#custom arch supports

[void-tiger]

Some days I think I probably do need an actually trained service animal for mental health crap + the occasional chronic crap affecting my mobility.

But like…I don’t really want a dog. I want a Highly Trained mainecoon or norwegian forest cat. Just. This very large very fluffy very baseline breed intelligent cat known to take on BEARS (or, home invaders and men attempting SA).

I’d be THAT Crazy Lady walking this giant fluff monster most days, but other days just have my lap full of fluff when my hips-down don’t want to cooperate, or I need the comforting weight and fluffy company to hold the brain static at bay.

And some days…look. It hurts to grasp things. Or I risk dropping things. And cats can and will open cupboards and drawers if the handles let them hook their paws Just So to make up for the lack of opposable thumbs.

(Yeah yeah I know people are more accustomed to training dogs for this, but I’ve had quite a bit of luck training my “just housecats” as adults with various things, and people post the adventures they take with their mainecoons like, all the time…so think of what I could do with socializing and training a cat if I had the chance to do so.

(…also I just get along better with cats than dogs. They’re more tolerant to my need to not have a true routine. Also they poop in a box.)

[trollbreak]

Ok um. Back to what I was doing before that lol

[fayelero]

To the world, Itoshi Sae was everything they wanted in a star: talented, stoic, untouchable.

A football prodigy.

He had the weight of a nation behind him, the eyes of Europe on him, and a press machine that couldn’t stop printing his name. There were photos of him in luxury brand campaigns. Editorials asking about his type. Viral clips of him brushing off attention with the kind of sharp, elegant indifference that only made them want him more.

And yet, for all the women who screamed his name in stadiums and slid into his DMs—models, influencers, actresses, even athletes—Sae had eyes for only one person.

You.

Not the girl from a magazine. Not someone verified. Not someone with a massive following or backstage access.

Just… you.

You, who wore simple tennis skirts and kept your hair up with pins when you played.

You, who folded his laundry without asking.

You, who beat him at chess once and never let him live it down—your sweet smile hiding a steel-trap mind.

You, who spoke three languages, drank tea instead of coffee, and never bragged about any of it.

You weren’t famous. You didn’t even want to be.

But to Sae?

You were his.

His treasure. His peace.

The one thing in his life that felt earned, not handed over with talent or status.

He remembered the first time he saw you clearly—on a quiet Tuesday evening, at a tennis court near a Tokyo training facility. You weren’t flashy on the court. Your movements were precise, fluid, controlled. Your footwork was surgical. The kind of elegance you didn’t need to scream about.

You barely noticed him.

That alone intrigued him.

Most women tried to orbit him. You didn’t even look in his direction.

And when you did talk to him—it wasn’t with awe or flirtation. It was polite. Intelligent. Measured. You challenged him. Made him think. And he hated how much he liked it.

He didn’t even know how he got you.

Maybe it was because he showed up at your matches.

Maybe it was because when he asked questions, he listened to your answers. Not just to impress you, but because he wanted to know what you thought.

Maybe it was the way he drove out to your place after late games just to lie on your lap and listen to you read.

But whatever it was, you chose him.

And it stunned him every time.

Because you weren’t a fan. You weren’t chasing status. You weren’t using his name to get into parties or sponsors.

You were content being the woman behind the scenes—the one who packed him onigiri in real Tupperware, not aesthetic lunchboxes.

You were the one who took his iced ankle and wrapped it without a word, pressing a kiss to his knee.

You were the one who texted, “Win or lose, come home safe.”

And he never looked at anyone else the way he looked at you.

Not even close.

The models in his DMs blurred together. The actresses who flirted with him in interviews? Forgettable. They didn’t know his favorite color. They didn’t know how he took his eggs. They didn’t know he liked his socks folded a certain way or that he sometimes couldn’t sleep after bad games unless you rubbed his scalp with lavender oil.

Only you knew.

And you never asked for anything in return.

That drove him crazy.

Because Sae had the kind of wealth most couldn’t imagine—and still, you didn’t expect gifts. You didn’t ask for expensive jewelry or first-class flights. You wore your old tennis sneakers until the sole peeled, until he replaced them without asking.

And still, you just smiled, tucked your hand into his, and said, “Thank you, Sae.”

Soft. Grateful. Like he hadn’t just dropped 800 euros on a pair custom-fitted for your arch support.

He spent his football money—money earned with blood, sweat, and an ice-cold work ethic—on you without blinking.

Because you were worth every euro. Every yen. Every hour of recovery. Every lonely night in a hotel room before you.

You were the one he’d keep forever.

He didn’t say much about it. That wasn’t his style.

But when he curled around you in bed, hand on your stomach, face pressed to the back of your shoulder, and whispered a quiet “Mine” against your skin—what he meant was:

You’re the one I’d give it all up for.

And you?

You only ever smiled, turned to kiss his forehead, and whispered:

“I know.”

[octaneink]

Custom Fit

Will Lenney x Reader

Summary: The Reader supports Will at the 2025 Sidemen Charity Match Warnings: None Notes: Sorry it took so long! This request was so hard, writing football stressed me tf out 😅 Watching the highlights were cool too, but I had no idea what was happening most of the time. I'm a rugby gyal

The roar of the crowd at Wembley Stadium buzzed in your ears like a live wire, a relentless hum that seemed to vibrate through your bones. The sea of red-and-white scarves and kits blurred into a kaleidoscope of motion, a living, breathing entity pulsating with anticipation. You stood slightly apart from the others, your fingers absently tugging at the hem of your custom #LENNEY 2 jersey. Beneath it, the long-sleeved shirt you’d layered clung to your skin, its fabric thin and breathable but still trapping a faint warmth against your arms. The jersey itself was softer than you’d expected, the material sliding easily over the shirt’s sleeves, but the combination did little to settle the restless flutter in your chest.

The VIP box was a sensory overload—popcorn kernels scattered on the floor, their buttery scent mingling with the sharp tang of expensive perfume wafting from the women nearby. The mix was as chaotic as your nerves, a strange cocktail of comfort and unease. Below, the YouTube Allstars were a whirl of pre-match energy, their movements sharp and purposeful. Some stretched, their muscles rippling under their kits, while others laughed, tossing balls in casual arcs that belied the tension building in the stadium. But your eyes tracked only one person.

Will stood near the sideline, his back to the stands as he jogged on the spot, his own red-and-white kit clinging to his frame. Even from here, you could see the way his shoulders shook with a laugh at something Harry said, his easy confidence radiating like sunlight. You’d memorised that posture—the way he rolled his neck before big moments, the habit of tugging his sleeves over his knuckles. But today, every detail felt magnified. Would he spot you before the match? Would he even look up?

“Stop fidgeting,” Talia hissed, swatting your hand away from the jersey’s hem. Her smirk was all mischief, her gold hoops catching the stadium lights as she leaned in. “If you crease it, he’ll think you nicked it off a mannequin.”

“Or that you’ve been stress-cuddling it in secret all week,” Freya added, arching a perfectly groomed brow. She’d swapped her usual designer dresses for Sidemen merch today, though hers was artfully cropped and paired with heeled boots. “Which, let’s be honest, you probably did.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin. “I did not. I’m not the one who still sleeps in Josh’s sixth-form hoodie.”

Freya gasped, clutching her chest in mock offence, as Faith snorted, adjusting Olive on her hip. The toddler reached chubby fists towards the colourful crowd, babbling excitedly. “Don’t drag me into this,” Faith said, bouncing Olive gently. “But for the record, Ethan still has the first note I ever wrote him tucked in his phone case. Lads are sentimental creatures. Prepare for waterworks.”

You smiled at Faith, your oldest mate. The two of you had been inseparable since her family moved next door when you were kids. You’d spent countless afternoons in her back garden, dreaming about the future and giggling over crushes. When she started dating Ethan, you’d been sceptical at first—what if he didn’t like you? What if things got weird? But Ethan had welcomed you into their world with open arms, and it wasn’t long before you were hanging about with the Sidemen crew.

That’s how you met Will.

You remembered the first time Faith dragged you to one of their group outings. You’d been nervous, feeling like an outsider among the tight-knit group, but Will had noticed you sitting quietly in the corner. He’d plonked down next to you with a grin, handing you a drink and launching into a story about the time he and Simon got lost in Amsterdam. By the end of the night, your cheeks hurt from laughing, and you’d forgotten all about being nervous.

Talia leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a stage whisper that somehow carried over the growing buzz of the crowd. “Or other reactions,” she said, her eyebrows waggling like she was sharing the juiciest of secrets. Her grin was sharp, knowing, and it made your stomach flip.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, spreading like wildfire. “It’s just a kit,” you lied, your voice pitching higher than you intended. The words sounded weak even to your own ears, and the way Talia’s smirk widened told you she wasn’t buying it.

“Just a kit?” Freya echoed, incredulous. “You had it custom-stitched in two days when the online shop sold out. Travelled to Manchester to beg the kit manager in person. That’s not ‘just’ anything, love. That’s a declaration of war.”

Your mouth opened to protest, but no words came out. Instead, you shot a nervous glance towards the pitch, where Will was still turned away, his focus on Chris as they mock-tackled each other. The sight of him—carefree, grinning, utterly in his element—made your stomach swoop in a way that was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.

Talia followed your gaze, her teasing expression softening just a fraction. “He’s going to love it,” she said, her voice sincere for once. “And when he scores today, he’ll point straight at this box. You’ll see.”

“He’d better,” Faith chimed in, her tone dry as she dug through her bag for Olive’s snack. The toddler was perched on her hip, gnawing on the ear of her stuffed bear, completely oblivious to the conversation. “Or I’m revoking his uncle privileges.”

A sudden cheer erupted from the crowd as the Allstars began dispersing to their positions. Your eyes snapped back to the pitch, where Will was now walking backwards towards the centre circle, his head tilted as he squinted up at the stands. Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. Could he see you? You froze, torn between waving like a prat and ducking behind Freya to hide.

But then Ethan called his name, tossing him a water bottle, and Will turned away, laughing as he fumbled the catch. The moment passed, and you exhaled sharply, unaware you’d been holding your breath.

“Heart attack avoided,” Talia teased, fanning you with a match programme she’d nicked from somewhere. Her grin was back, full force, and you rolled your eyes, though your cheeks were still burning.

“Give it time,” Freya said, her tone light but her eyes glinting with mischief. “The match hasn’t even started.”

You groaned, leaning back against the railing as the players took their positions. The tension in the air was palpable, the crowd’s energy building to a fever pitch. But even as the referee blew the whistle and the game began, your mind kept drifting back to the kit, to the way Will had laughed as he caught the water bottle, to the promise of what might come next.

The match hung on a knife-edge. 88th minute. 8-8. The Allstars surged forward, their attacks sharp and desperate, every pass and tackle charged with the kind of urgency that made your chest tighten. Your nails dug into the railing of the VIP box as you watched Will track back, his movements slower now, his legs heavy but still pushing. The Sidemen FC’s defence was in shambles—xQc stranded halfway up the pitch after a botched clearance, the goal gaping wide and vulnerable.

Your breath caught in your throat as George pounced.

The ball rocketed off his foot, a thunderous strike from the edge of the box, screaming towards the open net. The crowd rose as one, a collective gasp tearing through Wembley, the sound raw and primal. Your heart stopped. The world narrowed to that ball, arcing through the air.

Then Will moved.

He lunged, a full-stretch dive from inside the goal line, his body parallel to the grass as he hurled himself headfirst towards the ball. Time slowed—or maybe it was just your mind, struggling to process what you were seeing. The blur of the stadium lights, the deafening roar of the crowd, the sharp crack of his forehead connecting with the shot. The ball ricocheted skyward, spinning harmlessly out of play.

For a heartbeat, there was silence. Absolute, deafening silence.

Then chaos.

“UNBELIEVABLE! WILL LENNEY WITH A GOAL-LINE HEADER—ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” the commentator bellowed.

You were on your feet before your brain could even process it. Your arms shot out wide, fingers splayed, as if you could somehow reach down and touch the chaos unfolding on the pitch. A scream tore from your throat, raw and unfiltered, joining the tidal wave of noise crashing around you. “YES! YES! YES!” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. The world had narrowed to one thing: Will.

Spinning on your heel, you nearly lost your balance, but you didn’t care. Your hands flew out, pointing wildly towards the pitch, your eyes wide and frantic as they locked onto the girls. “DID YOU SEE THAT?! DID YOU SEE HIM?!” Your voice was hoarse, barely audible over the roar of the crowd, but your expression said it all.

Freya was bent double, her laughter ringing out like a bell. She clutched her sides, tears streaming down her cheeks as she gasped for air. “We saw it, love! The whole stadium saw it!” Her words were punctuated by another peal of laughter, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

Talia’s hands were on you in an instant, gripping your shoulders with a force that made you stumble. She shook you like a ragdoll, her dark curls bouncing wildly as she screamed in your face, “HE’S MENTAL! ABSOLUTELY MENTAL!” Her eyes were wide, her grin manic, and for a moment, you thought she might actually shake you apart.

Faith stood a little apart, holding Olive in her arms. She just shook her head, her lips curving into a wry smile. “That man’s going to give you a heart attack one day,” she said, her voice dry but her eyes sparkling with amusement.

And then the jumbotron flickered.

There you were, frozen in time—arms outstretched, your #LENNEY 2 kit blazing across your shoulders, your face alight with a joy so pure it was almost blinding. The crowd’s roar shifted, morphing into a collective “AWWWW” as the screen split. On one side, Will lay sprawled on the pitch, his chest heaving, his face streaked with sweat and grass stains. On the other, you stood, your eyes glistening with pride, your smile so wide it hurt.

Will squinted up at the screen, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. For a heartbeat, he just stared, his lips parting in surprise. Then, with a sudden burst of laughter, he slapped the grass, his shoulders shaking as he rolled onto his back. “OH MY DAYS!” he mouthed, his grin widening as he blew you an exaggerated kiss. The Allstars swarmed him, yanking him upright, their laughter mingling with the commentators’ cackles.

“Someone’s got a fan,” one of them teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

“Fan? That’s his girlfriend,” the other corrected, his tone smug. “Rumour has it she’s the reason he’s playing like a man possessed!”

“Possessed? Nah, mate—that’s love.”

Freya’s whistle cut through the noise, sharp and piercing, right in your ear. “If he dies tonight, at least he’ll die famous,” she said, her tone light but her eyes dancing with mischief.

“He’s already famous,” you shot back, your cheeks flaming as you tried to ignore the heat creeping up your neck.

“Not for football,” Talia snorted, her lips quirking into a smirk.

The pitch was alive with motion, players shifting into position like pieces on a chessboard, their movements sharp and deliberate. Will jogged backward, his boots digging into the turf with each step, his eyes darting up to the jumbotron every few seconds. The massive screen still flashed the split image—him, sprawled on the grass moments ago, and you, frozen in mid-celebration, your joy radiating even through the pixels. His grin, once wide and cocky, softened at the edges, the bravado melting into something quieter, more personal.

He tapped two fingers to his lips, a quick, almost unconscious gesture, before pressing them to his chest—right over the name on his kit. LENNEY. His eyes flicked to the VIP box, locking onto yours for a heartbeat. Yours, he mouthed, the word silent but unmistakable. Then he turned away, his focus snapping back to the game, but the ghost of that private smile lingered.

“Gross,” Talia said, her voice cutting through the moment like a knife. She swatted your arm, the sharp smack making you yelp and jerk away. “Save the eye sex for after we win,” she added, her tone dripping with mock disdain, though the corner of her mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile.

Freya, never one to miss an opportunity, let out an exaggerated gasp and fake-swooned into Faith’s shoulder. Her hand flew to her forehead, her fingers splayed dramatically as she tilted her head back. “He’s peacocking,” she declared, her voice lilting with theatrical flair. “Look at him. Absolute showman. Can’t help himself.”

Faith adjusted Olive on her hip, “He’s concussed,” Faith said flatly, though the grin tugging at her lips betrayed her. “That’s the only explanation for… whatever that was.” She gestured vaguely towards the pitch, where Will was now crouched slightly, his eyes scanning the field as the Allstars began to huddle.

But before he joined them, Will glanced up at the VIP box one last time. You couldn’t help yourself—you mimed blowing him a kiss, your fingers brushing your lips before flicking them towards him with a playful smirk. His reaction was immediate and absurd. He clutched his heart, staggering back as if you’d physically struck him, his face contorted in mock agony. The exaggerated drama of it made you laugh, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably despite the tension in the air.

Faith rolled her eyes, but the effort to keep her expression neutral was clearly a struggle. Her lips twitched, and she shook her head, muttering under her breath, “You two are disgusting.”

“Disgustingly sweet,” you shot back, your voice sing-song and teasing, though your grin was genuine. The tension of the shoot-out was building, the crowd’s energy shifting to a low, anticipatory hum. The whistle blew, sharp and piercing, snapping the stadium back into focus. Will straightened, his expression shifting from playful to intense in an instant.

The game was on.

The final whistle blew, and the Allstars erupted—a tangle of sweat-drenched hugs and victory chants. Will collapsed onto his knees, chest heaving, before Chris yanked him upright to join the team’s lap of honour. His eyes scanned the stands, lingering on the VIP box as he jogged, waving half-heartedly at the crowd.

“He’s coming up here, isn’t he?” Talia said, watching Will duck out of the team huddle and bolt for the tunnel.

“Twenty quid says he face-plants on the stairs,” Faith replied, shielding Olive’s eyes playfully.

You barely heard them. Your pulse thundered in your ears as the stadium doors swung open—

And there he was.

Will, still in his grass-stained kit, hair plastered to his forehead, cheeks flushed from the game. He skidded to a halt in front of you, breathless and grinning like he’d scored a last-minute winner. The VIP section fell silent, phones snapping photos as he vaulted the barrier.

“You,” he said, pointing a trembling, accusatory finger at your jersey, “are a menace.”

“Me?” You arched a brow, fighting a smile. “You’re the one who blew a kiss to 90,000 people.”

“Had to claim my territory,” he shot back, stepping closer until the scent of turf and citrus sweat wrapped around you. “Everyone’s gonna want a Lenney kit now.”

“Doubt it,” you said, tapping the #2 on your chest. “This one’s custom.”

Will’s gaze softened. He reached out, calloused fingers brushing the embroidered name on your shoulder. “You’re a proper ride-or-die, you know that?”

“Someone’s got to be,” you teased, though your voice wavered.

He huffed a laugh, then hooked a finger under the jersey’s collar, tugging you forward until your foreheads pressed together. The crowd’s cheers faded to static. “Wanna know why I kept looking at the screen?” he murmured.

“To admire your own cheekbones?”

“Nah.” His thumb swept over your jaw. “Every time I saw you in my name, I remembered… this is real. We’re real. Even when I’m out here acting like a prat for the cameras.”

Freya fake-gagged behind you. “Get a room!”

Will flipped her off without breaking eye contact. “Swap kits with me,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

He didn’t wait for an explanation. Before you could even process what was happening, Will yanked at his own sweat-soaked Allstars kit, peeling it off in one swift motion. The crowd erupted, a deafening roar of cheers, whistles, and laughter as he stood there, bare-chested and unbothered, his grin wide and unapologetic.

For a moment, you froze, your brain short-circuiting. His skin glistened under the stadium lights, the faint sheen of sweat catching the glow as his chest rose and fell with each breath. The muscles in his shoulders and arms—usually hidden under layers of fabric—were on full display, defined and taut from the game. A faint trail of grass stains smudged his collarbone, and your eyes involuntarily dipped lower, catching the faint line of his happy trail, a subtle but undeniable detail that made your throat go dry.

“Your kit,” he repeated, snapping you out of your daze. He waved a hand in front of your face, his grin turning smug. “Earth to," he said your name "Give it. Now.”

“You’re mental,” you managed, your voice coming out higher than intended. Your cheeks burned as you tore your gaze away, but not before catching the way his smirk deepened, clearly pleased with himself.

“Oi, eyes up here,” he teased, tapping your chin with a finger. “Unless you’re enjoying the view?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, swatting his hand away, though the heat in your face betrayed you.

The crowd around the VIP box had started to notice the commotion, a few fans snapping photos on their phones, their laughter mingling with the noise of the stadium. Will, ever the showman, turned to them briefly, flexing with an exaggerated wink that sent another wave of cheers through the stands.

“You’re such a prat,” you groaned, though you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips.

“And you’re stalling,” he shot back, shoving his crumpled match kit into your hands. The fabric was still warm from his body, and you could feel the faint dampness of sweat as you clutched it to your chest.

“You’re never living this down,” you groaned, reluctantly tugging your #LENNEY 2 over your head.

Will took the kit from you with a grin, holding it up like it was some kind of trophy. He shook it out, the fabric snapping in the air, before slipping it on properly. He adjusted the shoulders, smoothed the front, and tapped the #2 on his chest with a smirk.

“Looking good,” you said dryly, though your cheeks burned as you clutched his discarded kit to your chest, the fabric still warm from his body.

“Damn right,” he shot back, his grin widening as he raised an arm, flexing dramatically. The crowd around the VIP box had started to notice the commotion, a few fans snapping photos on their phones, their laughter mingling with the noise of the stadium.

“You’re such a show-off,” you muttered, though you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips.

He spun back to you, his eyes bright and wild, the kind of look that made your stomach flip. “Yeah,” he said, quieter now, his voice barely audible over the chaos. “And I’m yours.”

The kiss wasn’t dramatic or cinematic—it wasn’t the kind of moment you’d see in a film, with sweeping music and perfectly timed lighting. It was messy, real, and inevitable. His lips met yours with a kind of urgency that spoke of relief, of triumph, of something deeper that had been simmering all day. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, his grip firm but not possessive. The taste of salt lingered on his lips, a mix of sweat and the faint, sugary tang of Haribo from his half-time snack. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was him, and that was enough.

