelming, his scent, the sheer heat radiating off his body, the way his eyes bore into yours, dark and unreadable.

“You’ve been running your mouth,” he said quietly, his voice so low it sent a thrill through your body. “And now you’re going to see what happens when you push me too far.”

Your heart raced, but instead of fear, you felt something else. Something hot and electric buzzing just beneath your skin. This was what you had wanted, wasn’t it? To push him, to see how far you could go before he snapped. And now, here you were, cornered by the very man you’d been teasing, his breath warm against your face, his presence swallowing you whole.

You tilted your chin up, your voice steady even though your pulse was thundering in your ears. “What are you gonna do, Lieutenant? Scare me off?”

He chuckled, low and dangerous, and the sound made your stomach flip. “No. I don’t think fear’s what you want from me.”

Your breath hitched as his gloved hand came up, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. His touch was surprisingly gentle, but the intensity in his eyes was anything but. You could feel the heat rolling off him in waves, the raw power behind his calm demeanor.

You could feel the heat radiating off him, the solidity of his muscles against yours, the firmness of his chest against your soft curves. He leaned in, his forehead nearly touching yours, his breath hot on your skin.

His voice was a low, dangerous murmur, his gaze locking with yours with an intensity that made your pulse race. "What you want," he said, his voice a rough whisper in your ear, "is for me to put you in your place."

He grabbed you by your hairs, a seductive whimper escaping your lips as he tilted your head to expose your throat.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against the sensitive flesh of your throat, sending a shiver through you. "You think you're so damn cocky," he murmured against your skin. "But you've been asking for this for a long time, haven't you?"

You completely melted in his hands, done and dusted.

Ghost could feel you surrendering to him, the tension leaving your body as you melted against him. A slow, satisfied smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He liked seeing you like this, all defiant bravado gone, replaced by raw, unguarded need.

He pulled your hair a little tighter, his free hand coming to rest on your hip, pulling your body even closer, making sure you could feel every inch of him pressed against you.

He chuckled softly at the sound you made, his eyes flicking down to your parted lips. God, you looked so perfect like this, all soft and pliant, your body pressed against his, the sound of your ragged breaths filling the air.

He tightened his grip on your hair, tilting your head back further, exposing more of your neck. "You look damn good like this," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your flesh. "All mine."

And then, before you could think, before you could say another word, he closed the gap between you.

His lips crashed against yours, fierce and unrelenting, stealing the breath from your lungs. You gasped, your hands instinctively reaching for his chest, clutching at his shirt as you pulled him closer. The kiss was wild, a mix of frustration and pent-up desire, everything you’d been pushing him toward finally snapping.

Ghost’s hands gripped your waist, pulling you against him, his touch possessive and firm. You moaned into his mouth, the sheer intensity of it all sending a jolt of heat through your entire body. It was overwhelming, the way he kissed you, like he’d been holding back for too long, and now that the dam had broken, there was no going back.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard, your foreheads resting together. His eyes were darker than ever, filled with something raw and primal.

“I warned you,” he whispered, his voice rough, “but you didn’t listen.”

Your heart was still pounding, but a slow smile spread across your lips. “Maybe I just wanted to see what would happen.”

Ghost chuckled again, a low, dangerous sound. “Now you know.”

But as his lips found yours again, slower this time, more deliberate, you realized that this was just the beginning.

[coff33andb00ks]

Rule Breaker - Pt 3

max Verstappen x single mom!reader

{masterlist}{prev} {next}

warnings: cursing, jos is an even bigger asshole, barely proofread, logan's there, glazed-over mentioning of childhood trauma Summary: Max has it all...right? Besides, he's too busy collecting trophies and completing side quests for anything else. Until... You moved across a whole ass ocean to start over, uprooting you and your son's lives to become social media admin for cars that drive in circles. word count: 7937 (i got so carried away holy shit) auth.note: listen, eagle boy swayed me with his pretty eyes and soft voice... also this was a great excuse for me to rewatch Mulan for the millionth time. spotify: i made a playlist

"Team meeting in ten," GP commented.

Max nodded, eyes following y/n through the window as she paced in the small courtyard, talking on her phone. He hadn't seen or spoken to her since they'd finished the Q and A the day before. Surprisingly, he'd actually enjoyed it. He told himself it was because she'd made sure to gather thought provoking questions, not because some of his answers had made her laugh and her laugh made him feel relaxed. GP turned to look out the window and Max quickly looked down at his plate, even though he'd just taken the last bite of his breakfast. When the engineer turned back, Max could feel his amused expression.

"Looks like it might rain," GP said casually.

Nodding again, Max washed down the last of his food with his coffee. "More chances for fuck ups."

"It's not a crime."

He finally looked up. "What?"

GP nodded towards the window.

"If rain was a crime, would they put god in prison?" Max asked, keeping his face blank when his friend snorted and rolled his eyes.

"You're not a robot, Max."

From the corner of his eye he could see her approaching Christian, who was coming from the garage. "I never said I was."

"Then stop acting like one. You're still young, I guess you're attractive, and you're at the top of your career."

"Thank you for that endorsement," Max said drily. Horner had stepped aside with y/n, whose hands were moving as she spoke to him. "I'll be sure and put it in my Tinder profile."

GP's eyebrows lifted. "You have one?"

"Fuck no." He pushed his chair back. "I don't have time."

"Max," his friend sighed.

"I'll see you at the meeting." He took care of his dishes, making sure to thank the staff working the dining area before leaving the motorhome, telling himself it was so he could get some fresh air and clear his head for the meeting. His legs carried him around the corner to where y/n and Christian were still talking, and he boldly approached.

"…speak to him." Christian shot a look at Max.

"If he was joking I wouldn't think twice about it.," y/n said, frowning. "But I don't see how it could have been. He was extremely rude, implied I wasn't worth hiring based on my looks, and…"

Max kept his mouth shut, knowing she needed to do the speaking. Giving her a faint nod when she looked at him, he felt a glimmer of pride when she straightened her shoulders.

"I didn't spend four years in college – sorry, university – and work three jobs at once to be demeaned. I know I have the skills and drive to do my job, but if this team continues to foster that sort of toxic environment you'll have to look for a new social media admin," she said firmly.

He tried to but couldn't keep the smile from forming.

Christian looked slightly impressed, giving her a reassuring nod. "I understand. He's not employed by us, he's only here by our good graces."

"I know he's the father of the your top driver, and I spoke with him before coming to you," she said, as though Max wasn't standing right there.

Christian pressed his lips together and Max knew he was trying to hide his smile. "Of course. We'll deal with it, I promise."

"Thank you." She relaxed, sighing softly. "I'm not trying to cause trouble, Mr. Horner."

"It's Jos fucking Verstappen, he's the trouble," Christian muttered. "Don't worry, alright? If anyone ever gives you a problem, reach out to me."

She nodded. "Thanks again. Oh!" She turned to Max, smiling hopefully. "I already asked Checo and he said yes to doing it this week. Would you be up to 24 hours with you at Monaco? Not the full 24 hours since I don't want to watch you sleep, but I just stick with you for the rest of the day and show fans a behind the scenes look at what a practice or quali day for you looks like."

"Why?" he asked, still stuck on the thought of her watching him sleep.

"Well! Casual fans don't realize how much work goes into being you. The training and diet and analyzing and teamwork. All the stuff you do even before practice and quali, like walking the track."

"For the whole day."

"Yeah, except for sleeping. I mean, that would probably really ramp up views, but—"

"I'm not that interesting though," he said. Why would anyone want to spend a practice or quali day with him?

"Oh don't start with the modesty. You're an elite athlete. I'm not asking you to invite me into your bedroom and let me show your bed to the world, just a small peek at what you're like. We can highlight your sim racing, explain how it's helped you learn the tracks so well. Talk about your suit, why the fireproof is so important." She tipped her head. "Maybe a shot of your suitcase to prove you do have clothes other than Red Bull gear? If you do, because I'm beginning to think you only have one pair of jeans and a Red Bull shirt."

He laughed at that, shaking his head. "I guess I can do it. We'll see how Checo's goes."

"Perfect. Speaking of, I'm doing that tomorrow so I gotta start posting to hype it up—"

"Meeting in two minutes," Christian told them.

Max looked at him, chagrined to admit he'd forgotten the man was there. "On the way," he promised, rubbing the back of his neck when Christian shot him a knowing look and headed off. Turning back to y/n, he cleared his throat. "I'm not showing my suitcase to the world."

