#tried something different with the colouring

[eu-nicola]

one night part 2

summary: one night with Max left a problem that you didn't talk to him about

warnings: nothing i think

word counter: 9788

author’s note: english is not my first language

tags: @seasonswinter @spngirl05 @seonghwaexile @sleutherclaw @hc-dutch @96mcobo @g3org1al33 @rawr-123s-stuff @callsignwidow @mid5nights

After that first dinner and walk, Max became a constant presence in your life again, as if time hadn't passed and everything could be as simple as before. At first, you told yourself it was nothing, just chance encounters between two old friends who had met again after a long time. But, with every message that arrived on your phone, with every offer of coffee, a walk or even help with shopping for the baby, his presence slowly began to integrate into your daily routine.

Mornings, which used to be quiet and lonely, were filled with unexpected visitors. Max would appear with two coffees in hand, as if he had memorized your schedule and knew exactly when you needed him. Sometimes, you would find him waiting for you outside the store where you had spent the last half hour choosing clothes for the baby, with a smile that seemed to light up everything.

The days passed between small shared activities. Walks along the port of Monaco, strolls through the cobblestone streets of the old town, even visits to shops specialising in baby things, where he seemed to move with unexpected ease, commenting on how nice this or that would be. In those moments, everything seemed easy, almost natural, as if he had always been there, as if he had never left.

At first, you refused to think about what that meant. You didn't want to analyse it. It was easier to go with the flow, to enjoy the company without questioning it too much. However, the more time you spent with him, the more you began to notice the small changes around you.

The time you used to spend by yourself was filled with his presence. The moments of solitude in which you used to think about your baby's future were now coloured by his voice, his gestures, his laughter on those night walks in which the silence between you became comfortable, but charged with a tension that you both pretended not to notice.

At the same time, the closeness began to awaken something in you, something you had tried to bury since that night when everything changed. Every time his eyes fell on you, every time his attention focused on your pregnancy, a part of you was torn between the need to protect that secret and the almost uncontrollable desire to tell him the truth. 

But you resisted. You knew you shouldn't let the illusion grow. He had a life, a stable relationship. You didn't want to be the person to tear that down, even inadvertently. 

Despite your efforts to maintain an emotional distance, there were times when you found it impossible to ignore how easy it was to be with him. Max had become a constant. He was there in the small moments and the big ones, offering you support without you having to ask for it, reminding you, unintentionally, of what once was and what, in a different world, could have been.

However, as the days went by, you began to notice a change in him as well. There was something in his gaze, a mix of nostalgia and curiosity, as if he was looking for something in you that he couldn't quite find. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there, beating in every encounter, in every gesture, in every word you shared.

And although you tried to convince yourself that everything was temporary, that he would soon realize that he had to return completely to his life, you couldn't help but wonder how long that fragile routine could hold up before something, or someone, broke it completely.

During those days between coffees and walks, the specific day arrived when you had decided to start decorating the baby's room. You wanted it to be a reflection of you, of your story, of everything you loved and that you would one day share with your son. And Max was not far behind.

Max appeared just as you began to move boxes and unpack small objects that you had been accumulating in the last few months. Without even asking you, he took off his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and started helping you. “You don’t have to,” you wanted to tell him, but he was already there, moving furniture, opening cans of paint, and asking where you wanted to put everything.

The room, which until then had been an empty room with white walls and a light wooden floor, slowly began to transform into something warmer, more personal. You had chosen soft shades of blue, a mix between the clear sky and the calm sea, a palette that reminded you of freedom and speed, of your love for cars, that same love that had been with you since childhood.

Max helped you measure the walls, choose where to hang the pictures of small classic cars you had bought at a local store, and even offered to assemble the crib, a piece of light wood that you had chosen for its simplicity and elegance.

“Are you sure you want everything to revolve around cars?” he asked you at one point, with an amused smile as he held up a small mobile with figures of tiny cars and stars.

“Completely sure,” you replied, also smiling. To you, there was nothing more symbolic than that. Cars represented movement, speed, freedom… everything you hoped your son would find in his life.

Hours passed between laughter, conversation and work. Max seemed to enjoy the process as much as you did, even suggesting ideas you would never have considered. It was his idea to put up a bookshelf shaped like a racetrack for the children’s books you had already started collecting. And he was also the one who insisted on putting down a dark blue rug with details of racetracks, which fit perfectly with the theme of the room.

As the afternoon progressed, the room began to take shape. The crib was in the center, next to a white dresser in which you had already started to store small clothes and blankets. On the main wall, you placed a mural of a starry sky, with a racing car crossing the horizon, something that Max had suggested when he saw your sketches.

“It’s perfect,” you said quietly, looking at the final result. The room was no longer just a room; it was a space filled with life, with dreams, with promises for the future.

Max was silent for a moment, standing next to you, looking around the room with an expression that was a mix of pride and something else, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. His eyes scanned every corner, as if he were trying to memorize it, as if that place meant something more to him than he was willing to admit.

“It’ll be fine,” he finally murmured, breaking the silence. “All this… being a mother. I can tell you’re ready now.”

His words made your chest tighten. You weren’t sure if you really were, but hearing that from someone who knew you so well, who had been by your side through so many important moments, gave you a sense of calm, that maybe, just maybe, everything would work out.

The afternoon began to turn into night, and as you gathered up your tools and cleaned up the last traces of paint, you realized how natural it all felt. As if it had always been this way, as if Max had always been by your side to help you build something bigger than yourself.

But you knew that the reality was more complicated. That, as much as you both enjoyed those small moments shared, there was a latent truth between you, a truth that would one day have to come to light. For now, however, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment, the warmth that filled the room and Max's constant presence.

And although everything seemed to be peaceful for both of you, in Max's case it wasn't like that. The change didn't happen overnight, but Kelly, with her keen intuition, began to notice Max's absence from home more often than usual. At first, she didn't give it much importance. Max had always had a busy schedule, between meetings, events and commitments related to his career. But this time, something was different.

The “meetings” outside the house began to become more constant. It wasn’t just about professional commitments anymore. There were nights when he came back late, with a lame excuse, a quick smile, and a distracted kiss. 

“Max, meeting again?” she asked one night, her tone casual but her eyes attentive as she watched him adjust his watch in front of the mirror. 

“Yeah, nothing important. Just a couple of things pending with the sponsors,” he answered, without looking up. The excuse came out too easily, as if he had already prepared it. 

Kelly nodded slowly, but her eyes followed him as he collected his keys and walked out the door. She knew something didn’t fit. Work meetings usually happened during the day, not at this time. 

The days continued, and with them, the distance between them became more evident. Max was no longer spending as much time at home, and when he was, he seemed distracted, his attention divided between her, Kelly's stepdaughter, and something or someone else that Kelly couldn't see but felt more and more intensely.

One night, after Max came home late again, the inevitable argument erupted in the kitchen, where silence used to be their refuge but had now become a battleground.

“What’s going on, Max?” Kelly asked, her voice firm, though she tried to remain calm. She was leaning against the edge of the counter, her arms crossed and her gaze fixed on him.

Max, surprised by the direct confrontation, looked up from his phone, where he had been absentmindedly checking messages. “What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.”

“Don’t lie to me. You’re going out more and more often, you’re late, and your excuses don’t make sense. Are these really “meetings”? Because it doesn’t seem like it.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that betrayed his discomfort. “You’re overreacting. You know how it is. There are always things to be resolved.”

“There have always been things to be resolved, but you’ve never been so… absent. You’re not even here when you’re home, Max.” You're distant. Is there something you're not telling me?

The words hung in the air, charged with a tension that Max tried to dispel with a tired smile.

"You're imagining things. There's nothing more."

But she wasn't convinced. The arguments began to become more frequent, small daily battles that undermined the relationship. Kelly watched him closely, every look, every gesture, looking for answers that he wasn't willing to give her.

Meanwhile, Max continued to spend more and more time with you. The baby's room was almost finished, and casual walks had become common. The connection they shared had strengthened, as if the months of distance had never existed. For Max, those moments were a respite from the tension he felt at home, a refuge where things seemed simpler, more real.

Kelly, however, was not oblivious to those changes. She knew something was happening, and although she had no concrete proof, she could feel it in every fiber of her being. Suspicion became a constant presence, a shadow that accompanied her during the day and kept her awake at night.

One evening, while Max was out, Kelly checked his phone. It wasn’t something she usually did, but the uncertainty was consuming her. She found no compromising messages, but something that caught her attention: a couple of recent map searches, all directed to the same address… yours.

Kelly slowly closed the phone, her mind racing. She had no clear confirmation, but something inside her clicked. She knew there was something more between Max and you.

That night, when Max returned, she didn’t say anything. She watched him silently, trying to read him, looking for a sign that would confirm her suspicions. But he, as always, was calm, as if everything was under control.

Kelly wasn’t one to give up easily. She knew time would give her the answer she was looking for.

Days later, the sky had turned gray early in the morning, and the rain fell with a calm persistence, hitting the windows of your house. The sound was almost soothing, a constant accompaniment as you and Max worked on the final details of the baby's room. The room was almost finished, soft blue tones filled the space, and car-inspired decorations hung precisely on the walls. 

It had been your idea to include a small shelf with miniature cars, a subtle reference to the passion you both shared for speed and racing. He had brought some from his personal collection, something you hadn't expected but that excited you more than you wanted to admit.

“This one will be perfect here,” Max commented, holding up a silver car that gleamed under the soft lamplight.

“Yeah… perfect,” you murmured, your attention more on him than on the shelf.

It was inevitable. There was something about him, the way his hands moved with precision as he adjusted every detail, that caught you. And the worst of all was the closeness, the familiarity that had blossomed again between the two of you. It felt like it hadn’t been months since you were last like this: comfortable, in sync, like two puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly.

Max reached over to place the car on the shelf, right next to your hand. His fingers brushed yours, barely a touch, but enough for an electric current to run through your skin. It was a brief touch, insignificant to anyone who had seen it, but to you, it was so much more than that.

You looked up, meeting his blue eyes. They were close, too close. You could see the intensity in them, that glow that had always captured you and now seemed stronger than ever. The space between you was filled with a palpable tension, one that made the air in the room seem thicker.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence became complicit, letting the rain be the only sound that filled the room. Max's breathing mixed with yours, and you could feel the heat of his body so close to yours.

One more step.

You knew that if either of you took one more step, if you crossed that thin line that separated you, there would be no turning back. And part of you wanted it. You wanted to lose yourself in that moment, to let everything else disappear.

Max looked down, watching your lips for a fraction of a second. It was subtle, but you noticed it. You felt your heart race, your hands tremble slightly as you tried to keep yourself busy with the cars on the shelf.

“Max…” you murmured, breaking the silence. You weren’t sure what you were going to say, but you needed to say something, anything to cut that tension before it was too late.

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a step back, though his voice sounded hesitant, like a part of him didn’t want to walk away. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“It’s okay,” you replied, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay, because you both knew what had happened in that instant. What had almost happened.

You focused back on the cars, lining them up perfectly on the shelf, though your hands were shaking. You felt Max’s gaze on you, like he was waiting for something more, like there was still a part of him that was resisting leaving the room.

“Maybe I should go,” he finally said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

You nodded without looking at him, because you knew that if you did, if you looked into his eyes one more time, all that self-control you had managed to muster would crumble. “Yeah… maybe that’s for the best.”

Max stayed a few more seconds, silent, before finally walking towards the door. You heard him open it, the sound of the rain intensifying for a moment before he closed it behind him.

And when you were left alone, with the rain as your only company, you allowed yourself to breathe. A deep, shaky breath, as if you had been holding your breath all this time. You knew that things were getting more complicated than you had anticipated.

When Max arrived home the air still smelled of rain, and a few drops remained on his jacket as he closed the door carefully, trying not to make noise. He didn’t want another argument. Lately, things with Kelly had been tense. Too much. Every little absence, every exit, seemed to become the trigger for a new fight. And though he insisted that everything was under control, she knew things were far from okay.

Kelly sat on the couch, her gaze fixed on her cell phone, but Max knew immediately that she was waiting. She always did. She waited for him to arrive, as if every night was a test, a chance to confirm her suspicions. Hearing the click of the door, she raised her head and watched him.

“You’re late again,” she said, not raising her voice too much, but with that tone that Max knew well. It was the calm before the storm.

“Yeah, I was just fixing some stuff,” he replied, taking off his jacket and leaving it on a nearby chair. He walked into the kitchen, looking for something to drink, any excuse not to stay still under that scrutinizing gaze.

“What stuff?” Kelly insisted, putting his phone aside and crossing his arms.

“Just… some pending stuff with a friend,” he said, trying to sound casual. But he knew he wouldn’t succeed. Kelly always had a way of seeing beyond, of noticing when something didn’t fit.

The silence stretched for a few seconds, and Max felt the air become thicker. Finally, Kelly got up from the couch and walked towards him with the phone in her hand.

“A friend?” she repeated, her tone now tinged with disbelief. Her blue eyes were fixed on him, but this time not with affection, but with a mix of distrust and something deeper, something Max wasn’t sure he wanted to identify. She picked up her phone, screen lit, and showed it to him.