At first, it was almost hesitant, as if he was reminding himself that this was real, that you were here, that the chaos of the game was over and this moment was his to claim. But then his fingers tightened slightly on your waist, and the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a quiet intensity that made your chest ache. His breath was warm and uneven, his forehead pressing against yours as if he needed the anchor, the connection, to ground him.

The surrounding chaos didn’t disappear, exactly—it just faded into the background, like static on a radio. The roar of the crowd, the flash of cameras, the distant shouts of his teammates—it all became a blur, muffled and distant. All you could focus on was the warmth of his body against yours, the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm, the way your kit clung to his shoulders, still damp with sweat.

His hands slid up your back, pulling you even closer, and you could feel the tremble in his fingers, the faintest hint of exhaustion and adrenaline still coursing through him. His lips were soft but insistent, and when you let out a small, involuntary sigh, he smiled against your mouth, the curve of his lips breaking the kiss for just a moment before he leaned back in, slower this time, more deliberate.

The second kiss was different—less urgent, more lingering, as if he was savouring the moment, memorising the feel of you. His thumb brushed your cheek, calloused and gentle all at once, and you could feel the way his breath hitched when your fingers tangled in the damp hair at the nape of his neck. He tasted like victory and exhaustion, like the faint citrus of his energy drink and the salt of his sweat, and you couldn’t get enough.

Someone below shouted, “GET A ROOM, LADS!”—probably Ethan, judging by the tone—but Will didn’t pull away. He just laughed, the sound low and breathless, his lips still brushing yours as he murmured, “Ignore them.”

And you did. For a few more seconds, at least, the world narrowed to the two of you—his hands on your waist, your fingers in his hair, the way your kit clung to his shoulders like a second skin. It wasn’t perfect or polished, but it was real.

“You’re stuck with me now,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, barely audible over the noise.

“Was there ever any doubt?” you shot back, your voice trembling despite your attempt at levity.

He huffed a laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. His thumb brushed your cheek, calloused and gentle all at once, and for a moment, it felt like the two of you were the only people in the stadium.

The moment didn’t last long—it couldn’t, not with the cameras still flashing and the crowd still roaring—but it didn’t need to.

Gang, let me know what you think of this! I don’t usually watch football, so I had to slowly go through the live stream to get a feel for the game. Eventually, I gave up and just watched the highlights and pick out the goal block scene.

I hope it’s okay.

I tried my best, I've went back and forth quite a bit, I’m definitely out of my depth here. Let me know if anything feels off or needs tweaking!

[tvickiesims]

4t2 Lovestruck Expansion Pack

A fruit of our labour with @platinumaspiration (featuring moral support and useful advice from @lordcrumps 😀) is finally here!

Key features:

138 objects 24 beddings 7 seasonal plants 9 windows 6 doors 10 fences 2 arches 2 columns 69 floors 199 walls

Smoothed out meshes, no shine (except when necessary), quarter tile placeable;

All garden plants are seasonal, have undersides and all original recolors;

Fences are included but don’t show in the collection file because it’s not possible to add them.

Everything that doesn't look like deco and is meant to function - is functional (all lights light up; fans are animated; surfaces have slots; doors, windows and curtains have diagonal versions, book pile is functional, costume trunk is a wardrobe etc etc...);

Thank's to Nikki's perseverance, the guitar is functional too (requires Argon's Custom Instruments mod, included in the archive);

Picnic table was cloned from an object by Inge Jones. In order for sims to sit on the bench, you need either my edited version of Inge's Hidden Picnic Chair (called Tvickiesims_ijHiddenPicnicChair, included in the archive) or the original one from the link above). You'll also need her other mod called "IsChairABooth" (included in the archive).

My edit of Inge Jones' Hidden Picnic Chair was cleaned of some resources, has a new mesh, doesn't contain textures, is easier to grab and click, costs 0 (you already payed for the table) and becomes invisible in live mode (inspired by @lamare-sims's Invisible Kitchen Surface);

Wall fan and water tower reduce bills;

Armchairs and sofas have morphs (Nikki has my eternal gratitude💗);

Heart bed (Vibromatic Nuevo) vibrates and lights up 😏, all thanks to Nikki;

Basic Breakup Double Bed was turned into a blanket (works with @lamare-sims's Unmade Bed mod);

Most wallpapers were cut in half to preserve their patterns (thus their quantity). These walls have clear numbering system and will appear close to each other in catalog;

Romance Rendezvous Bar Back's mirror has wonky reflection. It can't be fixed;

Everything is separated between two collection files - one for buy mode and the other for build mode;

@lordcrumps' shadow file is required for the shadows to work (included, delete if you already have one copy in your downloads folder).

Buy mode:

Build mode:

Hidden Picnic Chair placement for the picnic table (like a normal chair basically, no cheats needed):

Objects we didn't like enough to bother with (not converted):

Compressed, meshes merged with recolors, clearly labelled, picture and collection files are included.

🫶💐❤️Download at SFS❤️💐🫶

UPDATE 19/08/2024

Edited Ash tree and Thunderclap to drop leaves in autumn, smoothed Thunderclap's trunk. Fixed Tri Aviary LoveSymphony Sculpture's one recolor.

UPDATE 20/08/2024

The Flame Of Love Candlestick and Sequence Of Love Candle Bunch had a small shadow issue, it's now fixed.

UPDATE 22/08/2024

Fixed Lovestruck Fountain's price (was set to 0).

[girlrotterr]

— "𝐼 𝑊𝛢𝛮𝛮𝛢 𝛨𐒆𝐿𝐷 𝑇𝛨𝛦 𝛨𝛢𝛮𝐷 𝐼𝛮𝘚𝐼𝐷𝛦 𝑌𐒆𝑈."

𝑃𝛢𝐼𝑅𝐼𝛮𝐺: ellie williams x ballerina! reader

𝘚𝑌𝛮𐒆��𝘚𝐼𝘚: Ellie, an art school dropout working at a bookstore, has a habit of sketching strangers she encounters. One day, she becomes captivated by a rising ballet star practicing at a nearby theater.

𝛢/𝛮: Happy holidays, my angels! I'm endlessly grateful for your support and kindness. To show my appreciation, here's a festive little fic to celebrate the season!

The first flakes of snow swirled against the inky sky, catching the amber glow of streetlights as if they were performing a pirouette in the winter night. Ellie slouched on her stool behind the counter, her gaze drifting to the frost-rimmed window. Outside, the world carried on with its holiday bustle—carolers huddled under lampposts, the tinny strains of their song barely audible over the rush of traffic and the occasional burst of laughter from passersby. She dragged the edge of her sleeve across her face, smudging lead further down her wrist, and stared at the half-finished sketch in her notebook.

The shop was quiet, except for the soft hiss of the radiator and the muffled strains of an old jazz record spinning in the corner. The Christmas tree, barely taller than her arm, stood crooked in its stand, its few ornaments glittering under strings of mismatched lights. Ellie wasn’t much for festive cheer, but it had been her boss’s idea—a “charming touch” to draw in customers. So far, it hadn’t worked.

The bell above the door jingled, sharp and sudden against the quiet. Ellie glanced up, expecting the usual—a hurried shopper looking for last-minute gifts, maybe another student trying to trade old textbooks for cash. But the figure standing in the doorway was neither.

You hesitated there, framed by the frosted glass, the soft glow from the streetlights catching on the gold buttons of your coat. Snow clung to your hair, melting into shimmering droplets that slid down your scarf. Something about the way you stood—poised yet uncertain—caught Ellie’s attention. You stepped inside, the sound of your boots muffled by the threadbare rug, and the door swung shut with a gust of icy air.

Ellie straightened, wiping her smudged fingers on her jeans. Your eyes flicked around the store, tracing the shelves with a kind of deliberation that made Ellie’s skin prickle. You moved with a grace, like you carried some secret rhythm only you could hear. A dancer, Ellie thought, though she couldn’t explain how she knew.

“Can I help you?” Ellie’s voice came out rougher than intended, the words blunt in the stillness.

You blinked, startled, your gaze snapping to hers. For a moment, you didn’t speak, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your coat. Ellie noticed the way your hands moved, smoothing invisible creases, your knuckles brushing against the buttons as if trying to iron it out. 

“Yes,” you said at last, your voice soft but steady. “I’m looking for an old choreography journal. I heard this store might have it.”

Ellie arched an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. “Choreography journal? That’s pretty specific.”

You nodded, your expression earnest, and Ellie sighed, pushing herself to her feet. “Right. Follow me.”

You trailed behind her as she wove through the maze of shelves. The air smelled of aged paper and pine, and the faint hum of the jazz record followed you into the back corner of the shop. Ellie scanned the spines, her fingers grazing over faded titles until she spotted it—a leather-bound journal, its edges worn with age. She pulled it free and turned, holding it out.

“This the one?”

Your face lit up, a smile breaking across your features so suddenly and so vividly that it hit Ellie like a sucker punch. “Yes! Thank you,” you said, your voice breathless as you took the journal from her hands, cradling it like something fragile and precious.

She watched as you moved toward the counter, her fingers itching to grab her sketchpad. She didn’t know what it was—maybe the light catching the curve of your cheek, or the quiet determination in your eyes—but she felt the urge to capture it before it slipped away.

The bell jingled again as you left, the journal tucked under your arm. Ellie sat back down, her fingers already moving, charcoal sweeping across the page in quick, confident strokes. She sketched the tilt of your head, the fall of your coat, the way you had looked when you first stepped into the shop, snow still clinging to your scarf.

When the drawing was done, Ellie stared at it, her chest tightening.

“Should’ve said something,” she muttered, closing the notebook with a sigh.

Ellie’s hands drummed absentmindedly against the steering wheel, the engine’s hum matching the rhythm of her thoughts as she drove down the dimly lit streets. The Christmas lights that adorned the lampposts casted a muted glow over the pavement, reflecting off the windshield in streaks of red and green. She flicked her gaze over to Jesse, her best friend, who sat in the passenger seat with his head tipped back, looking up at the sparse stars through the cracked window.

"You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were starting to like this cold," Ellie teased, her lips curling into a grin.

Jesse smirked but didn’t reply right away, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. After a beat, he looked over at her, his expression softening. “It’s not the cold that’s got me in a good mood. It’s this whole, ‘helping out with your job’ thing. Plus, I get to spend some time with you before I clock in at mine.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow. "You mean the part-time gig as the world’s most underpaid stagehand?"

Jesse chuckled. “Hey, I’m getting better at lifting things.”

The two of them shared a laugh before the silence settled comfortably between them. Ellie had never been one for big plans, but Jesse’s spontaneity had a way of keeping things interesting, even on cold winter nights like this one.

Pulling into the theater's lot, Ellie parked in the space closest to the backstage entrance, and Jesse threw open the door with a flourish. “Wanna come inside for a bit? They’re rehearsing for The Nutcracker, and I don’t feel like sitting around alone.” He raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “You’ve got nothing better to do.”

Ellie shrugged, her hand on the door handle. “Yeah, sure. I’ve got a couple hours to kill anyway.”

The two of them walked inside, greeted by the familiar hum of stage lights and the distant chatter of performers. The backstage area was a chaos of costumes, props, and stagehands rushing about in preparation for the evening’s rehearsal. Ellie had seen it all before—Jesse working his second job, moving props, fixing lights, and usually getting caught in the drama of the theater. But tonight, she didn’t feel like hanging around the cluttered backroom, so instead, she followed Jesse down a narrow hallway, where the low murmur of music seeped out from beneath the door to the rehearsal space.

The room was filled with dancers—some stretching, others running through pirouettes, all wrapped in the familiar warmth of motion and music. Ellie leaned against the wall just inside the door, watching them with a quiet sense of awe. The elegance in their movements, the sharp precision of each turn and leap—it was a world so different from her own, so alien in its grace.

But then, her eyes caught you.

You were at the front of the group, gliding effortlessly across the polished floor, your body flowing in perfect synchrony with the music. There was something magnetic about the way you moved, something Ellie hadn’t been able to shake since that first moment she saw you in the bookstore. She hadn’t known it then, but seeing you now, so focused, so composed—her heart gave an unexpected thump.

You paused mid-step, adjusting the position of your arm as the instructor called for the group to repeat the sequence. Ellie’s breath hitched in her chest as she watched you. She didn’t know much about ballet—hell, she didn’t know much about anything that required that level of discipline—but she knew that you were a star in the making. And something about you standing there in that moment made her feel like an outsider, unsure of whether to approach you or simply watch from a distance.

Her fingers twitched, the urge to capture you on paper bubbling to the surface before she could stop herself. The sketchbook she always carried with her was nestled in the crook of her arm, the familiar weight comforting in its presence. Without thinking, she pulled it free, the pages flipping open with a soft rustle, and she found the nearest bench, settling down with a practiced ease. The dancers continued to move in their own world, their rhythm uninterrupted by her quiet intrusion.

Jesse, oblivious to the change in the air, slapped her shoulder as he walked by, his voice laced with his usual lighthearted teasing. "I’m gonna go clock in."

Ellie gave him a sharp nod, her focus already elsewhere. “Go do your thing.”

He gave her a crooked grin before disappearing into the back, leaving Ellie alone with her sketchbook and the image of you in her mind. Her pencil hovered over the paper for a moment, and then she was moving, sketching you in a flurry of strokes.

The movements were swift but careful, each line drawing out the fluidity in your form—the arc of your arm, the curve of your body as you turned, the elegance in the tilt of your chin. Ellie’s hand moved instinctively, following the rhythm of your dance in a way she never had before, as if the beat of the music pulsed through her own veins. The sketch began to take shape quickly, a blurry but vivid impression of you.

She glanced up briefly, just to catch the way your foot landed on the floor with a light thud before you floated effortlessly into another spin, and Ellie was back to the page, her pencil pressing harder now, as if she could make it feel more real. The slow burn of the sketch was intoxicating—each movement of your body translated into a new line, a curve, a shadow on the paper. There was something about watching you from here, at a distance, that felt so… personal, like she was drawing you in a way that words never could.

Her pencil moved faster as you paused in a stretch, your back arching in a way that made Ellie’s breath catch in her chest. A small frown creased her brow as she captured it, the lines growing more confident, more precise with every passing second. 

You were beautiful.

Ellie bit her lip, feeling a warmth creeping up her neck at the thought. It was like you were a part of the drawing now, and she didn’t know whether that made it feel more real or less. She wanted to show it to you, somehow, but the thought of speaking to you—really speaking to you—sent a quick pulse of anxiety through her chest. 

The dancers were in full flow now, the music swelling with urgency. They executed one complex sequence after another, their bodies bending and stretching with fluidity. But at the front of the room, where you were, the music seemed to swell around you, highlighting every intricate move, every flick of your wrist, every lift of your leg. You were the center of it all—focused, your concentration as sharp and precise as the form of your body, each movement a well-practiced line of choreography.

But then, in the middle of a delicate turn, it happened.

Your foot slipped.

It was almost imperceptible at first, a slight misstep—a mere second of imbalance—but it was enough to unravel the perfection of your movement. Your ankle buckled, the graceful arc of your body faltering. Ellie’s breath caught in her throat as she watched you lose control, your arms flailing for balance, but your foot twisted in a way that left you no choice.

You crumpled to the floor with a soft thud, the sound of your body hitting the hardwood echoing in Ellie’s chest. A sharp intake of breath escaped your lips as you caught yourself on your hands, but it was clear you weren’t going to recover quickly. For that split second, time seemed to freeze—there was only the sound of your pain hanging in the air, as still as the tension that gripped the room. Ellie felt her stomach drop, her hands instinctively tightening around the edges of her sketchbook as she kept her gaze locked on you, her heart pounding wildly.

The other dancers rushed to your side, their faces a blur of concern and urgency, but Ellie couldn’t tear her eyes away. She felt as if her whole body had gone rigid, her muscles taut with the sudden, overwhelming need to do something, anything—but she couldn’t. She was rooted to the spot, her mind frozen with the image of you crumpled on the floor.

"Shit," Ellie muttered under her breath, her voice barely above a whisper as she clenched her jaw, frustration building in her chest. Her fingers, stiff with worry, drummed against the pages of her sketchbook, but she barely noticed the paper crinkling beneath her touch.

It felt like hours before Jesse reappeared, though it was only a minute or so later. He stepped lightly into the space beside Ellie, his shoes tapping against the floor. He scanned the scene in front of them, his eyes flicking over to where you were being helped up by one of the instructors.

Jesse plopped down next to Ellie, stretching his legs out in front of him and settling in with the ease of someone who had been here a thousand times before. His tone was casual, but Ellie could hear the concern that lingered beneath it, the weight of the situation finally beginning to register in his voice. "You good?"

Ellie’s focus was still completely fixed on you. Her mind was a swirl of confusion, worry, and something deeper she couldn’t quite place. She didn’t know how to process it, how to feel about seeing you like this. She’d watched you dance so effortlessly before. But now, this—this moment—felt different. “I don’t know… I think she’s okay, but—” She trailed off, her voice trailing behind the question, as she watched the instructor gently guide you off to the side. Your movements were slow now, the instructor’s arm around your shoulders, offering what little support you might need.

Jesse leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. He folded his arms across his chest, the casual way he settled back into his seat making it clear that this wasn’t his first time seeing something like this happen. 

“Ohh, her. She’s a rising star, man. You wouldn’t know it from how quiet she is, but she’s a big deal around here. Preparing for The Nutcracker… it’s like, a huge role for her.” His voice softened as he spoke, but Ellie could still hear the admiration in his words, the way he seemed to know something more about you than she did.

Her brow furrowed, her thoughts racing in a dozen directions. 

Jesse’s  gaze shifted back to you as you sat on the bench now, resting your injured ankle. There was a brief pause before he continued, his voice quieter now. 

 “Last year, though… she had a huge setback. Bad performance, all the pressure got to her. She messed up, and it cost her. Big time.” He glanced at Ellie, gauging her reaction, before he continued, his voice more subdued. “She twisted her ankle during the performance. It’s been hard for her to bounce back.”

Ellie’s stomach tightened at the revelation, her heart sinking. “Are you sure she’s gonna be okay?” Ellie asked, her words tumbling out before she could stop them. There was a tightness in her chest now, a knot she couldn’t unravel as she watched you—still holding yourself, but now with a limp, a hesitation in your steps.

Jesse let out a long sigh, his expression softening with something like sympathy. “She’s tough. But… yeah. It’s gonna take a lot to get back to where she was before. The injury’s made it harder to balance sometimes. I think it messes with her head more than anything.” He paused for a beat, his eyes lingering on you, still sitting off to the side, the pain evident in your movements even though you tried so hard to mask it.

Ellie couldn’t look away. The sight of you made something inside her ache, something she couldn’t name. 

Ellie walked into her apartment, the door creaking as she pushed it open, the familiar scent of stale air and dust greeting her like an old friend. The heater was a noisy beast that struggled to keep the cold at bay, but she couldn’t afford anything better, not when every paycheck was stretched thin between groceries, rent, and whatever scraps of art supplies she could scrape together. She sighed, a breath that carried the weight of the long day, as she kicked off her boots. 

The floor was cold under her feet, but it didn’t matter much—everything in this place was a little broken, a little worse for wear. She shrugged out of her coat, letting it drop onto the couch, and peeled off her layers one by one. The thick sweater, the scarf she had wrapped too tightly around her neck, the faded jeans—she tossed them all aside like they didn’t matter anymore. She had long given up on caring about how she looked or how this place looked. No amount of rearranging could fix the fact that it was barely livable.

Ellie crossed the small living room to the heater, cranking it up to the highest setting, watching the way it sputtered to life with a half-hearted groan. The warmth was slow to come, but she didn’t mind the wait. She needed to lie down. She needed to close her eyes for just a moment before the thoughts crowded in.

She dropped onto the couch, sinking into the familiar, sagging cushions. The spot had molded to her body over the years, each depression a reminder of how many sleepless nights she had spent in this place—thinking, drawing, wasting time. Her sketchbook was always within reach, a constant companion even when she hated it, when the pages felt too full of the messy, unrefined parts of herself.

Ellie was a scrappy art school dropout with no grand dreams of gallery shows or fame. After her dad—Joel—had passed, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. He’d been the one who held things together, who made sure she had everything she needed, even when things were hard. His sudden death shattered her world, leaving her with no safety net. Without him, there was no way she could afford the tuition. So she quit.

Her shifts at the bookstore paid for the crappy apartment, but it didn’t cover the bills, let alone the art supplies she burned through. Still, she kept coming back. It wasn’t the job she wanted, but it kept her from starving, kept her from getting evicted. Her fingers were always covered in ink and graphite from sketching during breaks, filling pages with fragmented portraits and half-formed ideas. 

Ellie had been lying on the couch, the irritation of the thumping bass from next door creeping under her skin like an itch that couldn't be scratched. She'd pulled her pillow over her head, hoping it would drown out the noise, but it only seemed to make the thudding louder. The muffled music bled through the walls, a constant, annoying reminder of how small and stifling her apartment had become. She felt trapped—trapped by the noise, by the walls, by the life she couldn't quite get out of.

And then the moment came. Another wave of pounding bass rattled the floor, sharp and insistent, until Ellie couldn’t take it anymore. Her frustration built up until it was a tight knot in her chest, and before she even realized it, she was on her feet, storming out of her apartment without a second thought.

Her feet barely made a sound as she walked down the hall, her breath shallow, fists clenched. The door to the apartment was slightly ajar, as if inviting her in, and Ellie, in her agitated state, didn’t pause to knock. She pushed the door open, ready to confront the source of the noise, but then everything stopped.

You were there.

In the soft glow of the moonlight, you moved with a grace that stole Ellie’s breath away. The warm, golden light wrapped around your figure like a blanket, casting your silhouette in a soft, delicate glow. Your body spun through the air, each movement flowing effortlessly into the next, as if you were part of the rhythm of the world itself. Your form was fluid, every line of your body a quiet expression of something beautiful.