"Is it that embarrassing?" she asked, clicking her tongue in sympathy. "Do you have Red Bull boxers too?"

"No, I—" he cut off, remembering the company's joke birthday gift to him the year before. "Okay, I do, but they're not in my suitcase."

"At least let me throw a team logo pillow on the bed—"

"Absolutely not."

She fell into step next to him, an extra bounce in her walk. "Are you saying there's already one there?"

He shouldn't say it. It would probably be inappropriate. He told himself that repeatedly, even as he drew a breath and opened his mouth. "Why the interest in my bed?"

"I told you, I love sleep. Oh." She frowned. "It'll be a hotel bed anyway."

Opening the motorhome door for her, he glanced up at the cloudy sky as the aroma of flowers he couldn't identify washed over him. "No?"

"Are you saying you get an Airbnb?" she asked in confusion. "Do they even have that in Monaco—"

"You didn't know? I thought you asked Google everything," he teased.

Her brow furrowed deeply. "Didn't know what?"

"I live in Monaco. So no, it wouldn't be a hotel room."

The confusion melted away, her eyes widening a little. "Oh. Wow."

"Wow?" he echoed, heading to the stairs.

"You're rich rich."

"Don't say that," he requested, making a face. She made wealth sound dirty.

"In my defense I didn't think to look up everyone's salary when I got hired. I mean I knew you were rich, but—"

"Stop saying it—"

"Sorry." She smiled sweetly, which told him she wasn't sorry at all. "Have a good meeting, Max. Oh, wait!"

He stopped at the top of the stairs, huffing when she lifted her phone and snapped a photo of him. "Why do you need a picture of me right now?"

"To show the world that even Max Verstappen, three time world champion, record breaker and maker, is sometimes late for a meeting."

Dragging a hand over his face, he sighed. "You're in a strange mood today."

"I'm getting comfortable. It's what I do. Lull everyone into thinking I'm sweet and quiet, then once I know I can relax I let my true self out."

"I'm scared to ask what your true self is," he admitted, ignoring his phone when it began to buzz with a phone call.

"Chaos," she told him, snapping another photo. "And I'm so putting a team logo pillow on your bed next week."

"No," he warned her as she turned to go back down the stairs. "No pillow."

"Go to your meeting or I'll post on Twitter than you have Red Bull boxers!"

"You wouldn't."

"Try me, rich boy."

And, damn everything, he laughed. She spun at the bottom of the stairs, giving him a smile that was pure sunshine. Not about to tempt fate, he held up his hands in surrender and went to the conference room for the meeting, still smiling as he slid into his seat next to Checo. When the meeting was over he hung back, his smile long gone as he waited for whatever Christian had to say.

"Two things," Christian started, leaning back in his seat with a sigh.

Max rolled his water bottle between his hands and stayed silent.

"Your dad."

He nodded. "I'll talk to him—"

"He's on probation now. If he so much as looks at anyone the wrong way, he'll be banned from the garage and the paddock." Christian steepled his hands. "It would probably be best if I did it now, but…"

"I'll talk to him," Max said again, already dreading that conversation. "Sometimes he speaks before he thinks, and unfortunately y/n was on the receiving end."

"Are you defending him?"

"No. I'm saying…" What was he saying? He didn't even know himself, so how could he explain it to Christian?

"You're saying what he would expect you to say. Max." Christian leaned forward. "I know he's your father. But – what did y/n say? He creates a toxic environment."

Max was on his feet and pacing before he realized he was moving. "What do you want me to do? Cut him out of my life completely? He's my dad. He made me who I am." Slinging his cap onto the table, he ran a hand through his hair. "He gave up on a marriage so I could achieve my dreams. I know people call it abuse and yeah if I could change the past I would, or at least some parts, but… Would I be me if he didn't do what he did?"

Christian sighed and Max hung his head. The bitterness between team principal and his father had been around as long as he could remember. And he understood, he did. Most days even he didn't like Jos that much.

"What he said to y/n was unacceptable. I know that. When she told me, I…" He paused, unsure whether he wanted to admit what his first thoughts had been. Starting to pace again, he stopped at the window and looked outside, noting that the earlier clouds had rolled away. "I was ready to tell you to ban him."

Christian nodded. "You sure you want to talk to him? Because I'll do it. I don't have a problem telling him to go fuck himself."

"I should do it," Max said with a sigh.

There was silence from Christian, and Max finally snatched up his hat and sat back down. "I'll do it, Max."

He would never admit to the rush of relief at those words. "What was the other thing?"

"Y/n."

He set his jaw. "What about her?"

"She's off limits."

Max blinked. "How do you mean?"

"I've seen the way you look at her."

He pinched his eyebrows together. He wasn't aware he'd been looking at her in any particular way. He just…looked at her. It was true that she did make him smile a little bit more than he usually did, but that had to be due to her self-professed chaos—

"It's in her contract. Yours too, I'm sure."

"I'm – Nothing's happened." Yes, she'd slept in his private room and yes, his sheets had smelled of her and given him dreams he shouldn't have been dreaming. But nothing else had happened.

Soft hands, plush hips, bright eyes, lush mouth—

"Keep it that way. We can't afford another PR disaster."

Max snorted, unsure how anything he did – not that he would do anything – with y/n could come close to the disaster Christian had caused. "I'm not texting her, so."

"Cheeky bastard," Christian muttered. "Go get prepped for practice."

Grabbing his water bottle from the floor, Max left. Off limits. What the hell did that even mean? He couldn't be friendly with her? He couldn't keep his promise to watch a movie with Kevin?

Fuck Christian anyway, he wasn't one to talk about someone being off limits, he decided. He went down for another coffee, inconspicuously looking around for y/n. Not seeing her, he turned his attention to the upcoming practice, trying his best to push his worries about his father to the back of his mind.

When he approached the garage he saw her, and he frowned slightly when he saw Logan talking to her. Did they know each other? They obviously did, judging by the way she laughed at something he said. Sourness filled his mouth and he gulped down his water, grunting when a hand suddenly clapped his shoulder.

"Mate, you coming out tonight?" Lando asked with a grin.

"Not a good idea to go out before quali, mate," Max said automatically.

"I'm not gonna get drunk. A few of us are just going out to eat. You in?"

"I think I'll skip it. But we'll go out Sunday?"

Lando's grin widened and Max chuckled, knowing he was remembering what little he could of the celebration in Miami. Lando loved to party after a race. "Absolutely. Good practice, yeah?"

Max grinned, bumping fists with him before they parted. The American was still talking to y/n. Didn't he need to get ready? Go fluff his hair or something? Walking up to them, he nodded at Logan. "Have a good practice alright, mate?"

"Oh, yeah, better get to the garage." Logan turned and flashed a smile at y/n. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Sure. Be safe," she said.

She was smiling a little too hard, in his opinion. And then she was—

Hugging? Him?

Max felt like he might vomit.

"Later, Max," Logan said as he jogged off.

"What did he want?" Max asked.

She looked up from checking something on her camera. "Hm? Oh, nothing, just chatting. He's nice."

"Yeah, a complete sweetheart," he said with a roll of his eyes. Then, shoving the sourness away, he cleared his throat. "I've got the sim racing tomorrow after quali, then the race is Sunday."

Y/n blinked, then nodded slowly. "Yes?"

"I promised Kevin we'd watch the movie?" he reminded her.

"Oh, yeah. Don't worry about it, I know you're too busy. He hasn't even mentioned it again, I'm sure he's already forgotten." She turned slightly and knelt to take pictures of his car in the garage.

"But I promised."

"Max, it's really not that big a deal."

It was. To her it might not be. If she couldn't do something with her son when she had promised she could, she was able to do it another time. He couldn't just show up to her flat to watch a movie. And Kevin had been so excited… He tried not to remember all the promises that had been made to him as a child, promises he had learned at an early age would never be kept. "Y/n…"

She looked up at him, drawing a breath to, he was sure, tell him again that it was fine. But she paused, studying his face, and he heard her sigh as she lowered the camera. "This is really important to you, isn't it?"

"And to Kevin," he pointed out.

"He did talk about it a lot last night before he went to sleep. Made sure the hotel tv had Disney plus and asked if Ellie would buy some popcorn…" She sighed, smiling. "Did you want to do it next week before Monaco?"