Max felt his stomach tighten at the sight of the image on the screen. It wasn’t a compromising photo, there was nothing objectively wrong with it. It was a simple snapshot, taken without much thought, during one of the days he’d spent helping you decorate the baby’s room. In the picture, there was you, in profile, placing some small cars on the shelf while he watched from the background. The soft light of dusk came through the window, giving the scene an unexpected warmth.

“What’s this, Max?” Kelly asked, her voice firm but restrained, as if she was trying to remain calm.

Max took a breath. “It’s just a photo. It doesn’t mean anything. I was helping a friend.”

“The one from the other day?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. His gaze grew sharper. “Since when do you spend so much time with that ‘friend’? Since when do you stay up late helping her?”

Max closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the situation crumble in front of him. “It’s not what you think, Kelly. I was just helping with her baby’s room.”

“The baby?” The word seemed to hang in the air. Kelly took a step back, looking at him with a mix of surprise and suspicion. “Why do you care so much about that baby, Max? Why are you so involved?”

Max ran a hand through his hair, sensing that the conversation was taking a dangerous turn. “Because she’s someone who was important to me… and still is. I’ve known her since we were kids, that’s all.”

Kelly watched him in silence for a few seconds, her gaze searching for something in his eyes, some sign, some hidden truth. Finally, she put the phone down on the table with a thud.

“You’re not telling me everything,” she stated, her voice now laden with a certainty that made him feel uncomfortable. “There’s something else. I know.”

Max tried to get closer, but she took a step back, creating a physical distance that seemed to symbolize something much deeper.

“There’s nothing more,” she insisted, but even to him it sounded weak. He knew the seed of mistrust had already been planted, and was now beginning to take root.

She looked at him for a moment longer, and then, without saying anything, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving Max alone, the rain still pattering softly against the windows.

She slumped into a chair, resting her elbows on her knees and rubbing her temples with her hands. He knew this was just the beginning. The tension in his relationship with Kelly had been building for weeks, and now, with that photo, it had all come crashing down.

And the worst thing was, he couldn’t blame her. Because, deep down, Max knew his feelings for you weren’t as innocent as he’d wanted her to believe. And even though he hadn’t crossed that line, he was getting closer. Too close.

The next afternoon you were in your apartment, organizing some things in the baby's room, when your phone vibrated on the nightstand. It was a text from Max:

"Can I see you? I need to talk to you."

You knew something wasn’t right. You had felt the tension growing over the past few weeks. The outings, the talks, the closeness they had regained… it had all been an escape for both of them, a bubble in which the outside world didn’t exist. But reality always finds a way to break in.

You answered with a simple “yes” and minutes later, Max was knocking on your door. When you opened it, you found him with a tired face, his eyes duller than usual and his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He wasn’t the confident and serene Max you knew, but someone who was struggling with something he couldn’t control.

“Come in,” you said softly, stepping aside to let him in.

Max crossed the threshold, but didn’t move beyond the hall. He stood, looking around the room as if looking for something to give him peace, something that could sort out the chaos inside him. You closed the door and turned to him, waiting for him to speak.

“Kelly and I…” he began, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Things aren’t okay.”

It wasn’t a surprise, but still, hearing those words made your chest clench. You knew your presence had contributed to that tension, even though you didn’t mean to. Max ran a hand through his hair, a gesture he made when he was nervous.

“She confronted me about a picture… one of the times I was here,” he continued, looking at you with a mix of frustration and sadness. “It was nothing, you know. But for her it was enough. She thinks there’s something more.”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the door frame. You had waited for this moment, and now that it was here, you felt like everything was falling apart. You couldn’t allow yourself to be the cause of any more problems in her life. You couldn’t allow this situation to continue to progress.

“Max…” you began, your voice soft but firm. “This isn’t working.”

He frowned, taking a step towards you. “What do you mean?”

You took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “I mean… we should stop seeing each other. At least for a while.”

Max looked at you as if he hadn’t heard right, as if your words didn’t make sense. “Stop seeing each other? Why? We haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just here to help you.”

“I know,” you admitted, feeling the weight of each word. “But your relationship with Kelly is on the verge of collapse, Max. And my presence isn’t helping. I can’t be the reason why everything in your life falls apart.”

“You’re not the reason,” he replied quickly, almost as if he wanted to convince you as much as himself. “What’s going on with Kelly is… complicated. But it’s not your fault.”

His eyes searched yours, as if with one look he could change your mind. But you had already made up your mind. You couldn’t go on like this. You couldn’t be the cause of more pain, not for him, not for yourself.

“Max, you need space to sort out your life,” you said, standing your ground. “We can’t just keep going like nothing’s happening. Not when everything around you is falling apart.”

For a moment, it looked like he was going to insist, like he was going to find a reason to stay. But something in your gaze, in the firmness of your voice, stopped him. His shoulders slumped slightly, as if the weight of reality had finally caught up with him.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” he murmured, his voice heavy with emotion.

You felt your heart clench. You didn’t want to lose him either, but you knew it was for the best. For him. For you. For the baby.

“You’re not going to lose me,” you assured him, a small lump in your throat. “We just… need time. To think. To heal.”

Max nodded slowly, though his eyes reflected the internal battle he was fighting. He didn’t say anything else, just staring at you for a few more seconds, as if he wanted to burn your face into his memory.

Finally, he turned to the door. Before he walked out, he paused, one hand on the knob.

“If you ever need anything… I’ll be here,” he said, not looking at you.

“I know,” you replied softly.

And then, Max was gone, leaving behind him a feeling of emptiness that filled the entire space. You stood in the doorway, listening to the echo of the door closing, feeling the silence envelop you.

You leaned against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment. You knew you had made the right decision. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

The weeks after your separation from Max were a whirlwind of emotions and silences. You had tried to keep yourself busy, focusing on the final preparations for the baby’s arrival and avoiding thinking about everything you had left behind. Every corner of your house seemed to be filled with recent memories: his laughter, his hands helping you hang the blue curtains in the baby’s room, the conversations you shared late at night while the world slept. But now, everything was quiet. Too quiet.

Then, one cold morning, the world you had been rebuilding changed forever.

You had been experiencing discomfort throughout the night, but you ignored it, thinking it was just signs of the end of pregnancy. You had read that many women experienced false alarms before the actual moment. However, when the pain became more intense and frequent, you knew it was time.

You took a deep breath, sitting on the edge of the bed, as the clock read 4:12 a.m. Your suitcase was packed, weeks in advance, in a corner of the room. You grabbed your phone with shaking hands and called your mother. Her voice, always calm, immediately calmed you down.

“I’m on my way,” she said with a firmness that made you feel like everything would be okay.

In less than half an hour, she and your father arrived to take you to the hospital. The streets of Monaco were deserted, the glow of the lights reflecting off the wet pavement from the nighttime drizzle. Everything seemed unreal, like the world was on pause as you headed into one of the most important moments of your life.

The hours at the hospital were a mix of anxiety, pain, and anticipation. Your best friend arrived shortly after and stayed by your side, holding your hand when the pain was unbearable. Doctors and nurses came and went, their faces kind but focused. You felt each contraction like a wave, bringing you closer and closer to the moment you would meet your son.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you heard the first cry.

A loud, clear, life-filled cry. You gasped, tears filling your eyes as you looked at the little being who had just entered the world. Your son. Miles Emilian.

“He’s a healthy boy,” the doctor informed you with a smile as they placed the baby in your arms.

You looked at him, and in that instant, everything else disappeared. His small, pink face, his tiny hands clenched into a fist, his half-closed eyes that seemed to seek you out. You felt an immediate, deep connection, as if your whole life had been destined for this moment.

“Hello, little one,” you whispered in a broken voice, caressing his soft cheek. “Welcome.”

Your mother, at your side, couldn’t hold back her tears. Your father, always stoic, had his eyes shining with emotion. Your best friend took a photo, but not to publish it, but to keep it as an intimate memory of that moment.

The next few days in the hospital were a whirlwind of doctor visits, check-ups, and learning how to care for Miles. Your mother was with you the whole time, guiding you with the experience that only the years could give. Camille spent the afternoons with you, helping you plan how you would organize your new life.

You knew that this moment would change everything. Miles would become the center of your world, and you were prepared to face it alone, at least for now. You didn’t want anyone else to know. You didn’t want awkward questions, curious glances, or the inevitable murmur that would rise in Monaco if people found out you’d fathered a child without a known father figure.

You’d decided to keep this between those who truly mattered: your parents and Camille. The only family you needed right now.

One afternoon, as you cradled Miles in your arms in the room lit by the soft light of dusk, you thought about everything you’d gone through to get here. About Max, about what you’d shared, and how things had changed. You wondered if he would ever suspect the truth. But you shook your head. It wasn’t the time to think about that. Now, only Miles mattered.

You watched him sleep, his little chest rising and falling rhythmically, and you knew you had made the right choice. 

This little being was your life now. Your greatest adventure. Your greatest love. 

A few weeks after Miles was born, life was still slowly falling into place. You were at home, surrounded by the smell of freshly washed bottles and diapers, your head still reeling from the experience of being a first-time mother. Every day brought something new: Miles’ first bath, the first night he managed to sleep for two hours straight, and the first smile that barely appeared on his small, pink face. 

Sometimes, as you cradled him in your arms, you wondered if you had done the right thing by keeping his existence a secret. But you quickly dismissed those thoughts. You had done it for everyone’s peace of mind, especially Max’s. You couldn’t afford to be another complication in his world. 

As you sank into that bubble of motherhood, away from you, something was about to change. 

Max was in his apartment, enjoying a quiet moment after an afternoon full of commitments. Kelly was out with his daughter, and he was taking advantage of that time to relax, answer some pending messages and review the preparations for his next race. He had tried to concentrate, but his mind kept coming back to you. Since you had decided to distance yourself, something inside him had been put on hold. A strange feeling that something important was being hidden from him.

Then, the phone rang.

It was Leo, a mutual friend of both of them. Max answered without thinking too much, imagining it would be a quick call about some event or meeting.

“Dude, how are you?” Leo greeted in his usual tone. “Are you still in Monaco? I heard that your life is pretty busy.”

“Yeah, you know, always running around.” Max smiled slightly, resting the phone on his ear while checking some emails. “What's new?”

“Nothing special… although, well, I found out something.”

Max arched an eyebrow, pushing the screen aside.

“Oh, yeah? What thing?”

Leo hesitated for a second, as if he wasn’t sure if he should say it. But in the end, curiosity won out.

“It’s about… Y/n. I heard she finally had her baby.”

Max’s heart skipped a beat.

“What?”

“Yeah, she had it a few days ago. I thought you knew.” Leo sounded confused. “They said the baby is beautiful… and everything went well. His name is Miles Emilian.”

Max fell silent, processing the information. You hadn’t mentioned anything. You hadn’t told him you’d already given birth.

“Are you sure?” he asked, trying to stay calm.

“Totally. The funny thing is… no one knows much about the father. Some people say the baby is from a night you never mentioned afterward, before you moved to London.” Leo laughed softly. “Maybe someone who preferred not to get involved.”

The words hung in the air, and something clicked in Max’s mind. A night you never mentioned. A night where things between you changed forever.

“Leo, thank you. I have to go.”

Max hung up before he heard a reply, his mind racing. Could it be possible? He’d been with you that night, and then… you walked away. And now, there was a baby. A baby you never talked about.

Without a second thought, Max walked out of his apartment, his heart pounding. He knew that if he wanted answers, he couldn’t go to you. You were too protective, too secretive. But your mother… she might know something.

He drove quickly to your parents’ house. The light rain was beginning to fall, covering the streets of Monaco with a thin layer of water. When he arrived, he knocked on the door harder than he intended. Anxiety and fear mixed within him.

It was your mother who opened it, surprised to see Max in the doorway.

“Max… what are you doing here?” she asked in a worried voice.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, bluntly. “It’s important.”

Your mother invited him in, closing the door behind him. Max walked into the living room, his mind full of questions and possibilities. He turned to her, his blue eyes shining brightly.

“I know she had the baby,” he said directly, without preamble. “And I need to know the truth. Is it mine?”

Your mother looked at him in surprise, but also with a look of guilt that she couldn’t hide.

“Max…”

“Please,” he interrupted her, his voice almost pleading. “I can’t go on without knowing.”

She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. She had tried to protect you, but she knew this moment would come sooner or later.

“Yes, Max. Miles is your son.”

The words hit Max like a wave, stealing his breath. He stood still, taking in what he had just heard. He was a father. You had kept something so big, so important from him.

“Why didn’t she tell me?” he asked in a whisper, his eyes searching for answers.

“She thought it was for the best. She didn’t want to complicate your life… knowing you already had so much going on.”

Max clenched his fists, feeling a mix of anger, sadness, and confusion. He didn’t know what he would do now, but one thing was certain: he couldn’t walk away anymore. Miles was his son, and he would do everything in his power to be in his life.

From the moment he left your parents’ house, Max couldn’t think of anything but you. The revelation left him devastated, furious, and most of all, betrayed. How could you hide something so important from him? He had been willing to support you, to be present in your life, but he never imagined that behind that distance there was a secret that would change everything.

The car moved quickly through the streets of Monaco, crossing avenues wet from the recent rain. Night had fallen, and the city lights were reflected in the puddles that covered the asphalt. Max barely noticed the journey; his mind was focused on one thing: facing you.