She stood frozen in the doorway, her chest tight as she watched. The world seemed to slow down around her. There was no harsh music blaring, no noise at all—just the sound of your movements and the occasional soft swish of fabric. The way you danced was mesmerizing, like you were lost in a world of your own.

Your focus was total, your expression one of quiet concentration, but it wasn’t just your skill that held Ellie’s gaze. It was the way you seemed to move so effortlessly, as if you were floating. You were lost in your dance, your body becoming an extension of the space around you. For a brief, fleeting moment, Ellie forgot everything—the irritation, the frustration, even the reason she’d come here. All that mattered was the way you filled the space with your presence.

God, you're everywhere.

Ellie’s heart thudded in her chest, each beat louder than the last. The thought hit her, unbidden and sharp: fuck, I can’t escape you. You were a constant presence, even if Ellie hadn’t fully realized it until now. In the bookstore, in the theater, in the quiet of her own apartment, and now here, in the soft glow of your world. It was as if fate had tied her to you, whether she liked it or not. And in that moment, Ellie couldn’t decide if she was terrified or intrigued by that pull.

You finished your spin, landing with the kind of grace that left Ellie almost breathless. The room around you felt smaller, quieter, as if your very presence had claimed it..

But then, in that instant, your movements faltered. Your eyes flickered toward her, and suddenly the connection snapped. Your gaze locked with hers, and Ellie felt a jolt run through her body, as if her entire world had shifted. The stillness of the moment was broken by the uncomfortable tension that now hung between them.

You froze mid-spin, your wide eyes betraying a mixture of surprise and fear. The tension in your body was palpable as you instinctively took a step back, your shoulders tightening, your lips pressed together in discomfort. Ellie saw the way you hesitated, a quick breath caught in your chest, as if you weren’t sure whether to move or stay.

You were scared. Unnerved by her presence.

Ellie raised her hands slowly, palms out in a gesture of apology, her voice coming out softer than she intended. “I—I didn’t mean to—your door was open, and the music… I just…” She trailed off, words tangling on her tongue as her gaze flickered over you, taking in the guarded way you stood, every muscle taut as if ready to defend yourself.

The silence between you stretched, broken only by the faint hum of the city outside and the soft tick of a clock somewhere in your apartment. Ellie swallowed hard, the warmth of the space and the sheer presence of you making her feel like an intruder in a world she didn’t belong to.

You folded your arms, your expression shifting from wary to something unreadable. The moonlight poured through the wide windows, catching on the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to your skin. Your hair framed your face, slightly disheveled but effortlessly stunning, and the tension in your jaw made Ellie’s chest ache in a way she didn’t fully understand.

“Look,” Ellie started again, shifting awkwardly, her fingers curling into the strap of her bag. “I wasn’t trying to spy or anything. I live next door, and the music was… loud.” She winced inwardly at the weak excuse, the words sounding hollow even as they left her lips. Her frustration from earlier had long since dissipated, leaving only a raw mix of nerves and something else—something she couldn’t quite name.

“Loud?” you repeated, your voice soft but edged with incredulity.

Ellie nodded quickly, her cheeks burning. “Yeah. But, uh, you dance… really well. Like, beautifully well.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, your arms still crossed, but the sharpness of your gaze seemed to dull just a fraction. Ellie could’ve kicked herself. Compliments probably weren’t what you wanted to hear from the stranger who’d just barged into your apartment uninvited.

“Thanks,” you said finally, your tone clipped. But there was something in the way you said it—something quieter, almost hesitant—that made Ellie’s stomach twist. The tension in your frame didn’t ease, and you kept your distance, clearly not ready to let your guard down.

Ellie shifted on her feet, the urge to say something—anything—gnawing at her. “Right. I’ll, uh, get out of your hair.” She took a step back toward the door, but her movements were sluggish, reluctant. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest, louder than the muffled music still playing faintly in the background.

She hesitated, glancing back at you over her shoulder. “For what it’s worth,” she said, her voice quiet, almost shy, “you’re… incredible. I can tell how hard you work. ”

The tension in your face softened ever so slightly, a flicker of something Ellie couldn’t quite place crossing your features. But you didn’t say anything, just leaned lightly against the edge of a small table near the window. The moonlight caught on the curve of your shoulder, illuminating the quiet strength in your posture, the determination etched into the lines of your body even in stillness.

“Next time,” you said finally, your tone even but laced with a sharp edge, “knock.”

Ellie nodded quickly, a sheepish, almost apologetic smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. Totally. Got it.”

Without another word, she slipped back into the hallway, the door clicking shut softly behind her. Ellie leaned heavily against the wall, running a hand through her unruly hair as she exhaled a shaky breath. Her heart was still racing, the image of you under the moonlight burned into her mind.

The faint glow of the Christmas lights bathed the room in a kaleidoscope of colors, soft blues and reds dancing across the walls of Ellie’s small apartment. The space felt warmer than usual, though the heater sputtering in the corner certainly wasn’t responsible for that. It had everything to do with you being here—sitting cross-legged on the floor with a box of ornaments balanced in front of you, a soft smile playing at your lips as you unwrapped another bauble.

Ellie glanced at you from the corner of her eye as she worked to untangle the mess of lights in her lap. It wasn’t the first time she’d caught herself watching you, though she’d gotten better at not staring outright. You’d been coming around more often lately, showing up with little excuses to see her: a borrowed book you’d “forgotten” to return, a leftover pastry from the café near your place that you thought she’d like, even a random bottle of wine to “celebrate surviving another week.”

At first, Ellie had been cautious, unsure of what to make of your easy smiles and playful teasing. But slowly—so slowly she hadn’t even realized it at first—her defenses had begun to drop. You’d found a way to fit into the cracks of her life, easing past her guarded edges with a kindness that felt effortless.

And Ellie, despite herself, had started to let you in.

The moments you shared now felt natural, unforced. Like when you’d taken it upon yourself to help her pick out a Christmas tree after learning she’d never had one. You’d teased her mercilessly about her bare-bones apartment, joking that she needed “at least one thing in here that screamed holiday cheer.” And she’d let you, because even when you were poking fun at her, there was something so warm and genuine in the way you spoke to her, like you’d known her forever.

“Ellie,” you said now, breaking her from her thoughts. She blinked, looking up to find you holding out a small ornament shaped like a snowflake. “This one’s cute. Front and center?”

She shrugged, the corners of her mouth twitching into a faint smirk. “Sure. You’re the boss.”

You laughed softly, reaching up to hang the ornament near the middle of the tree. Ellie couldn’t help but notice how easily you seemed to fill the quiet spaces in her apartment, your presence bringing a lightness to the air that hadn’t been there before.

Tonight felt like another step forward, a bridge you’d both unknowingly been building.

Ellie stood beside you now, her hands tucked into her pockets as she stared at the tree. She was close enough that you could feel the faint warmth radiating from her, close enough that her quiet presence felt like an anchor in the room.

“It’s… not bad,” Ellie said, her voice soft.

You turned to her, arching a brow. “Not bad?”

She smirked, her gaze flicking toward you. “Yeah. Not bad.”

You nudged her lightly with your elbow, grinning as you shook your head. The ease between you was palpable, the kind of comfort that only came after spending hours together—sharing stories, laughter, and the occasional comfortable silence.

Ellie’s apartment, once cold and cluttered, now felt warmer somehow. The pile of sketchbooks on the coffee table no longer seemed like a chaotic mess but a testament to the creativity Ellie carried in her bones. The tree, crooked and adorned with mismatched ornaments, added a glow that felt almost magical.

“Thanks, by the way,” Ellie said, breaking the silence. Her voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. “For, you know… doing this.”

You looked at her, surprised by the vulnerability in her tone. Ellie was many things—sarcastic, quick-witted, and guarded—but moments like these reminded you of how deeply she felt things, even if she didn’t always show it.

“Of course,” you said softly, your smile gentle. “Everyone deserves a Christmas tree, Ellie. Even you.”

Ellie let out a soft laugh, glancing down at the floor. “Never really had one growing up,” she’d admitted, “Joel tried once, but it just… didn’t stick. Felt weird, I guess."

“Guess it’s time to start” you teased, your voice playful but warm.

Ellie glanced up at you, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you. The Christmas lights twinkled softly in the background, their glow reflecting in your eyes, and Ellie felt the faintest tug of something deeper, something she didn’t yet have the words for.

But as the silence stretched on, you glanced at your phone, noticing the time.

"I should probably head out," you said, your voice breaking the calm. Ellie looked over at you, blinking as if snapping out of her own thoughts.

"Oh, yeah. I didn’t mean to keep you," Ellie replied, a trace of reluctance in her voice.

You stood, brushing a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. "It’s fine. I’m just—" you paused, then smiled. "I’ve got to get back to the theater. You know, practice."

Ellie nodded, walking over to the door with you. She hadn't realized how quickly the time had passed, how easily it had slipped away in the comfort of your presence. It felt almost too good to be true, this—whatever it was between you.

Before you opened the door, you paused, turning back to Ellie. Your eyes met hers, and for a moment, everything seemed to quiet around you both.

"Hey," you said softly, catching her off guard. "I, uh, I know it’s short notice, but the performance is next week." You hesitated for a beat, your words coming out a little more uncertain than you’d intended.  “I’d really love for you to come. If you’re free, of course."

Ellie blinked, taken aback for a moment. She hadn’t expected the invitation—hadn’t expected you to even consider asking her.

"Of course I’ll come," she said, a little more quickly than she’d planned, but the sincerity in her voice made the words ring true. "I wouldn’t miss it."

You smiled, the warmth in your expression spreading like sunlight. "Thanks. It means a lot."

With one last look, you opened the door, stepping into the cool air of the hallway. Ellie stood there for a moment, watching as you disappeared down the stairs, your footsteps echoing in the stillness.

She stood there, frozen, for a beat longer than she should have, a quiet smile tugging at her lips.

Ellie sat on her worn couch, the edges of her sweater tugged absently as she focused on the task at hand. Her sketchbook lay open before her, its pages worn and filled with sketches that had been born out of moments stolen in the corners of her day. Some of them were hurried, some more thought-out, but all of them were tied to the presence of the girl who had so unexpectedly woven herself into Ellie’s life.

She looked at the sketchbook for a moment longer, her eyes tracing the lines of the last drawing—the one of you, mid-spin, your hair a blur, your focus sharp. The way your body seemed to stretch toward something greater, something just out of reach, resonated with her more than she'd care to admit. The way you'd looked at her that night, vulnerable but powerful, it felt like something she couldn't just forget.

Ellie’s fingers grazed the edges of the book, her mind racing for the right words, the right moment. She didn’t have much, but she had this. She didn’t know how to express what she felt with words, but a drawing? That she could do.

She pulled a strip of brown wrapping paper from a roll on the floor beside her, laying it across the table. Her fingers worked quickly, folding the paper neatly around the book, securing the corners with tape, the sound of the tape cutting through the quiet air like a small, deliberate movement. Ellie’s tongue peeked out of the corner of her mouth, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she carefully placed the final piece of tape in place.

The book, now wrapped, felt heavier than it had before. Maybe it was the weight of her unspoken words. Or maybe it was the anticipation of tomorrow—the performance, the moment where she'd see you again.

Ellie sat back, her hand resting on the wrapped gift for a moment. The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the heater and the occasional rattle of the windows from the breeze outside. She glanced over at the corner of the room, where the small Christmas tree flickered faintly.

She didn’t know if it was enough. She wasn’t even sure if you’d like it, but the thought of not giving it to you felt unbearable.

With a final glance at the tree and the city lights dancing through the window, Ellie slid the wrapped book into a small gift bag, adjusting the top with practiced care. It wasn’t perfect—her hands a little too quick, her movements too hurried—but it was hers. She picked it up, feeling its weight, her heart thumping a little faster than it should have.

Tomorrow. Your big performance. 

Tomorrow, she’d give it to you.

The room was heavy with the weight of unspoken pressure as you stood in the center of the rehearsal floor. The mirrors reflected back not just your movements, but your fears, your frustrations, your self-doubt. The music swelled, a familiar, haunting melody that once had felt like second nature. But today, it sounded distant. Out of reach. Your foot faltered again. Just a small stumble, but enough to make your heart skip a beat, enough to draw the instructor's sharp, disapproving gaze.

"Again, you're off balance," the instructor said, voice cold, piercing the silence like a dagger. You clenched your jaw, trying to steady your breath. The words sliced through you, but you refused to let them break you.

You fought for this role. You had fought for months after the injury, after last year’s disastrous performance that still haunted you like a nightmare. You had pushed your body beyond its limits, rebuilt what had been broken, and now, you were here—fighting to keep this role, to prove you were strong enough. You were enough.

The music began again, faster this time, more demanding. You forced your body to move with it, the rhythm pulling at your every step. Each pirouette felt like it could crumble beneath you, each jump a risk you couldn’t afford to take. Your ankle, still fragile, sent a twinge of pain with each landing, but you fought it back, pushing through the discomfort. Your focus was sharp, despite the sweat beading down your forehead, despite the exhaustion gnawing at your muscles.

You would make it. You had to make it.

"Again!" the instructor snapped, crossing their arms. "You're losing control."

You swallowed hard, grinding your teeth, the bitterness of those words tasting sour in your mouth. Your legs burned, but you couldn’t stop. You couldn't stop.

You spun into the next movement, a leap that felt too high, too far—but you made it, landing with a soft thud that sent a jolt of pain through your ankle. But you didn't falter. You didn't let it show. You pushed through the sting, lifting your chin as you reset yourself. You had to prove them wrong.

But then, as the music paused for a breath, your instructor spoke again. Their voice, though calm, was final.

"You’re getting replaced."

The words hit you like a cold wave, crashing over you and pulling the air from your lungs. Your world seemed to tilt, and for a brief moment, everything blurred. Your heart hammered in your chest, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You forced yourself to meet the instructor’s gaze, but the sting of their eyes was unrelenting. The disappointment was clear, written in the subtle shift of their posture, in the way they avoided your eyes.

"What?" you whispered, your voice cracking, but the question hung in the air like a dead weight, swallowed by the silence.

The instructor didn't respond, just stared at you, impassive. You tried to steady your breath, trying to hold onto something, anything. Your pulse thudded in your ears, but you couldn’t let it break you. Not now.

But they didn’t move. Didn’t soften. Their gaze was colder than you’d ever felt it before.

"You're not ready," the instructor continued, the finality in their tone wrapping around you like a chain. "We can’t afford to keep you in this role. Your balance is off. We need someone more stable."

A dull ache spread through your chest, hollowing you out from the inside. Stable. They might as well have said you weren’t good enough. You weren’t enough, not after everything.

"Just... give me one more chance,. you found yourself saying before you could stop it. You stepped forward, but they didn’t flinch. Your hands clenched at your sides, your legs trembling beneath you, but you didn’t let yourself collapse.

But the instructor's response was curt. "The decision is final."

The air in the room thickened, the weight of it suffocating. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, only felt your legs shaking as if the floor had disappeared beneath you. You had fought so hard, put everything into this role, this comeback. And now… you were being replaced.

The music that had once felt like a lifeline was now silent, and in its place was only the sound of your own heartbeat crashing in your chest.

"You're done here," the instructor added, turning away, leaving you standing alone in the center of the room, your body trembling and your breath shallow.

The silence stretched on, but it felt like hours. You stood there, fighting against the overwhelming rush of emotions—defeat, frustration, disbelief—and yet, a part of you felt something else, something deep and burning. You were not done.

The city’s stillness hung in the air, thick with the weight of dawn, as Ellie leaned against the railing of her balcony, her breath fogging up in front of her. The faint hum of the early morning felt too quiet, too empty for the chaos that had built up in her chest the past few days. But it was all muffled now, drowned out by the image of you standing there, on your balcony in the freezing cold. It was 5 a.m., and there you were, just... staring into the distance, your body wrapped in a sweater too thin for the chill that had already crept into the world around you.

Ellie’s mind raced, worry creeping in. She had seen you around for months now, your quiet, focused presence tugging at something inside her, something she didn’t want to admit. She could never ignore you, even from afar. And now here you were, vulnerable and alone in the cold, your shoulders hunched against the wind, and all Ellie could think about was how wrong it was. How you should be inside, getting rest before tonight—before everything hinged on tonight—and yet here you were, standing in the dark. Alone.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Ellie called, her voice cracking through the silence.

You jumped slightly at the sound, and when your eyes landed on her, it felt like a punch to the gut. There was something about you in that moment—lost in thought, distant, wrapped in the cold, but so incredibly... beautiful. It was in the way you carried yourself, how you seemed to light up even in the darkness. It was so raw, so vulnerable, it made Ellie’s heart tighten in her chest.

You looked confused at first, blinking at her, then a little embarrassed, as if you hadn’t realized how cold it was out there. “Just... thinking,” you said softly, your voice carrying a layer of fatigue that Ellie could almost feel.

“Thinking?” Ellie’s brow furrowed. She couldn’t stop the concern from bleeding into her tone, the need to pull you inside, to wrap you in something warm. “It’s freezing out here. And it’s... it’s 5 a.m., what are you doing?”

You didn’t respond immediately, your gaze dropping to the ground, the quiet tension hanging thick between you both. Ellie could feel it, a thick pulse in her chest, like she was waiting for something—anything—to break the silence.

Then, she noticed the gift bag in your hand, something carefully wrapped, something she had almost forgotten about in the chaos of everything else.

“Shit,” Ellie muttered under her breath, stepping closer to the railing. She wasn’t sure what made her do it, but the words just slipped out. “I brought you something.”

You looked up at her then, surprised, as Ellie held out the gift bag. It was awkward—too much, maybe—but it was all she had in that moment.

“It’s—uh, it’s for the show tonight. You don’t have to open it now, though,” she said quickly, rubbing the back of her neck, trying to hide the sudden, nervous flush creeping up her neck. The words were tumbling out too fast, her chest tight.

You took the bag from her, your fingers brushing hers for a moment, and Ellie felt a spark of warmth flood her skin. She watched you, her breath coming a little quicker now, unsure of how to feel about this. You glanced down at the bag, your expression unreadable, before you pulled the tissue paper aside and peered inside.

Ellie’s stomach flipped as you pulled out the sketchbook. She hadn’t thought about how it might feel to have someone open it, not like this. Her sketching had always been so personal, something she kept to herself, but this felt... different. Watching you flip through the pages, her sketches of you—sketches she’d never planned to show anyone—made her feel exposed, too visible. She could hear the soft, surprised intake of your breath as you saw the drawings, but Ellie didn’t dare speak, afraid of breaking the moment.

“Ellie,” you said her name like a whisper, your voice catching in her chest. She met your eyes, her heart skipping a beat at the softness in your gaze. "This is... " There was a pause, and then your eyes darted up to meet hers. 

Ellie swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. The way you said her name, the way you looked at her—there was something in it that made her feel like maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t as awkward as it felt. That maybe, despite her nerves, it was okay.

“I…,” she muttered, her fingers twisting nervously. “I just... I wanted you to have it. You know, for the show.” She let out a small laugh, but it sounded more like a sigh. “I’ve been sketching you for a while now. I—uh, I wanted to give you something.”

You smiled, your lips curving up in the smallest, softest way, and Ellie felt her heart race at the sight. “Thank you, seriously.,” you said, your voice full of sincerity, and Ellie couldn’t help the flush that spread across her cheeks. It was too much, too real, and yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“You don’t have to say that,” Ellie muttered, shifting on her feet, her gaze avoiding yours for a moment. ���I just wanted to do something for you.  I don’t know, I just... figured you might like it.”

“Ellie," you said, and your voice was steady now, the uncertainty that had clouded your face earlier gone. “Let me perform for you.”

[enhani-ki]

PART-TIMERS!NI-KI X READER ʚɞ

warnings: very suggestive content, pervert reader, etc.

read part two here!

the first day working at the convenience store were terrifying. you were new, fumbling with the register, unsure of where anything was, and feeling incredibly out of place. you almost quit, but then you met him.

ni-ki.

he was leaning casually against the counter, effortlessly looking cool as he was stocking a shelf nearby. his hoodie hung loosely over his frame and the sleeves pushed up enough to reveal his forearms. you barely managed to stutter out a greeting when he turned his attention to you, his lips turning into a slight smile.

"need help with something?" he asked with his low and smooth voice.

that simple question changed everything.

over the weeks, you found yourself looking forward to every shift with him. you discovered he'd been working there for a while. long enough to know the ins and outs of the store. ni-ki moved with confidence, joked with customers, and somehow made hard tasks look effortlessly easy. and at first, you tried to keep your distance, but soon you were already looking for excuses just to talk to him.

you're holding a snack with unfamiliar Japanese writing, you approached ni-ki hesitantly. "um, ni-ki? how do you read this?"

he looked at you with a spark of amusement in his eyes as he took the package from your hands. "this? it says karē pan. curry bread."

"oh." you nodded, pretending to be deeply interested. in reality, you barely even registered his words because you were too distracted by the way his fingers brushed against yours when he handed the snack back.

"you like Japanese snacks?" he asked, leaning against the counter.

you nodded again, lies coming easily. "yeah, and i've been meaning to try more of them."

ni-ki chuckled softly.

from that day on, he started asking you to take your breaks with him. you would sit together in the cramped room, sharing quiet conversations and occasional snacks.

and at night lying in bed, your thoughts were completely consumed by him. ni-ki's face, his voice, the way his shirt clung when he removed his hoodie, revealing glimpses of his skin.

your hand drifted beneath the covers, your breath catching as you imagined how his body would feel under your hands, picturing him pinning you against the shelves in the room, his hoodie forgotten on the floor as his lips brushed against your neck...

you gasped, back arching as your fantasies left you trembling, ni-ki's name escaping your lips like a prayer, filling the quiet of your room.

you became obsessed.

and when it was over, you buried your face in your pillow, feeling both shame and the relentless ache of wanting him.

the next day at work, you did your best to act normal. you greeted him as usual and forced a casual smile as if you weren't touching yourself last night because of him.

every move ni-ki made immediately caught your attention. you bit your lip, gripping the edge of the counter for support.