"I was thinking today? After the practice and debrief. If you're not too busy," he added, unintentionally looking towards the Williams garage.

"No, I don't have any plans. Just editing and posting, and I can do that while you two watch a movie. I've got plans for dinner, but there's plenty of time."

"Plans?" he asked, trying his best to sound casual.

"Yeah! Logan offered to take me out to see a little of the town. He's offered to be my tour guide."

At night. Now he knew he would vomit. "How delightful," he managed.

"Yeah, he's sweet. Don't worry, I won't give away any secrets."

The sourness returned, doubled, and he recognized it now as jealousy. Which was beyond ridiculous, because she wasn't his to be jealous over. Seeing that she was about to stand he immediately offered his hand, easily steadying her as she rose to her feet.

"Thanks."

He wondered what sort of cream she used on her hands. They were so soft. "Y/n—"

"Max!"

Y/n's smile faded and she practically snatched her hand away. "I'll message you the hotel info," she said, turning on her heel and sweeping into the garage.

"I need to talk to you," his father demanded.

Looking into the garage, he saw that he had a full thirty minutes before practice began. No way out of this conversation. Nodding, he followed his father to a relatively secluded spot, keeping his head down.

*-*

"His father is such an asshole, honestly. We were talking outside the garage and he marched up like he owns the—" Y/n glanced to make sure Kevin still had his headphones on and wasn't listening in. Seeing that he did and wasn't, she turned back to Ellie. "—fucking place and barked at him all 'I need to talk to you' like the guy isn't about to go out on the track."

Ellie made a face. "What a prick. What did he have to say to him that was so important?"

Y/n shrugged, bending to gather the dirty pair of socks off the floor. "No idea. He dragged him off and I could see them but couldn't hear anything. I felt so bad for Max."

"I would have too. And he didn't say anything when he got back to the garage?" Ellie smoothed the bedding while y/n stuffed the dirty laundry into a sack.

"Not to me." Sighing, y/n dropped the sack inside the bathroom and then got down on her hands and knees to make sure nothing embarrassing was lying around. "He looked like a kid getting yelled at, Ellie. I had no idea his dad was that much of an—"

She saw Kevin moving and stopped, getting to her feet while he set his tablet and headphones on the table. "Gotta pee, mama," he said, sliding out of the chair.

"Did you finish your game?" she asked while Ellie looked around to make sure the hotel room was presentable.

"Yeah, it's easy," Kevin said.

"Are you gonna tell him?" Ellie whispered.

"No… What if he can't make it? I don't want to get his hopes up." Y/n pushed the chair in at the table and checked the tablet, seeing that Kevin had indeed finished the alphabet game she'd downloaded that morning for him.

"If he doesn't come, maybe we can—" Ellie laughed when there was a knock at the door. "Never mind."

"It might not be him," y/n muttered, even though she knew it had to be. He'd been so insistent, and she'd been able to tell that it was possibly more important to him than it would be to Kevin.

"I'll make sure the lil rugrat washes his hand," Ellie murmured, slipping into the bathroom.

Y/n rubbed her hands on her thighs and went to open the door, giving the hotel room one last glance before doing so. And, just as she'd known, Max was in the hallway. "Hey," she greeted softly, eyes widening a little when she saw he was wearing a pair of sweats and a hoodie. "Holy shit, you're allowed to wear non-Red Bull clothes?"

He snorted, letting out a laugh when she just stared at him. "Very funny."

"No, no, I'm serious. Isn't that in your contract or something?" Stepping back, she finally gave him a grin. "C'mon in."

"I don't know if he's allowed, but I brought some sweets." Max held up the grocery bag hanging from one finger.

"Yeah, he's allowed. No allergies or anything," she assured him, closing the door once he'd stepped inside. "He's washing his—"

"Mister Max!"

Y/n nearly teared up. Her son sounded so excited, and she had a moment of panic for letting him befriend Max. He was too busy to drop by regularly, and after Monaco Kevin would be staying home with Ellie, so—

"There's my little mate!"

Fuck's sake, even Max sounded excited. As though a movie with a three year old was the height of his day. Looking on as he swung Kevin up and spun him in a circle, she took the bag and emptied the packets onto the table while Ellie greeted Max and brought out the popcorn from where she'd hidden it from Kevin. Max and Kevin talked nonstop to one another, Max telling him about practice after Kevin gave him a detailed report on what he'd done all day. The boy grabbed his tablet and showed him the games he'd played, showing off his alphabet skills.

"You're good with letters, yeah? Maybe you'd be good learning a new language?" Max suggested.

"Do you know a new language?" Kevin asked.

"He's really good with him," Ellie whispered to y/n.

"Shh," she hissed. Because she already knew. And she didn't need it pointed out to her. Besides, she was listening to Max tell Kevin about the languages he spoke, then to him rattle off a few sentences in each one, much to Kevin's amazement.

"Can you teach me?" he asked hopefully.

"When I can, kleine maat." Max ruffled Kevin's hair. "That means little mate."

"You're my big mate," Kevin decided.

"Grote maat," Max said, repeating it slowly a couple times before Kevin said it properly. "There you go. You'll be speaking Dutch like a pro in no time."

"You want a drink, Max?" Y/n offered. "We don't have Red Bull, sorry—"

"Water's fine. Thanks."

"Can I have water too, mama?"

Nodding, y/n fixed their drinks while Kevin turned on the TV and opened Disney+, rolling her eyes when he told Max the password so he could put it in for him. She saw that Ellie was putting on her shoes and raised her eyebrows. "Where are you going?"

"Oh, I don't want to intrude on big mate, little mate bonding time," Ellie said with a small smile. Peeling Kevin from Max long enough to give him a quick hug, she grabbed her wallet and phone. "And I've seen Mulan about six hundred times, so I'm just gonna go for a walk. Take pictures. Get a coffee and a pastry."

"Have fun," y/n said.

"Mhmm, you too," Ellie said with a smirk as she left.

She rolled her eyes and handed Max his drink then Kevin his cup. Motioning for Max to have a seat on the small sofa, she couldn't help but smile when Kevin immediately climbed to sit next to him, and had the feeling that before the movie was over her son would be cuddled close to his big mate.

"Join us?" Max asked while Kevin looked for the movie.

"Work," she reminded him, transferring the sweets and popcorn to the coffee table and getting her laptop. "I'll watch from here."

"It doesn't look very comfortable."

"It shouldn't. It's work."

He looked ready to argue, but instead took a sip of his water and grabbed a bag of candy. Tossing it onto the table, he gave a small shrug when she looked at him. "You said you like strawberry milk."

Y/n looked from him to the bag several times. He remembered that? She'd mentioned it during the Q and A, when the question had been other than red bull what's your favorite drink? Staring at the bag, she felt a sudden rush of warmth. No one had bought her candy in so long… "Thank you," she murmured.

"You're welcome," he said softly.

She almost told him he didn't have to, but she knew that he already knew that. He'd done it because… She didn't know. Maybe to apologize for his father's behavior. Maybe to show he listened. Maybe, just maybe, because he'd seen it in the shop, remembered her liking strawberry milk, and had bought it because that was something he did, buy a little something for no other reason than you said you liked it.

She tried to focus on work, but the movie kept getting her attention. Finally she gave up, scheduling the posts she'd edited and closing her laptop. Grabbing a bottle of water, she joined them on the sofa as Mushu revealed himself to Mulan. As she'd expected, Kevin had already crawled into Max's lap, sharing his bag of popcorn with the man as they both focused on the movie.

"Mama," Kevin whispered, reaching for her.

She scooted closer, sighing as he turned so he could lean against her arm. Max shifted, and she tried to act nonchalant when he draped his arm behind her on the back of the sofa. Smoothing her son's hair, she pretended not to notice when the arm slid to her shoulders. He probably hadn't even noticed, she told herself, aware that his eyes were locked on the TV screen, paying attention to the movie. When Kevin's favorite part began he sat up, quickly sliding to the floor to sing along and she fully expected Max to pull away from her.

But he didn't, and she pulled her knees up, unable to focus on anything except the weight of his arm around her. It was solid but not uncomfortable, a very real reminder that she hadn't been in this position in a very long time.

"He's so mean," Kevin mumbled as Shun-Yu appeared on the screen. Y/n waited for him to hurry over to climb into her lap but he chose Max instead, and she bit back a sigh when the man gently soothed him, hugging him close.