When he arrived at your house, he didn't hesitate. He parked the car abruptly, got out in the light rain, and quickly climbed the stairs until he reached the door of your apartment. His heart was pounding, a mix of adrenaline, pain, and rage. He knocked hard on the door, almost as if demanding an immediate response.

Inside, you were rocking Miles in your arms, trying to calm him down after a long day. The sound of knocking on the door made you jump. You looked towards the entrance, out the window, a feeling of unease running through your body. You saw it.

With your heart racing, you left Miles in his crib and walked to the door. When you opened it, there was Max, soaked by the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead, his eyes lit up by a mix of fury and anguish.

"Max..." you whispered, but he didn't let you continue.

"How could you?" he said, his voice low but full of tension. He took a step forward, forcing you to step back into the apartment. He closed the door behind him without taking his eyes off you. “How could you hide from me that you had a son?”

The words fell like a slab on you. You knew this moment would come, but you never thought it would be like this, so sudden, so emotionally charged.

“Max, I…”

“No!” he interrupted you, raising a hand to stop any explanation. “I don’t want excuses. I want the truth.”

You took a deep breath, trying to stay calm as tears began to burn in your eyes.

“I thought I was doing the right thing…” you murmured, your voice breaking. “I thought it would be better for you. You have a life, Max. You have Kelly, her daughter, your career… I didn’t want to complicate things for you.”

He laughed, but it was a bitter laugh, full of disbelief.

“Better for me?” he repeated, taking a step closer to you. “You don’t think I had the right to decide that? He’s my son! He had the right to be here from the beginning, to see you go through all of this, to know him…”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of his words. You knew he was right, but you also knew you had acted with your heart, believing you were protecting him.

“I didn’t want you to feel trapped,” you said quietly, looking into his eyes for the first time. “I didn’t want you to feel forced to be here.”

Max stared at you, and for a moment, the fury in his eyes mixed with something deeper, something more painful.

“You would never have caught me,” he whispered. “Because I would have been here. I wanted to be here… with you.”

The silence stretched between the two of you, thick and charged with unresolved emotions. You could feel the tension in the air, every unspoken word, every repressed feeling.

“Max… I just wanted to protect you.” —Tears began to run down your cheeks. —I never wanted to hurt you.

He ran a hand through his wet hair, trying to calm himself, but his chest kept rising and falling rapidly. Pain. That was what he felt. Pain for having missed the first moments of his son’s life, for not being there for you when you needed him most.

—You didn’t have to protect me —he said at last, his voice softer but still firm. —You were my friend. I was always willing to be there for you… and now, I want to be here for my son.

His words were a promise, but also a declaration of intent. No matter what happened, no matter how complicated it was, Max wasn’t going to disappear from his son’s life.

You stood there in silence, heart pounding, knowing this was the point of no return. Max was here, and he wasn’t going to leave.

“He’s asleep,” you whispered, breaking the silence. “Do you want to see him?”

Max nodded slowly, his eyes still shining with a mix of emotions. You led him over to where Miles was sleeping peacefully in his crib, wrapped in a blue blanket. Max walked over, watching the little boy with a gaze that combined love, wonder, and a silent sadness for all he’d missed.

Max stood there, standing over the crib, watching Miles with an intensity that made you hold your breath. For a few seconds, the world seemed to stop as he took in every detail of the sleeping little face.

Miles had soft, light hair, a small, upturned nose, and those rounded cheeks that still held the blush of a newborn. His small hands were relaxed, resting next to his face, completely oblivious to the storm of emotions his arrival had brought.

After a long silence, Max spoke, his voice low and heavy with emotion:

“He looks like me… when I was little.” An almost imperceptible smile curved his lips as his eyes remained fixed on his son.

You looked at him, and even though you had noticed it before, you were still amazed at how much Miles reflected his father. You nodded softly, your eyes filling with tears once again.

“Yes…” you whispered, your voice shaking. “He has your eyes… and that little wrinkle on his forehead when he frowns.”

Max let out a soft laugh, more of a sigh. He didn’t take his eyes off Miles, as if he were trying to memorize every feature, every little detail that had been taken from him during those first few weeks of life.

You stood by his side, watching the scene you had imagined so many times but feared would never happen. And then, guilt took hold of you again, so strong that you could barely breathe.

“Max…” you murmured, breaking the silence.

He looked up at you, his blue eyes filled with a mix of feelings you couldn’t quite decipher: pain, tenderness, confusion.

“I’m so sorry.” The words came out in a whisper, full of sincerity. “There is no excuse that justifies what I did. I took you away from something that was also yours, and I know I hurt you… I never wanted to do it, but I did, and I’m sorry… with all my heart.”

Max watched you in silence for a moment, his eyes searching yours, trying to understand the depth of your words.

“You thought you were doing the right thing, didn’t you?” he said finally, with unexpected calm.

You nodded, biting your lip to hold back your tears.

“I thought I was protecting you… and that I was protecting Miles too. But now I know I was wrong. I should have told you the truth from the start.”

Max sighed, running a hand over her face as she moved away from the crib a little, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you right away…” she admitted honestly. “This… is a lot. But I want to try. For him.”

His words were a blow, but also a hope. You didn’t expect everything to be fixed in one night, but the fact that he was willing to try meant more than you could express.

“That’s all I can ask for…” you said quietly, with a mix of relief and sadness.

Max nodded, her gaze returning once more to the crib, where Miles shifted slightly, letting out a small sigh before settling back into deep sleep.

“He deserves us to be here.” “Both of you.” Max looked at you again, and this time, there was a determination in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. “And I’m going to be here. No matter what happens, I’m his father, and I’m going to be there in his life.”

You stayed silent, letting his words sink in. He stood a moment longer by the crib, watching Miles as if the entire world revolved around that tiny being. Then, with a deep sigh, he moved away slightly and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. You could see the conflict on his face: the internal struggle between the pain you had caused him and the decision he was about to make.

Finally, he spoke, his voice firm but tinged with vulnerability.

“I can’t keep living a lie.” His words were direct, almost like a whisper, but heavy with weight. He looked at you, his blue eyes holding yours with an intensity that made you hold your breath. “Kelly and I… it’s over.”

Your heart stopped for a second. You hadn’t expected that, not so soon, not under these circumstances. You gripped the edge of the table next to you, seeking some stability as you processed what he had just said.

“Max…” you started, but he held up a hand, stopping you.

“Let me finish.” He pushed away from the wall and took a couple of steps towards you. “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks. Even before I knew the truth about Miles. Kelly is a good person, but our relationship has been falling apart, and now I understand why.” He paused, his gaze darkening for a moment. “I can’t be with her while my heart is here… with you and our son.”

His words hit you like a storm. You had dreamed of this moment, but not under these conditions. You didn’t want to be the cause of a breakup, or the reason for her pain.

“Max, I don’t want you to make a hasty decision…” you said cautiously, your voice shaking. “I don’t want to be the reason you break up with Kelly. It’s your life, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this out of obligation.”

He shook his head, moving even closer, until he was just a step away.

“It’s not because I have to. It’s because I want to.” His voice was low but full of conviction. “I love you. I loved you before, even when things got complicated between us. And now, more than ever, I want to be here, with you. I want to be a father to Miles, and I want him to know that his parents love him and are in this together.”

Your eyes filled with tears again, this time from the mix of emotions overwhelming you: fear, relief, hope. You didn’t want to allow yourself to dream of a perfect future, but Max was offering it to you, even in the midst of all the confusion.

“But what if it doesn’t work out?” you asked in a small voice. “What if all this just makes things worse?”

Max moved a little closer, until his hand found yours. He held it firmly, as if he wanted to assure you that he wasn’t planning on letting go.

“I don’t know.” “He was honest, and that somehow reassured you. “But what I do know is that I don’t want to move forward without trying. I want to be a part of your life, Miles’, every step of the way.”

His words cut deep, but fear still resided in your chest. You knew that nothing would be easy, and that you would both have to work hard to repair the wounds and build something new. But at the same time, his determination and love were an anchor that kept you firm.

“Max.” You took a deep breath, looking at your joined hands. “If this is what you really want…”

He nodded, squeezing your hand gently.

“One step at a time,” he said, his lips curling into a small smile. “I’m still angry, though.”

The weight of the decision seemed to have lightened a little with those words. Max was willing to do whatever it took to be by your side, and you, for the first time in a long time, allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could have the family you’d always wanted.

After that, it wasn’t more than a week until Max told you. It was a quiet afternoon, one of those where the rain fell softly and the world seemed slower. You were sitting on the couch, with Miles asleep on your chest, his rhythmic and calm breathing filling the silence of the apartment. You had lit a vanilla-scented candle, trying to give your home a warmth that sometimes seemed elusive.

Max arrived as he did lately, unannounced but always welcome. He knocked on the door softly before entering, as if he knew that any loud sound could disrupt the peace that reigned in the small space. He found you there, with the baby in your arms, and a tired smile appeared on his face.

“I’m done with Kelly,” he said, his voice calm but firm, as if he were releasing a burden he had carried for too long.

You didn't say anything at first. You just nodded slowly, looking into his eyes that searched for a reaction in yours. You knew that moment would come, but now that it was here, you didn't feel the need to say much. You weren't going to keep getting involved in it. It was his life, his decision, and although you knew the situation was complex, you also understood that it wasn't your place to intervene more than necessary. 

"Do you want to hold him?" you asked softly, changing the subject as you pointed at Miles, who was still sleeping peacefully. 

Max nodded and approached with a gentleness that always surprised you. He took Miles in his arms as if he were the most fragile and precious thing he had ever held. The baby moved slightly, but didn't wake, settling against his father's chest naturally. 

The next few days became a silent but comforting routine. Max began to spend more and more time with you and Miles, almost as if he had never been away. He would arrive in the mornings with coffee in hand and a bag of food or things he thought might help you: diapers, bottles, even toys that Miles was still too small to use.

You watched him transform before your eyes. Every day he spent with Miles, he showed you what a good father he was, even in those little details that you had previously underestimated. He would get up when the baby cried, rock him until he calmed down, and look at him with a mix of love and wonder that broke your heart.

One afternoon, while Max was on the floor playing with Miles—although the baby was just beginning to notice the toys in front of him—you stopped for a moment to watch them. Max was talking to him, although Miles only responded with laughter and babbling. It was a scene so simple, but so powerful, that you couldn't help but feel a pang of regret.

Why didn't you tell him before?

That question had become a constant shadow in your mind. You had your reasons, you knew. You thought you were protecting him, yourself, everyone. But now, watching Max give himself over to his son, you understood that you had stolen something priceless from him.

There was one night in particular that you couldn’t forget. Max was in the kitchen preparing a bottle while you cradled a restless Miles. When Max returned, he took the baby in his arms and whispered something to him, as he often did to calm him.

“You’re so strong, little one,” he said, with that look of tenderness that disarmed you every time.

You stayed silent, leaning against the bedroom door. You felt small, vulnerable. You had made a decision that had left him out of this for months. And even though he didn’t mention it, you knew that deep down it still hurt. It hurt you too.

One night, as Max said goodbye, he stopped at the door and looked at you for a long moment.

“Thank you for letting me be here,” he said softly.

“It’s your place, Max,” you replied sincerely, trying to hide the emotion in your voice. But you knew he could tell.

“I didn’t always feel that way,” he admitted, almost in a whisper, before he walked out.

As you closed the door behind him, you leaned against it, feeling the weight of his words. You knew you had a lot to make up for. But you also knew Max was willing to stay.

When racing resumed, so did the frenetic routine Max knew so well. Airports, photo shoots, interviews, team meetings… everything resumed as if time had been paused. But this time, something had changed. Max wasn’t the same driver who went out into the world a year ago. Now, he had a much more important reason to return home after each Grand Prix: Miles.

You, meanwhile, were adjusting to the new normal. But the nights were the hardest. Max had promised you he would be there, and he made daily calls from all over the world. He told you about training, team meetings, and how, despite everything, his thoughts were always with you and his son.

However, there was something in your heart that just didn’t quite fit. You had kept your pregnancy and birth private for so long, but now, you realized you couldn’t hide it anymore. You didn’t want Miles to grow up in the shadows.

It was a difficult decision, but after days of thinking about it, you decided it was time. One quiet afternoon, while Miles was sleeping in his crib, you grabbed your phone and opened the Instagram app. You looked through the photos you had taken since he was born: simple but meaningful moments, like his first smile or the way he slept peacefully in Max’s arms.

You picked a special photo: Miles, with his curious eyes and a smile that melted hearts, sitting on your lap while Max, behind you, held his little hand. It was the first photo that showed not only your baby, but also the life you had begun to build with his father.

The caption was simple but meaningful:

“Miles Emilian. The love of my life. Our adventure together is just beginning.”

You took a breath before posting it. You knew that once you did, there would be no turning back. The comments, the questions, the curious glances... it would all come with it. But you were ready.

The reaction was immediate. Your followers, family, friends... they all started commenting with messages full of love and surprise. They had suspected your absence, but now they understood everything. The words “congratulations,” “beautiful,” and heart emojis flooded your phone.

But what you didn't expect was that, within minutes of your post, Max did the same.

On his profile, he shared a different photo: Miles in his arms, both dressed in personalized racing jerseys, with the name “Verstappen” embroidered on the baby's back. The caption was short, direct, but full of meaning:

“Welcome to the world, Miles Emilian Verstappen. My son, my pride.”