"are you okay?" ni-ki's voice startled you.

you looked up to find him staring, one brow raised in curiosity. his hoodie hung over his shoulder, exposing his collarbone. your heartbeat quickened.

"yeah, i'm good." you muttered, hoping he wouldn't notice the heat rising to your cheeks.

ni-ki patted your head. "don't work too hard, okay?"

you managed a weak nod and offered a small smile. inside, you were silently begging for mercy... from him and the overwhelming desire threatening to consume you whole.

later, ni-ki noticed you examining a snack tag. he wiped his hands on his apron and walked closer. "that..." he tilted his head, squinting. "'umeboshi.' it's pickled plum."

"pickled plum?" you repeated, pretending to be curious again, though your eyes were fixed on the faint line of his jaw and the way his lips moved when he spoke.

"yeah. it's sour. you've never tried it?"

you shook your head no.

"you should." he said, flashing you a small smile. "but don't blame me if you didn't liked it."

during your break, you joined him in the small room. ni-ki was already there, leaning back in his chair with his one leg propped up. hoodie clinging loosely to his frame again but the hem were lifted slightly, revealing a bit of his waist. you tried to look away, but he's so close it's impossible.

ni-ki moved, pulling his hoodie over his head and the motion raised his shirt further, exposing more of his abs making your fingers twitch with urge. you quickly turned to your drink, biting your lip hard.

"you're quiet today." he said, glancing at you.

you chuckled nervously. "am I?"

"you should rest more." he nodded, running a hand through his messy hair. "i can make you relax." ni-ki smirked.

"oh?" you laughed, nervously gripping your cup tightly. "and how?"

your thoughts were anything but calm. anything niki says to you seemed to hold a double meaning.

ni-ki raised an eyebrow at your awkwardness. "what's with you today?" he teased.

"nothing! so... what is it?"

he chuckled softly but studied you for a moment longer than usual. ni-ki shook his head, taking it back. "nah, i think it's too early to mess with you."

you wanted him to say it.

you squinted your eyes in annoyance. "what are you even saying?" you asked while shaking your head.

ni-ki laughed again at your reaction.

that night, the two of you walked home together, and when you stopped to say goodbye, ni-ki bent slightly to meet your eyes. "you better stop staring at me all the time, or i'll assume something's up with you."

"i-i wasn't sta- staring at you!" you stuttered, cheeks flushing bright red.

ni-ki turned and walked away, chuckling softly. "yeah, you weren't."

you closed the door and hurried to your room, you hugged the pillow and covered your face to let out a muffled scream.

and just as you thought you had survived the day, you received a text.

nishimura riki: let me know if you need help with anything… you know, with anything.

your heart pounded and before you could reply, another message popped up.

nishimura riki: or if you want to talk. or… whatever.

the ellipsis felt deliberate, your mind wandering into dangerous territory as you clenched your phone tightly, trying to make sense of his texts, literally torn between panic and excitement.

you: what does that even mean?

you hit send before you could overthink it. ni-ki's reply came quickly.

nishimura riki: whatever you want it to mean.

you took a deep breath as you stared at the screen. teasing is one thing, but this felt different. more intentional.

nishimura riki: see you tomorrow. sleep well.

and then, another message followed:

nishimura riki: "don't think too hard about it

but of course, that's all you could do. think too hard about it.

read part two HERE<3

マスターリストm.list

[magalhaessims]

AGAVE APARTMENT - MAXIS-MATCH CC BUILD

I'm finally sharing an apartment! I chose to build in Oasis Springs and opted for the smallest lot available. There are three units in total, but I've only fully decorated one. I designed it with Johnny Zest in mind. Also, I really wanted to use these two new, coolest sets: Neighborly and Cheap&Chipped by @syboubou. I really loved all the items — especially the empty toilet paper roll; it's my new favorite! LOL.

Additionally, due to some glitches in my game following the For Rent patch, I've labeled this build as "Residential" to avoid any potential issues with saving files. If you encounter any problems, please don't hesitate to let me know! If you want to check out the construction progress, watch the YouTube video linked below.

NOT CC FREE 

Lot Type: Residential | Rental

Size: 20x15 

World: Oasis Springs

Enable bb.moveobjects before placing in your game!

📺 WATCH THE SPEED BUILD HERE ✨

Origin ID: MagalhaesSims (remember to enable custom content on!) DOWNLOAD

CC USED IN THIS BUILD:

NOTE: For convenience, some of the CC is included in the Download Folder. Please put it in your Mods Folder along with the CC linked below.

AwingedLlama: Nostalgia Living || Charly Pancakes: Chalk Kitchen (Clutter) | Munch | Soak | The Lighthouse || TheClutterCat: Busy Bee | Cozy Casita | Dandy Diary | Flower Power (Vinyl) | Hello Horse (Trophy) | Mellow Moods (Essential Oils Tray) || Felixandre: Colonial | Kyoto (Arch) | Soho || Harrie: Klean | Octave Collection | Shop The Look V2 | Spoons (Pizza Tray) | Stockholm || House Of Harlix: Baysic Bathroom | Baysic Set | Livin'Rum | The Kichen (Plant) | Tiny Twavellers (Wall) || KKB-MM: Citrus Room | My Heimish Hall || LittleDica: Delicato Living | Greasy Goods | Lava Lamp | Sleek Slumber || Max20: Classic Kitchen | Garden At Home | Master Bedroom | Poolside Lounge (Plant) || MyshunoSun: Gale Dining | Lottie Bedroom | Simmify | Sona Dining || Peacemaker-ic: Hinterland Kitchen (Honey Pot) | Hudson Bathroom (Towel Holder) | Tasteful Tots (Clutter) || Pierisim: Auntie Vera | Calderone Living | Coldbrew | Combles | David Apartment | Domaine Du Clos | MCM House Set | Oak House Set | Pantry Party | The Office | Tilable Kitchen | Unfold | Woodland Ranch || Simkoos: Clutter Dump || Sixam-CC: Art Studio | Cozy Family Livingroom | Home Improvement || SurelySims: Office Spaces (Clutter)

The CC Sets above are the main ones I used to decorate this specific building and you can find all the links to the creators’ sites on my Resource Page. However, if you can’t find something specific, you can send me a WCIF and I’ll try to help you find it!

My content will always be free and right away available to everyone, but if you want to, you can show your support through my Ko-Fi Page. Your donation will always be much appreciated!

Thank you for reblogging: @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters @mmfinds @s4realtor @coffee-houses-finds and everyone else for helping me boost this post!

[cheftsunoda]

secrets are no fun (unless shared with everyone)

part seven (finale)

lewis hamilton x !sister reader

max verstappen x hamilton reader

part one here

part two here

part three here

part four here

part five here

part six here

ayana hamilton, the younger sister of seven-time world champion lewis hamilton, has seemingly achieved everything she could ever desire— a successful career as a music producer and artist, been all around the world, has a supportive family and a loving husband—however, that’s a secret that no one, not even her brother, knows about—her husband is also an f1 driver. lewis has always made it his mission to prevent ayana from dating a driver— but is it technically considered dating if they are married? ;)

fc : tyla

—

ayanaaa and maxverstappen1

liked by maxverstappen1, victoriaverstappen, kikagomes & 11,482,455 others.

ayanaaa : the most amazing day celebrating baby v—i love you all so much and i am so grateful for how much love and support you have all shown our baby.

maxverstappen1 : The best day spent celebrating our beautiful future. I love you and baby V to the moon and back

liked by author

lewishamilton : Uncle Lew is so excited to meet this munchkin. Love you <3

liked by author and maxverstappen1

victoriaverstappen : great day! so excited for the arrival of baby v!

liked by author and maxverstappen1

kikagomes : beautiful day celebrating the most beautiful mama

liked by author

danielricciardo : never knew i could have this much fun at a baby shower..so excited to meet baby v!!

liked by author and maxverstappen1

username5 : the whole grid + danny being there really has me in tears

alexandrasaintmleux : so happy you enjoyed yourself today mama! you look so stunning

liked by author

sza : such a lovely day spent celebrating you and the precious life you are growing. so excited to be an auntie to baby v -- love you all

liked by author and maxverstappen1

—

The house smelled like lilacs and vanilla.

Solana and I had just gotten back from the last leg of our tour, my feet still sore, my voice still hoarse, and my belly noticeably rounder than when we’d first left. The album was already platinum. The sold-out stadiums still echoed in my head. But now... this moment felt bigger.

Because this was real life.

My baby shower.

The villa in the hills of Monaco had been transformed into a summer garden dream — soft pinks, cream linens, subtle gold accents, and giant blooming arrangements of peonies, orchids, and wild roses everywhere you looked. Hanging above the patio were dozens of delicate parasols, casting dappled shade over the guests mingling in sundresses and linen suits.

And somehow, the F1 grid blended in perfectly with the floral decor.

Lando showed up in pink Dior sneakers. Carlos brought handmade pastries from Madrid. Pierre and Kika arrived arm in arm, with matching sunglasses and a baby-sized race suit wrapped in tissue paper. Even Fernando gave me a warm, cheek-kissing congrats.

Carmen wore a silky green dress with an ethereal glow, and Lily kept rubbing my stomach and giggling every time the baby kicked. Alex had brought custom baby books in three languages, and Kika whispered conspiratorially, “Don’t worry, I already ordered baby Balmain.”

But the real surprise? Sophie and Victoria — had flown in from the Netherlands. They were already inside when I arrived, holding hands and helping arrange one of the last dessert trays. Sophie’s eyes watered the second she saw me.

“You’ve grown,” she said, reaching for my hands. “You look like you’re glowing from the inside.”

I hugged her tightly. “It’s probably just sweat. Monaco humidity is no joke.”

She laughed and held my face. “No. It’s love.”

Victoria smiled from behind her. “And maybe a little Beyoncé energy from the tour.”

Lewis was at the bar — shaking cocktails and mocktails with a towel over his shoulder like he ran the place. Our dad stood beside him, already taste-testing everything. Our mom was near the garden arch, arms crossed proudly, taking in every inch of the celebration with a regal sort of grace. The moment she spotted me, she came straight over, one hand on my back, the other softly cupping my stomach.

“You were born to be a mother,” she whispered.

I felt the tears rise before I could stop them. “You think so?”

“I know so. You’ve always been tender, but never weak. This baby’s already lucky.”

Solana floated up beside me in a pink feathered gown and oversized sunglasses, holding two tiny glasses of lavender lemonade.

“You ready to open presents?” she asked, bouncing slightly. “Because the aunties and uncles went all-out and I wanna see what spoiled looks like.”

The gifts were hilarious and heartfelt. A miniature Red Bull racing helmet from the team, with “Baby Verstappen-Hamilton” airbrushed on the back, A bib from Charles that said DRIVER IN TRAINING, Matching cashmere blankets from Lily and Alex and a custom onesie from Lewis.

“I hate how cute that is,” I told him, holding it up.

“You’re welcome,” he said smugly, pulling me in for a side hug. “And don’t forget who’s taking night shifts if Max’s away.”

Max — who had been quiet most of the afternoon, finally stood beside me as I cut into the cake. It was soft and white with hand-painted flowers, the inside dyed pale yellow. The whole group gasped.

Someone whispered, “Wait... does yellow mean…?”

“It means lemon-flavored,” Solana deadpanned. “Calm down.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Max leaned down, his lips brushing my ear.

“You okay?”

I looked around: everyone I loved in one place. The child in my belly fluttering like music. The scent of home and the echo of my name spoken with warmth, not headlines.

“I’m more than okay,” I said, resting my hand over his. “I’m full.”

—

The garden was quiet now. The music had faded. The last guests had filtered out, goodbyes still lingering like confetti in the air. The floral centerpieces were beginning to wilt at the edges, and stray petals littered the stone pathway like a trail back to real life.

I sat barefoot on the back steps, my heels long abandoned, swollen ankles soaking in the cool night air. Then I heard him.

Lewis’ footsteps were unmistakable. Even when he wasn’t trying to be loud, he moved like someone who'd always had to command attention just by entering a room. But now, it was just the two of us. He settled beside me without a word, holding two glasses of water and passing one over.

“Thanks,” I murmured.

We sat in silence for a few beats, watching the distant flicker of boats in the harbor, the way the lanterns still swayed overhead.

“You good?” he finally asked, glancing sideways.

“I think so,” I said, quietly. “Tired. But good.”

He nodded, arms resting on his knees. “It was a beautiful party.”

“You didn’t have to stay and play bartender,” I teased gently.

He smirked. “I didn’t have to… but I wanted to. Needed to keep myself busy. Otherwise I’d just cry and embarrass us both.”

I laughed softly, but there was something behind his words. Something tender.

“I keep thinking,” he went on, voice a little rough, “that we’re not kids anymore. I remember you falling asleep in the back seat of Mum’s car with your headphones on, notebook full of lyrics in your lap. Now look at you.”

“Exhausted and thirty percent cake,” I offered.

He nudged me with his shoulder. “Pregnant. Married. Still writing. Still fighting. You’ve built something powerful, Ay.”

I looked at him then, really looked — the way his brow creased when he was being sincere, the glint of pride in his eyes. And something else too. Love.

“You okay with everything?” I asked, finally.

He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned back on his elbows, looking up at the stars.

“I was mad at first,” he admitted. “Mostly because I didn’t know. Because I wanted to protect you, and I wasn’t there. But now?”

He turned his head toward me.

“Now I see the way Max looks at you. I see the way you glow when you talk about your future — about your baby. And I’m not mad anymore. I’m proud. So proud it scares me.”

My throat tightened.

“I’m always going to be your big brother,” he said, reaching for my hand and squeezing it. “But you don’t need saving anymore. You never did.”

I leaned my head against his shoulder, heart full and eyes burning.

“You’ll still spoil them though, right?” I whispered. “Teach them how to drive, bribe them with gifts, let them stay up too late?”

He snorted. “Please. I plan to be the most chaotic uncle in the paddock.”

We sat like that a little longer — the Hamilton siblings, side by side beneath the stars, sharing a moment that belonged only to us.

—

The moonlight slid in through the curtains in thin silver lines, casting soft shadows across our bedroom walls. I was already in bed, curled on my side, one hand resting instinctively over the swell of my belly.

Max was in the ensuite, brushing his teeth and humming something faint and familiar, a melody I knew from the second verse of one of my songs. It made me smile. He always did that. Picked up pieces of my world and carried them like they were his own.

When he finally padded back into the room, shirtless and sleepy-eyed, he climbed into bed beside me and immediately wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me into the shape of him.

His lips brushed the back of my neck. “Still awake?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You okay?”

I hesitated for a second. Then I nodded, but shifted just enough so I could face him.

“I was just thinking about today,” I said. “How... beautiful it was. Everyone we love, all in one place.”

Max tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, his eyes soft. “It was perfect.”

“It made me realize something,” I whispered. “We’ve already done the paperwork. We’ve had our secret. That part’s just for us. But I want something more.”

He tilted his head, curious. “More?”

“I want a wedding,” I said. “An actual one. Before the baby comes.”

Max blinked. “You mean like a ceremony?”

“Yeah,” I said, heart thudding a little. “For our families. For our friends. I want to walk down the aisle. I want music. I want Mum to cry and Lewis to give an unplanned speech. I want Vic and Solana and Kika in a row, looking stunning. I want the world to see it… us.”

His face didn’t change for a beat.

Then he smiled. Slowly. Softly. “I want that too.”

“You do?”

“Ayana,” he said, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “I would marry you a hundred times in a hundred cities if that’s what you wanted. But one beautiful wedding before our baby arrives? That’s everything.”

Relief flooded my chest, and I reached for his hand, lacing my fingers through his.

“I don’t want to wait too long. Just something elegant. Intimate. Monaco or the Netherlands, maybe Italy. Somewhere warm. And soon.”

He kissed my forehead, then the tip of my nose. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“And you promise not to let Jos anywhere near the guest list?”

Max let out a low, tired laugh. “If he so much as tries, Solana might handle him before I do.”

I grinned and buried my face in his chest, our bodies melting into quiet.

—

We invited everyone over for brunch. Fresh fruit, tiny golden croissants, poached eggs with truffle shavings, champagne and non-alcoholic sparkling pear juice for me. Max kept brushing invisible crumbs off his T-shirt and smoothing his hair like we were about to give a TED Talk. I just kept my hands resting on my belly and tried not to overthink it.

Lewis arrived first, followed by our mum and dad. Mum dressed in soft linen, eyes immediately darting to me with a mix of love and “Are you eating enough?” Dad, of course, went straight for the mini quiches. Sophie and Victoria came next, glowing as always. Sophie brought a bouquet of soft peach tulips, placing them on the table like she already suspected something was up.

Max leaned over to whisper, “Ready?”

I squeezed his hand. “Let’s do it.”

We didn’t wait long. Once everyone had their drinks and a plate in front of them, Max stood — clearing his throat. Everyone looked up.

“So,” he said, glancing at me and then back at the table, “we wanted to share something with you all.

“We know a lot has happened this past year,” I added. “The relationship, the baby, the chaos —”

“The press,” Lewis muttered into his green juice.

“—but through all of it,” I continued, smiling, “we’ve never really had a chance to celebrate our love… not publicly, not properly.”

Max turned toward our families, eyes a little brighter now. “We want to have a wedding. A real one. A ceremony. Before the baby comes.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mum breathed, hands flying to her heart. “Yes. Absolutely, yes.”

Sophie nodded, already misty-eyed. “Finally! I’ve been waiting for this.”

Victoria grinned wide. “Can I help plan it? Please?”

Our dad, ever the quiet storm, smiled deeply and raised his glass. “To tradition and new beginnings.”

Everyone’s heads turned to Lewis. He sat still for a moment, brows drawn in that careful way, the kind that meant he was thinking twelve steps ahead. I braced for it. Then he stood. Walked over to Max and I and pulled us both into a hug.

“I’m proud of you,” he said in my ear. “Both of you. Just tell me when and where, and I’ll wear whatever ridiculous suit you want.”

Max actually laughed, a full, relieved laugh — and pulled away to shake Lewis’ hand, the two of them exchanging a quiet look that didn’t need words.

Solana popped her head in through the kitchen doorway just then, late as usual, sunglasses still on indoors.

“Did I miss the announcement?”

“We’re getting married,” I said.

She pulled off her glasses. “You mean again?”

“This time in front of everyone.”

A grin spread across her face. “Bout damn time. I call maid of honor. Or DJ. Or both.”

Everyone started talking at once, suggestions about locations, flowers, dresses, vows, menus. The air filled with excitement and a bit of chaos, but underneath it all was something solid and rare.

—

If you’ve never tried to plan a wedding with ten strong-willed women in one room, I’ll tell you this much- you won’t make it out unchanged.

My living room in Monaco looked like a mood board exploded. Swatches of silk and tulle covered the coffee table, open laptops streamed Pinterest boards and Google Docs, and empty macaron boxes were stacked.

Solana was on the floor, surrounded by candles and two notebooks, somehow managing to play playlist drafts through a Bluetooth speaker and sketch a possible seating chart at the same time.

My mum was sitting on the edge of the sofa, flipping through a bridal magazine and highlighting anything “classic but unique.” Beside her, Sophie was calmly color-coding a floral proposal — the woman could run a palace if she felt like it. Across from them sat Victoria and Carmen, arguing gently over centerpiece heights.

“Kika, back me up,” Carmen said, gesturing wildly. “Low centerpieces mean more intimacy. People can talk across the table!”

“Yes, but tall ones feel more elegant,” Victoria replied, sipping her lavender tea like a queen. “It’s not dinner at your aunt’s house. It’s a wedding.”

Kika, held up her hands. “What if we do both? Alternating tables?”

Lily nodded quickly, jotting it down in the shared spreadsheet. “Love that. Also—Ayana, are we doing vows during golden hour? Because if yes, I need to coordinate the lighting for photos.”

I blinked. “Um—yes?”

“Confirmed,” Lily said. “Sunset silhouettes. Done.”

Mum leaned over and gently patted my hand. “Darling, are you sure you’re not overwhelmed? You haven’t said much.”

“I’m… actually good,” I said, amazed. “I think I just love seeing all of you here. Together. Helping.”

Solana, without looking up, said, “Don’t get sentimental yet. Wait till we talk honeymoon destinations. Max gave me permission to be unhinged.”

I laughed, sinking deeper into the couch.

Sophie reached over and smoothed my hair back gently. “You really okay, sweetheart?”

“I am,” I said, smiling. “I’m happy. Exhausted, but happy.”

Victoria grinned. “Good. Because we still need to narrow down your dress silhouette. And I’m not letting you leave this room until we’ve done a walk-off.”

“And choose your bouquet,” added Mum, holding up a page with cascading orchids.

“Oh,” Kika perked up. “And who’s walking you down the aisle?”

That made everyone pause.

I exhaled slowly and smiled. “I wanted both Lewis and Dad."

There was a collective, emotional “awww” around the room.

“I want him there at the start of this next chapter,” I added. “He’s earned that moment.”

Solana leaned over from her spot on the rug. “And I expect a speech that makes me cry.”

“You’ll cry anyway,” I teased.

She grinned. “Fair.”

—

The boutique smelled like white roses and vanilla candles, it was an instant calm, which was immediately undone by the ten women who walked in with me. Sophie had a leather-bound notebook, Victoria had two Pinterest boards open, and Kika was already negotiating champagne flutes out of the boutique assistant like a pro. Mum, bless her, was quietly tearing up before I’d even touched a dress hanger.

“I’m not crying,” she sniffed. “I just… imagined this day for so long.”