"It's okay, kleine maat. The good guys will beat him, yeah?" he murmured, pausing the movie.

Kevin nodded against Max's shoulder. "Yeah but he's bad."

"A lot of people are," Max said softly. "But if we focus on that we don't see the good. Do you think about your happy days more or your bad days?"

"Happy days," Kevin said.

"Because they make you happy, yeah? If you think about bad days you'll always be having them. It's like that with people. Focus on the good and do what you can to keep the bad from happening. Bad happens, but the good will always be there."

"Okay."

"You ready to finish the movie?" Max asked gently.

Kevin nodded.

Max finally looked at y/n, glancing down when he saw the way she was staring at him. "I didn't—"

"No, you're good," she promised in a whisper, picking up the remote to resume the movie then hugging her knees. If she didn't occupy her arms, she would throw them around him. Usually she had to explain those things to Kevin. Ellie helped, of course, but Kevin always came to her for more explanation after a life lesson. But Max… He'd explained it so eloquently and gently that he'd understood. And she didn't know why, but, god help her…

It was the sexiest thing she'd ever witnessed.

His arm stayed around her shoulders through the rest of the movie. When Mulan was cast out, she got a little emotional as she always did, even after over six hundred views, and she felt his arm tighten around her, hesitating a tiny bit before letting her head lean against him. All she could smell now was him, the gentle but memorable sandalwood and amber scent that she remembered well from the day before.

"Gotta pee," Kevin announced a little bit later, clambering down and running to the bathroom. Max took the remote to pause the movie.

Y/n began to pull away, lifting her head when he squeezed her arm.

"You're fine," he whispered.

His face was so close. Seeing a tiny piece of popcorn on his chin, she reached up to brush it away, freezing at the sound of his sharp inhale. "Sorry, you got a little…"

When the hell had his eyes become so blue? Just a day ago they'd been a normal blue. Now they reminded her of the antique blue willow china her great grandmother had treasured. Her gaze slipped to his mouth and quickly moved back to his eyes and she heard him inhale again.

"Max?"

"Y/n, I…" His eyes flicked down and she unconsciously licked her lips.

She knew she shouldn't but she suddenly, desperately, wanted to know what it was like to kiss him. She hadn't thought about kissing anyone in what felt like a lifetime, but now she needed it. Lifting her chin slightly, she dropped her hand to his chest. "Max—"

"Y/n, you… I—"

"Okay!"

She snatched herself away from Max as though she'd been burned, going so far as to jump to her feet while Kevin rushed back to the sofa. "Go ahead and hit play, I'll be back in just a minute," she promised, nearly tripping over nothing in her haste to get as far away from Max as possible. "Hit play, it's fine, I've seen it a million times."

Once in the bathroom she closed the door and leaned against it, covering her face with both hands. What the hell was wrong with her? Just because she hadn't been kissed since— She dropped her hands, wrinkling her nose in thought. Kevin was three years and two months, and… At any rate, it had been so long she'd assumed she was never going to be kissed again. She hadn't even thought about it in ages, because she'd been so focused on work and raising her son and trying to survive. Now, all of a sudden, she was craving one so bad she'd practically begged him.

He'd been about to tell her he couldn't. She was sure of that. Which only made it even more embarrassing. How could he even want to? She'd seen the girlfriends of other drivers on the grid, there was no way he'd be even remotely interested in her. She wasn't a model or tennis star or whatever their occupations were.

Not to mention she couldn't. It would be wrong on so many levels. What kind of impression would her behavior leave on her son? Not to mention the troubles it would cause at work? And it was in her contract that any sort of fraternization with other members of the team were forbidden. She'd known that but she had read the full contract on the flight to Italy. If she and Max did anything it would eventually come out and she'd be jobless again, this time in a foreign country.

Checking her phone when she felt it buzz in her pocket, she sighed while reading Logan's text.

We're still on right?

She wanted to say no. The best thing for her to do would be to suffer through the rest of the movie, say goodbye to Max, have an early dinner, put Kevin to bed, then take the world's coldest shower. But she was already typing out her reply.

Of course! Looking forward to it.

And she was, she thought, seeing the delivered change to read then the three little dots that he was typing a message. Logan was fun. Nice. Completely uninterested in her romantically, she thought with a sigh.

Great. Be there at 8 to pick you up. Give Kev a high 5 for me?

Will do.

Pushing away from the door, she turned on the water to wash her hands and jumped slightly when there was a gentle knock.

"Y/n?"

"I'm almost done," she called.

She heard his sigh. "Can I come in?"

No. "Yeah, sure."

He opened the door and stepped in, and she swallowed when he closed the door behind him. "I…"

"Max, don't," she groaned, washing her hands and grabbing the towel. "You don't have to tell me you wouldn't have… Even if I wanted you to. I know."

"Wouldn't have what?" he asked.

God, could the moment get any more embarrassing? "I – You – Jesus, never mind."

"Kiss you?" he murmured.

Why did the way he said it sound like so much more than a kiss? "It's fine. Go back and finish the movie."

"Y/n, I can't."

"You have to leave?" she asked.

"What – no, not the movie," he said. Cupping a hand over his mouth, he breathed deeply and dropped his hand after a few seconds, looking pained. "I can't kiss you."

"Oh." Oh. "Do you have a girlfriend or—"

"If I had a girlfriend I wouldn't be in this tiny toilet with you."

And she believed him. He didn't seem the type to put himself in a situation that could be misinterpreted if he had a partner. "Right. Of course. Then…"

"It's…" He sighed.

"Are you gay? Because I won't tell any—"

"I'm not gay," he cut in gently. "It's… I'm not allowed to kiss you."

She blinked, suddenly understanding. And she wondered if he'd read the contract, too. "Right. Neither am I."

"Christian talked to you too?"

"No? Why would he?"

"He told me you're off limits." Max shook his head. "Said I look at you or something."

"Oh." He did? And just how did Max look at her? "I see."

"And it's in our contracts. Yours and mine, I mean. So… I can't."

She nodded. "Of course. Understood. No more explanation necessary, Max."

"I wouldn't want you to lose your job," he said softly.

She continued to nod. "Got it. Thanks."

He tipped his head, then reached to take the towel from her and she realized she was still drying her hands. "I'll still be Kevin's friend."

Still nodding, she picked up her hand cream and squeezed a dollop into her palm. "Thanks. He likes you."

"I like him too." He hesitated, watching her carefully. "You okay?"

"Peachy keen," she promised, rubbing the cream into her hands. "Just getting ready for my dinner."

His lips settled into a fine line. "Your date."

The way he said it irritated her. As though she was in the wrong for making plans with a new friend. "It's not a date, but yes."

"I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time," he said with absolutely no emotion.

"Well, he's not contractually obligated to be nice to me, so… I know I will," she said, forcing as much sweetness into her voice as possible.

"I'm not nice because of a contract," he snapped.

"Right, sorry, my mistake. He won't not kiss me because of a piece of paper," she corrected.

Max's eyes flashed, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "I thought it wasn't a date?" he asked carefully.

Good, at least he had some emotion. "Oh, so I'm only allowed to kiss him if we're on a date?"

"I didn't say—" He cut off, pressing his lips tight together and exhaling slowly. "You said it wasn't a date."

"Why do you care either way?"

"Is it a date or not?" he ground out.

"It's not." She took her hair down from the ponytail as he sighed with something like relief. "But it could be in the future."

"What, so you'll kiss him because I won't kiss you?"

"If I kiss him, it'll be because both of us want it," she said. She knew she was being silly, maybe even a little stupid. But he was acting as though he were doing her a favor. As though he were somehow honorable, a gentleman even, because he refused to do what she now knew they both wanted.

"Y/n, I can't—"

"A word I'm sure you're not used to saying about yourself," she muttered under her breath.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, an edge in his voice.

"I didn't know that 'can't' was in your vocabulary is all." Looking at her phone to check the time, she cleared her throat. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to change."

He hesitated while she opened her makeup bag. "Do you want to kiss him?"

"Why do you care?"

He visibly bristled. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"Does he have a reputation for hurting women?" She picked up her hairbrush, and had brushed out her hair completely before he finally answered.

"No." It sounded like it hurt him to say it. "He's nice."

"Then you don't have to worry."

"Where are you going?"

"Oh, no." She laughed humorlessly. "You don't get to ask that. Now please, I have to change."