The impact was instantaneous. The news spread throughout the motorsport world and beyond. Sports media, celebrity magazines, even his teammates and other drivers commented on the post. Some were shocked, others couldn’t believe it, but most of the messages were positive, congratulating Max on his new stage as a father. 

That night, as you watched the avalanche of reactions on your social media, Max called you. His voice sounded different, more serene but also excited. 

“It’s done,” he said, with a mix of relief and pride. “The world knows I have a son. That I have a family.”

You stayed silent for a moment, letting his words settle in your mind. There was something deeply liberating about that. No more secrets. No more hiding. Now, the entire world knew that Miles was his, that you and he shared something much deeper than a passing romance. 

“Are you okay?” Max asked, his voice soft but concerned. 

“I’m fine,” you replied, with a smile he could feel even through the phone. “Ready to start this life with you.”

That night, as you rocked Miles to sleep, you felt a calm you hadn’t experienced in a long time. You’d been through so much to get here: difficult decisions, secrets, fights, reconciliations. But now, with Max by your side and your son in your arms, you knew you were where you were meant to be.

Max returned a few days after his last race, and this time, when he walked through your door, he was no longer just the star driver or the man who had been an important part of your past. He was the father of your son, your partner, and the person you were ready to build a future with.

The three of you, together, ready to face whatever came.

[liliapleasesteponme]

Show me those fangs 🦇

Vampire!lilia x fem!human!reader

Summary - you explore a dark, gothic mansion alone on a dare from your friends and meet a much different fate

Making out, pet names (doll, sweet thing), mistress kink, degradation (its only one line), hickeys, blood, oral (r receiving), begging

@klien2000

Note - i imagine she was wearing this

"ok y/n, truth or dare ?" one of your friends asked. You were having a party with a few friends while your roommate was out of town and at this point you all a bit tipsy. You had replied 'dare' and the dare went along the lines of "you know that creepy mansion on the hill that everyone says is haunted ? I dare you to go into it alone. AND at night."

You didn't think it was haunted, but that it was probably just old and abandoned. You accepted the dare and, because it was nearing 10 pm, you put on a more presentable outfit and went out to complete the dare while the rest of your friends stayed the night.

Just as you got to the bottom of the hill, you felt a shiver down youe back. You tried to brush it off but it did make you feel a bit more wary of going to the mansion. You began to climb the hill, feeling an increasing anxiousness. Once you reached the top, you faced a new issue. How to get in.

The gates were chained shut and the walls were high. At first it looked as though there was no way in but because the house was unkept, there was vines growing, giving you a way of climbing over the tall walls and into the garden.

The garden was beautiful, even though it was overgrown. There were bushes carved into animals (snakes, dogs, rabbits, ect) and colourful flowers amidst the long grass. It almost looked like a fairytale. The mansion was much different though. Dark exterior, gothic stained windows and statues.

You went up to the door and it immediately slammed open. 'ok, so maybe it is haunted' you thought with a hint of sarcasm. You stepped inside and were taken aback by how amazing it looked. Everything was like something out of a castle. There were portraits of old people on the walls, candelabras, gold-legged tables and a vase of flowers that looked like they'd only just been picked. You thought the flowers were strange but chose to move past it.

You made your way to what seemed to be a grand dining room. The table in the center was long and covered by a red and gold table cloth and on it was a glass of wine that had clearly just been poured. It suddenly dawned on you that this house may not be abandoned. You froze for a moment before quickening your pace towards the door.

Just as you reached it, it crashed shut so hard you almost fell down. You were trapped. You frantically looked for another exit but your attempt was unsuccessful. You thought you might aswell explore some more since you were stuck here.

When you got back to the dining room, you stopped for a moment to think about what just happened. All of a sudden, everything went black. You felt a pair of hands push you against the wall as you drop your bag to the floor. "why are you here ? Who are you ?"

For a moment, you couldn't breathe pressed up against the wall but the grip the person had on you lessened so you could answer. "I'm y/n. M-my friends dared me to come here, i-i swear i don't mean to cause trouble."

You began breathing very heavily and the person spun you around to be face-to-face. It was a woman, much older than you. She was wearing a light blouse and a fitting black and red corset. If you were being honest, you thought she was very attractive but that thought was quickly suppressed when she began talking. "well, well, what will i do with you, huh doll ?"

You were too surprised by her pet name to say anything, so you just stared at her for a while. Her eyes were a deep red, filled with rage and what you secretly hoped was lust. When you didn't respond she opened her mouth to speak again thats when you saw them. Her two large fangs. She was a vampire.

How had you not realised before ?

She must've seen your reaction to her fangs because she instantly closed her mouth again. For a moment you couldn't help but glance at her dark red lips. Somehow you weren't as afraid as you probably should have been, she only seemed to intrigue you.

"what ? Never met a vampire before doll ?" she asked, clearly amused by your reaction. You didn't know how to react so you just gently shook your head. "let me hear that voice, sweet thing"

You let out a shaky breath, "are you really a vampire ?"

"mm believe it doll," she said with a smirk "now then ... Back to my previous question. What am i to do with you ?"

She hesitated a moment before taking a step back and leaning against the grand table behind her. In that moment, you likely should have run as far away as possible, but you didn't. You stayed put, chasing the reason for your initial intrigue. The vampire decided to answer her own question, "you're lucky i've let you last this long really. Most of them are dead by now,"

A streak of fear ran through you as she said those last few words. Of course ! She's a vampire. How could she not kill people ? "besides, i think your different. You don't have that glint of fear in your eyes like the others usually do. Theres something different there."

She looked you up and down for a moment and offered you her hand. You took it with no hesitation. You'd begun to trust her, despite everything she'd said so far. "so, what's your name then, doll ?"

"y/n," you told her, honestly hoping that instead of using it that she'd keep using those pet names that had begun to grow on you. "and you ?"

"Lilia. But thats not important. You can call me mistress." You were slightly taken aback that she asked (or more demanded) that you call her mistress and even more so that her name was just as beautiful as her face.

With that, she began to drag you to another room of the mansion. Your mouth was open in silent awe as you saw more of the house, it really was like a dream. The two of you reached a large door, to which she pushed open to reveal a beautiful bedroom. The walls were a strong burgundy and the room was laced with golden accents, including the bedsheets.

You had taken a step forward to fully take in the room when Lilia spun you around to face her and embraced you in a passionate kiss. The kiss was unlike any you'd had before. It was fiery and fierce yet caring at the same time. You moaned into the kiss, giving the vampires tongue better access to you. As the kiss deepened, you felt her fangs brush against your lips. Her fangs aroused you further and your mind began to think that it may not be so bad if she bites you.

After a minute or two, you broke away from the kiss to take a breath. Lilia put her hand to your hair, using it to tilt your head to the side, exposing your neck. This is it you thought as she moved closer to your neck ... But no, not yet.

She began to kiss and suck on your neck leaving a trail of hickeys as she moved further down to your collarbone. You practically moaned out, "please, touch me."

She drew back, looking you dead in the eyes, "use my name first, sweet thing"

"Lili~" she cut you off as soon as you began, "not that one, doll."

"mistress, mistress please touch me. I need you." she let out a hum of acceptance, "begging already huh ? Pathetic."

You whimpered in response, gazing into her eyes. Then she pushed you onto the bed, climbing on top of you with hungry eyes. Her hands moved quickly to remove your clothes, leaving you fully exposed to her.

She was quick to focus on your breasts, teasing them with her fingers. She began to leave another hickey on your breast while her hands snaked their way down to your hips, holding you in place because of how squirmy you'd gotten.

Suddenly, she moved lower so her head was between your thighs. She began marking you again and you were becoming too needy so you let out a loud moan, pulling on her hair slightly so she would go faster to your aching pussy. This time she wasn't as reciprocative. She bit down on your inner thigh with overwhelming strength. Her fangs were deep inside you and all you could do was moan even louder.

Blood dripped from the wound when she pulled away. She licked up the remaining blood around the bite and moved so she was eye level with you. There was a small drop of blood that had fallen from her lip that she seductively wiped away. For a moment, you couldn't move due to what happened, you just watched her face and how her expression softened.

"are you ok doll ?" she asked with genuine care in her voice. You nodded you head but it wasn't good enough for her. She needed to be sure. "i need words y/n."

"im ok." you pushed out weakly. "please, i need you."

"i know what you need, doll, let mistress take care of you." her words gave you butterflies and your pussy was so needy for her right now. Her head was back inbetween your legs and she didn't waste any time in going straight for your pussy, licking a stripe down your wet hole.

After the first taste, it was like she developed an addiction. She plunged her tongue into you, making your back arch from the sudden pleasure. She moved her tongue in and out of your wet pussy feeling how close you already were. Your moans had become uncontrollable.

Her pace quickened as she licked and sucked your clit while her fingers were tracing the bite mark on your thigh,"hmph fuuck~"

"come on, you can be louder. I want to hear you scream." she emphasized each word in a way that drove you crazy. Your moans became louder and louder until you were convinced the whole town would be able to hear you. Overwhelmed by pleasure, you threw your head back against the headboard, only to be pulled back into the vampires sight.

"i wanna see you, doll. I wanna see you face as you cum for your mistress."

"please, im so close, please mistress, can i cum ?" she looked up at you and gave you a nod. You were on the edge and it look one more lick for you to cum in her mouth.

That was probably the best orgasm of your life. She licked up any excess and swallowed all of your cum. Your breathing finally settled as you came down from your high. She moved to lay next to you and put her arms around you, pulling you closer to her body.

This was nice, comfortable. Maybe being turned into a vampire wouldn't be too bad.

Let me know if you liked it <3

- aqua

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

OKAY. HEAR ME OUT.

Justis (Dave’s son) bringing reader home bc they’re together, but Dave thinks she’s hella cute and reader too whatever. And then they end up fucking in like a bathroom or something😻

A/n: I'm feeling Christmassy, hope that's not a problem

Warnings: Smut, cheating, age gap, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

University was hard, you tried to get out when you could but you were always focused on your schoolwork.

Your friends brought you out a few times to bars or whatever but you were more comfortable being the designated driver. Oddly enough it was when you were studying in the library that you met Justis.

You had a class together and he confessed he always caught himself looking at you and wanting to talk to you but just couldn't bring himself to do it until then.

You kept talking with him, he was nice and always brought you snacks when he knew you'd be studying. It was good and you knew, worst comes to worst, University is for experimenting, which you'd be doing a lot of once you met his dad you just didn't know it at the time.

It was Christmas time, the perfect time to meet his family, his dad and sister at least, and you were excited, sure, but as soon as that door opened and you were met with Dave it was like breathing for the first time.

He was different, the way he smiled at you, that look in his eyes as he looked you up and down, taking in your appearance.

You had to remind yourself over and over you were here with your boyfriend, Justis, but your eyes kept going back to Dave, always meeting his.

The plan was to stay a week but you felt like you should make up an excuse to leave earlier, not that you wanted to but you saw the way Dave was looking at you, saw the hunger in his eyes.

It was Christmas Eve and you couldn't sleep, couldn't even bring yourself to close your eyes while Justis was out beside you, arm loosely wrapped around your torso.

Someone was moving around downstairs, you knew it was Electra because you would have heard her walking down the hall, it had to be Dave.

You couldn't take it anymore and decided to just go talk to him, it was innocent enough.

You managed to get out of bed without disturbing Justis and made it downstairs to find Dave wrapping a few presents and tucking them under the tree, as you got closer you saw they were marked 'From: Santa'. Neither Justis nor Electra believed in Santa anymore, obviously, but he still liked keeping that there.

He panicked a moment when he finally noticed you but calmed down when he saw it was you. "Jesus, you scared me." He said with a gruff chuckle.

"Sorry." You said, smiling back at him. You moved to sit next to him on the floor, looking over the pile of gifts under the tree.

"I got you some too, don't worry." He said, tucking the present he'd just tagged under the tree, setting it on a bigger one.

"Really?" You asked, tilting your head to him. "I didn't think you would." You said, looking back to the colourful wall of wrapping paper. "I-I didn't get you anything." You admitted, biting your bottom lip as you looked back at him.

He shook his head and placed his hand on your thigh, over your fuzzy Christmas pyjama pants. "You got me enough, sweetheart." He looked straight into your eyes as he said it, his own carrying a much darker gleam in them. He brought his hand back and picked up another gift while you sat and thought about what he really meant.

You sat with him for a while longer, watching his hands as they flipped and folded the paper. You handed him the tape as he worked, it was weird if you didn't help at all so you did the bare minimum, the smile he gave you when you handed him a piece made it worth it every time.

As time bore on you felt yourself finally getting tired, gradually moving closer to Dave until you were fully leaning against him.

He helped you up once you were done and walked with you to the stairs, your room was up them while his was down the hall, still he followed you up the stairs.

He heard someone moving in your room before you did and he pulled you into the bathroom across the hall. He flicked the light on and smashed his lips onto yours, a kiss you immediately reciprocated.

Justis stepped out of the room and saw the lights on in the bathroom, assuming you'd just gone in there and would be out soon he turned and went back to bed, all while his dad was tugging on your clothes.

Your fuzzy pants slid down your legs and he saw you'd gone commando. "Really, sweetheart?"