Solana leaned over and whispered, “You are crying, and it’s adorable.”

The assistant led us into a private suite with racks and racks of gowns. Silks, satins, laces. I felt slightly dizzy looking at them all.

“Alright,” she said cheerfully, clapping her hands. “Let’s find your moment.”

I tried on the first three without fanfare. Too stiff. Too sparkly. Too much like a red carpet look and not enough like me.

The fourth one was soft ivory, with sheer off-the-shoulder sleeves and delicate embroidery that looked like wind-blown petals across the bodice. The skirt flowed like a sigh, not too heavy, not too princessy — just fluid and romantic. The veil was light, like morning mist.

When I stepped out, the room actually fell quiet.

Solana gasped first. “Okay. That’s illegal. You can’t look that good.”

My mum had her hands to her mouth.

“I think it’s the one,” I said quietly, looking in the mirror.

“It’s you,” Sophie said softly. “Completely.”

“Turn,” Lily said, eyes misting. “You need to see the train—oh my god, Ayana, you’re glowing.”

“I feel like me in this,” I admitted, touching the fabric like it might vanish.

“Just the bride,” Mum whispered.

We said yes to the dress.

—

Later that evening, after everyone had drifted off, Mum back to her hotel, the girls to their own dinner plans — Solana and I curled up in the penthouse living room, barefoot, faces scrubbed clean, curls tied up in a scarf. We were eating chocolate from the boutique’s thank-you basket and watching a dumb baking show with the volume low.

“I can’t believe I’m getting married,” I murmured, my fingers brushing over the soft outline of my belly.

“You’re already married,” Solana said through a mouthful of dark truffle. “Now you just get to wear the dress and make everyone cry.”

I smiled. “It’s finally starting to feel real.”

She looked over at me, her expression gentling. “You’re not scared?”

“I am. Not of Max, or the baby, or the love part,” I admitted. “But of the world. Of not being enough. Or being too much.”

Solana reached for my hand.

“Listen to me,” she said. “You are already doing what most people are too afraid to — loving loudly, growing boldly, protecting your peace. The world’s gonna try and catch up to that. And they will. But you? You don’t owe them anything but your joy.”

I blinked back a sting of tears. “How did I get so lucky with you?”

“I manifested you,” she grinned. “Back in like 2012. I said, ‘I need a ride-or-die friend who can harmonize and raise hell.’ And you appeared.”

We laughed. Then sat there in quiet comfort, the city buzzing beyond the windows.

—

I could not sleep at all that night- Solana fast asleep next to me. Max was staying with Daniel as we agreed to not see each other until the ceremony the next day. I decided to do the one thing I knew how to do best-- write.

My love,

I can’t sleep. I keep thinking that tomorrow, we stand in front of everyone who has ever meant something to us and say out loud what we already know in our bones.

We’ve been married for a while now — in secret, in quiet, in shadows that strangely made everything burn brighter. But tomorrow feels different. Tomorrow, the world sees what we’ve always protected. What we’ve held close like fire in our hands.

They see us.

I’ve been trying to put words to this feeling — what it means to love you in the hush of hotel rooms, across oceans and racetracks, in stolen glances and shared playlists. And what it now means to love you in front of our families, our friends, the cameras, the noise. The chaos.

You are my peace in a storm I never saw coming. You are the quiet voice that steadies me. You are home — even when the world spins too fast and I forget where I’m standing.

I still remember Vegas. How my hands shook and yours didn’t. How you said "forever" like it was the easiest promise you’d ever made. That night was ours. Sacred. Unfiltered. We didn’t need an altar to make it real.

But now we get to share it. And that’s terrifying. And beautiful.

I know this hasn’t always been easy. Loving me means loving my past, my people, my protective brother. It means holding my hand when the headlines sting and reminding me who I am when I forget.

And I know loving you means weathering critics, standing firm when old ghosts resurface, and choosing me even when it complicates everything.

But Max… we keep choosing each other. Again and again. And that’s what makes this real.

So tomorrow, when I walk toward you in the dress that made my mum cry and Solana scream, I’ll be thinking of every version of us that got us here.

Vegas. Monaco. Our little kitchen mornings. The studio. The paddock. Every whispered “I love you” when the world wasn’t listening.

And this time, I’ll say it louder.

I love you, Max Verstappen. Husband of mine. Father of our child. My person in every lifetime.

See you at the altar.

Forever yours, Ayana

—

max!pov

The Monaco sun had barely crested the hills, casting a golden glow over the harbor, but I was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed in a hotel suite that was too big, too quiet without her in it.

Ayana had stayed with Solana last night, insisting on some “superstitious bridal tradition,” and I didn’t argue. I knew she needed that space. I needed mine too. The kind of silence where you can really feel the weight of everything about to happen.

I didn’t expect to find her letter on the nightstand. Handwritten, tucked into the journal she always brought with her on tour, with Max — read this alone written across the front in soft cursive.

So I waited until the suite was completely still. No stylists. No chaos. Just me, the sunlight, and the steady thrum of the sea below.

I unfolded the letter with careful hands. And then I read her words — every one of them pulling something deeper out of me.

Halfway through, my throat tightened.

You are home — even when the world spins too fast and I forget where I’m standing.

God, how does she do that? How does she see the exact parts of me no one else ever bothered to look for?

I let the paper rest on my lap, staring out the window, my mind full of her voice.

Ayana wasn’t just someone I loved. She was the one I chose — again and again, even when it was inconvenient, when it was complicated, when it meant keeping something sacred locked behind closed doors for far too long.

And now… now we got to tell the truth. Out loud.

For months, I’d watched her carry the weight of our love like it was something fragile — shielding it from the noise, the press, the fear of losing control. But tomorrow, she wouldn’t have to protect it anymore.

We wouldn’t.

There was a knock on the door, probably Lewis or my tailor. But I sat there for just a moment longer.

I held her letter to my chest. Closed my eyes.

And I whispered, “I’ll be waiting for you.”

—

ayana!pov

The sound of the string quartet floated through the garden like something from a dream — soft violins melting into the breeze, the gentle rustle of leaves, the quiet shuffle of guests finding their seats.

We chose a private villa tucked into the cliffs of the Côte d'Azur. Sea to one side. Blooming jasmine and rose vines climbing the stone walls on the other. No press. No cameras. Just the people we loved most.

My heart beat like a drum in my chest. I stood inside the villa’s main room, surrounded by women who had become my anchors — Solana fastening my necklace with trembling hands, Sophie smoothing down my veil, my mum whispering prayers under her breath.

“You ready?” Solana asked, her eyes already shining.

I nodded. “I think so. I just… feel everything.”

“You should. You’re about to change your life,” she said, then smirked. “But also, like, your glow is illegal. I’m going to cry the second you walk out there.”

My lips curved. “Please don’t make me cry before I get down the aisle.”

But I already felt the tears building. I wasn’t nervous. I wasn’t even scared. I just felt full of love, of memory, of every small moment that had led me to this exact one.

Someone knocked gently. Lewis.

When he stepped in, he didn’t say a word. He just looked at me — eyes full, jaw tight with emotion and opened his arms.

“I still remember when you were six and convinced you were going to marry your keyboard,” he whispered into my hair. “You’ve come a long way, Ay.”

I laughed through my tears. “This one’s even better.”

We stepped out together.

The aisle curved gently through the garden. Guests turned, rising. Solana was right, I did feel like I was glowing. The dress floated as I walked. The sunlight kissed the flowers that lined the path.

And then I saw him.

Max stood at the altar, flanked by Daniel and Lando, wearing a deep navy suit that made his eyes burn bright even from here. His hand clenched his cuff, a nervous tick. His chest rose, like he couldn’t quite believe I was real.

The second our eyes met, the rest of the world faded.

Lewis kissed my cheek, whispered, “Go get your forever,” and handed me off.

And then Max took my hand warm, steady and everything inside me stilled.

The officiant began. I barely heard a word. All I could focus on was the way Max looked at me like I was the only thing that had ever mattered. Like I was his future, his family, his home.

When it came time to speak, I didn’t need a cue card.

“I loved you when no one knew. In the dark. In the quiet. But I love you louder now. In light, in truth, in front of everyone who’s ever meant something to us. You are my safest place, Max. My beginning and my home.”

He swallowed hard, blinking fast.

“I didn’t know love could be this — soft,” he said, voice thick. “You made me believe in peace. In partnership. In building something that doesn’t just survive… but thrives. I promise to never let go of that. Of you.”

Tears were freely falling now. We exchanged rings.

“You may now kiss—”

He didn’t wait. His hand cradled the back of my head, lips pressing into mine like we had all the time in the world. Like we were writing our story in that moment.

Just Us.

Applause thundered. Cheers rang out. Somewhere in the background, Solana was definitely sobbing. We turned toward the crowd — hand in hand, married in the sun.

—

The villa had transformed.

What was once a quiet clifftop garden had become a warm-lit wonderland. String lights stretched from tree to tree, casting golden halos over our guests. Candles flickered on long banquet tables draped in soft ivory linen, scattered with peonies, garden roses, and the faintest scent of lemon blossom.

The sea shimmered in the distance. Music pulsed low, a live jazz trio humming softly as everyone settled in.

Max and I had barely sat down at our sweetheart table before Solana appeared, champagne flute in hand, already halfway into a speech she clearly hadn’t written down.

“Okay, okay—before the mic gets passed around and people start crying in Dutch, let me get this out,” she said, grinning as everyone laughed.

Max squeezed my hand under the table.

Solana continued. “I’ve known Ayana since we were teenagers producing beats in her parents’ basement and pretending we were already Grammy winners. Even back then, she had that thing. That quiet fire. The one that says ‘I’ll do it my way, even if it scares me.’” She looked straight at me. “And then she met you, Max. And you somehow made that fire burn calmer. Brighter. You love her with so much ease — and I see that. We all do. I love you both, and I can’t wait to babysit this child who is 1000% going to be born with rhythm and road rage.”

Laughter roared. I wiped a tear from my cheek.

Then Daniel took the mic. “As Max’s friend and someone he used to drive against, I’ve seen him in every kind of moment — victory, loss, full rage mode when he’s hungry. But Ayana...you made him human in the best way. Softer. Lighter. And if he ever forgets to say thank you for that, don’t worry, I’ll remind him. Loudly.”

Then came Sophie.

She walked slowly, holding a wine glass in both hands, her voice thick with emotion.

“When Max was born, I didn’t know he’d one day grow up to find someone who could look into his storm and stay. Ayana, you’ve done that — with grace, with patience, with music and love and even when it cost you quiet. You’ve made our family better. I’m proud to call you my daughter.”

I didn’t even bother holding back tears at that point.

Finally, Lewis stood up. There was a ripple of anticipation, a hush, and then his voice broke the silence.

“I’ve been protective of Ayana since the day she was born. She was the one I built forts for, played songs for, chased boys off for and watching her fall in love with someone who respects her, protects her, and actually makes her laugh… that’s something no big brother could ever ask for but hope like hell happens. Max, you’ve got her back. I see it. Just know… if you don’t keep having it, I’ve still got hers.”

The room applauded. Max stood, walked over, and hugged him. A long, firm, real hug. The kind that said a lot without saying much. When it was finally our turn to speak, Max looked at me.

“You want to go first?” he whispered.

I shook my head. “You go. I’ll cry less.”

Max stood, raising his glass. “We got married once already — in secret, in Vegas, with nothing but adrenaline and vows whispered under neon lights. That night was ours. But tonight, this moment, belongs to all of us. Every person who stood by us. Protected us. Believed in us. Ayana is my home, my family, the mother of our child, and my greatest peace. And I just want to say thank you. For everything.”

I stood, somehow not collapsing from the emotion. “I spent a long time afraid of loving loudly. Of what the world would say, what it would take. But Max taught me that love—real love—is worth claiming. Worth protecting. Worth celebrating. Thank you for letting us do that tonight, with you.”

Glasses clinked. Cheers echoed. And then the music started. We danced under the stars. I twirled in my second gown — flowy and champagne-colored — while Max kept his hand pressed to the small of my back like he never wanted to let go. Solana spun Lewis in a circle. Charles pulled Alex into a dip. Carmen and George had a dance-off. Kika and Pierre tried to break into the jazz set list with a SZA request.It was beautiful chaos. The kind of night that glowed at the edges.

Later, Max and I snuck off toward the cliffside balcony, just the two of us, shoes in hand, champagne flutes almost empty.

He looked at me, then at the sea. “Still want forever?”

I leaned into him, pressing my forehead to his. “Every single day.”

—

The hospital room was quiet, except for the occasional beep of the machines monitoring me and the rhythmic hush of Max's breathing beside me. The only other sound in the room was the soft shuffle of the nurse's steps as she checked on me every few minutes. It was late, the moonlight cast soft shadows across the room, and everything felt almost surreal. Max sat close to me, his hand never leaving mine. His brow was furrowed with concentration, eyes focused on me as though the entire world rested in the space between us.

"I’m here, princess," he whispered, leaning closer to me. "We’ve got this. Just a little longer."

I nodded, trying to steady my breath. The contractions were getting closer, more intense, and I could feel myself growing more tired. But through it all, Max was my anchor. His presence was everything I needed in that moment. His hand, so steady in mine, reminded me that this was the final stretch and then we would meet our daughter. I was scared. I didn’t know what the future would look like, but I knew that Max was right here, and he was everything I needed. The hours seemed to stretch on forever, but finally, the time came.

The doctor checked again, her face lighting up as she looked at me. "You’re doing amazing, Ayana. Just one more push, and she’ll be here."

I squeezed Max’s hand harder. His voice was a constant, reassuring hum beside me. "I love you," he said, pressing his forehead to mine. "You’re incredible."

With that final push, there was a rush of relief, and then the sound of a newborn crying.

Max’s eyes filled with tears, his lips trembling as he looked at me. "We did it," he said, his voice cracking. "We have a daughter."

The nurse brought her over, still crying, wrapped in a soft blanket. Max’s hand was on my shoulder, but when they handed me our daughter, I could feel the weight of the world shift. She was here. Our baby girl. Her tiny face scrunched up in that adorable, newborn way, and I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. She was perfect. She was ours.

Max leaned in, his hand gently brushing the top of her head. "Hey, Elara," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "We’ve been waiting for you."

I looked up at him, tears in my eyes. "Elara," I whispered, testing her name out loud. "I love it."

Max smiled, his eyes still on our baby. "Elara Verstappen. Our little star."

I held her close, overwhelmed with the love I felt for Max, for Elara, for this moment that had felt like both a lifetime and an instant. We stayed in the quiet, just the three of us. Max watched Elara with such wonder, his eyes never leaving her tiny face, and I couldn’t help but smile through my exhaustion.

Hours passed, and when we were finally settled, Max sent a quick message to the family. The waiting room was filled with anticipation, but he was keeping them at bay, letting us have our time.

A few hours later, the door creaked open, and Lewis was the first to step in. His eyes darted straight to the baby in my arms, a soft, amazed smile on his face.

"She’s perfect, Ayana," he said, walking over. "Max… she’s perfect."

Max nodded, his voice thick. "She’s ours, man."

"Want to hold her?" I asked and he nodded quickly, preparing his arms for his newborn niece. Max gently placed her into Lewis' arms and his eyes lit up. He began to coo to her softly. I felt tears develop in my eyes as I saw a stray one fall down his cheek.

"She is so beautiful." He murmured.

"I'm your Uncle Lewis...you will be meeting a lot of aunties and uncles soon but I am the most fun." He whispered and Max and I chuckled.

"Uncle and godfather." I said and Lewis just smiled at me and released a few more tears.

"I will always protect you, little angel." He said smiling.

Solana slowly entered next holding a large bouquet of pink flowers. She set them down on a table and rushed over to me. She placed a gentle kiss on my forehead.

"Before I see this beautiful baby...how is mama doing? You're definitely glowing." She said with a smile sitting beside me on the bed.

"Doing great, love." I murmured while watching Lewis cradle Elara.

"Is this my little Elara?" She said approaching Lewis and the newborn.

"Sol-- meet your goddaughter Elara Imani Verstappen." I said with a smile and she let out a gasp.

"Named after me and godmother-?" She stuttered taking her tiny finger in her hand softly. Max and I shared a smile. Lewis gently passed her over to Solana and I see emotion quickly flush her face.

"She is stunning. The most beautiful being I have ever seen...besides your mama." She hummed while gently playing with Elara's little fingers. Max and I both grew a big smile.

"I'm Auntie Sol...I will always be your right hand and love you the most obviously besides Mama, Dad and Uncle Lew. You can always come to me and rely on me for every little thing. I intend on spending the rest of my life spoiling you, angel." She said and began singing a light tune to her. I lean back against Max—taking in the moment.

Sophie, Mum and Dad and most of the grid had been through to meet Miss Elara and I was overjoyed. I do not think I could be any happier in life. After a while, the room settled, and Max and I were left alone with our baby. The soft buzz of conversation faded outside the door as we gazed down at Elara, both of us silent.

Max stayed close to my side, his hand never leaving mine, his eyes flicking between me and Elara as though still in disbelief. "She’s… so tiny. How is she ours?"

"Because we made her," I said, squeezing his hand. "Together."

"She’s perfect," Max murmured again, his voice filled with awe.

I smiled, feeling the weight of everything we’d been through together — the wedding, the tour, the secret, the press — all of it led to this moment. Our family was finally complete.

"We’re doing this, Max. Together," I whispered. "We have a beautiful future ahead."

He looked at me, and then at Elara, his eyes soft with love. “Forever, Ayana. Just us. And her.”

—

ayanaaa and maxverstappen1

liked by maxverstappen1, sza, lewishamilton & 15,356,939 others.

ayanaaa : a little over a month with miss elara imani verstappen and we could not be more in love and over the moon.,

sol even went on sesame street so she could entertain elara while she was away:)

username7 : SZA GOING ON SESAME ST JUST FOR THE BABY I CANT IM IN TEARS

liked by author

username5 : THE BABY IS NAMED AFTER SOL

liked by author

lewishamilton : Precious angel- could never love anyone as much...besides Roscoe...and you, sis.

liked by author

sza : love my angel godbaby so much-- the most precious being. auntie sol will be home soon

liked by author

maxverstappen1 : We made the most perfect baby. Thank you for being the best mother and wife on the planet. Love you and Lara more than life itself.

liked by author

kikagomes : can i come over for baby snugs? i bring gifts for mamas too...

liked by author

ayanaaa : you are always welcome keeks

alexandrasaintmleux : i'm coming too !!

liked by author

lilymhe : omw!

liked by author

victoriaverstappen : the most beautiful baby girl

liked by author

username10 : wonder what jos thinks now lmao

sza : if i ever see that fucker it is on sight

liked by author and maxverstappen1

—

finale!! let me know what kind of series you all would want next —open to any ideas.

tag : @klauslovemepls , @omgsuperstarg @msliz @samanthaofanarchy , @mayax2o07 @goldenstrawberryx , @hannahmotors10 @alireads27 , @1800-love-me , @htpssgavi @cmgmikealson , @babygirl-4986 , @star73807-blog , @glow-ish , @just-tingz-virgo , @majapapaya4 @lina505 , @hc-dutch , @lost4lyrics , @angelluv16 @dilflover44

[donjuaninhell]

How I ditched streaming services and learned to love Linux: A step-by-step guide to building your very own personal media streaming server (V2.0: REVISED AND EXPANDED EDITION)

This is a revised, corrected and expanded version of my tutorial on setting up a personal media server that previously appeared on my old blog (donjuan-auxenfers). I expect that that post is still making the rounds (hopefully with my addendum on modifying group share permissions in Ubuntu to circumvent 0x8007003B "Unexpected Network Error" messages in Windows 10/11 when transferring files) but I have no way of checking. Anyway this new revised version of the tutorial corrects one or two small errors I discovered when rereading what I wrote, adds links to all products mentioned and is just more polished generally. I also expanded it a bit, pointing more adventurous users toward programs such as Sonarr/Radarr/Lidarr and Overseerr which can be used for automating user requests and media collection.

So then, what is this tutorial? This is a tutorial on how to build and set up your own personal media server using Ubuntu as an operating system and Plex (or Jellyfin) to not only manage your media, but to also stream that media to your devices both at home and abroad anywhere in the world where you have an internet connection. Its intent is to show you how building a personal media server and stuffing it full of films, TV, and music that you acquired through indiscriminate and voracious media piracy various legal methods will free you to completely ditch paid streaming services. No more will you have to pay for Disney+, Netflix, HBOMAX, Hulu, Amazon Prime, Peacock, CBS All Access, Paramount+, Crave or any other streaming service that is not named Criterion Channel. Instead whenever you want to watch your favourite films and television shows, you’ll have your own personal service that only features things that you want to see, with files that you have control over. And for music fans out there, both Jellyfin and Plex support music streaming, meaning you can even ditch music streaming services. Goodbye Spotify, Youtube Music, Tidal and Apple Music, welcome back unreasonably large MP3 (or FLAC) collections.

On the hardware front, I’m going to offer a few options catered towards different budgets and media library sizes. The cost of getting a media server up and running using this guide will cost you anywhere from $450 CAD/$325 USD at the low end to $1500 CAD/$1100 USD at the high end (it could go higher). My server was priced closer to the higher figure, but I went and got a lot more storage than most people need. If that seems like a little much, consider for a moment, do you have a roommate, a close friend, or a family member who would be willing to chip in a few bucks towards your little project provided they get access? Well that's how I funded my server. It might also be worth thinking about the cost over time, i.e. how much you spend yearly on subscriptions vs. a one time cost of setting up a server. Additionally there's just the joy of being able to scream "fuck you" at all those show cancelling, library deleting, hedge fund vampire CEOs who run the studios through denying them your money. Drive a stake through David Zaslav's heart.