He stared at her, looking annoyed and irritated, his jaw still twitching. Then, with a huff, he turned to open the door. And froze when he saw the dress hanging from the hook. "Is… That's what you're wearing?"

"Oh my god, Max, you're starting to sound like a jealous boyfriend."

"I'm not jealous," he snorted.

"And you're not my boyfriend," she snapped.

She waited for him to turn around and restart their argument. Altercation. Whatever it was. Instead, he muttered something under his breath and snatched the door open. Went out, closing it. And sounded perfectly normal when he apologized to Kevin and resumed the movie.

Y/n was still annoyed even after changing and doing her makeup. She fussed over her hair, unsure whether she wanted to wear it up or down, finally leaving it down. She was fully aware that she was putting more work into her appearance than she would have if Max hadn't said what he had, and still knew she was being silly and stupid. Hadn't she just told herself nothing could happen between them?

Yes, but maybe if he hadn't acted as though he were doing an immense favor she wouldn't be so upset. I wouldn't want you to lose your job. Indicating that if he kissed her and they were found out, his job was secure.

"Sanctimonious prick," she muttered while she spritzed perfume on her wrists and rubbed them together. As she exited the bathroom the outer door of the room opened and Ellie came in, her jaw dropping when she saw her.

"Holy shit babes, you look amazing!"

She smiled, doing a turn for her friend. "You think so?"

"His jaw is gonna be on the floor the whole time. Holy shit, milf alert." Ellie whistled softly, waving her hand as though overcome with heat.

Y/n giggled. "Thanks."

The movie was ending and Kevin oohed and aahed over her dress, telling her over and over how pretty she was. Max stared at her, his jaw set, but said nothing, looking away and starting to clear up the remains of the snacks.

"Isn't she pretty, grote maat?" Kevin asked.

And even though her back was to him, she felt his gaze. Glancing over her shoulder at him while she fastened her necklace, she watched his shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. "Very pretty, kleine maat."

"You're supposed to tell her," Kevin whispered. "Always tell a lady she's beautiful. Right, aunt Ellie?"

"That's right, buddy," Ellie said proudly. She gave y/n an odd look, silently asking what had happened, narrowing her eyes when y/n merely shrugged.

"Because women are pretty all the time," Kevin went on and y/n smiled. At least she was doing something right…

After fastening her earrings she turned from the dresser, breath catching in her throat when she found Max staring at her. Vaguely aware of Ellie telling Kevin to wash his hands so they could eat the dinner she'd brought, she squatted, getting her heels from her suitcase, along with her shawl.

"Je bent mooi," Max said.

She met his gaze as she rose to her feet. "What's that mean?"

"You're beautiful," he whispered.

"Thank you." And though she knew it was catty, she couldn't help the words that slipped out of her mouth. "Do you think Logan will like it?"

His jaw twitched. "He'd be stupid not to."

"That doesn't answer my question," she practically cooed, slipping on her heels.

He made a sound of disgust in his throat. "He's annoying and dumb sometimes, but he's not stupid. So, yes, I think he'll like it."

"Look at you, hyping me up." She wasn't stupid either, she could hear and feel the jealousy. Good, she thought, getting her small handbag and transferring her few necessities to it.

"Is he picking you up?" Max asked. "Or are you meeting him somewhere?"

"Are you gonna stick around and question his intentions?" she scoffed. "Because if so, I'm meeting him."

"I just—"

"Do you want some pasta, Mister Max?" Kevin asked as he came out of the bathroom with Ellie.

"Ah, maybe next time," Max said after clearing his throat. "You eat some for me, hm?"

She wanted to be mad that he was so good with her son. Proclaim they could only ever be coworkers, then turn around and continue to be her son's favorite person. It wasn't fair. But she didn't want him to be mean to Kevin. So she smiled, fixing her shawl while Max told Kevin he would see him at quali tomorrow, wishing she could stay mad at him but that was impossible, especially when he lifted her son up and gave him a tight hug, telling him he'd enjoyed the movie.

"Can we watch another one day?" Kevin asked hopefully and y/n drew in a breath, prepared to say they couldn't ask Max that, he was too busy.

"Of course we can. You pick the movie and we'll watch it next week?"

He gave Kevin another hug then gently encouraged him to eat his dinner, smiling and saying goodnight to Ellie. Then he turned to her, and she felt an unexpected heat ripple through her as his eyes slowly looked her up and down.

"Thanks for coming," she murmured, walking him to the door.

"I enjoyed it." He rubbed the back of his neck. "For the most part."

"Kevin had a great time."

"Yes. And that's all that matters."

Ouch. "Goodnight, Max."

"Enjoy your dinner with Logan."

"I will."

He rocked back on his heels, exhaling harshly. "I'm…" He cleared his throat. "Goodnight, y/n."

She closed the door and bit back a whine. Stupid, stupid, stupid—

"Talk tonight when you get back?" Ellie asked gently, watching her while she fixed Kevin's plate.

"It's nothing," she insisted, double checking that she had everything in her handbag. Phone, ID and passport, room key, lipstick, mirror. "Just being stupid."

"You're not stupid, mama," Kevin said anxiously.

"I know, thank you. Sorry. Just feeling stupid."

"But you look so pretty," he told her.

She smiled, sighing as she crossed the room to kiss his cheek. "You're the best son in the world, you know that?"

He giggled, rubbing the lipstick from his cheek. "And you're the best mama."

"Only because you're the best son," she insisted.

"Do you like Mister Logan?" he asked suddenly, scrunching his face when she fastened the bib around his neck.

"He's nice. But he's just a friend."

"But." Kevin's lips poked out in thought. "He's taking you on a date."

"Dinner. You know how you miss Cotton?" She took a napkin and cleaned the smudge of lipstick from his cheek when he nodded. "He misses America sometimes. It's kind of like when you pet the cats on your walks."

"Ohh…" Kevin nodded with all the understanding a three year old could muster. "So he's gonna pet you?"

She blinked, instinctively reaching to swat Ellie's arm when her friend choked back a giggle. "Not exactly," she groaned. "We're just gonna talk."

Ellie was still giggling ten minutes later when Logan knocked on the door. "Sorry, sorry," she gasped when y/n shot her a glare. "I'll behave."

"That'll be the day," y/n muttered under her breath as she went to open the door. "Hey," she greeted warmly, smiling up at him.

He was dressed in slacks, a button down, and a jacket. His smile faded a little as he stared at her, and she saw his throat move as he swallowed. "Whoa. You look great."

"Thanks. You do too."

She let him in so Kevin could say hi, ducking into the bathroom to fix her lipstick and remind herself that it was just dinner. Logan was just a friend, or at least would hopefully be a friend. Saying goodnight to her son, she felt her shawl slipping, ignoring Ellie's knowing look when Logan immediately reached to catch it, his hands gentle as he draped it over her shoulders. Just dinner. Just dinner with just a friend.

But when they walked down the street to the restaurant, which was just around the corner, and his hand brushed hers she told herself it was alright. And when he slipped his hand protectively over hers she didn't pull away. In the restaurant when Lando and a few others called out to him she hung back, blushing when Logan gently tugged her along to greet his friends.

"Didn't know you had a date tonight, mate," Oscar commented, nodding to her in greeting.

She could have corrected him. Could have announced to everyone that it wasn't a date. But Logan's bashful chuckle warmed her and she smiled. "We American's have to stick together," she said, enjoying Logan's laugh.

"You know, England is an ally," Lando said with a smirk.

"Still haven't forgiven you for taxation without representation," she sighed.

"That wasn't me," Lando defended while the others laughed.

"Your ancestors though," Oscar told him.

"They were doing what they thought was right? How am I at fault now?"

"You opened your mouth," Carlos said with a laugh.

"C'mon, babe, our table's ready," Logan murmured, hand slipping to the small of her back.

"Enjoy your date!" Oscar called after them.

"I hope you trip over your independence!" Lando yelped when Oscar elbowed him.

Laughing, y/n let Logan guide her to the other side of the dining room, where they were thankfully shielded from the table of drivers. He held the chair for her and she thanked him while the waiter handed them the menus.

"I'm sorry about that. Oscar and Lando… I should have told them it wasn't a date," Logan said once they were alone.

"It's fine," she assured him. "I mean, technically, it is a date."

"I guess so. I just don't want you thinking I'm making it out to more than it is."

"What is it?" she asked.

"Two friends, hopefully. Spending time together." He looked up from his menu. "Probably should have taken you somewhere more casual, huh? This place makes it look like I'm trying to impress you."

