#how can the world of men have let me here...

[lonelycelsadpilled]

Any time I’ve tried to discuss the idea that I don’t want to have sex, the asexual community has been hostile toward me which is odd because… Asexual? I assumed this would be the safe space, where we say we don’t enjoy sex. If I can’t talk to the asexual community about not wanting sex, where do I go?

The colour blue convention! Subtext: Do not wear blue, we don’t like that colour!

Our new egg allergy menu! But items will contain eggs and it’s your fault for ordering to begin with.

The absolutely zero sex meet-up! Just take a left after the glory holes and you’ll get to the orgy.

It’s already rough enough being queer and in that box and ultimately being pushed into a smaller box with the overlap of asexuality, as sex often comes with sexuality, and then having to specify I’m an asexual that doesn’t want to have sex.

When trying to talk about relationship advice because I’m not even sure it’s possible to date when asexual knowing how sex has such a clutch on people, seemingly even more now, I’m told ‘I’m asexual. I just have sex with my partner anyway’ which isn’t… Good for me. That isn’t helpful for me, and if I have to force myself to have sex and let myself be used for a relationship then I’m content never experiencing one. When I try to communicate my frustration with not having a space where sex and porn isn’t forced onto me, I’m told I’m too sex negative and asexual people actually like sex. That’s so good for you! I know asexuality isn’t black and white like some others and it’s a spectrum, and I do not wish to invalidate anybody, but if you went to a lesbian only bar and half of the people there were men and when you’d question it you were told “don’t be so closed minded, lesbians like men too. Why don’t just you try it?” you’d be upset, right? I understand the comparison isn’t perfect, but I hope you see my point. That’s my situation and it’s hard to have a discussion in a supposed sex-free space without there being the inclusion of sex that’s already literally everywhere else. I’m not a puritan conservative, I just don’t want sex in my face constantly and it’s a struggle to find a space without somebody reminding you that you can be asexual and want sex! Even like it! Maybe you might even have it often with your partner… Leave me alone! I don’t care what you do with your partner, but using it as an angry response just because I don’t want to do that is so frustrating. I’m not even a full on prude. I’m gross, I talk about sex, I read fanfiction here and there and AO3 being down yesterday was quite upsetting. I can be a prude though. I don’t think that’s a bad thing as long as I’m not forcing you to be too. Have sex, kiss and whatever… I want no part in it, so I don’t interact with that or you. With the cries of purity culture, we needlessly shame people who just… Don’t like that stuff.

If you are a sex favourable asexual I do not care because I’m not against you and I’m not trying to label police you, it’s just a massive frustration for me to not find an asexual space that truly feels asexual, taking the label at face value. I don’t like being painted as a bad person for not wanting sex in the supposed ‘don’t want sex’ group. In a world that is actively telling me a sexless relationship is doomed to fail and I’m told to open it up so other people can sleep with my hypothetical partner because they’d cheat on me anyway if I don’t… I’m allowed to be upset there’s no real comforting space that won’t tell me to just suck it up and sleep with a future significant other or else they’ll leave. A community that suggests to me to just casually try polyamory because it’s my only option isn’t a real community to me, not in the sense that they’re there for you. I suppose that’s a slightly different issue, but it’s intertwined with the whole ‘asexual community will welcome sex and will put it on the table even if you don’t want them to’ spat I’m on about, because while I’ve heard a lot of disrespect from allosexuals who don’t understand my thinking, I’ve also heard a lot of things from asexuals who also don’t.

A community that preaches about not being has never made me feel more so.

EDIT: This meme is not about aroace people who are sex/date favorable. It's about the people who are constantly using "aroace can still date/have sex" to erase the representation of aroaces that don't feel that way. I don't believe romance/sex repulsed aroaces are better or "superior" to those who are.

[willwasnotfound]

Other kind of demon

Hello everyone, here goes the next part of this little thing I started, again, thank you sm for the love u all give me, it means a lot to me, rlly!

Again, English is not my first language, so any error of grammar can happen in here lol

Chapter 1, Chapter 3

More singing demons.

Y/N stood quietly in there, the men weren't moving, it was like they were analyzing her, searching for something. She was not scared, she could easily run away from them with whatever they tried.

"You're not a human." One with black hair said, it was hard to know that they were different since they were wearing the same clothes, almost as a uniform, the only thing that made them different, was their hair.

"Wow, you deserve an award, you just discovered gravity." Y/N rolled her eyes, demons tend to point out obvious things, but please, they still seemed humans.

"Why are you here? I thought Gwi-Ma just let us out." He spoke again, the other four just stared, as if they couldn't talk.

"Gwi-Ma sent you?" The man nodded, making Y/N roll her eyes, it was probably a bad thing that they were there. "May I know for what?"

The man whit lavender hair growled— literally, getting a slight jump from the girl, he looked more human, but why was he acting like a dog?

"You're not one of us, are you?" One with pink long hair spoke up after that for Y/N's surprise.

"Why would you say that?" She turned around to look that the men started to get closer to her.

"He doesn't trust you, and he don't usually gets agressive with demons." He said again.

"I mean, the 'usually' is key." She shrugged, until she felt a hand on her shoulder, it was the first man that talked to her.

He wasn't dead, she felt that, but still, she noticed some vague memories return to her, making her push him away.

"Interesting, your patterns didn't show up." Oh, so it was for that.

"You're the traitor!" The other pink haired man laughed, grabbing her arm with a grin. "Gwi-Ma will probably do us more favors if we bring you back."