On the software side I will walk you step-by-step through installing Ubuntu as your server's operating system, configuring your storage as a RAIDz array with ZFS, sharing your zpool to Windows with Samba, running a remote connection between your server and your Windows PC, and then a little about started with Plex/Jellyfin. Every terminal command you will need to input will be provided, and I even share a custom #bash script that will make used vs. available drive space on your server display correctly in Windows.

If you have a different preferred flavour of Linux (Arch, Manjaro, Redhat, Fedora, Mint, OpenSUSE, CentOS, Slackware etc. et. al.) and are aching to tell me off for being basic and using Ubuntu, this tutorial is not for you. The sort of person with a preferred Linux distro is the sort of person who can do this sort of thing in their sleep. Also I don't care. This tutorial is intended for the average home computer user. This is also why we’re not using a more exotic home server solution like running everything through Docker Containers and managing it through a dashboard like Homarr or Heimdall. While such solutions are fantastic and can be very easy to maintain once you have it all set up, wrapping your brain around Docker is a whole thing in and of itself. If you do follow this tutorial and had fun putting everything together, then I would encourage you to return in a year’s time, do your research and set up everything with Docker Containers.

Lastly, this is a tutorial aimed at Windows users. Although I was a daily user of OS X for many years (roughly 2008-2023) and I've dabbled quite a bit with various Linux distributions (mostly Ubuntu and Manjaro), my primary OS these days is Windows 11. Many things in this tutorial will still be applicable to Mac users, but others (e.g. setting up shares) you will have to look up for yourself. I doubt it would be difficult to do so.

Nothing in this tutorial will require feats of computing expertise. All you will need is a basic computer literacy (i.e. an understanding of what a filesystem and directory are, and a degree of comfort in the settings menu) and a willingness to learn a thing or two. While this guide may look overwhelming at first glance, it is only because I want to be as thorough as possible. I want you to understand exactly what it is you're doing, I don't want you to just blindly follow steps. If you half-way know what you’re doing, you will be much better prepared if you ever need to troubleshoot.

Honestly, once you have all the hardware ready it shouldn't take more than an afternoon or two to get everything up and running.

(This tutorial is just shy of seven thousand words long so the rest is under the cut.)

Step One: Choosing Your Hardware

Linux is a light weight operating system, depending on the distribution there's close to no bloat. There are recent distributions available at this very moment that will run perfectly fine on a fourteen year old i3 with 4GB of RAM. Moreover, running Plex or Jellyfin isn’t resource intensive in 90% of use cases. All this is to say, we don’t require an expensive or powerful computer. This means that there are several options available: 1) use an old computer you already have sitting around but aren't using 2) buy a used workstation from eBay, or what I believe to be the best option, 3) order an N100 Mini-PC from AliExpress or Amazon.

Note: If you already have an old PC sitting around that you’ve decided to use, fantastic, move on to the next step.

When weighing your options, keep a few things in mind: the number of people you expect to be streaming simultaneously at any one time, the resolution and bitrate of your media library (4k video takes a lot more processing power than 1080p) and most importantly, how many of those clients are going to be transcoding at any one time. Transcoding is what happens when the playback device does not natively support direct playback of the source file. This can happen for a number of reasons, such as the playback device's native resolution being lower than the file's internal resolution, or because the source file was encoded in a video codec unsupported by the playback device.

Ideally we want any transcoding to be performed by hardware. This means we should be looking for a computer with an Intel processor with Quick Sync. Quick Sync is a dedicated core on the CPU die designed specifically for video encoding and decoding. This specialized hardware makes for highly efficient transcoding both in terms of processing overhead and power draw. Without these Quick Sync cores, transcoding must be brute forced through software. This takes up much more of a CPU’s processing power and requires much more energy. But not all Quick Sync cores are created equal and you need to keep this in mind if you've decided either to use an old computer or to shop for a used workstation on eBay

Any Intel processor from second generation Core (Sandy Bridge circa 2011) onward has Quick Sync cores. It's not until 6th gen (Skylake), however, that the cores support the H.265 HEVC codec. Intel’s 10th gen (Comet Lake) processors introduce support for 10bit HEVC and HDR tone mapping. And the recent 12th gen (Alder Lake) processors brought with them hardware AV1 decoding. As an example, while an 8th gen (Kaby Lake) i5-8500 will be able to hardware transcode a H.265 encoded file, it will fall back to software transcoding if given a 10bit H.265 file. If you’ve decided to use that old PC or to look on eBay for an old Dell Optiplex keep this in mind.

Note 1: The price of old workstations varies wildly and fluctuates frequently. If you get lucky and go shopping shortly after a workplace has liquidated a large number of their workstations you can find deals for as low as $100 on a barebones system, but generally an i5-8500 workstation with 16gb RAM will cost you somewhere in the area of $260 CAD/$200 USD.

Note 2: The AMD equivalent to Quick Sync is called Video Core Next, and while it's fine, it's not as efficient and not as mature a technology. It was only introduced with the first generation Ryzen CPUs and it only got decent with their newest CPUs, we want something cheap.

Alternatively you could forgo having to keep track of what generation of CPU is equipped with Quick Sync cores that feature support for which codecs, and just buy an N100 mini-PC. For around the same price or less of a used workstation you can pick up a mini-PC with an Intel N100 processor. The N100 is a four-core processor based on the 12th gen Alder Lake architecture and comes equipped with the latest revision of the Quick Sync cores. These little processors offer astounding hardware transcoding capabilities for their size and power draw. Otherwise they perform equivalent to an i5-6500, which isn't a terrible CPU. A friend of mine uses an N100 machine as a dedicated retro emulation gaming system and it does everything up to 6th generation consoles just fine. The N100 is also a remarkably efficient chip, it sips power. In fact, the difference between running one of these and an old workstation could work out to hundreds of dollars a year in energy bills depending on where you live.

You can find these Mini-PCs all over Amazon or for a little cheaper on AliExpress. They range in price from $170 CAD/$125 USD for a no name N100 with 8GB RAM to $280 CAD/$200 USD for a Beelink S12 Pro with 16GB RAM. The brand doesn't really matter, they're all coming from the same three factories in Shenzen, go for whichever one fits your budget or has features you want. 8GB RAM should be enough, Linux is lightweight and Plex only calls for 2GB RAM. 16GB RAM might result in a slightly snappier experience, especially with ZFS. A 256GB SSD is more than enough for what we need as a boot drive, but going for a bigger drive might allow you to get away with things like creating preview thumbnails for Plex, but it’s up to you and your budget.

The Mini-PC I wound up buying was a Firebat AK2 Plus with 8GB RAM and a 256GB SSD. It looks like this:

Note: Be forewarned that if you decide to order a Mini-PC from AliExpress, note the type of power adapter it ships with. The mini-PC I bought came with an EU power adapter and I had to supply my own North American power supply. Thankfully this is a minor issue as barrel plug 30W/12V/2.5A power adapters are easy to find and can be had for $10.

Step Two: Choosing Your Storage

Storage is the most important part of our build. It is also the most expensive. Thankfully it’s also the most easily upgrade-able down the line.

For people with a smaller media collection (4TB to 8TB), a more limited budget, or who will only ever have two simultaneous streams running, I would say that the most economical course of action would be to buy a USB 3.0 8TB external HDD. Something like this one from Western Digital or this one from Seagate. One of these external drives will cost you in the area of $200 CAD/$140 USD. Down the line you could add a second external drive or replace it with a multi-drive RAIDz set up such as detailed below.

If a single external drive the path for you, move on to step three.

For people with larger media libraries (12TB+), who prefer media in 4k, or care who about data redundancy, the answer is a RAID array featuring multiple HDDs in an enclosure.

Note: If you are using an old PC or used workstatiom as your server and have the room for at least three 3.5" drives, and as many open SATA ports on your mother board you won't need an enclosure, just install the drives into the case. If your old computer is a laptop or doesn’t have room for more internal drives, then I would suggest an enclosure.

The minimum number of drives needed to run a RAIDz array is three, and seeing as RAIDz is what we will be using, you should be looking for an enclosure with three to five bays. I think that four disks makes for a good compromise for a home server. Regardless of whether you go for a three, four, or five bay enclosure, do be aware that in a RAIDz array the space equivalent of one of the drives will be dedicated to parity at a ratio expressed by the equation 1 − 1/n i.e. in a four bay enclosure equipped with four 12TB drives, if we configured our drives in a RAIDz1 array we would be left with a total of 36TB of usable space (48TB raw size). The reason for why we might sacrifice storage space in such a manner will be explained in the next section.

A four bay enclosure will cost somewhere in the area of $200 CDN/$140 USD. You don't need anything fancy, we don't need anything with hardware RAID controls (RAIDz is done entirely in software) or even USB-C. An enclosure with USB 3.0 will perform perfectly fine. Don’t worry too much about USB speed bottlenecks. A mechanical HDD will be limited by the speed of its mechanism long before before it will be limited by the speed of a USB connection. I've seen decent looking enclosures from TerraMaster, Yottamaster, Mediasonic and Sabrent.

When it comes to selecting the drives, as of this writing, the best value (dollar per gigabyte) are those in the range of 12TB to 20TB. I settled on 12TB drives myself. If 12TB to 20TB drives are out of your budget, go with what you can afford, or look into refurbished drives. I'm not sold on the idea of refurbished drives but many people swear by them.

When shopping for harddrives, search for drives designed specifically for NAS use. Drives designed for NAS use typically have better vibration dampening and are designed to be active 24/7. They will also often make use of CMR (conventional magnetic recording) as opposed to SMR (shingled magnetic recording). This nets them a sizable read/write performance bump over typical desktop drives. Seagate Ironwolf and Toshiba NAS are both well regarded brands when it comes to NAS drives. I would avoid Western Digital Red drives at this time. WD Reds were a go to recommendation up until earlier this year when it was revealed that they feature firmware that will throw up false SMART warnings telling you to replace the drive at the three year mark quite often when there is nothing at all wrong with that drive. It will likely even be good for another six, seven, or more years.

Step Three: Installing Linux

For this step you will need a USB thumbdrive of at least 6GB in capacity, an .ISO of Ubuntu, and a way to make that thumbdrive bootable media.

First download a copy of Ubuntu desktop (for best performance we could download the Server release, but for new Linux users I would recommend against the server release. The server release is strictly command line interface only, and having a GUI is very helpful for most people. Not many people are wholly comfortable doing everything through the command line, I'm certainly not one of them, and I grew up with DOS 6.0. 22.04.3 Jammy Jellyfish is the current Long Term Service release, this is the one to get.

Download the .ISO and then download and install balenaEtcher on your Windows PC. BalenaEtcher is an easy to use program for creating bootable media, you simply insert your thumbdrive, select the .ISO you just downloaded, and it will create a bootable installation media for you.

Once you've made a bootable media and you've got your Mini-PC (or you old PC/used workstation) in front of you, hook it directly into your router with an ethernet cable, and then plug in the HDD enclosure, a monitor, a mouse and a keyboard. Now turn that sucker on and hit whatever key gets you into the BIOS (typically ESC, DEL or F2). If you’re using a Mini-PC check to make sure that the P1 and P2 power limits are set correctly, my N100's P1 limit was set at 10W, a full 20W under the chip's power limit. Also make sure that the RAM is running at the advertised speed. My Mini-PC’s RAM was set at 2333Mhz out of the box when it should have been 3200Mhz. Once you’ve done that, key over to the boot order and place the USB drive first in the boot order. Then save the BIOS settings and restart.

After you restart you’ll be greeted by Ubuntu's installation screen. Installing Ubuntu is really straight forward, select the "minimal" installation option, as we won't need anything on this computer except for a browser (Ubuntu comes preinstalled with Firefox) and Plex Media Server/Jellyfin Media Server. Also remember to delete and reformat that Windows partition! We don't need it.

Step Four: Installing ZFS and Setting Up the RAIDz Array

Note: If you opted for just a single external HDD skip this step and move onto setting up a Samba share.

Once Ubuntu is installed it's time to configure our storage by installing ZFS to build our RAIDz array. ZFS is a "next-gen" file system that is both massively flexible and massively complex. It's capable of snapshot backup, self healing error correction, ZFS pools can be configured with drives operating in a supplemental manner alongside the storage vdev (e.g. fast cache, dedicated secondary intent log, hot swap spares etc.). It's also a file system very amenable to fine tuning. Block and sector size are adjustable to use case and you're afforded the option of different methods of inline compression. If you'd like a very detailed overview and explanation of its various features and tips on tuning a ZFS array check out these articles from Ars Technica. For now we're going to ignore all these features and keep it simple, we're going to pull our drives together into a single vdev running in RAIDz which will be the entirety of our zpool, no fancy cache drive or SLOG.

Open up the terminal and type the following commands:

sudo apt update

then

sudo apt install zfsutils-linux

This will install the ZFS utility. Verify that it's installed with the following command:

zfs --version

Now, it's time to check that the HDDs we have in the enclosure are healthy, running, and recognized. We also want to find out their device IDs and take note of them:

sudo fdisk -1

Note: You might be wondering why some of these commands require "sudo" in front of them while others don't. "Sudo" is short for "super user do”. When and where "sudo" is used has to do with the way permissions are set up in Linux. Only the "root" user has the access level to perform certain tasks in Linux. As a matter of security and safety regular user accounts are kept separate from the "root" user. It's not advised (or even possible) to boot into Linux as "root" with most modern distributions. Instead by using "sudo" our regular user account is temporarily given the power to do otherwise forbidden things. Don't worry about it too much at this stage, but if you want to know more check out this introduction.

If everything is working you should get a list of the various drives detected along with their device IDs which will look like this: /dev/sdc. You can also check the device IDs of the drives by opening the disk utility app. Jot these IDs down as we'll need them for our next step, creating our RAIDz array.

RAIDz is similar to RAID-5 in that instead of striping your data over multiple disks, exchanging redundancy for speed and available space (RAID-0), or mirroring your data writing by two copies of every piece (RAID-1), it instead writes parity blocks across the disks in addition to striping, this provides a balance of speed, redundancy and available space. If a single drive fails, the parity blocks on the working drives can be used to reconstruct the entire array as soon as a replacement drive is added.

Additionally, RAIDz improves over some of the common RAID-5 flaws. It's more resilient and capable of self healing, as it is capable of automatically checking for errors against a checksum. It's more forgiving in this way, and it's likely that you'll be able to detect when a drive is dying well before it fails. A RAIDz array can survive the loss of any one drive.

Note: While RAIDz is indeed resilient, if a second drive fails during the rebuild, you're fucked. Always keep backups of things you can't afford to lose. This tutorial, however, is not about proper data safety.

To create the pool, use the following command:

sudo zpool create "zpoolnamehere" raidz "device IDs of drives we're putting in the pool"

For example, let's creatively name our zpool "mypool". This poil will consist of four drives which have the device IDs: sdb, sdc, sdd, and sde. The resulting command will look like this:

sudo zpool create mypool raidz /dev/sdb /dev/sdc /dev/sdd /dev/sde

If as an example you bought five HDDs and decided you wanted more redundancy dedicating two drive to this purpose, we would modify the command to "raidz2" and the command would look something like the following:

sudo zpool create mypool raidz2 /dev/sdb /dev/sdc /dev/sdd /dev/sde /dev/sdf

An array configured like this is known as RAIDz2 and is able to survive two disk failures.

Once the zpool has been created, we can check its status with the command:

zpool status

Or more concisely with:

zpool list

The nice thing about ZFS as a file system is that a pool is ready to go immediately after creation. If we were to set up a traditional RAID-5 array using mbam, we'd have to sit through a potentially hours long process of reformatting and partitioning the drives. Instead we're ready to go right out the gates.

The zpool should be automatically mounted to the filesystem after creation, check on that with the following:

df -hT | grep zfs

Note: If your computer ever loses power suddenly, say in event of a power outage, you may have to re-import your pool. In most cases, ZFS will automatically import and mount your pool, but if it doesn’t and you can't see your array, simply open the terminal and type sudo zpool import -a.

By default a zpool is mounted at /"zpoolname". The pool should be under our ownership but let's make sure with the following command:

sudo chown -R "yourlinuxusername" /"zpoolname"

Note: Changing file and folder ownership with "chown" and file and folder permissions with "chmod" are essential commands for much of the admin work in Linux, but we won't be dealing with them extensively in this guide. If you'd like a deeper tutorial and explanation you can check out these two guides: chown and chmod.

You can access the zpool file system through the GUI by opening the file manager (the Ubuntu default file manager is called Nautilus) and clicking on "Other Locations" on the sidebar, then entering the Ubuntu file system and looking for a folder with your pool's name. Bookmark the folder on the sidebar for easy access.

Your storage pool is now ready to go. Assuming that we already have some files on our Windows PC we want to copy to over, we're going to need to install and configure Samba to make the pool accessible in Windows.

Step Five: Setting Up Samba/Sharing

Samba is what's going to let us share the zpool with Windows and allow us to write to it from our Windows machine. First let's install Samba with the following commands:

sudo apt-get update

then

sudo apt-get install samba

Next create a password for Samba.

sudo smbpswd -a "yourlinuxusername"

It will then prompt you to create a password. Just reuse your Ubuntu user password for simplicity's sake.

Note: if you're using just a single external drive replace the zpool location in the following commands with wherever it is your external drive is mounted, for more information see this guide on mounting an external drive in Ubuntu.

After you've created a password we're going to create a shareable folder in our pool with this command

mkdir /"zpoolname"/"foldername"

Now we're going to open the smb.conf file and make that folder shareable. Enter the following command.

sudo nano /etc/samba/smb.conf

This will open the .conf file in nano, the terminal text editor program. Now at the end of smb.conf add the following entry:

["foldername"]

path = /"zpoolname"/"foldername"

available = yes

valid users = "yourlinuxusername"

read only = no

writable = yes

browseable = yes

guest ok = no

Ensure that there are no line breaks between the lines and that there's a space on both sides of the equals sign. Our next step is to allow Samba traffic through the firewall:

sudo ufw allow samba

Finally restart the Samba service:

sudo systemctl restart smbd

At this point we'll be able to access to the pool, browse its contents, and read and write to it from Windows. But there's one more thing left to do, Windows doesn't natively support the ZFS file systems and will read the used/available/total space in the pool incorrectly. Windows will read available space as total drive space, and all used space as null. This leads to Windows only displaying a dwindling amount of "available" space as the drives are filled. We can fix this! Functionally this doesn't actually matter, we can still write and read to and from the disk, it just makes it difficult to tell at a glance the proportion of used/available space, so this is an optional step but one I recommend (this step is also unnecessary if you're just using a single external drive). What we're going to do is write a little shell script in #bash. Open nano with the terminal with the command:

nano

Now insert the following code:

#!/bin/bash CUR_PATH=`pwd` ZFS_CHECK_OUTPUT=$(zfs get type $CUR_PATH 2>&1 > /dev/null) > /dev/null if [[ $ZFS_CHECK_OUTPUT == *not\ a\ ZFS* ]] then IS_ZFS=false else IS_ZFS=true fi if [[ $IS_ZFS = false ]] then df $CUR_PATH | tail -1 | awk '{print $2" "$4}' else USED=$((`zfs get -o value -Hp used $CUR_PATH` / 1024)) > /dev/null AVAIL=$((`zfs get -o value -Hp available $CUR_PATH` / 1024)) > /dev/null TOTAL=$(($USED+$AVAIL)) > /dev/null echo $TOTAL $AVAIL fi

Save the script as "dfree.sh" to /home/"yourlinuxusername" then change the ownership of the file to make it executable with this command:

sudo chmod 774 dfree.sh

Now open smb.conf with sudo again:

sudo nano /etc/samba/smb.conf

Now add this entry to the top of the configuration file to direct Samba to use the results of our script when Windows asks for a reading on the pool's used/available/total drive space:

[global]

dfree command = /home/"yourlinuxusername"/dfree.sh

Save the changes to smb.conf and then restart Samba again with the terminal:

sudo systemctl restart smbd

Now there’s one more thing we need to do to fully set up the Samba share, and that’s to modify a hidden group permission. In the terminal window type the following command:

usermod -a -G sambashare “yourlinuxusername”

Then restart samba again:

sudo systemctl restart smbd

If we don’t do this last step, everything will appear to work fine, and you will even be able to see and map the drive from Windows and even begin transferring files, but you'd soon run into a lot of frustration. As every ten minutes or so a file would fail to transfer and you would get a window announcing “0x8007003B Unexpected Network Error”. This window would require your manual input to continue the transfer with the file next in the queue. And at the end it would reattempt to transfer whichever files failed the first time around. 99% of the time they’ll go through that second try, but this is still all a major pain in the ass. Especially if you’ve got a lot of data to transfer or you want to step away from the computer for a while.

It turns out samba can act a little weirdly with the higher read/write speeds of RAIDz arrays and transfers from Windows, and will intermittently crash and restart itself if this group option isn’t changed. Inputting the above command will prevent you from ever seeing that window.

The last thing we're going to do before switching over to our Windows PC is grab the IP address of our Linux machine. Enter the following command:

hostname -I

This will spit out this computer's IP address on the local network (it will look something like 192.168.0.x), write it down. It might be a good idea once you're done here to go into your router settings and reserving that IP for your Linux system in the DHCP settings. Check the manual for your specific model router on how to access its settings, typically it can be accessed by opening a browser and typing http:\\192.168.0.1 in the address bar, but your router may be different.

Okay we’re done with our Linux computer for now. Get on over to your Windows PC, open File Explorer, right click on Network and click "Map network drive". Select Z: as the drive letter (you don't want to map the network drive to a letter you could conceivably be using for other purposes) and enter the IP of your Linux machine and location of the share like so: \\"LINUXCOMPUTERLOCALIPADDRESSGOESHERE"\"zpoolnamegoeshere"\. Windows will then ask you for your username and password, enter the ones you set earlier in Samba and you're good. If you've done everything right it should look something like this:

You can now start moving media over from Windows to the share folder. It's a good idea to have a hard line running to all machines. Moving files over Wi-Fi is going to be tortuously slow, the only thing that’s going to make the transfer time tolerable (hours instead of days) is a solid wired connection between both machines and your router.