"Just for you." You gleamed, pulling him back into a kiss.

He lifted you up and set you down on the counter, standing between your legs and pushing his own pants and boxers down, just enough for his dick to spring free.

Your breathing was heavy, as was his. Your cheeks were flushed, your forehead pressed against his as he pushed into you, causing you to moan before he could slap his hand over your mouth.

"I knew it was you the other night." He said with a chuckled. It's true, you'd been thinking about Dave all day and couldn't get him off your mind after you crawled into bed. "Thinking of me, weren't you?"

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Not my fault when you look at me like that." You said, feeling yourself fluttering around him, eager for him to move. "He almost looks like you, anyway."

Dave snorted at that. "Doesn't feel the same, huh?" He asked, voice low, almost a growl. You shook your head, Dave was bigger in pretty much every way. Girthy and veiny and he smelled divine, you just kept aching for more. "That's what I thought." He mused, kissing you again as he started moving his hips, thrusts quickly picking up pace.

He was eager to please you, but it had been a while since he'd been with someone, he could already feel himself getting close.

He brought a hand to your clit, the sudden friction made you gasp into the kiss. He knew the second he pulled away you'd be moaning out his name like a worship song, he wanted to hear it but he couldn't risk waking up his kids, especially not with one of them dating you.

You mumbled something into the kiss, he didn't quite catch it but didn't think he'd have to. Then you pulled away. "Dave! I-I'm close, fuck!" You called. He rushed to get a hand over your mouth but you just pushed it away. The room filled with your moans, Dave gave up on silencing you and focused on how good you felt around him.

His arms wrapped around you as you came, he followed shortly after, letting himself spill into you.

It wasn't until then that he realized the banging he heard wasn't the two of you.

"What the fuck?!" Justis yelled from the other side of the door.

[junedenim]

to say good night

sleep can happen anywhere

warnings: fluff, smut, blowie, piv, and raspberries

word count: 3.6k

You watched him make the bed. He was always slow and careful with this kind of thing. It was rhythmic, second nature to tuck the duvet under the mattress and fluff the pillows just right. It was weird for a man to be so careful after sex. The sheets had been a mess covered in each of you. He still spills out of you now, trapped by your underwear. You went to the bathroom to clean yourself but got trapped in the doorway watching this meticulous routine as he changed the navy blue sheets to baby blue ones. You wonder if he has any different coloured sheets or if they are all blue.

He's fixing the nightstand now. His alarm clock that your hand pushed off when he was going down on you. His spine curves, little rivets showing through the skin of his bare back. You get to drag your hand down it tonight when you lie side by side and go to bed with one another. Not just fucking bed but sleeping bed.

And he's so lovely. You're not sure you've ever seen something, especially a man so lovely as he sits down on the bed to fix the time on the clock. His eyes shine back at the glaring red digits. Your hand curls around the doorframe, trying not to give yourself away to him. He's so cautious when he knows he's being watched, but here, he's loose, uncaring, and serene, so serene.

His hair is a fluff mess. One that swirls and makes cascading waterfalls as it tries to fall forward on his face. He slightly jumps at the beeping noise the clock makes and a giggle escapes you, impossible to hold back at his cute, jolting, meticulous, lovely, serene self. No hand covering your mouth hides the giggle. His eyes snap up with the fear he's been caught out like you've accidentally caught him masturbating in his childhood bedroom, not fully grown fixing his alarm clock.

But then he releases, not everything, but just enough to lightly chuckle. "You snooping on me?"

Part of you wants to shrink behind the bathroom door and hide but his laughter is solaceful. "I'm just going to the bathroom," you say as you slowly shut the door.

He laughs, this time more boisterous. It's easy for him to let go when he's making fun of you. "Uh-huh, yeah, right."

"I swear!" You yell back through the closed door as you drop your panties and wipe him out of you (disgusting but not and that almost disgusts you more about how you can be so affected by a person that you start to cherish their semen) and dispose of it. Your cheeks are flushed red in the mirror and you splash water to temper the fire burning its way out.

Exiting the bathroom, he stands by the dresser having covered that gracious bare back with a T-shirt. It makes you want to yell at him for the crime he's committed. It was horrible that he covered his butt with his boxers but this. "Why'd you put a shirt on?"

Alex once again jumps at a surprising sound. He turns around and smirks. "Why'd you put a shirt on?" He counters.

Fair. But it's his shirt and your underwear, isn't that what most guys find sexy? He's in his pajamas, very cutely, but five minutes ago he was coming inside you so a tad more explicit behaviour tonight shouldn't be out of the question. So, if he needs something from you then you'll trail your hands down the shirt, fiddle with the bottom—teasing, of course—and take the garment off, dropping it at his feet as an offering.

His lust-filled eyes work as encouragement, straying you from an insecurity. His hands move from his side and meet the bottom of his shirt. He's slow, much more than you were. You ripped the Band-Aid off, and he's easing it slowly away from the skin. He nearly gets trapped in its collar and has to twist his head back and forth to withdraw from it. Then, he tosses it at your feet, a slight chuckle of embarrassment rippling through him. "Now get in bed," he tells you.

You look toward the pristine sight, something off of HGTV or an Ikea catalogue. "But I don't want to ruin it," you candidly reply. It even has one of those small useless pillows sitting there for merely display purposes.

He walks toward you. "Get in bed," he says with a smirk. He pats your ass giving a light squeeze to your right ass cheek before heading into the bathroom. You look behind you at the closed bathroom door and inch your way to the bed, carefully taking off the small useless pillow. You pull back the duvet and slide into the sea of blue and then you wait.

You see the light spilling out from the bottom crack of the bathroom door. You hear him turn on the sink, the sound of him brushing his teeth. The water shuts off but he doesn't come out immediately. He takes his time and you wish you could peek in on whatever he's doing. Washing his hands, styling his hair, psyching himself up in the mirror, whatever it may be you want to be witness to it.

The door clicks open and he walks out, making his way to the bed and under the covers. He pulls the blankets over both of you and moves close by means of huddling for warmth. Your nipples rub against the blanket, shielding them from his view, but not his imagination. "Are you cold?" He asks.

You shake your head but tighten your hold on the blanket. You are a little cold but mostly nervous, just a tad. He nods and you can see the hesitance spilling from him. There's something intimate about sex but in comparison to this, it's nothing. The personal laying of your figures side-by-side. Your boobs are exposed and his chest is so close your palm can almost touch it. Instead, you two sit in silence, scared to be the first to speak because it's the first time you've done this with each other. 

Because it's not just spending the night or a hook-up, it's something far greater that you can't name. Something you want to work so badly it could kill you. Because he's looking at you like that: eyes warm and shiny, perfect for falling into. Him. Him. Because he's right up against you without touching you and now you have to relinquish yourself to him in a far more vulnerable way than sex. But the idea of falling asleep in his arms seems so nice that you can't bear any distance, even if it is small. 

"Do you always make the bed like that?" You ask him. You relax down into the pillow, turning onto your side to face him more clearly.

His smile grows warmer and it makes your insides feel less cold. "No. I'm neat but I'm not that neat."

"Why'd you do it that way then? Special occasion?" You smile back knowingly. He's always been one for silent gestures. Only the little things you notice way down the line. The little things you know now and the ones you have yet to discover.

He blushes, turning bashfully away from you. "Maybe. Yeah. Thought I'd make it look more homely."

You giggle, not because it's very funny, but because he's very charming. Enough to make any girl giddy. "It looked more like a display room to me but it was very pretty to watch."

Alex turns onto his side now, smirking in such a delight that it pierces through you. "Yeah. And you like to do that stalking thing?"

You bite your lip from mild embarrassment and in an attempt to hide to smile he's forcing increasingly on your face. "You're very cute to watch. I'm sure you know that."

"Well..." He trails off but his hand moves under the covers, landing on the curve of your side, just under your ribs. He's delicate, not trying to make a big deal out of it, the same with everything he does. But you notice. It's hard not to notice that warm touch.

"I don't even think I made my bed this morning," you tell him. Not that it matters much when you're lying in his.

He chuckles and gradually leans closer and closer. "I like to be organized." That's plenty nice under these nice sheets but his lips are far greater as he comes toward yours. He hovers before latching on. It's a smooth grip, nothing harsh as you lock lips. Everything about it flows.

His hand moves up your figure, his thumb lightly caressing the bottom of your boob. Your hand steadies on his shoulder. He feels firm as your hand grazes down his arm before shifting over to his chest, feeling him beneath your hand.

The kissing becomes harsher, not aggressive, but determined passion from both sides. You were drawn together and it felt impossible to ignore, even as things became more rushed. You rolled over and he followed with his body on top. His hand massaged your side and your bodies smushed together, your boobs stuck in between each other in that small space.

"You just changed the sheets," you mumble in the chaos of attached lips.

His lips strayed, moving down from your lips, kissing your chin, and down the column of your neck on that tender part of your throat. "Fuck that. I don't care," Alex kissed into your skin. He paid tribute to your right collarbone, briefly sticking out his tongue and running a line across it. He kissed your shoulder and moved down further to your breasts. 

He licks his way to the nipple, already sensitive from the cold and rubbing up against him. Suddenly, he makes a loud smooching noise and blows a raspberry on it. It's ticklish, erupting impossible to avoid laughter as you push his head away from the affected spot.

"Stop it," you manage to get out. "So much for being sensual."

Alex kisses one of your ribs like it's him and it may be what created you. "I never promised sensuality."

"I thought you making out with my breasts implied that." He laughs and kisses the untouched boob. His lips hover like he's threatening to do it to the other one. "I'll leave if you do it again. What if someone did that to your dick?"

He thinks about it, tossing his head back and forth. "It'd probably feel good." His eyes look away like he’s imagining the pleasure.

Your hands reached down, snaking in between your two bodies. You grab a hold of the waistband of his boxers, snapping it against his skin. "You want to bet?" You push him onto his back, gazing down at him.

"You don't know men very well if you think the threat of a blowjob is gonna scare them off."

Still, you descend him. Your fingers dance on his hip bone. He delightfully protrudes onto you. He conflicts with himself whether to revel in the feeling with his head on the pillow or watch you as you tease him. His eyes remain on you as your pointer finger grasps onto the elastic of his boxers. Edging him in anticipation. A dance between the dainty and the robust. 

You send him a mocking grin, displaying your teeth, latching onto that waistband, dragging it slowly, revealing the bottom portion of his stomach before stopping. You kissed the newly exposed skin as he sucks in a breath like he hasn't taken one in minutes. You press your face into him. Your nose inhaling him into you, the smell of him plain, only a simple bar of soap has passed this area. Yet, however plain, it calms you. You wish to rest your head here for a little while, maybe fall asleep here because he isn't restless here. This is where things calm.

You resume. Your hands drift further down, dipping into his boxers, giving a slight touch to him. Your hands are cold against the warm skin. It might turn him on even more. Finally, you pull his boxers down fully, letting his erection pop out on display. Your hand grabs a hold of it. He shivers from the cold, anticipation, and the soon-to-be relief.

You hold him carefully in your hand like you're observing him scientifically. You need to cover every surface with your eyes, every vein needs to be noted, and the way he twitches should be put in the records. "Come on," he just barely mutters.

It's the complete opposite from earlier when he was quick with you. When you were messy with each other. When alarm clocks were pushed on the floor and sheets were left with no choice but to wash. You're careful now, if not, torturous. Alas, you lick up the side of him to the tip. Your tongue grazes over the slit, enjoying the way it makes him stiff. 

You seal a kiss on it before your mouth covers the top of him. You suck on him, pleasurable for both him and you. Then, you blow a raspberry on him. You wish to capture the way he wiggles around and groans but you're too busy laughing at him. "How was that?"

Alex brings a hand to his head. He rubs his fingers between his eyebrows to calm that distress in him. "Not very sensual." You share a laugh before taking him off guard with how quickly you return to the task at (or in your) hand. 

You stroke him, moving the salvia from the top down to lubricate the bottom. Your mouth covers him again, but this time takes him fully in a slow controlled manner. The pressure pushes against your throat as your nose rubs that spot on his stomach again. You pull yourself off, wiping the string of spit that connects you. Your hand continues its work as you kiss his hip, then the top of his thigh, then his pelvis, then his penis.

His hand stops you from taking him completely in your mouth again. "Get on me."

"What?" You question.

"Let me fuck you again." He's almost begging, his eyes fluttering shut and his grasp on your upper arm strengthening. "Please."

"What about the bed?" It was so nice moments ago but the blankets have been thrown and the sheets exposed, a trace of your spit already covering them.

He shakes his head on the pillow, trying not to lose the moment. He pinches that glabella. "Let's just fuck on the fucking floor."

You hesitate on the bed but he's quick, already has his knees pressed on the cold wood floors. He reaches a hand up to you, which you take, kicking your feet out and meeting him on the floor. "I'm gonna get a splinter from this."

He laughs, placing his hands on your waist, his thumb stroking up and down. "How do you want to do this?" He doesn't hesitate, dragging your panties off as soon as he can.

"I don't know. It was your idea. Just fuck me, I guess."

"Okay," he mutters like he's still trying to figure it out himself. He looks around, trying to place the space on the floor, and then kisses you, overpowering you. You're on your back, your shoulders grazing the floor's rug. You could start a fire with the way your skin brushes against it. You clutch his neck to grasp on something desperately as he moves himself through your folds, soaked up in you.