She hadn't thought of it like that. "…Are you trying to impress me?"

"Do you want me to?"

Their eyes met and she slowly inhaled, thinking over what the best answer would be.

So you'll kiss him because I won't kiss you?

Do you want to kiss him?

She exhaled, sending thoughts of Max as far away as possible. "I think I do."

He looked relieved and oh, so handsome in this light. "Then I might be trying to impress you a little."

"You're doing amazing so far."

taglist

@spookystitchery | @halleest | @lyannesworld | @llando4norris | @kravitzwhore | @younxii | @silentreader128 | @samantha-chicago | @mrsbrxkkxr | @cmleitora |

[sapphosclosefriend]

- Money, Power, Glory pt 1 -

Pairing: CEO! Silverfox! Natasha Romanoff x Escort! Fem! Reader

Genre: suggestive

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, successful and rich CEO, books an urgent meeting with someone who she might be able to finally destress with. Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: top! Natasha x bottom! R, Natasha has a penis, BIG age gap (N=56, R=24), suggestive themes.

A/N: this story contains mature topics so anyone who isn’t 18+ DNI. Just as an introduction hehe don't worry, their first time is in the next one, I won't leave it out! Thanks sooo much to @rt--link and @supercorpdanbeau for being the kindest and both helping me out ❤️ As usual, likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated! Enjoy ♡

Masterlist

You still remember clearly the day you received the call from your agent. You honestly thought it was a cruel joke of hers at first, but the serious, yet excited, tone in her voice easily reassured you of the realness of the situation. The fact that she was calling you in the first place, and not quickly messaging you, was clear proof of just how important and urgent the matter was. Not only were you requested for that same night, meaning that the trusted woman deemed the new customer as important enough to ditch the advance days you usually demanded, but the house you needed to get to was of no regular person.

You were a high end escort, pleasing la creme de la creme only, well, at least in terms of monetary assets. You, and the agency you worked with, were known for your discretion, professionalism and skills, an overall level of competence that simply tended to attract clients of a certain status. And that's how you met her, the Natasha Romanoff herself, CEO of a multi-billion company she had created from the ground up in her decades-long career. But why was she so important? She would've been the richest one of your clients, it was as simple as that. Pretty much every single one of them were at the head of, if not close to, big and different companies, all with the highest power of the twenty-first century in their hands, money. You had actually thought about dipping your toes in the world of politics once, which was not so surprisingly filled with countless requests interested in your realm of expertise, but thanks to long consideration and much advice, you had decided to avoid its risks, settling on who you knew, after all, had what you wanted, filthy rich assholes. And gosh, wasn't she the richest one of them all.

Aside from her status, the thought of such a woman, so idolized she seemed unattainable, who could and probably had everything in the world, asking for your company, intrigued you immensely. That day, during every single hour you had spent to thoroughly take care of your appearance just for her, anticipation completely took over you. You knew she was beautiful and you genuinely thought she was fucking hot, which wasn't necessarily to be taken for granted in your line of work, but what you found yourself needing to know, and consequently making your interest in her grow even more, was how she was going to be in private. Was she going to be just like one of those countless naggingly cocky know-it-all's who thought of themselves as some sex gods, and gods in general, but really couldn't even figure out if you had cum yet? You found yourself almost wanting her to be different than everybody else, because deep down you felt like, even if she was the most annoying, full of herself bitch ever, you would’ve gladly tried to satisfy every single one of her needs and taken anything from her with a smile on your face. Ok, maybe scrolling for an hour through the internet looking up information about her and consequently ending up lost through any picture of her you could find wasn’t the best idea, but what could you say, you had a bit of a sweet spot for powerful women.

What you gathered from your innocent stalking session, though, was mainly about her countless successes in life but also concerning some gossip regarding her not so successful marriage life. It didn’t bother you, barely anything about your clients did at that point, but it only intrigued you more about why she wanted someone like you. She could’ve had anybody, she was a walking goddess with her pockets more than full and ladies most definitely falling at her feet left and right, yet there she was, in her car, getting back home after one of the longest and most tiring weeks of the past few months to wait for a girl she’d only seen a couple pictures of to take her mind off of everything. Her driver immediately knew not to even greet her by her frustrated sigh and the pinching of the bridge of her own nose as soon as she got in the car and immediately took off to her desired destination, making Natasha thank any and all gods for the nice relief after such displays of incompetence she had to endure from basically her whole staff. She was right at her limit and all the pent up anger and irritation from the week was finally starting to crack her composed facade at the prospect of the imminent weekend slowly reaching her. She didn’t even want to have dinner, she just needed to be at home, everyone out of her goddamn house and a pussy to unload some stress into. If she had to be honest, in that specific moment, she even missed her disastrous married life and the perk of having a wife always waiting for her at home, ready to meet her needs at the end of the day.

She, unfortunately, never felt the symptoms of "true love" with any of her ex wives, but the thought of how badly it had gone wrong with all of them still pained her a little every time her mind drifted to that phase of her life. During her successful yet busy life she'd been through her fair share of failed marriages, all with beautiful women she'd deeply cared for, but all eventually focused on one thing only, her absence. The first thing she'd always made sure to make very, very clear was just how little time she had to dedicate to anything outside of her company, which unfortunately included her personal life. Her best guess was that the haziness coming from a brand new love must've made it hard to get a grasp on her words…every single time, apparently.

It didn't matter anymore, though, because what she had to focus on now seemed to be much more important than any matter ever had. The quick, warm shower she had just enough time to take as soon as she got home was thankfully able to wash away the surface level anger that was starting to make her temple throb, preventing her from being a rude prick for the rest of the night. She was aware, after all, of the favor you were doing to her by working the night without any notice and all she wanted to do was be respectful for your kind availability. Being her perfectionist self, and deep down maybe even wanting you to like her, she knew she had to focus on not losing her mind on minor things like her outfit, so she decided to try to at least appear to be careless about her appearance and only focus the last bits of mental strength she had on the more relaxing, pleasurable parts of the night. Of course she still couldn't help but fix her hair just a little and change her sweatshirt for a still casual but more put together beige, cashmere sweater. She'd had it for years and, despite its condition not being the best, she couldn't bring herself to get rid of it, it just reminded her too much of- nevermind. A few small holes and pulled threads on her top would certainly be the last thought on your mind anyway.

She didn't even realize she was starting to zone out while still looking at herself in the mirror, when the sudden, distant ring of the front door slightly startled her, effectively making her get herself back together. What was minutes away from happening truly dawned on her as she descended the stairs to the first floor and, for a brief moment, as she walked through the entrance corridor and saw the blurry outline of your figure through the frosted glass of the tall door, time seemed to slow down and for the first time in years she felt a small twinge of anxiety creeping up on her the closer she got to you. She was really doing it, she was really about to follow the advice of her idiot Stark friend and didn't mind it too much. Maybe she was really getting old, maybe age was starting to actually play some tricks on her, because, as her hand pushed the cold handle of the entrance door and started to pull it open, the snippets of hair she could start to see of you lit a confident fire in her that only burned more vividly as your form was finally fully displayed to her, making it impossible for her to suppress the excitement she suddenly felt at the sight of you in person, looking at her through your lashes with subtle faux innocence she could see right through.

"Good evening, Ms Romanoff"

.

.

Part 2

.

.

Tags: @fxckmiup @natashasilverfox

[rafecameronssl4t]

Tennis || Tennis Player!Rafe Cameron x oc!reader

Summary: the beginning of my tennis player x oc!reader au maybe??

Warnings: none

Word count: 836

A/n: as a tennis girly, this will be fun to write ;) face claim for this oc is Paige Lorenze just bc she is my absolute favourite and her vlogs bring me sm comfort 🥹

MASTERLIST

divider by @yoonitos

mood board

It came as no surprise to anyone in the Outer Banks that Rafe Cameron had made it big in the tennis world. Even though everyone expected him to follow the usual kook path and play golf, Rafe decided to give tennis a shot, and it turned out he was a natural. From the moment he picked up a racket, it was clear he had a natural talent for the sport.

In no time, he racked up five Grand Slam titles and climbed to 4th in the world rankings. Growing up in an environment where he was groomed to play golf from the time he could walk, his switch to tennis had caught everyone off guard.