Step Six: Setting Up Remote Desktop Access to Your Server

After the server is up and going, you’ll want to be able to access it remotely from Windows. Barring serious maintenance/updates, this is how you'll access it most of the time. On your Linux system open the terminal and enter:

sudo apt install xrdp

Then:

sudo systemctl enable xrdp

Once it's finished installing, open “Settings” on the sidebar and turn off "automatic login" in the User category. Then log out of your account. Attempting to remotely connect to your Linux computer while you’re logged in will result in a black screen!

Now get back on your Windows PC, open search and look for "RDP". A program called "Remote Desktop Connection" should pop up, open this program as an administrator by right-clicking and selecting “run as an administrator”. You’ll be greeted with a window. In the field marked “Computer” type in the IP address of your Linux computer. Press connect and you'll be greeted with a new window and prompt asking for your username and password. Enter your Ubuntu username and password here.

If everything went right, you’ll be logged into your Linux computer. If the performance is sluggish, adjust the display options. Lowering the resolution and colour depth do a lot to make the interface feel snappier.

Remote access is how we're going to be using our Linux system from now, barring edge cases like needing to get into the BIOS or upgrading to a new version of Ubuntu. Everything else from performing maintenance like a monthly zpool scrub to checking zpool status and updating software can all be done remotely.

This is how my server lives its life now, happily humming and chirping away on the floor next to the couch in a corner of the living room.

Step Seven: Plex Media Server/Jellyfin

Okay we’ve got all the ground work finished and our server is almost up and running. We’ve got Ubuntu up and running, our storage array is primed, we’ve set up remote connections and sharing, and maybe we’ve moved over some of favourite movies and TV shows.

Now we need to decide on the media server software to use which will stream our media to us and organize our library. For most people I’d recommend Plex. It just works 99% of the time. That said, Jellyfin has a lot to recommend it by too, even if it is rougher around the edges. Some people run both simultaneously, it’s not that big of an extra strain. I do recommend doing a little bit of your own research into the features each platform offers, but as a quick run down, consider some of the following points:

Plex is closed source and is funded through PlexPass purchases while Jellyfin is open source and entirely user driven. This means a number of things: for one, Plex requires you to purchase a “PlexPass” (purchased as a one time lifetime fee $159.99 CDN/$120 USD or paid for on a monthly or yearly subscription basis) in order to access to certain features, like hardware transcoding (and we want hardware transcoding) or automated intro/credits detection and skipping, Jellyfin offers some of these features for free through plugins. Plex supports a lot more devices than Jellyfin and updates more frequently. That said, Jellyfin's Android and iOS apps are completely free, while the Plex Android and iOS apps must be activated for a one time cost of $6 CDN/$5 USD. But that $6 fee gets you a mobile app that is much more functional and features a unified UI across platforms, the Plex mobile apps are simply a more polished experience. The Jellyfin apps are a bit of a mess and the iOS and Android versions are very different from each other.

Jellyfin’s actual media player is more fully featured than Plex's, but on the other hand Jellyfin's UI, library customization and automatic media tagging really pale in comparison to Plex. Streaming your music library is free through both Jellyfin and Plex, but Plex offers the PlexAmp app for dedicated music streaming which boasts a number of fantastic features, unfortunately some of those fantastic features require a PlexPass. If your internet is down, Jellyfin can still do local streaming, while Plex can fail to play files unless you've got it set up a certain way. Jellyfin has a slew of neat niche features like support for Comic Book libraries with the .cbz/.cbt file types, but then Plex offers some free ad-supported TV and films, they even have a free channel that plays nothing but Classic Doctor Who.

Ultimately it's up to you, I settled on Plex because although some features are pay-walled, it just works. It's more reliable and easier to use, and a one-time fee is much easier to swallow than a subscription. I had a pretty easy time getting my boomer parents and tech illiterate brother introduced to and using Plex and I don't know if I would've had as easy a time doing that with Jellyfin. I do also need to mention that Jellyfin does take a little extra bit of tinkering to get going in Ubuntu, you’ll have to set up process permissions, so if you're more tolerant to tinkering, Jellyfin might be up your alley and I’ll trust that you can follow their installation and configuration guide. For everyone else, I recommend Plex.

So pick your poison: Plex or Jellyfin.

Note: The easiest way to download and install either of these packages in Ubuntu is through Snap Store.

After you've installed one (or both), opening either app will launch a browser window into the browser version of the app allowing you to set all the options server side.

The process of adding creating media libraries is essentially the same in both Plex and Jellyfin. You create a separate libraries for Television, Movies, and Music and add the folders which contain the respective types of media to their respective libraries. The only difficult or time consuming aspect is ensuring that your files and folders follow the appropriate naming conventions:

Plex naming guide for Movies

Plex naming guide for Television

Jellyfin follows the same naming rules but I find their media scanner to be a lot less accurate and forgiving than Plex. Once you've selected the folders to be scanned the service will scan your files, tagging everything and adding metadata. Although I find do find Plex more accurate, it can still erroneously tag some things and you might have to manually clean up some tags in a large library. (When I initially created my library it tagged the 1963-1989 Doctor Who as some Korean soap opera and I needed to manually select the correct match after which everything was tagged normally.) It can also be a bit testy with anime (especially OVAs) be sure to check TVDB to ensure that you have your files and folders structured and named correctly. If something is not showing up at all, double check the name.

Once that's done, organizing and customizing your library is easy. You can set up collections, grouping items together to fit a theme or collect together all the entries in a franchise. You can make playlists, and add custom artwork to entries. It's fun setting up collections with posters to match, there are even several websites dedicated to help you do this like PosterDB. As an example, below are two collections in my library, one collecting all the entries in a franchise, the other follows a theme.

My Star Trek collection, featuring all eleven television series, and thirteen films.

My Best of the Worst collection, featuring sixty-nine films previously showcased on RedLetterMedia’s Best of the Worst. They’re all absolutely terrible and I love them.

As for settings, ensure you've got Remote Access going, it should work automatically and be sure to set your upload speed after running a speed test. In the library settings set the database cache to 2000MB to ensure a snappier and more responsive browsing experience, and then check that playback quality is set to original/maximum. If you’re severely bandwidth limited on your upload and have remote users, you might want to limit the remote stream bitrate to something more reasonable, just as a note of comparison Netflix’s 1080p bitrate is approximately 5Mbps, although almost anyone watching through a chromium based browser is streaming at 720p and 3mbps. Other than that you should be good to go. For actually playing your files, there's a Plex app for just about every platform imaginable. I mostly watch television and films on my laptop using the Windows Plex app, but I also use the Android app which can broadcast to the chromecast connected to the TV in the office and the Android TV app for our smart TV. Both are fully functional and easy to navigate, and I can also attest to the OS X version being equally functional.

Part Eight: Finding Media

Now, this is not really a piracy tutorial, there are plenty of those out there. But if you’re unaware, BitTorrent is free and pretty easy to use, just pick a client (qBittorrent is the best) and go find some public trackers to peruse. Just know now that all the best trackers are private and invite only, and that they can be exceptionally difficult to get into. I’m already on a few, and even then, some of the best ones are wholly out of my reach.

If you decide to take the left hand path and turn to Usenet you’ll have to pay. First you’ll need to sign up with a provider like Newshosting or EasyNews for access to Usenet itself, and then to actually find anything you’re going to need to sign up with an indexer like NZBGeek or NZBFinder. There are dozens of indexers, and many people cross post between them, but for more obscure media it’s worth checking multiple. You’ll also need a binary downloader like SABnzbd. That caveat aside, Usenet is faster, bigger, older, less traceable than BitTorrent, and altogether slicker. I honestly prefer it, and I'm kicking myself for taking this long to start using it because I was scared off by the price. I’ve found so many things on Usenet that I had sought in vain elsewhere for years, like a 2010 Italian film about a massacre perpetrated by the SS that played the festival circuit but never received a home media release; some absolute hero uploaded a rip of a festival screener DVD to Usenet. Anyway, figure out the rest of this shit on your own and remember to use protection, get yourself behind a VPN, use a SOCKS5 proxy with your BitTorrent client, etc.

On the legal side of things, if you’re around my age, you (or your family) probably have a big pile of DVDs and Blu-Rays sitting around unwatched and half forgotten. Why not do a bit of amateur media preservation, rip them and upload them to your server for easier access? (Your tools for this are going to be Handbrake to do the ripping and AnyDVD to break any encryption.) I went to the trouble of ripping all my SCTV DVDs (five box sets worth) because none of it is on streaming nor could it be found on any pirate source I tried. I’m glad I did, forty years on it’s still one of the funniest shows to ever be on TV.

Part Nine/Epilogue: Sonarr/Radarr/Lidarr and Overseerr

There are a lot of ways to automate your server for better functionality or to add features you and other users might find useful. Sonarr, Radarr, and Lidarr are a part of a suite of “Servarr” services (there’s also Readarr for books and Whisparr for adult content) that allow you to automate the collection of new episodes of TV shows (Sonarr), new movie releases (Radarr) and music releases (Lidarr). They hook in to your BitTorrent client or Usenet binary newsgroup downloader and crawl your preferred Torrent trackers and Usenet indexers, alerting you to new releases and automatically grabbing them. You can also use these services to manually search for new media, and even replace/upgrade your existing media with better quality uploads. They’re really a little tricky to set up on a bare metal Ubuntu install (ideally you should be running them in Docker Containers), and I won’t be providing a step by step on installing and running them, I’m simply making you aware of their existence.

The other bit of kit I want to make you aware of is Overseerr which is a program that scans your Plex media library and will serve recommendations based on what you like. It also allows you and your users to request specific media. It can even be integrated with Sonarr/Radarr/Lidarr so that fulfilling those requests is fully automated.

And you're done. It really wasn't all that hard. Enjoy your media. Enjoy the control you have over that media. And be safe in the knowledge that no hedgefund CEO motherfucker who hates the movies but who is somehow in control of a major studio will be able to disappear anything in your library as a tax write-off.

[remmys]

🎃 TFTOBER 2024 !!

Hey there!! I really wanted to participate in an October prompt list, but seeing as I've been really hooked on TF2 for this entire year, I figured it would be fun to do a TF2 themed list!!

If you participate, feel free to tag your posts w/ #tftober !!! I'd love to see what other people do <3 This list should be perfectly doable for any medium (art, writing, sfm, etc!)

Below the cut is a list of all the prompts with some extra flavor text/ideas! Things are kept vague in a typical drawing prompt fashion

DAY 1 - Main

Who's your main? Who do you play most often?

DAY 2 - Hats!

It's not called a glorified hat simulator for nothing! There's plenty of cosmetics at your fingertips in the game!

DAY 3 - Relationships

Everyone knows someone. Whether it's a family member, a friend, a lover, or even an arch nemesis!

DAY 4 - Pyrovision

Put on the goggles and take a look at things with a new perspective!

DAY 5 - Battlefield

Probably where a mercenary spends most of their time

DAY 6 - On Break

Battles don't rage on forever. You've gotta take a break eventually

DAY 7 - Offense

The front lines. The moving force

DAY 8 - Defense

The back lines. Makes sure nobody gets too far

DAY 9 - Support

Everything in between! Perhaps even the foundations of some teams

DAY 10 - Teamwork

It's not called TEAM Fortress for nothing, right?

DAY 11 - Fem Fortress

Happy Friday! Give some love to the girls!

DAY 12 - Free Space

Draw, write, or SFM to your heart's content! Do whatever you'd like!

DAY 13 - Respawn

Nobody stays dead.

DAY 14 - Capture the Flag

That briefcase isn't going to steal itself!

DAY 15 - Backstab

Should've checked behind you.

DAY 16 - Mann vs Machine

Guns and bullets or nuts and bolts? Who knows what could be running through those metallic minds...

DAY 17 - Expiration Date

Teleportation and bread. What else can I say?

DAY 18 - Headcannons

Think a little deeper. What do you just know has got to be true about the mercenaries?

DAY 19 - At home

Everyone comes from somewhere. Everyone has a home.

DAY 20 - Headshot

Looks like you stood a little bit too still.

DAY 21 - Alternate Universe

Emesis Blue? Lil' Pootis? A universe where the mercenaries are all alligators? The world is your oyster.

DAY 22 - Australium

A divine and valued substance rarer than gold

DAY 23 - Administrator

There's more to a war than just the fighters

DAY 24 - Pets

Some people have a soft spot for certain animals. Others choose to keep theirs around 24/7.

DAY 25 - Injury

An inevitability of war

DAY 26 - Control Points

A constant back and fourth

DAY 27 - Comics

Ink, panels, and pages. A story through words and pictures.

DAY 28 - Custom Class

Is nine really enough to cover everyone needed in a war? Probably not!

DAY 29 - Ubercharge

A miracle of medicine

DAY 30 - Sentry

Sometimes the best way to get good aim is to not be the one aiming

DAY 31 - Scream Fortress

Happy Halloween! Scream out to your heart's content and enjoy the spooks of the night!

[eclipixels]

HI! I love your works, and I was wondering if you can write with Reo, with a reader who is his childhood friend that he married but their marriage failed and like years later he finds the reader again and finds out they had a daughter, Thank you! (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

Avoid

Reo Mikage x Reader

[3,548 words]

      The first time you and Reo met, you were both wrapped in soft blankets, oblivious to the world and fresh out the womb. Your parents, strangers at the time, struck up a conversation in the hospital waiting room. By the time they left with their newborns, they had exchanged phone numbers and promises to stay in touch.

      Your childhood was filled with laughter and shared milestones. Every birthday was a grand affair, your families going all out.

      "All right, Y/n and Reo, blow out your candles!" your parents would call, the warm glow of cake candles flickering between you.

      "Three… two… one!" Reo grinned at you before you both sucked in deep breaths, extinguishing the flames in unison. Cheers erupted around you, your parents clapping, cameras flashing.

      "You totally wished for something dumb," you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

      "Did not! I wished for, " He stopped himself, sticking his tongue out. "Not telling you, or it won’t come true."

      Every school year started and ended with the two of you side by side. You were an unshakable duo, finishing each other’s sentences, stealing each other’s notes, and causing mischief that your parents always pretended not to notice.

      As you grew older, something shifted. Maybe it was the way his gaze lingered a little longer or how his hand found yours naturally, without a second thought. Maybe it was the way your name sounded different when he said it, softer, more meaningful.

      By the time Reo realized he loved you, it wasn’t a revelation; it was a confirmation of something he’d always known.

      "I mean, proximity and like-mindedness are literally the basis of attraction," he joked one evening, lying next to you on the grass, staring at the stars. "Psychology says so. It was inevitable."

      "Oh, so you love me because of science?" you teased, turning your head to face him.

      He smirked, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "No, I love you because you're you. The science just backs me up."

      He kissed you that night, and nothing had ever felt more right.

      When Reo got into the Blue Lock program, you were his biggest supporter. His team quickly learned your name, recognizing you as "Mikage’s rich, pretty girlfriend," someone who matched his energy and belonged in his world. But to Reo, you weren’t just someone who fit his lifestyle, you were the only person he could ever imagine by his side.

      The day he proposed, he was shaking.

      "You nervous?" you teased, eyeing the way he kept fidgeting.

      He scoffed. "What? No! I just, okay, maybe a little." He took a deep breath, then got down on one knee. "But not about asking. Just about you saying no."

      Tears pricked your eyes. "Like I could ever say no to you, Mikage Reo."

      The day you got married was the happiest day of his life. He had everything, the love of his life, his best friend, and his forever.

      The Mikage wedding was the event of the year. No, the decade. Extravagant, luxurious, and dripping in opulence, just as everyone expected. When two people with endless wealth and impeccable taste decided to tie the knot, the result was nothing short of legendary.

      The ceremony took place on a private island, rented exclusively for the occasion. White rose petals lined the aisle, the scent of fresh jasmine floating in the warm evening air. Crystal chandeliers hung from towering floral arches, their glow reflecting off the ocean waves beyond. Every chair was custom-made, embroidered with the initials M & Y, a keepsake for each guest. The sky, painted in hues of pink and gold, looked as if it had been designed just for them.

      Reo stood at the altar, adjusting the cuff of his designer tuxedo for what felt like the hundredth time. His heart pounded as he stole a glance at the guests, business moguls, soccer stars, and high-society elites all gathered in anticipation. His Blue Lock teammates were near the front, some looking uncomfortable in their formal suits, but all undeniably impressed.

      Then, the music started. A soft piano melody, slow and elegant.

      And then, you stepped into view.

      The entire crowd seemed to inhale at once. Even with all the luxury surrounding you, you were the most breathtaking thing there. Your gown, a custom piece flown in from Paris, shimmered like liquid starlight with every step. The train flowed behind you like a cascading dream, and the delicate veil, embroidered with tiny pearls, framed your face like something out of a fairytale.

      Reo swore his heart stopped.

      His hands twitched at his sides, resisting the urge to run to you, to take you in his arms and claim this moment as his forever.

      "Wow," he whispered under his breath, eyes locked onto you. His best man, Nagi, of course, smirked and nudged him.

      "Don’t pass out, man," Nagi teased lazily. "That’d be embarrassing."

      Reo barely heard him. The second you reached him, he grabbed your hands, his touch warm and grounding.

      "You’re shaking," you whispered, squeezing his fingers.

      "Yeah, well, I’m looking at the most beautiful person in the world," he murmured back, smirking. "Kinda hard to keep my cool."

      The ceremony itself was perfect. Vows spoken in soft, emotion-filled voices, fingers trembling slightly as rings were exchanged.

      "I’ve loved you in every way possible," Reo said, eyes never leaving yours. "As a best friend. As a partner. As the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. No matter what comes next, I know one thing, there’s no version of my future without you in it."

      Your breath hitched. His grip on your hands tightened, as if silently promising you that this moment, this love, was real.

      And then,

      "You may kiss the bride."

      Reo wasted no time. He cupped your face, pulling you into a kiss that made the crowd erupt in cheers. It was deep, full of love and possession, the kind of kiss that left no doubts, you were his, and he was yours, forever.

      Reo tightened his hold on you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he exhaled softly. The warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek, it was the kind of comfort that felt eternal.

      "Do you think we’ll always be like this?" you murmured, nestled against Reo’s side.

      "You’re thinking too much again," he murmured, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your arm.

      You sighed. "I just… I see it happen all the time. People who were so in love, who thought they'd be together forever, and then one day, " You hesitated, voice barely above a whisper. "They’re strangers."

      Reo was quiet for a moment, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "That won’t be us," he said with certainty.

      "But how do you know?"

      He pulled back just enough to look at you, his violet eyes searching yours, serious yet full of warmth. "Because I don’t love you out of convenience. Or because it’s easy. I love you because you’re you. That’s never gonna change."

      You bit your lip, still uncertain. "But what if, "

      "No what-ifs," he cut you off gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "If something’s wrong, we fix it. If we change, we change together. And if you ever feel like we’re slipping, tell me, and I’ll fight like hell to bring us back."

      You stared at him, at the sincerity in his eyes, at the unwavering confidence in his voice.

      "I mean, come on," he smirked, trying to lighten the mood. "You think I went through all the trouble of throwing the wedding of the century just to lose you later? Not a chance."

      A small laugh escaped your lips, and Reo grinned, pulling you close again.

      "Fifty years from now," he whispered against your hair, "I’ll still be here, spoiling you, annoying you, loving you. Just like this."

      You closed your eyes, listening to his heartbeat.

      "I hope so," you murmured.

      Reo kissed your forehead. "I know so."

      —

      It was dumb. A stupid, pointless argument that shouldn’t have escalated the way it did, but somehow, it was on the verge of ruining everything.

      "Stop it, Y/n," Reo’s voice cracked with frustration, his words heavy with helplessness. "I don’t know what else I can do to make you not feel like this. You don’t think it kills me, seeing you like this?"

      You couldn’t hold back the tears, the fear flooding your chest. The truth was, you needed him. Needed him there with you. But all he seemed to care about was soccer.

      You had been feeling off for weeks, random fevers, migraines, throwing up without any explanation. You’d made an appointment to go see the doctor. You even made sure to pick a day Reo could go with you, not wanting to face the possibility of bad news alone. However, his flight overseas for soccer got pushed up early due to weather issues next week, so they needed his team to leave today.

      That meant going to your appointment alone. The thought of not having Reo by your side while you waited for results terrified you. Especially considering your family’s history with a particular illness, one that usually showed up around this age.

      "I asked you to come with me," you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady. "I thought we agreed, you said you’d be there."

      Reo ran a hand through his hair, pacing in frustration. "This is important to me, Y/n," he said, voice strained.

      "I know, but this is important to me too!" You wiped your face, trying to keep your composure. "Can’t you just change your flight? A few hours later, Reo, just a few hours!"

      He let out a frustrated sigh. "We’re on a strict schedule. You know how this works."

      "Strict schedule my ass!" You couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out, your voice shaking. "You can’t tell me you can’t make one small change for me."

      "My flight is eleven hours before your appointment," Reo said, his words clipped, defensive.

      Your chest tightened, and you felt a lump rise in your throat. "I feel like you don’t care about me anymore," you whispered.

      "That’s not true," he said coldly, the words stinging.

      The air felt thick, suffocating. You choked on a sob, a tear slipping down your cheek. "You promised you’d never put soccer above me."

      "I’m not putting soccer above you," Reo said, though there was an edge to his voice, his frustration mixing with something else.

      "It feels like you are," you sobbed, the weight of his absence feeling heavier than you could bear. "And it hurts, Reo. It really hurts."