Now, it's sensual as he eases slowly into you. It's barely anything but then it's barely nothing. Everything is touched and you were just like this less than an hour ago but it already feels different. The way his eyes land on you is much softer and his touch is caring. There's no rushing, roughness, or scratching. It's tender, graceful, and clutching. He's powering but not overtly. His hips snap but not aggressively.

It's fulfilling. He kisses every nerve ending in you. It's making love in all those stupid, cheesy, romance movie kind of ways but it's him and it's you, something yet to fully be explored and you get to be a first-hand witness to every touch he lands on you. His thumb strokes you so carefully but it lights you up completely. 

You arch up into him and you know he's much closer than you are, so, you reach up and smooth your hand over his cheek before wrapping your arm around his neck. You whisper into his ear for him to let go and give himself over to you. It's late and tiring, it's like falling asleep in each other's arms as he lets go into you.

Everything in him is sensitive. He shudders as everything comes over him. He buries his head into your neck, rubbing his nose against your jugular. Your hand runs through his hair as he groans the last bits of relief into your skin. It's content. Your heart rates settle against one another as if you're beating in time with one another. 

Alex starts to move again, even slower than before, but he's not willing to let this go. He doesn't like it just being about him. He doesn't like all that attention. So, he gives it, gives it all over, fucking you with the remnants of him still inside you. 

His overstimulation settles as he begins to rush forward. The thumb stroking picks up right over your clit and it's cold hands on warm flesh. It's so divine, an enhancement. It's not just a regular touch, it's an imprint as the cold seeps into you and he drives himself into you. He groans and you moan but it's all whispers for just one another. No soul will ever hear each other this way because it's never been like this before and you're not sure it will ever be like this again, even with him. It's a sliver of time for just the two of you.

Each of your breathing grows heavy and your hips lift. It all moves quicker and you can feel the rug burn forming on your skin as you come. It overrides anything. You clutch onto him in any way possible. Your hands in his hair, your legs around his waist, him still sitting inside you. It's a release. Completely. 

When everything relaxes just enough, your grasp loosens and he rolls beside you onto his back. You tilt your head slightly up to look at his profile, even with barely any light in the room it's scenic. It's like looking out at the ocean from the cliff. 

He has steadied himself when he turns his head over to meet your eyes. "Good?" It could mean a number of things. If you're okay, if the sex was okay, if you're alright staying here on the floor forever.

Either way, you are. "Good," you answer in the affirmative. You reach out to him, pushing his hair back so you can get the best view of his eyes. "You?"

Alex nods. His eyes are obviously tired, fluttering with the wind. "We should get back in bed."

"Or stay here for a minute more," you suggest because the moment will be gone, ending forever, the second you stand up from this small cocoon of space.

He doesn't reject the idea. His body is so relaxed against the wood. "When I was younger," he tells you, "I used to sleep on the floor because I was scared of my bed."

It's a privilege to know these small stories about him. To run your fingers through his hair as he tells you a childhood story that has him smiling. "Why?" You ask.

Alex shifts closer, his arm landing over your waist. He tugs you closer to him as if he wants to absorb you, live in one body with you. It almost feels like that in this small space where your breaths duel one another. "I don't know. It was my first big kid bed. I think I thought monsters lived in there."

You squint. "So you slept closer to where they lived under your bed?"

He chuckles and gives a light squeeze to your side. "I was four, I had no logic."

You recall, "I used to just sleep in my parents' room. Might've caused their divorce." Your hand drifts away from his hair and down to his back, at long last rubbing down his spine, feeling those notches in him. If he sleeps on his stomach, you might wake him up tomorrow by kissing your way down those vertebrae.

"Why?" He questions just like you.

"They could never have sex 'cause I was in there all the time." There's laughter shared, an increased amount, maybe because you just had sex and you'll have plenty more sex but for now you'll lie here. You want to squeeze him in between your fingers, pinch a piece off of him, and carry it around with you in your bag, in your pocket, in your skin.

His hand moves to your back, moving along your spine, massaging the muscles around it. "I walked in on them once. I think I'll take your side of things," he said. He pulled a disgusted face before dusting a smile. "I thought they were wrestling."

Your laughter is loud, infectious and it makes him laugh too and you'll get up off the floor at some point but for now, you'd like to stay here in a world with just the two of you.

*

a/n: i like this one. maybe because i was more relaxed when i wrote it. excuse yet another 'perfect sense' title, it just fits so well. thanks, bye.

[aspergerasparagus]

I need a little story centered around Toon Frankie and Toon Lucky, I don't know why but I need it, you write like a god, you've already made me laugh and cry, you are the best

(Obviously don't listen to me, it's still cool how you describe these questionable bunnies)

Short little bit that I might expand on like I did with the dreams one as I do have ideas for where this could lead. Anyway have Toon actually being kinda... nice. If only temporary. Also might follow it up depends if I get the energy.

None of the Frankies had expected it to happen, who would? Something like this only happened in sci-fi novels or those cheesy British tv shows the fans watched. But when it did happen of course to say it was a shock would have been an understatement, the rabbit had practically bolted to the other side of his living space when the brown bunny had materialized into existence. He couldn’t explain why it had happened but given how panicked the knock-off had been at the loss of his precious little money maker, it seemed it had been unplanned. Their real body was still outside, in the real world, currently sleeping soundly in a makeshift medical ward. While their mind was here, taking the form not too dissimilar to that of the cartoon. Large lopped ears trailed behind them, tufts of fur dotted their face (similarly to how their mask used to Frankie noted), and they had the similar coiled springs for limbs mimicking the other rabbit. The main differences of course were the colours. Lucky was sporting a new coating of brown fur, similar to his original hair tone, not to mention actually wearing clothes other than just a hat like Frankie did. 

If Frankie was being honest with himself, which he obviously wasn’t about to begin to do, Lucky looked… cute. Obviously he still wore a perpetual frown and large bags under his heavily lidded eyes, but still he was kinda cute. It was also so strange to see him able to emote and actually show how he felt given that without the mask he could show different facial expressions. Yes most of them were ranging from displeased to outright furious, but still. It was… nice. Not that Frankie would admit such a thing! It just made him easier to read, is all!

Their immediate reaction had been to freak out (to put it lightly), Lucky more so. He’d lashed out at the toon the moment he laid eyes on him and realised where he was. Blaming him for all this and trying to swing at him. Of course he wasn’t used to his new body and the “rules” that were less so well enforced here meaning he’d over extended himself and crashed into a heap, only worsening the situation as Frankie tried not to laugh. He had looked hilarious, wrapped up in the mess of tangled limbs as he tried desperately to get them back under his control. Frankie hadn’t seen them so flustered before so had taken the opportunity to have a few digs at them. How could he not? This was the funniest thing he’d seen in ages, even if it was highly confusing.

That had been until he’d heard the man choke. He sounded like he was gasping, like something was lodged in his throat but that couldn’t be the case. Letting his laughter catch in his throat the rabbit regarded the other toon in front of him, genuinely starting to worry now. He’d never seen them like this before, their eyes wide and unfocused as they gasped for air, their whole body trembling and heaving. He had heard Frankie yelling something in the distance, trying to get his lucky contestant to calm down, to focus on their breathing but it didn’t seem like he could hear the other rabbit. It was… unpleasant. This wasn’t how this bastard was supposed to act.

Hesitantly the toon had knelt down in front of Lucky, clicking his fingers in front of them. It had taken a few attempts and him yelling their name but eventually he saw their eyes come back into focus as they locked on him, their whole body shaking violently now and he was pretty sure they were going to pass out if this continued any longer. 

“Hey, get yourself together! You’re freaking me out alright…” Frankie tried to mask his anxiety behind a more aloof attitude but even he could hear the fear creep into his voice.

He’s seen other contestants like this before. When they cowered in fear knowing their end was soon closing in on them. Then it was funny to watch them as they practically wet themselves in fear and just froze up. But seeing it up close like this, and with it being Lucky… it wasn’t nearly as funny anymore. He really didn’t like it. He heard The Other calling to him, telling him to try and get Lucky to calm down. Easier said than done, you waste of scrap! How the hell was he supposed to get this stupid human(ish) to calm down before he keeled over?!

Wracking his brain, Frankie finally just decided to wing it. Taking a deep breath to steady himself (and to calm them now brightening blush on his cheeks) he gently took their trembling hands into his own and nuzzled against his cheek softly. The effect was almost instant as he felt Lucky immediately freeze, taken aback by the sudden contact. Frankie couldn’t help the soft purr that escaped him as Lucky slowly reciprocated and buried his face against his neck, the grip on his hands tightening as he grounded himself. 

The rabbit couldn’t help but let his mind wander back to his dream. Having Lucky so close like this, snuggled against him as he felt their hot breath against his neck. He had to bite his lip to suppress the shiver, but there was also something else. Just having someone else like this, so close to him, it was… nice. No, it was more than that. Of course he wouldn’t call himself touch starved but it was just that. He needed this just as much as the panicking man did.

After a minute or so, he felt Lucky pull away, his arms having now returned to their normal position as his breathing finally settled. He looked a little shaken still but as he faced the toon he gave him a small smile. A genuine one.

“Thank you, I’m sorry about that. I haven’t had one of those in awhile but this isn't exactly a normal situation…” He trailed off as he seemed to suddenly get embarrassed. Frankie could only mumble out a small “it’s fine”, the colour of his cheeks returning full force now. He really wasn’t used to seeing Lucky like this. He was usually so strong headed and sure of himself, so it was unusual to see him so… vulnerable. Frankie wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

“Don’t do that again okay? It freaked me out. But… at least you seem okay now. So that’s good…” He was almost pouting now, flustered at the whole ordeal, but his statement seemed to have tickled the contestant who just chuckled and gave the rabbit a smirk.

“Oh, is that concern for me I see? Puffball I am surprised, didn’t think you cared.” Oh no, there he was. The nickname and attitude was doing nothing for the rabbit who was begging that he was wasn't giving too much away. Instead Frankie just tried to shot the man a sour look before getting to his feet to huff.

“I absolutely don’t care! But you having a fucking panic attack isn’t exactly going to be great for me, especially if your little owner sees me doing nothing about it! I had no choice in the matter!” He was on the defence and hopefully the other rabbit would just see it as his typically aggressive attitude, nothing else. But given the small hmm he heard behind him, they were obviously seeing right through him, like they had in the dream, however they kept their mouth shut. Thankfully. Instead he heard Lucky unsteadily get to his feet as he went to reassure The Other who practically had his face glued to the screen demanding his little money maker reassure him, while shooting daggers at his boss.

Meanwhile Frankie could feel his face beginning to burn. All he could do was yank on his ears and try to bury his face against them, trying to do anything to calm his racing heart down. How was he supposed to deal with this?! Especially with his dream racing in his head. This was going to be a nightmare. Unless... Eyeing the other rabbit over, his thoughts turned darker. Maybe he could make his dream a reality after all. If he played his cards right.

[brooklyncircus]

Recommendation: Listen to the song "Ma Meilleure Ennemie" by Stromae and Pomme on loop (preferably with headphones) while reading this fragment to enhance the experience.

Hiromi Higuruma always loved his wife.

He loved her from the moment he met her on their first day of nursery school, when he was too young to understand numbers, colours, or even love… Yet he continued to love her, little by little, gradually, as time passed.

He loved her when someone else stole her toys, and he gave her his. When her nose was dirty, her face covered in soil, or makeup, dressed up as her favourite princess.

He loved her in every moment, even when he wasn’t at his best, and she would hold his hand or give him a hug. When she adjusted his hair, his clothes, or helped him hoist his backpack onto his shoulders.

He loved her in primary school, when both of them were far too innocent in the eyes of the world and dreamt of reaching the stars. When they played with dolls, cars, and cardboard swords.

He loved her on sunny days, cloudy ones, and during storms. He loved her through a hundred springs and a thousand winters. He loved her in the daylight and under the night sky. He loved her with all his heart, even when they reached secondary school.

He loved, cared for, respected, and protected her when others tried to meddle with her. He helped her with homework, comforted her during those certain days of the month, and stood by her through the highs and the lows.

He loved her on every one of her birthdays, giving her everything he could, even if it wasn’t much. Always showing her that, in his eyes, there was only her.

He loved her when they graduated and both went to university, studying different degrees. He loved her in every way imaginable. He loved her deeply, healthily, like someone adoring something sacred.

He loved her even more when they married, when they bought their own home. He loved her while they painted that spare room, while they crafted the crib for their future baby together.

He loved her madly when he found out he was going to be a father.

Because to Hiromi, his wife was everything. She was sacred, pure, beautiful, worthy of adoration. Of devotion. Of everything.

And she loved him just as madly, as deeply and immensely as the ever-expanding universe. She loved him as though Hiromi’s love was the reflection of her own. She loved him. Oh yes, she did—so very much.

And Hiromi loved her. He loved her even in her final moments. He loved her when she pushed Itadori Yuuji out of harm’s way in a fight. He loved her when she gave everything she had so the young students, full of life, wouldn’t have to die. He loved her when she was the one to take the fatal blow that ended her life.

He loved her as she lay on the ground, bleeding, dying. He loved her even as his eyes filled with tears, holding her in his arms, screaming in agony.