His rapid rise to the top shocked the tennis community, especially those who had dedicated their entire lives to mastering the sport, only to be surpassed by someone who had recently taken it up. It was almost laughable, but here you were, watching from the VIP box as Rafe stood just one point away from securing another Grand Slam at Wimbledon.

“Quite a talented young man he is,” your dad remarked, his eyes fixed on the big screen with a small smile playing on his lips. You turned to look at him, noticing the rare glint of admiration in his gaze. The entire stadium was patiently waiting for their break to be over.

Your dad, Steve Owen, was an ex-tennis player, a legend in his prime who had dominated the courts with unmatched skill. Compliments from him were few and far between, reserved only for those who truly earned his respect. Watching him now, you could tell he was genuinely impressed by Rafe’s talent.

“You feeling alright, Dad?” you teased, feigning concern as you leaned over and playfully pressed the back of your hand against his forehead. He chuckled softly, swatting your hand away with a grin as you giggled, settling back in your seat. “No, seriously,” he replied, his tone shifting to one of genuine admiration.

“It’s quite remarkable how quickly he rose up in the world rankings.” His voice softened as the two of you watched intently, the screen zooming in on Rafe’s concentrated face, capturing the intensity of the moment as he prepared to serve.Everyone held their breath as they watched the ball fly from one end to the other before the crowd erupted in cheers.

“Rafe Cameron has done it once again! Only been in this sport for two years, he now has won 5 grand slams! Unbelievable!” The commentator’s voice seemed to drown out as applause filled the VIP box. You were among the first to stand up, joining in the almost deafening applause. You watch with a smile as Rafe drops to the ground, hands covering his face as the stadium chanted his name.

Standing up, you were captivated, hands clasped under your chin, as Rafe was interviewed. His fingers tousled through his sweat-dampened hair, adjusting his cap with a boyish charm. “Congratulations on winning your fifth Grand Slam! That’s incredible for someone who’s only been in this sport for two years. I mean, that’s insane!” The interviewer’s excitement filled the air.

Rafe chuckled warmly, his smile genuine and infectious. “Thank you. I owe it all to the incredible support I’ve received. I wouldn’t be here without them,” he replied graciously, his eyes reflecting sincerity as he spoke of his supporters.

“Speaking of supportive people, did you happen to notice two special guests up there in the stands watching you?” The interviewer gestured across, and the camera zoomed in on you and your dad. Your cheeks warmed as the spotlight unexpectedly turned to you.

Rafe glanced up at the screen, his smile widening at the sight of your shy smile. “Uh, I did hear some whispers earlier that Steve and y/n might be in the crowd today,” he admitted, his gaze lingering warmly on you and your dad as he waved with genuine warmth. You waved back, feeling a surge of amusement ripple through the crowd.

Admiring Rafe wasn’t just an understatement; he was undeniably attractive. Your dad caught your eye, sharing a knowing glance as you couldn’t help but giggle. “What? You’ve practically given him your approval,” you teased, playfully winking at your dad. He chuckled heartily, clearly enjoying the playful banter.

With your dad’s esteemed reputation in tennis came certain privileges, like standing on court beside Rafe Cameron to award him his trophy.

“Congratulations, Rafe,” you said with a warm smile as he shook your hand, his eyes locking onto yours. “Thank you, y/n,” Rafe replied, his hand lingering on yours a moment longer than necessary, until you heard your dad clear his throat beside you. Rafe quickly released your hand to shake your dad’s, and you couldn’t help but stifle a giggle.

“Really well done, young man. Hope you know my team will be in contact with yours very soon,” your dad said with a smile that carried weight, momentarily stunning Rafe at the idea of some sort of partnership. “Thank you, sir. Means a lot coming from you,” Rafe nodded respectfully, acknowledging the significance of your dad’s words before joining him for the group photo.

As the camera clicked, capturing the celebratory moment, you felt your dad’s gentle tug, positioning you next to Rafe. You glanced at your dad, who smiled knowingly for the camera before Rafe’s hand lightly rested on your lower back. The touch sent a wave of warmth through you, causing your cheeks to flush as you focused on smiling for the photo.

y/n_owen

Liked by rafecameronofficial, wimbledon, paulabadosa, tennistv, cartier and 6,937,255 others

hi @wimbledon 🍓

view more comments

rafecameronofficial: oh hey.

↘️ y/n_owen: hii

↘️ user01: What’s this? 🤨

↘️ user02: THE WAY HE LOOKED AT HER IN THAT INTERVIEW

user03: Rafe Cameron x Y/n Owen would be THE it couple

↘️ user04: frl frl

user05: whatever is going on with Rafe and y/n, I ship it so bad

[vbecker10]

Hellooo, hope u r doing good , I rly like ur work like it's all amazing ♡

Can I request Loki having a friend who is a mortal -female reader- but she is a mutant who can take up body energy -like Rogue in X-Men- and that's why she was always alone till her and Loki met and she defends him infront of the avengers, and he falls for her slowly ig 😅 -smut or fluff as u want-

Ik it's kinda lame, if u can't write it's alright

In all cases, thanks for the amazing writings ♥️

You Can't Hurt Me

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: You are finally going on a solo mission as an Avenger, or at least you were supposed to. At the last minute, the team decides to send Loki with you which is something neither of you are happy about. After an accident in the field, you come in contact with Loki and the two of you realize your ability to absorb someone's life force, memories and powers doesn't work on him.

Warnings: arguing, swearing, feeling alone, pushing others away, minor injuries, plane crash, Loki being an ass to everyone including you - fluff in the end of course

A/N: I'm so sorry it took me forever to get to this ask. I'm finally going through my requests and I thought this idea was awesome! I tweaked it just a little cause my brain kept going in different directions but I really hope that's okay. Thank you for sending it! I hope you like it! 💚

"Are you freaking kidding me?" you ask in an annoyed tone as you get up from your seat in Steve's office.

Before Steve can reply Loki stands and adds, "I have never agreed with a mortal before but I am afraid I must in this case."

You glare at him and cross your arms. He could agree with you without being an ass about it, you think angrily.

Steve sighs and rubs his temples. "Look Y/N, I know you were supposed to go on this mission alone," he says and you nod dramatically, "But Fury, Tony and I decided Loki's skills would be useful on this mission."

"Then let me borrow his powers," you look at Loki and begin to pull off one of your gloves.

"If you touch me-" he threatens as a dagger appears in his hand with a green flourish. You put your glove back on slowly but you smile to yourself knowing you made the god nervous.

"Stop it, both of you!" Steve says loudly, slamming his hand on the desk. You and Loki both sit immediately on the chairs opposite Steve, you suddenly feel as if you are at the principal's office. He clears his throat and calms himself before he continues, "So far teamwork is not something either of you have excelled at. If you both want to remain on this team," he emphasizes the word, "you will go on this mission together."

"This is absurd," Loki argues and you roll your eyes but agree with him.

"What's absurd is the fact that neither of you are willing to work with anyone," Steve counters. "You are here because you have both been written up for splitting off from the team when we have explicitly ordered you not to."

"You know I'm better off alone," you tell him holding up a gloved hand. "The X-Men never had an issue with me going on solo missions or handling things on my own."

"You are welcome to return to the mutants," Loki offers with a smirk.

"Loki, seriously?" Steve says with an exasperated sigh but the god just shrugs.

"Y/N, just because you can't physically touch anyone doesn't mean you can use it as an excuse to avoid being near people or working with them forever," Steve says turning his attention to you.

"Yes it does," you mumble and sulk down in your chair with your arms crossed.

"And you," he ignores your comment and turns to Loki, "you are still on probation. If you want to remain here, and not be sent back to Asgard, you need to act like a member of this team."

Before either of you can say anything else, he gets up and says, "If you can't work with each other, neither of you will last much longer here. You're dismissed."

You snap your gum and click to the next page of the book you are reading on your tablet. Loki sits across from you with his nose in a book as the autopilot guides the jet towards your destination. You pop your gum again and Loki groans in annoyance. A smirk spreads across your lips, you would feel guilty about bothering him but he spent the morning calling you 'human' so you pop it loudly a third time.

"Will you stop that," he hisses, looking up from his book.

"It's an old habit," you make an excuse and shrug.

"It is an exceptionally annoying habit," he corrects you.

You hold eye contact with the God of Mischief and pop your gum in response. He practically growls as he closes his book but his words are cut off by a warning alarm blaring throughout the jet.

"What the hell is that?" you ask, getting up from your seat.