      "I’m doing my best here, Y/n," he said, exasperated. "And if you can’t see that, then fine. I’m not dealing with this." His voice cracked as he grabbed his bag, heading for the door. "Whatever happened to you saying you’d support me no matter what?"

      "I do support you!" You pleaded, but the words felt hollow.

      "Really? Because it feels like you’re distracting me more than anything." His words hit like a punch to the gut. And with that, he was gone. It was his league’s club season which meant he’d be gone for nine to eleven months.

      You stood there, numb, as the door slammed behind him, leaving you in the deafening silence.

      The next morning, you woke up to an empty house. Reo was gone. And the weight of everything, everything that had just been shattered, was unbearable.

      You made it through the morning, each task more difficult than the last. You got out of bed alone, ate breakfast alone, and somehow made it to the car alone. The drive to the doctor’s office felt like a blur, the world moving at a crawl, and yet it was all so quiet. When you arrived, you didn’t speak to anyone. They ran a series of tests and took your blood, checking for the disease you were so scared of, ruling it out with an ease that only made your heart ache more.

      Then, the doctor came in, a clipboard in hand, his expression serious but gentle.

      “Mrs. Mikage, we know the reason for your recent sickness,” he said, his words almost robotic. “You’re pregnant.”

      “Oh,” was all you could manage to say, your breath catching in your throat as the weight of those words pressed down on you like a ton of bricks.

      They explained everything, sent you to an OBGYN, scheduled follow-ups, and reassured you that your tests for everything else had come back negative. But it all felt like a distant hum, like none of it was really registering.

      “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice weak as you gathered your things and left the office, your body moving in a haze.

      The drive home was eerily silent. It was as if the world around you had muted itself. No honking cars, no chirping birds, just a heavy, suffocating quiet that matched the storm in your chest.

      You were pregnant. Alone. And your husband, your husband who you hadn’t spoken to in days, was halfway around the world, caught up in a life that felt impossibly distant from the one you were trying to hold onto. And after the fight you’d just had… you didn’t even know how to fix it.

      You didn’t want to tell him. You didn’t want to tell anyone. Not yet. So, you kept it to yourself. Every doctor’s appointment, every milestone, every piece of baby gear you bought, was done in solitude. You didn’t even tell your family.

      But Reo didn’t leave you completely alone. His texts came every day, sometimes multiple times a day, each one a little more desperate, a little more unsure. But you wanted to give him his space, his time to let him focus on his passion. You didn’t want to be a distraction, his words echoing in your mind each time you almost caved and texted him back.

      I wanted to ask on call, but you haven’t been answering. Are you… are you leaving me? His message came in late one night, his uncertainty clear in every word.

      You stared at the screen for a long time before finally responding.

      I just think we need some space, you typed, your fingers trembling as you hit send.

      Oh. That was all he replied with.

      That was it. No questions, no follow-up. Just the deafening silence that followed.

      A few days later, your mother called. She hadn’t heard from you in weeks, and the concern in her voice was clear.

      “Y/n, come over sometime,” she said, her tone warm and inviting. “We haven’t seen you in so long.”

      You hesitated for a moment, but then it all came spilling out.

      “Mom, I… I have something to tell you.”

      “Yes, honey?”

      You took a deep breath, wiping away the tears that had begun to form. “I’m pregnant. I’ve been for a while. A few months now, actually. And I haven’t told anyone. Not even Reo. We haven’t been talking. I’ve been ignoring all his calls and texts.”

      There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Y/n…” your mother’s voice was soft but filled with concern.

      “I feel so dumb. I don’t know why I’m doing this all alone.”

      “Y/n, you haven’t talked to Reo in months?”

      “No,” you sniffled, your heart aching. “I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t know how to fix it.”

      “Oh, honey,” she whispered, her voice full of emotion. “I’m coming over.”

      “Okay. But… don’t tell anyone. Please.” The words came out between sobs. You didn’t want the world to know, not yet.

      Your mother sighed, and then her voice was steady, gentle. “You’re going to have to tell Reo eventually, sweetheart.”

      “I know,” you whispered, feeling the weight of those words hang in the air. "I just… don’t know how."

      —

      I’m coming home.

      The message from Reo pinged through the silence, a message you’d seen but refused to open. A string of missed calls followed, each one a knot in your stomach, each text begging for a response that you weren’t ready to give.

      When he walked through the door, he wasn’t expecting you to be there. But there you were, standing at the threshold of the living room, waiting for him.

      “You’re still here?” he asked, his voice uncertain.

      “Yeah.” You barely breathed the word, your eyes downcast, not sure what to expect or how to say what you had to.

      “You didn’t answer my calls or texts,” he said, his voice thick with hurt.

      “Yeah,” you replied again, your heart sinking with the weight of it all.

      “That hurt,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

      “I’m sorry,” you murmured, the words barely escaping past the lump in your throat.

      “Don’t ever do that again.” Tears welled in his eyes as he pulled you into a tight, almost desperate hug, holding you close as if afraid you might slip away again.

      “Why?” he sobbed, his breath shaking against your neck.

      You closed your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts as the words poured out. “I was… I would’ve called you sooner, but the hormones made me even angrier at you. And I knew if I called, I would’ve said things I didn’t mean. We were already in a bad place. I didn’t want to do anything to make it worse, so I just paused.”

      He pulled back slightly, his face pale, eyes wide. “Baby, no. Nothing could ever make me feel that way.” His voice softened with regret. “You ignoring me made it worse.”

      You started to cry, the tears coming freely now. You couldn’t stop them. You couldn’t stop thinking about how he saw you, how he thought you were a distraction before, and now… Now, knowing the truth, he’d think even worse. He would have to take care of you, and the child he didn’t know about.

      “I just wanted to give you all the time you needed for soccer,” you choked out, your voice breaking with the weight of it. “I didn’t want to be a distraction…”

      Reo searched your eyes, his hands cupping your face as if trying to will the truth into his heart. “That’s what this is about?” He shook his head, his expression filled with remorse. “I never should’ve said that. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. You could never be a distraction. Never ever.”

      “I’m sorry, Reo. I’m so sorry,” you cried, your sobs shaking your body.

      He held you tighter, trying to reassure you as his voice softened. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re okay.”

      “No.” You sniffled, wiping your face with your sleeve. “It’s not just about that, I—”

      But your baby’s cries cut you off. The sound sliced through the room like a knife, pulling your attention away from the conversation. Reo furrowed his brows, sensing the sudden shift, and followed you as you rushed towards the nursery.

      You turned, cradling your baby in your arms, the tiny body so familiar yet so foreign at the same time. The tufts of hair, the tiny eyes, it was all him.

      Reo stood frozen in the doorway, his voice trembling as he said your name.

      “Y/n?”

      You couldn’t look him in the eye. “I’m sorry, I found out after you left.” Your heart shattered, knowing that this moment should’ve been shared, should’ve been a partnership. But it wasn’t. It had been a solitary experience.

      “What?” His voice cracked as the realization dawned. “What are you apologizing for? This is…” He trailed off, his emotions overwhelming him as he stepped forward, his eyes never leaving the baby in your arms. “She’s ours?”

      You nodded, your throat tight as you held her close.

      “She’s beautiful.” Reo cried as he held her in his arms. You had given birth only a month ago, you were tired, exhausted, scared, in pain. You were happy Reo was back. You knew you had problems to fix but at least you were together again. You’d get through it, you made a vow to.

      “Oh god…” Reo whispered, his hand reaching out as if to touch the tiny face, his tears falling freely now. “You were pregnant all alone?” His voice cracked again, as if the idea of you going through this by yourself was too much to bear.

      You tried to choke back the sobs, your hand trembling as you held your baby to your chest. “I didn’t want to be a bother.”

      Reo collapsed to his knees in front of you, his face crumpling with regret and heartache. “Oh, baby, no… no, no, no,” he cried, his arms wrapping around you and the baby as he pulled you into him. “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have had to do this alone. I should’ve been there. I should’ve been here for you. For both of you.”

      His heart ached as he imagined you going through this, carrying your child, facing it all on your own. It broke him to think about how long he’d been absent, too wrapped up in his own world. Now, he had a chance to make it right, to be the partner you needed.

      And he would.

[wendichester]

✮⋆˙ coffee, pie & a side of trouble,

summary. you finally have a handsome customer at the diner

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 399

notes. happy jackles day .ᐟ 🩷

Dean’s been to a lot of diners—greasy spoons with peeling vinyl booths and coffee strong enough to wake the dead. But this one? This one’s special.

And it has nothing to do with the menu.

“Can I get you something, sweetheart?”

Your voice is smooth, a little teasing, and when Dean glances up from the sticky menu, he nearly forgets how to speak.

Damn.

He knew walking into this place was a good idea.

You’re standing there in a worn little uniform, not exactly glamorous, but on you? It works. There’s a knowing glint in your eyes, like you’ve dealt with plenty of guys like him before—cocky, road-worn, up to no good.

Dean grins. “That depends. What’s good here?”

You huff a laugh, placing a hand on your hip. “Nothing, really. But the coffee’s hot, and the pie won’t kill you.”

“Damn, and here I was hoping for fine dining.” He taps a finger against the menu. “Tell you what—bring me some of that not-deadly pie and your best cup of coffee.”

Your lips twitch like you’re trying not to smile. “You got it, handsome.”

Dean watches as you walk away, taking his sweet time, because hey—he’s only human.

By the time you come back, balancing a plate of pie and a steaming mug, he’s already decided he likes this place way more than he should.

You set everything down in front of him, leaning slightly over the table. “That should keep you busy for a bit.”

Dean smirks, picking up his fork. “Depends. You sticking around, or am I supposed to enjoy this all by myself?”

You arch a brow. “Are you flirting for a discount?”

He grins around his first bite of pie. “Is it working?”

You shake your head, but there’s warmth in your eyes. “Not a chance.”

Dean chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee. “Alright, alright. Just figured I’d try my luck.”

You cross your arms, leaning against the booth. “You passin’ through, or should I expect you back for breakfast?”

Dean lifts a shoulder, his smirk softening just a little. “Depends. You on the morning shift?”

You pretend to think about it, tapping your fingers on the table. “Guess you’ll just have to come by and find out.”

He exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “You really know how to keep a guy on his toes.”

And damn it, he will be back.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

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[cielie-voss]

Fixing the view

Eddie Munson x optician!reader

A/N: I was just bored at work, okay? And my first contact lenses customer being some dangerously cute guy wasn't helping at all. I know, this one's a bit specific, but I just felt like writing it.

Summary: When Eddie’s contact lenses become an unexpected issue during a night in with friends, you step in to help, revealing a softer side of Eddie you hadn’t noticed before. What starts as a simple favor quickly becomes a quiet, intimate moment, leaving both of you questioning if there’s more beneath the playful banter.

Warnings: Brief eye contact discomfort, Mild physical contact (touching face, applying eye drops), slight romantic tension, reader being an optician

Taglist: @violettsoul @evileyeandthecattywhumps

Masterlist

Wordcount: 817

If you want to be tagged in coming fanfics or if you want to request something, feel free to send me a dm or an ask. 🥰 Likes, comments and especially reblogs are always welcome. 🤗

You hadn’t exactly planned on spending your Friday evening in someone's basement, but when Gareth asked you to join them after their gig you couldn’t say no either. With your beer in hand, you were trying to follow Gareth’s theory about Jar Jar Binks actually being a Sithlord, but your focus was quickly shattered as you noticed Eddie Munson blinking way too much than what would be normal.

“Hey Munson,” you called out, cocking your head as you faced him. “Are you trying to tell me some secret in morse code for the past thirty minutes or what the hell is wrong with you?”

Eddie stiffened, feeling a flush rise to his cheeks he awfully tried to cover by feigning indifference. “It’s nothing, really. I think I just fucked up my contact lenses,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your eyebrow arched and couldn’t help that amused smile creeping across your lips. “How the hell did you do that?”, you said, crossing your arms and giving him a look that dared him to answer. But he just shrugged, clearly hoping you wouldn’t push any further.

But much to his dismay you stood up, moving toward him with that I’m done with your crap look. “Alright, let me see. No way I’m going to watch you squint like that for the rest of the night.”

As you stood right in front of him, he immediately threw his hands up, instinctively trying to put some distance between you. “Hell no!”, he called out, a bit too quickly, “I’m not gonna let you touch my eyes!”

You sighed and rolled your eyes, but there was a teeny tiny smile tugging at your lips. “Jeez, Munson, stop bitchin’ around, okay? I’m an optician. I actually know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah! Stop bitching around!”, called Gareth, clearly amused by the scene unfolding in front of him. Eddie shot him an irritated look, but everyone around just leaned back, sipping at their drinks, leaving him with no support.

Then he looked up to you, weighing his options, his gaze locked with yours as if he was challenging you. After a moments thought he sighed, reluctantly shifting to face you. He grumbled something under his breath and leaned back in the chair, letting you step closer, way closer than he’d expected, actually.

“Alright, look up,” you instructed. You placed a hand on his shoulder as he did as you said, his head tilting back so you could take a look. At first he flinched when he felt the gentle touch of your fingertips on his cheek. And to his surprise his mind started to race as he couldn’t help but notice how close you were, feeling your breath on his skin, warm and soft, just like your touch. A shiver ran through him, his skin tickling under your touch. And hell, he kind of liked it. Just for a moment, before he cursed himself for it.

You inspected his eye with a determined look, gently lifting his eyelid to locate the contact lens. For a moment he held his breath, silently admiring the features of your face he never really paid attention to before, the curve of your lips, the little crease between your brows as you were focused on his contact lens that stuck to his upper eyelid. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as you took your time, your hand resting lightly against his face. And for a split second he wondered if you were intentionally taking this long.

“I got some eye drops for dry eyes. I think that’ll help,” you said and turned to fish a small bottle out of your bag. And as soon as you turned around, your fingers no longer on his skin, he already missed their soft warmth.

With the bottle in hand you gently held his chin to lift his head again, pinching his eyelid with your other hand and holding his eye open, then you pressed the drops in. He blinked rapidly, the contact lens finally slipping back where it belonged, a couple of drops streaking down his cheek. You reached forward without thinking, carefully wiping them away.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?,” you said teasingly, but your hand lingered on his face for a moment longer than necessary, the hint of a smile playing at your lips until you finally leaned back.

Eddie couldn’t fight the grin that slipped onto his face and he felt like some idiot. But soon he huffed, rolling his eyes and trying to regain his usual smirk. “Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, but didn’t pull away as quickly as you expected, seemingly enjoying the unfamiliar warmth of your presence.

And as you took a stepped back, you noticed the slight blush that crept up his neck, finding it oddly satisfying to see him, for once, at a complete loss for words.

[meazalykov]

custom shoes

kika nazareth x nikesigned!reader

summary: a pair of cleats starts to cause speculation about your relationship

you stand on the field, feeling the anticipation of the el clásico simmer in the air around you. 

barcelona and real madrid—it’s always been a heated matchup, but tonight feels different. tonight, you're debuting something personal, something that you helped create. the teal, ivory, and navy blue cleats on your feet shine under the stadium lights with the black away kit, and you can't help but glance down at them for a brief moment, smiling to yourself.

they're more than just shoes—they’re yours. and soon, they’ll be in stores all over, thanks to nike.

as you tug at your jersey and adjust your socks, you spot kika in the distance, warming up with the rest of the team in the starting lineup. she catches your eye for a second, and even from afar, you see that playful glint in her eyes. 

she's wearing the same cleats as you. a knowing grin tugs at your lips. she gives you a wink, her subtle way of telling you that she sees you. no one knows yet that you’d gotten her her own pair before nike even announced them. 

not just because she’s your teammate but because, well, she’s more than that.

“you ready?” kika jogs over to you, casually glancing down at your shoes as if she hadn’t been admiring them all week. 

her voice drops a little lower, a whisper just for you. 

“you look good in those, by the way.”

“i know,” you tease back, nudging her gently with your elbow. 

“and you look good in them too. we have to be careful; people are already questioning about these.”

she chuckles, her eyes flicking towards the rest of your teammates. 

“let them talk.”

you laugh under your breath, but she's right. fans had been obsessing ever since both of you had been spotted wearing the same cleats in practice last week. a few eagle-eyed supporters had even posted side-by-side pictures online, questioning why kika had the cleats before they were officially released. and now, with both of you about to wear them in one of the biggest games of the season, the excitement would only grow.

“do you think they’ll figure it out?” you ask, half-joking, but there’s a nervous edge in your voice.

“about the cleats or about us?” kika arches a brow.

“both.”

she smirks, pulling you into a quick side hug before anyone notices. 

“we’ll deal with it when we have to. just focus on madrid. they’re the ones we need to beat tonight.”

you nod, taking a deep breath. she’s right, like always. madrid is your focus right now. the cleats, the relationship, all of that can wait. 

soon after—the whistle blows, signaling the start of the match, and you slip into your game face, letting the energy of the stadium and the roar of the fans fuel you.

the first half is intense. madrid plays with their usual aggression, but your team is just as hungry for the win. you weave through defenders, your feet feeling light, like the cleats were made just for this moment. 

in a way, they were. every sprint, every touch of the ball feels perfect. like the shoes were an extension of you.

“y/n! here!” caro calls out, breaking you from your thoughts.

you spot her making a run on the right wing, and you send a perfect pass her way. she controls it beautifully, then sends it back to you just outside the box. 

without hesitating, you take the shot. the ball sails past the madrid keeper, and the stadium erupts.

one-nil.

kika is the first to reach you, wrapping her arms around you as the team piles on in celebration. her grip on you lingers for just a moment longer than it should, but you don’t mind. it's these small moments that make everything worth it. 

when the crowd settles, you give caro a quick smile, a silent thank you for setting up the goal.

the game resumes, and madrid retaliates hard. however, you're in the zone. each passing minute, your confidence grows. your cleats feel like magic beneath you, propelling you forward, giving you that extra edge.

in the 55th minute, you get another chance. a quick one-two with kika, and you're through on goal again. this time, you slot it calmly into the bottom corner.

two-nil.

as the crowd goes wild again, you spot kika grinning at you, her eyes filled with pride. you jog over to her, and she playfully nudges you.

“two goals, huh?” she says, her voice teasing but proud. 

“you’re really showing off those cleats.”

“had to make them worth the hype,” you reply, breathing heavily but smiling.

the final whistle blows, and the game ends in a resounding victory for barcelona. the team celebrates, but as you stand with kika, you can't help but notice a few cameras lingering on the two of you, zooming in on your matching cleats.

“you think they’ve figured it out yet?” kika asks, glancing down at her shoes, then back at you.

“about the cleats?” you ask, even though you know she’s not just talking about the shoes.

“maybe both,” she says, echoing your words from earlier, a small smirk playing on her lips.

you shrug, trying to act nonchalant, but your heart races a little. 

“if they haven't, they will soon.”

after the game, as you’re heading into the locker room, a reporter pulls you aside for a quick interview.

“y/n, incredible performance tonight. two goals in el clásico—it doesn’t get much better than that. how did it feel?”

you flash a polite smile, still riding the high from the match. 

“it felt great. madrid’s always a tough opponent, so getting the win today was huge for us.”

“and those cleats…we’ve never seen those nike boots on a player before!” the spanish reporter glances down at your shoes, clearly curious. 

“they look custom. are we getting a special release from nike soon?”

you chuckle, keeping your answer vague. 

“you’ll have to wait and see.”

kika brushes past you, standing beside ellie while catching the reporter’s eye. 

“don’t let her fool you,” she says with a wink. 

“those are going to be big.”

the reporter's eyes light up, and you know kika’s teasing just added fuel to the fire. as soon as the interview wraps up, you head into the locker room, shaking your head at her.

“you couldn’t help yourself, could you?” you say, plopping down on the bench next to her.

“what? i’m just helping build the suspense,” she replies, tossing her hair back dramatically.

you roll your eyes, but you can’t help but laugh. she always knows how to make you feel at ease. but there’s a part of you that wonders if all this attention—on the cleats, on the two of you—might lead to more than just product speculation.

a few days later, nike makes the official announcement. the "y/n" cleats will be hitting stores soon, and the campaign photos of you in them flood social media. 

fans go crazy over the design, loving the combination of teal, ivory, and navy blue.

what really sets off a frenzy is when photos surface of you and kika wearing the same cleats during all of the team's training sessions, well before the release. comments flood in, speculating about how kika had her pair so early.

"are kika and y/n collaborating with nike together? where is kika in the promos?"

"why does kika have them already? besties or something more?"

the comments only intensify when someone points out the little moments the two of you share on the field. the way you celebrate goals, the subtle smiles, the touches that linger a little too long.

you scroll through the comments one night, kika sitting next to you on the couch.

“look at this,” you say, showing her your phone. 

“people are starting to catch on.”

she leans in, resting her head on your shoulder as she reads the comments. 

“i mean, we’re not exactly subtle,” she says with a laugh.

“should we be worried?” you ask, half-joking, but there’s a serious undertone to your question.

kika shrugs. 

“let them think what they want. as long as we know what we are, that’s all that matters.”

you smile, wrapping an arm around her. “yeah, i guess you’re right.”

a few weeks later, the cleats officially drop, and they sell out within hours. 

later in the month, fans post photos of their new shoes, tagging you and kika, trying to guess if the two of you had planned this all along. 

rumors about your relationship continue to swirl, but neither of you confirms or denies anything.

masterlist

[simstichy]

Modern Wood Door Plus Tall Sidelights and Transom Addons

This includes: ✨Modern Arch Door Plus Short / Medum / Tall Sidelights and Transom

3 New arch doors base game compatible

English + Spanish title and description

13 swatches to match with the original doors

High Poly + Low Poly custom meshes

✨Modern Short / Medum / Tall Sidelight Window

3 New windows base game compatible

English + Spanish title and description

13 swatches to match with the original doors

High Poly + Low Poly custom meshes

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