He loved her even when the light in her eyes faded, when her smile disappeared. When her final words were a fragile, “I love you...”

He loved her when she was no longer physically with him. He loved her and continued to wear his wedding ring. He loved her with a broken heart, with a shattered soul.

He loved her so much that every day he visited her grave with her favourite flower dancing between his fingers. And with an “I love you, my darling,” as both a greeting... and a farewell.

And he loved her. He loved her so much that he, too, eventually joined her on the other side... when Fate decided it was time.

And even so, Hiromi Higuruma always loved his wife.

Always.

[cucuxumusu]

For @flamevbirdv, well this is more Jason carring Dick, but I hope you like it.

Dick is extra drugged. Jason can see it in the splotches of colour on the other’s black and blue suit, the remnants of magic, Ivy’s pheromones, and who knows what else had been going on in that battle. There are a hundred spells and chemicals mixed inside Nightwing right now and Dick keeps acting weird.

Bruce however has deemed him safe. The different magics and substances keep warring with one another and are unable to take proper hold of Dick so he doesn’t even need an antidote, he just needed to sleep it off and he would be fine in the morning. He, however, can’t stay in the battleground any longer.

Of course, it’s Jason’s turn to take him home, because, after all, he is Dick’s boyfriend.

The walk home is the most surreal thing he has experienced in a while. Dick keeps acting like a hormonal pregnant woman who has multiple personality syndrome and is having maniac surges. Jason would be amused by the whole thing if he wasn’t creeped out and slightly worried by it.

One moment Dick is kneeling on one of the rooftops, crying, holding him with a desperation Jason had rarely seen in him, and crying his heart out to him. He keeps apologizing for not being there, for not saving him from Joker, for not knowing he was dead, for not knowing he was alive. It breaks Jason’s heart just to hear him, that Dick is still blaming himself after all these months they have been together makes something inside him ache.

On the next roof, another spell kicks in, and suddenly Dick is jumping Jason. Groping him over the clothes, fondling with the zippers, biting his neck and grunting in eagerness as he rubs against his body all hard and possessive. Jason always enjoys when Dick is desperate and demanding in bed, doing whatever he pleases with him, marking his body, and showing the world who Jason belongs to. But Jason is not an exhibitionist, and he is definitely not doing it on a rooftop in the middle of nowhere.

Dick is laughing on the next roof, maniacally, in a strange resemblance of Joker’s gas that has Jason’s blood-curdling. In the next, he turns silent, quiet, and it’s even worst, because it looks dangerous, deadly, as if Dick has suddenly become a different person someone who can’t even recognize him. Jason keeps pulling him along with his hands on his body, guiding him to the present instead of the hallucinations and memories he is clearly seeing, dragging him forward until they reach the little home they had been sharing for the last months.

They crash into their bed after Jason manages to strip them both in the middle of another giggling fit, but the new surroundings are not much better. The sequence repeats, crying, anger, horniness, laughing, and the dangerous silences that make Jason’s skin crawl as Dick’s nails dig in his back. Sometimes the episodes even mix, and Jason has to hold Dick down from wreaking havoc on their little space. They fuck twice, fast and messy, and then hug for hours later. But as the night advances, the episodes seem to become softer, and less intense, and Jason slowly starts to relax into the patterns.

He feels emotionally drained just by dealing with him, so Dick has to be a total mess himself and it's probably going to take a while for him to recover both mentally and physically from this. It is still kind of reassuring. Dick never tries to hurt him in any way, even during the maniacally angry episodes he never goes for Jason, as if his subconscious knows who he is and can’t bring himself to harm him. Even during sexy times, when he looks desperate and mad with lust, and keeps whispering the most dirty words in Jason’s ears, he makes sure he is ready and willing every time. He sobs his name with guilt, he laughs it next time as if it’s the best word he has ever pronounced, he holds him, hugs him, making him moan in pure bliss...

By the time Dick finally falls asleep as dawn starts to illuminate their bedroom, Jason felts loved and cherished as he had never felt before. He knows that if he wasn’t in love with this man yet, he would definitely be now. Because if he had learned something tonight is that he means a lot to Dick, and that Dick, even out of his mind, loves him more than anything in this world. 

[white-wolf-buckaroo]

The last drop in The Last Drop: Part 2

Masterlist: there you go

Disclaimer: english ain't my first language folks

The Last Drop was louder than anywhere Luna had ever been before. The nights were the worst—crowds of people shouting over music, chairs scraping against the floor, and the occasional crash of glass breaking. It was overwhelming at first. Her small hands often clutched Vander’s shirt as she hid behind him as he stood behind the counter, her wide eyes darting toward every unfamiliar noise.

“It’s alright, Lu,” he’d say, his big hand resting on her shoulder. “Nothing to be scared of.”

When he said it, she tried to believe him.

But it wasn’t just the noise. The other kids—Vi, Mylo, Claggor, and Powder—were a whirlwind of energy that made her head spin. Vander wouldn’t let them go out alone at night (yet, when they were older they could, he always said), so they hung around in the evening sitting on a table by the wall, or messing around a little bit. Not that anyone minded, really. Vi was the loudest, always climbing something or chasing Mylo through the bar. Mylo talked a mile a minute, sometimes teasing Powder and now also Luna in a way that made her unsure if he was joking or not. Claggor was quieter but still intimidating with how easily he kept up with the chaos, kind of like Vander in that way.

And then there was Powder. Powder was closer to her size and age, with a wide grin and a streak of curiosity that seemed boundless; she was undoubtedly excited at having someone younger around, as the older kids tended to baby her from time to time. She was the first to approach Luna.

“Do you like dolls?” Powder had asked one afternoon, holding up a patched-together figure with button eyes.

Luna blinked, unsure how to answer. “I… don’t have one.”

Powder’s eyes lit up. “I can make you one!”

The blue haired girl hovered around her, asking endless questions. “Do you like colours? I love to draw! What’s your favourite food? Are you scared of spiders? I’m not. Well, okay, maybe sometimes.”

It was a lot, but Powder’s excitement was easier to handle than Mylo’s teasing or Vi’s confident energy. Vi, on the other hand, took her time warming up to Luna.

“She’s so quiet,” Vi had whispered to Vander one evening, looking at Luna sitting at the table, swinging her legs idly as Powder braided her hair (insisting that she had to wear it like herself). Mylo and Claggor were bickering over a game of cards nearby, their voices blending into the general hum of the bar. “Is she scared of us?”

“She’s just getting used to everything,” Vander replied, while cleaning the inside of a mug. “Give her time.”

“So… she’s going to stay with us? Permanently?” Vi asked, her tone uncertain. She wasn’t really sure how she felt about it. Not that she minded having someone else around, but it was another change. Another person to get used to.

Vander glanced at her, his expression softening. “She doesn’t have anywhere to go or anyone else to take care of her.”

Vi frowned, crossing her arms. She leaned her arms on the counter, her face scrunching in thought. “It’s just… we don’t even know her. What if she doesn’t fit in?”

Vander chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “And what exactly does ‘fitting in’ look like around here, huh?” He gestured toward Mylo and Claggor, who were now arguing loudly over whether Claggor had cheated in their game. Powder, meanwhile, was carefully arranging Luna’s hair into a lopsided braid, ignoring the two boys excellently as she chatted about her favourite toys she wanted to show Luna later.

Vi’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Fair point.”

“Look,” Vander continued, his voice quieter now. “When I found you and Powder, it wasn’t any different. You already knew me, yes, but you were also scared and you had gone through a lot, just like her.”

Vi looked down, her expression softening as she remembered. “Yeah, I guess.”

“And now look at you,” Vander said with a grin, ruffling her hair. “You’re the one making this place feel like home for the others. You’ll do the same for her. Just give it time. She’s going to be one of us, just like you, Powder, and the boys.”

Vi huffed but didn’t protest. “Fine. But she’s not gonna cry all the time, is she?”

Vander chuckled again, shaking his head. “You’d be surprised. That kid’s tougher than she looks, I’m sure of it. She’ll be okay,” he said, almost to himself. His voice had turned low, filled with quiet determination, the kind that always made Vi believe he could do anything. “She’s got us now.”

Vi watched him for a moment, the way his gaze softened as he looked at Luna, the way he crossed his arms over his chest and let out a deep, thoughtful breath. He wasn’t just saying it—he really believed it.

And if Vander believed it, maybe Vi could too.

Vi glanced over at Luna as well, watching her laugh quietly at something Powder had said, her small hands clutching the edge of the table as if she was still anchoring herself to this new world. Maybe Vander was right. Maybe she just needed time.

So, Vi tried in her own way. She offered Luna the better seat when they ate dinner and slowed down when explaining the rules of the games they played to include her.

“Tag’s easy,” Vi said one day, crouching down to Luna’s level. “If you don’t wanna play, that’s fine too.”

Luna hesitated but nodded. Vi grinned, grabbing her hand to pull her into the game.

“You just gotta run fast, okay?” Luna nodded. “Hide so that they don’t find you. If they don’t, you win!”

“But what if you never find me?” she asked, eyes wide showing her frighten.

“We will, don’t worry about that,” Vi laughed a bit, crouching down again to her level to look her into the eyes when she noticed Luna still didn’t seem at ease. “Hey, I promise. I’ll find you. Always. And if not me, then Vander, okay?”

That seemed to do the trick; it certainly did, when Luna would end up winning a lot of times because she would hide in the smallest of places. She would always wait for Vi or one of the others to find her in order leave her hiding spot, though, always making sure they found her.

Claggor was the first to win her over completely. Unlike Mylo’s teasing or Powder’s chatter, Claggor was steady, with a calmness that made him approachable even when Luna was feeling shy or overwhelmed. He was the one who helped Luna feel less lost in the chaos of the Last Drop.

The first time she followed him around the Last Drop, it wasn’t because he’d asked her to—it was because he was working on fixing something at one of the tables, and she was curious. She hovered nearby, not saying anything, just watching as he tightened a loose screw on a wobbly chair leg.

“You want to help?” he asked after a while, glancing up at her with a small smile.

Luna froze, startled. “I don’t know how.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll show you.” He handed her a screwdriver, holding her small hand in his for a moment to guide it into position. “Now turn it, like this. Slowly.”

She followed his instructions, her brow furrowing in concentration as she twisted the screwdriver. When the screw was snug in its place, she glanced up at him, uncertain.

“Perfect,” Claggor said, grinning. “Good job, Lu.”

From then on, she seemed to follow him around whenever he worked on repairs. He never complained, even when she slowed him down by asking too many questions or accidentally dropping tools. When she accidentally tipped over his toolbox, scattering screws and nails across the floor, she was afraid he’d be mad, and immediately scrambled to pick everything up, but he was calm about it.

“It’s okay,” Claggor said, crouching down beside her to help. “Happens to me all the time.”

“Really?” she asked, her wide eyes sceptical.

“Sure,” he said with a wink. “Once, I spilled everything right in the middle of the bar when it was full. Vander nearly tripped over me.”

That made her giggle, and Claggor grinned, satisfied.

When they weren’t fixing things, Claggor had a way of looking out for her without making a big deal out of it. If she was struggling to reach something on the counter, he’d quietly grab it for her. If Mylo’s teasing got a little too much, Claggor would step in with a simple “Knock it off, Mylo” that usually did the trick.

And when she was too nervous to speak up during one of their mealtimes, it was Claggor who noticed and slid the bread basket closer to her with an encouraging nod.

“You don’t have to ask,” he said softly. “Just take what you want. Nobody’s gonna mind.”

Even Mylo softened after a while. Though he still teased her (like most older brothers did to their younger sisters), his jokes became less sharp and more playful. One night, when they were all sitting at the table for dinner, Mylo leaned back in his chair, tossing a pickle from his plate to hers.

“Trade you,” he said.

“For what?” Luna asked cautiously, looking down at the pickle as though it might bite her.

“Nothing. I just don’t like pickles.” He grinned and added, “And you look like you do.”

She wrinkled her nose but took the pickle anyway, nibbling at the edge. Mylo smirked, satisfied, and went back to his meal. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it made her giggle—the first time she’d done so around him.

He remembered his first weeks after Vander had taken him in; he hadn’t been used to having a roof, a bed, food on the table… He had been unsure about everything at first, masking it with roughness and sharp bites whenever someone spoke up to him about it. And although he had grown into a teaser and he thought it was funny to annoy others from time to time, he also wanted to help Luna feel more at ease. He didn’t stop teasing her completely, but the edge in his voice softened. He’d say things like, “Careful, squirt, don’t trip over your own feet,” when she hesitated on the stairs, only to add, “Here, hold the rail like this,” as he showed her how to climb them more confidently.

When she joined the group to watch him and Claggor play cards, he scooted over to give her a better view of the game, though he kept up a running commentary that made her giggle.

“See, Lu, Claggor’s terrible at this. Don’t ever take advice from him about cards,” Mylo said, leaning close as though sharing a great secret.

“Hey!” Claggor protested.

“It’s true,” Mylo shot back, grinning.

“Don’t listen to him Lu, he cheats all the time!”

“I do not!”

“Yes you do!”

Luna only giggled.

One night, as the bar quieted down and they all sat around in the warm, dim light, Mylo noticed her watching him and Powder play a game with a set of battered dice.

“Wanna play?” he asked suddenly, holding up the dice.