"I have no idea," he admits as he follows you to the cockpit of the jet.

The plane shakes violently and you almost lose your footing, Loki instinctively reaches out to steady you, his hand grabbing your clothed arm. You nod quickly to acknowledge the gesture and the two of you reach the control panel. A series of red lights blink frantically and your heart races as you try to decipher what is wrong but neither of you knows how to operate the jet.

You flip the switch to contact the base, "Tony what the hell is going on up here?" You know the panic is evident in your voice.

The only response you and Loki get is the crackle of static then suddenly one of the two engines goes terrifyingly silent.

You blink your eyes open slowly, your head pounds and your whole body aches. The smell of smoke and fire fill the air and your eyes sting. You try to sit up and hear someone talking but you can barely make out their words over the ringing in your ears.

"Y/N," Loki says again, shaking your shoulder lightly to get your attention. "Are you alright?" His lip is split and he is covered in dirt. His eyes are full of concern as he kneels over you, not something you are used to from the God of Mischief.

"Yea," you answer him quietly as he leans back a bit so you can sit up straighter, "I think so." You look around in awe at the torn and broken remains of the jet scattered throughout the field, unsure how you are both alive.

"I've radioed the team, they should be here in less than an hour," he informs you in a calm voice.

He rubs your shoulder in a soothing manner and you close your eyes as a breeze blows dust around you both. You shiver a bit and realize your jacket was torn during the crash, panic floods through you when you notice how much of your skin is exposed. Loki's hand gently rests on the bare skin on your shoulder and you pull away from him quickly.

"Don't touch me," you warn him and he backs away from you, his hands up in front of him. "You can't touch me, I'll hurt you," you remind him, trying to cover your skin with as much of left over material as you can. You try to get up to put distance between you and the god but you can't put weight on your left leg, it buckles under you and you fall back to the ground. You look down and see clean gauze wrapped tightly around your calf, your pant leg torn open from whatever caused your injury.

You look down in shock then look up at Loki. "How did you do this?" you ask, noticing the blood on his hands.

He shakes his head, "I don't know. I wasn't thinking, I just needed to stop the bleeding."

"I need to talk to you," he says unphased by your attitude which makes you nervous. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about what happened after the crash." He rubs his hands nervously as if your blood is still on them.

That night you lay in bed staring at the ceiling unable to sleep. When you first climbed into bed, you worried the memories of the crash would prevent you from sleeping but it was the moments after that kept replaying in your mind. Closing your eyes, you can almost still feel Loki's warm hand resting gently on your skin. You roll over, pulling the sheets tightly around yourself when to hear a knock at your door. You sit up and check the clock next to your bed, it's just after midnight.

You limp carefully to the door and open it, unsure who you expect to see. "What do you want?" you ask Loki, easily returning to how you typically treat each other.

You take a step back to let him into your room. You feel anxious knowing he is the first member of the team you've ever invited into your private space. Loki takes a seat on your couch as you pick up your hoodie that is hanging by the door.

"I think I know why I could touch you without your powers affecting me," he says and you look up at him, pausing as you zip your hoodie.

You shake your head and take your gloves out of the pockets. "Strange said it was most likely because I was unconscious," you remind him.

"I don't think your powers work on me," he says after a few moments of silence pass between you both.

"You and I both know that's not true," he keeps his eyes on you as you slip on one glove then the other.

You sit at the far end of the couch, afraid that he is wrong about whatever his theory is. He is right about one thing though, Strange's reasoning didn't explain why Loki was able to touch the skin on your shoulder after you woke up. You had done everything you could since you arrived back home to not think about how that was possible, you were terrified that it was some sort of fluke and would never happen again.

"They work on your brother," you remind him. You had grabbed the older prince by the wrist for only a few seconds during a training session two months ago. You were unable to contain his lightning abilities and fried all the computers in the lab. Thor spent the next four hours unconscious in the med bay. "Being a god doesn't make you special," you tell him in a harsher tone then you mean to.

"Thor and I are not..." he sighs. "We are not the same. You know we are not true brothers?" he asks and you shake your head. "Thor is an Asgardian and although I look like one, I am not."

"So whatever you are is why you think I can touch you?" you ask.

"It is hard to explain," he tells you. "I am from Jotunheim, realm of the frost giants. This is not my true form. I use an illusion to alter my appearance as Odin did before I knew the truth." You can tell by his tone that this is not a story he is used to sharing with others.

You take off your gloves and look at your own hand, remembering the pain and heartache even a light touch has caused to others around you. "Are you sure you want to risk this for me Loki?" you ask. "If you're wrong... I could seriously hurt you."

You listen quietly as he explains how he was taken as a baby and brought up on a series of lies. He rubs his hands nervously as he talks and never makes eye contact with you, staring at the ground as he speaks. When he finishes he lifts his hand and looks at it as he wiggles his fingers slowly, a green glow emanates from his fingertips and flows down his hand. As his magic travels, his skin slowly turns a deep shade a blue, thin ridges form intricate spirals on the back of his hand.

"This is just a well crafted illusion," he says as the glow retracts and the blue fades away.

"If I'm right... you might not need to be so alone," he counters gently.

"I... I don't believe this," you smile. Tears of joy and relief gather as you slowly look up at Loki.

He holds his hand towards you, palm up waiting patiently for you to move. Slowly, you reach you hand out, your heart pounding in your chest. Your fingertips lightly touch his fingertips and you hold your breath as you wait for the pain to spread through both of you but nothing happens. Your eyes lock on your hands as you slide your fingers towards his open palm. You still don't feel anything as you rest your palm on his, your fingers settling on his wrist.

He closes his fingers around your hand and you let out a laugh in shock and disbelief. There is no pain, no burning on your skin or in his veins as his memories are pulled from him or his powers are absorbed. Just his warm, soft skin against yours, a feeling you had almost forgotten.

"You can't hurt me," he says when your eyes met.

"I can't hurt you," you repeat. He raises his other hand to wipe away one of your tears as it travels down your cheek. The simple gesture draws even more tears. It has been so many years since you have been able to feel another person, you can barely hold yourself together. You get up suddenly and walk away from him.

"I'm sorry," he says as he stands.

"It's not... you didn't do anything wrong," you assure him as you wipe your face then wrap your arms around yourself. "It's been almost ten years since I've touched someone I wasn't trying to harm. When I gained my powers, I severed my connection to everyone I've ever loved or cared about. My family, my friends, my coworkers. I left all of them."

He listens to you quietly, not moving closer.

"I'm terrified of hurting the people I care about, that's why I left the X-Men. I was there for eight years and I was becoming too close to everyone. I was constantly afraid someone would try to hug me or give me a high five or just bump into me in the hall. I had to leave and when I came here..." you look down, ashamed of how you acted. "I avoided everyone and antagonized you on purpose so no one would want to be friends with me. I thought it would be easier, safer if no one ever wanted to be near me."

"I understand," he says and you look up as he takes a few steps towards you. "I have my own experience building walls to keep everyone out, even my brother. My reason for keeping the others away is far less noble than yours. You push people away to keep them safe while I push them away to keep myself safe."

"I have been lied to and betrayed by my family my whole life," he reminds you of your conversation only minutes ago. "If I never let anyone in, if I never care about anyone, then they can never hurt me. It's why I've been so rude and condescending to everyone on the team, including you," he admits.

You are quiet for a moment, you know exactly what you want but you are afraid he will turn down your request. "Can I..." you pause and he gives you an encouraging smile. "Can I have a hug?"

"I'm sorry for how I treated you," he tells you honestly. "Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

"I'm afraid I am not very good at hugs," he says and when you look at the ground he adds, "But I can give it a try, for you."

You can't stop the smile that spreads across your face as you move towards him. He puts his arms around you, pulling you close. You wrap your arms around him, your hands settle on his back and your cheek rests against his chest. He is stiff in your arms but after a second, he seems to relax and lowers his cheek to rest on the top of your head.

You close your eyes and listen to his heartbeat, his breathing slows and you feel as if all the tension is leaving your body. After a moment you mumble something against his chest and he chuckles.

"I have no idea what you said," he tells you.

You lift your head and look up at him. "This is the first hug I've had in close to ten years," you repeat.

He touches your cheek gently and says, "That is truly a shame because you give wonderful hugs." You giggle and blush then he adds, "This is the best hug I have had in a very, very long time and I do not plan on letting go any time soon."

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