Luna blinked. “I don’t know how.”

“It’s easy,” he said, shrugging. “I’ll teach you.” He scooted over to make room for her on the bench, motioning for her to sit beside him. “Okay, so here’s how it works...” For the first few rounds, Luna struggled to keep up, biting her lip in concentration as she tried to understand the rules. Mylo teased her lightly when she made mistakes, but he always followed it up with a quick explanation or a playful grin to show he wasn’t serious.

“See? You’re getting it,” he said after she won her first round. “You might even be better than Powder soon.” Powder protested, glaring at him. “What? Just saying.”

Luna smiled, her confidence growing. It kind of broke the ice. By the end of her first week, she started to feel less like an outsider and more like she belonged, giggling and smiling more often.

By the end of her first week, Luna started to feel less like an outsider and more like she belonged.

It wasn’t sudden, and it wasn’t always easy, but every little moment helped her feel a bit more at home. The way Powder had smiled at her the first time she handed her a piece of bread. How Mylo had tried to teach her how to throw a rock just right in the alley, despite her clumsy attempts. Claggor’s quiet approval when she helped wash the dishes, and even the rare chuckles from Vi when she managed to get something just right in the makeshift kitchen.

But more than anything, it was Vander’s presence that made her feel like she was becoming part of something.

Every night, when the bar quieted down, and the sounds of the busy day faded into a quiet hum, Vander would make time for the kids. Late in the evening, when the others would be settling into their cots, murmuring amongst themselves or falling asleep with their heads buried under old blankets, Luna always waited for the moment when Vander would sit beside her bed, asking her about her day.

It was something she had come to look forward to, the time when the world outside faded away, and she could focus on something—someone—who made her feel like she wasn’t alone in this strange new world.

Luna hugged her blanket tight against her chest, the edges worn and soft. It was a gift from Powder, who had insisted she take it when Luna had no blankets of her own one of the first nights she had spent with them.

“They’re loud,” Luna said quietly, her voice unsure, her eyes still darting over to where the others were gathering nearby, talking and laughing in their own chaotic way. “But… they’re nice.”

Vander’s gaze softened as he watched her, his expression full of quiet understanding. He leaned a little closer, his large frame casting a comforting shadow over her bed. “They are,” he said with a small smile. “They’re your family now, Lu. You’ll see. They’ve got your back.”

Family.

The word seemed so big, so final. Luna didn’t fully understand it. She thought of the people she had met before, the ones who had taken her in for a night or two, fed her scraps, and then sent her away when their patience ran out. But there was something different about Vander’s words. They felt warm, like the sun on a cool day. Not demanding, not overwhelming, but steady.

Luna tucked herself deeper into the blanket Powder had given her, the edges soft against her skin. She glanced over at the others, who were talking about something she didn’t fully understand, but they weren’t laughing at her, or ignoring her. Powder was saying something about a machine she wanted to make with some metal scraps Claggor had given her, her voice animated as she waved her hands explaining it excitedly while Mylo told her to shut up and let him sleep.

Vander’s voice, calm and reassuring, pulled her back to the present. “We’re your family now,” he repeated, his hand gently brushing her hair back from her face. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, not anymore.”

The word didn’t seem as strange anymore. Family.

It felt safe. It felt like belonging. It felt right.

[umbracirrus]

WIP Wednesday-!!💛

It's Wednesday again! I swear it was only just Wednesday... But anyway! This is a two part WIP, both a sketch and some writing. The writing can be described with a single sentence - Elyse is in Denial™️. The drawing is an attempt at designing a new outfit for Balgruuf - one that seems fancy and formal but isn't as difficult to draw as his usual clothes.

I've been tagged by @hircines-hunter and @skyrim-forever and I will be tagging @thequeenofthewinter and anyone who wants to share a wip (I'd tag more people but I'm absolutely exhausted and not many names are coming to me right now... But if anyone wants me to tag them let me know-!! ;u;)

So first of all, the drawing! It's a partially coloured drawing of an outfit I've started designing for Balgruuf... I wanted to have him wearing something other than his usual outfit, but still has some similarities (it's such a hassle to draw what he wears on his torso aside from the fur over his shoulders!). You get some of my little notes too :) I've not settled on the remaining colours aside from there being a yellow accent somewhere, hence why only part is coloured. I think it's going to be what I'll have him wear in The Perfect Storm when he marries Elyse ;3

And now, the writing-!!! >:3

------

“Is that all of them?”

“I... I think so?” Elyse let out a quiet sigh as she leaned down and placed her hands on her knees as she attempted to catch her breath. “By the Eight, I’m more out of shape than I thought I was.”

“You still did well though, even if you have spent most of winter hibernating in Dragonsreach.”

Her eyes darted up as she glared at her friend, who was now quietly laughing at her reaction. “I swear, that is what – the third time you’ve brought that up today?” Elyse stood up straight and folded her arms over as she raised an eyebrow. “Why do you keep trying to tease me about staying there, Lyd?

Lydia walked over to her and placed her hands on her shoulders. “Please don’t tell me that you’re blind to it. Please.”

“Blind to what?”

“The Jarl has eyes for you!”

Elyse frowned at that statement, before tutting and shaking her head. She then broke free from her grasp. “He’d do the same for any other Thane if they were in a situation like mine.”

“But those Thanes aren’t the Dragonborn. Those Thanes aren’t you,” Lydia grinned, which just made Elyse scoff and turn on her heel. “Come on, you can’t be that naive-“

“I love you Lydia, you’re like a sister to me, but by the Divines, you are annoying when you get these sorts of ideas in your head.”

“Jarls wouldn’t just get expensive jewellery for the birthday of any old Thane, you know. Nor would they shut themselves away when they upset any old Thane either. Invite them to join them at a festival. Or throw everything down when they hear that they’ve ended up under the care of the Temple of Kynareth! Divines, Elyse, he’s trying to court you!”

Elyse momentarily tensed as her face heated up, then shook her head. “No... That- He isn’t-“ She clenched her fists. “He isn’t... Couldn’t. Not me...” She then began to walk away. She didn’t want to handle any of this, not right now.

“I served Jarl Balgruuf for a few years before he assigned me to be your Housecarl... And trust me when I say that he acts different around you, in a way that he does nobody else.”

Pursing her lips together as she continued walking away, she tried her best not to dwell on what Lydia was saying. They were friends, of course she liked to tease her – though it was normally over her abysmal cooking skills, or how easily she got drunk... Not this.

But at the same time, did she have a point? She couldn’t possibly count the number of times he had sat with her to have tea, held her close, or wiped away her tears-

“Elyse!” The sudden yell from behind her made her flinch, before she quickly turned around and gasped.

[niiwa-angel]

Ohhhhhhh honey, it's so cute how you can be so close yet so far.

The sorting of bathrooms, prisons, sports categories, and shelters by sex isn't there to "violently segregate" people and the definition of male and female aren't arbitrary. There are biological differences between the sexes that are noticable. Males have broader shoulders, larger lung capacity, their pelvis is shaped differently than a females. Females have lower blood pressure than males, our skulls have a different shape and so do our rib cages, we don't build muscle the same way males do. And because of those differences, and if course the underlying hormones, males are stronger and faster than females. Hence why sports categories are sorted by sex.

Let's talk about behaviour, because males and females have different behaviour patterns, some societally influenced and some not. Males commit 80% of violent crimes, males commit 94% of sex crimes, females are the victims in 90% of sex crimes. When we separate spaces where people are going to be vulnerable, such as bathrooms, change rooms, and prisons, keeping males out of female spaces isn't bigotry, it's protection. These statistics have nothing to do with feelings or gender identity, they are observable globally. Around the world, males are more violent than females and they are violent towards females. They're violent towards each other too, but because they have the same biological advantages like lung capacity, bone density, and testosterone, two males fighting are decently matched.

Now let's talk about your ridiculous arguments about a woman wearing pants in a country that forbids it, because that made me laugh. Culture is made up, every single one, and they don't affect the biological reality of male or female either. The reason countries like Afghanistan have rules about what women can wear isn't about subjugating GNC people, it's just flat out misogyny, it's the oppression of women based on their sex. I dress very differently as a Canadian woman than a woman from sub-sahara Africa, we would celebrate different holidays, have different manners, and have grown up with different expectations of what is "feminine" but we are both female. Our sexes don't change just because the cultural expectations surrounding it do.

Moving on to how you tried to talk @radykalny-feminizm about how she may not be cis because she doesn't feel like she has a gender, please don't go around preaching your delusions. You sound like a Jehovah's Witness.

When radical feminists say we are women, we don't mean that we fit a cultural expectation of what women should be. We don't define womanhood by a set of pronouns, style of clothes, hobbies you're drawn to, or media you consume. Being a woman just means being an adult human female, that's it. Everything on top of that is just you, your hobbies, your style. I don't feel like a woman, it's just a biological reality, like my skin colour, height, and blood type. It's not something I can identify into or out of. If I were born male, it's be the same, I would be a man simply because I was born male. You saying you don't "feel" like a woman is like me saying I don't feel like 5"4, it's silly, it's placing behavioural and emotional expectations onto something that cannot be changed and that is not impacted by your view of it. You're a woman even if you chose to call yourself a gender just like I am 5"4 even if I chose to call myself 6 feet. In two hundred years, archeologists can dig up both of our skeletons and will conclude that we were both female and I was 5"4. The factual reality of ourselves doesn't change, it just is.

Furthermore, your argument that if a woman has her breasts removed, is infertile, and has trauma to her genitalia, she will be viewed as less of a woman is just insulting. Survivors of FGM aren't mutilated by chance, they are victims of a deeply misogynistic culture that viewed their natural genitals as needing to be changed. A woman who has had a double mastectomy or a total hysterectomy due to something like cancer isn't magically a male. It means that these women have undergone physical trauma that has changed their body. A male who has had his testicles removed because of testicular cancer isn't magically a woman, he's a man who has survived cancer. How society views these people after they have survived their trauma is still based on their sex.

Don't you realize that male and female are social constructs? They're ideas. Scientists don't even believe biological sex is a thing anymore, we're all just people. Gender is almost like religion, it can change, some people are really sure on theirs and others aren't, forcing someone into one is always wrong. Do you know why you're cis? Do you ever think about the possibility that you're not, about what it would be like to be something other then what you were born as. Would you still feel like a woman if you didn't have a womb, if you didn't have breasts or genitals or estrogen? It was a combination of contemplating these things, and mystical experiences with the goddess Hel that got me to realize I was agender. I thought I would lose certain things when becoming nonbinary and genderless, but I didn't. I don't know about you, but know you can be happy as an enby or a boy, you can be loved, and cherished and comforted as an enby or as a boy. I don't know if you're nonbinary like I am. You might find you really do identify with womanhood, but if you do really want to be a woman, then know that that's the same feeling amab women have. I know what it's like to think the way you do, I used to think that way, and I've had bad experiences with men and with the expectations society has for people with bodies like mine. But you don't have to take your pain and call it womanhood.

I'm not cis.

I didn't choose to be a woman.

I don't identify as a woman.

I don't feel like a woman.

I simply am a woman.

And being a woman isn't a social construct or an idea.

Being a woman is a biological reality.

I was born with a female body. That's a fact. It's not something I can change.

Saying that scientists don't believe in biological sex is a blatant lie. I can't believe that it needs to be said, but male and female bodies differ not only on the outside. We get affected by different conditions & illnesses. We have different immune systems. We have different pain levels. We have different hormones & health issues related to them. We respond differently to drugs and their dosages. Not to mention our reproductive systems and everything related to them. Our bodies are far away from being just a concept.

Being a woman in itself doesn't make me happy or unhappy. Just like being white & Polish doesn't make me happy or unhappy. Those are just facts about me.

And being a woman doesn't mean that I have to look or act in a specific way. What is womanhood for you if you think that males can identify with it? Is it about wearing dresses and makeup and acting silly? If a man does that then he's a woman? And if a woman doesn't do that then she's not a woman? It's absurd.

If you claimed that one can identify with a specific race by acting & looking in a specific way, everyone would (rightfully) say that it's offensive. Racial stereotypes are not okay, but gender stereotypes are fine & valid? Both sex and race are in the same category of material reality.

Being a woman doesn't determine who I am as a person. Being a woman is not a personality trait, just as race isn't. I don't have to do certain things so I can call myself a woman. There are no certain things one can do in order to "become" a woman.

But being a woman does shape my position in society and it also shapes yours, whether you like it or not. You can identify as whatever you want. It doesn't change the fact that society sees you as a woman. You can't identify out of oppression. You can't stop identifying with pay gap. You can't stop identifying with your reproductive rights being taken away. You can't stop identifying with the fact that women are being raped and killed by men everywhere, everyday. Women in Afghanistan can't stop identifying with the education ban.

Goddess Hel won't help you once men decide to take your rights away. Identifying as agender won't either. Stop being delusional for your own sake before reality slaps you in the face.

[strhwaberries]

yangyang // low low (210824)

[stervrucht]

[lacquerheadd]

pov: you walk into the training room in the jedi temple

[cheatsylu]

Fanart + Fanfic #1

“A Suspicious Encounter”

[ddlcbrainrot]

just two weird girls maximising their joint peculiarity

[caedi]

JACK & JOKER (2024)

"Let's play truth or dare, like old times."