She stayed still, quiet, thinking. She needed to stop remembering, to scape or this men will probably be a problem.

She quickly turned her own body into a shadow, disappearing from the men's gaze to only go to the rooftop of a near house, watching them, her eyes shining, not with gold, instead with a shade of blue.

"What makes you think I would let you bring me back to Gwi-Ma?" She chuckled, the 5 men, concerned about where was she, searched for her, the first one to find her was the one with blue hair, moving to also be on the same rooftop.

"You're weird, how could you even leave Gwi-Ma?" The man started to fight with his claws, useless against the shadows surrounding him, but he was trying.

"Long story, why are you here?" The others quickly joined the 'fight', amusing to Y/N's eyes, since they were trying to get rid of literal shadows.

"Souls, what else." The black haired one said. "And for the hunters, of course."

"Ohh, I get it, he sent me with a similar reason." She maked the shadows disappear, making the one with pink short hair fall as he tried to reach one. "You do know he probably won't do whatever he told you, right?"

"It probably didn't work for you because you never returned." The blue haired chuckled, looking that their friend that was still on the ground.

"Well, there are other ways to survive." She made presence again, her full demon form showing up. "I could show you."

The more demons souls she consumed, the more powerful she got, it was a win-lose situation. She could kill them more easily, at the cost of the voices, she didn't like it, but it was what it was.

The men stepped backwards, doubting about the truth of her words.

"She is a danger for our species." Gwi-Ma told them before letting them be on the human world. "She betrayed us, is one of the hunters, never trust her, I made the mistake to make her powerful, more than I should have."

"You're a traitor to the demons, why should we hear you?" The one that she started to assume was the leader asked.

"That's probably something Gwi-Ma made up so demons won't hear me." She was cut mid sentence.

"He said you're with the hunters too."

Oh well, that wasn't a lie at all.

"Well, that might be true." She hummed, crossing her arms. "But I got rid of the voices, and I think that's not betrayal, it's just- being freed."

"If you're whit the hunters, why would you help us?" The long pink haired one spoke again.

"You are still humans." Her gaze darted to the lavender hair. "At least you still look like ones."

A silence stayed in the place, until the leader spoke up again.

"We're here to do a boy band and get the fans from Huntrix, to destroy the Honmoon." He muttered, her body changing to his human form, being followed by the others.

"As I said, Gwi-Ma send me for the same thing, and that's how I got freed." She did the same, returning to be a human. "If you want to know how, just let me know."

With that, a 'puff' sound appeared and she disappeared, back in an alley, finally letting out her breath, like she wasn't even breathing back with damn.

This could go both horribly wrong or absolutely great.

Hi hello, I’m badly obsessed with Abby now that I think about it, anyway, here my friends, eat, eat

(Idk if this all makes sense)

Taglist: @just-set-things-on-fire, @gremlinartstudio, @amery-benson-cvii, @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone, @katzline, @megunian

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 211 (Mermaids Most Likely)

With Ash and Lavender at the beach (or so they thought!), Heather and Conrad spent the day with Rafa, Melissa, and baby Iris. The young parents-to-be were prepared to let Iris go home with the Gordons, who had all but decided to proceed with the adoption.

Babies grew so quickly, Iris had outgrown her bassinet already! The cherubic infant looked at the world with Ximena's amber eyes, but there was a sweetness to her - innocence untouched by either of the biological parents' whose blood ran through her veins.

But bonding with Iris wasn't the only thing on their minds. "I found the bartender," announced young cop Rafa. "His name's Ukupanipo Hekekia and he lives a bit south of here. He's a bit of a shady character, comes and goes, but he's not involved with kava smuggling and mostly stays off radar."

Heather wanted to join them, but Conrad preferred her to stay behind, just in case. With Ash and Lavender at the beach by themselves, she was content to stay close to Roan and Iris while Conrad investigated the bartender.

Conrad and Rafa made their way to Ukupanipo's waterside home on stilts, but they were surprised to be greeted by a woman in a grass skirt with long curly hair. She looked at both with an impish smile.

"Officers? What can I help you with?"

"My name is Officer Rafael Bonilla, and this is Captain Conrad Gordon; he's visiting from Brindleton Bay with his family, and we're looking for the man whose name's on the lease here," said Rafa, looking official in his officer's cap and jacket. "Have you seen Ukupanipo Hekekia around here the last few days?"

"I don't know him by that name, but he's a friend of mine," she said. "He's not home. I haven't seen him."

"Since when?"

"Since last night. He left to see some friends and he's still gone."

"What friends?"

"I don't know these friends. He's just giving me a place to stay while I get back on my feet."

"And how do you know Mr. Hekekia? What's your name?"

"My name is Hanalei Millen," she said, flashing a piece of ID to prove it to them. "We met years ago on the beach and stayed friends. He helps me out whenever I need an escape from my home. It's not a happy place," she admitted heavily. "But he doesn't judge."

"That's very sweet, Miss Millen, but we need to talk to him about some things he said to my wife at the bar the other night."

"What did he say?"

"We ask the questions, Miss Millen. That's how this works," said Rafa, and Conrad looked around the small shack for a clue to his whereabouts.

"He does tend to put his fin- his foot in his mouth a fair bit. Says plenty he thinks is funny without reading the room first. It's endearing sometimes, but I've told him before that one of these days his mouth will get him in trouble. Now, two handsome cops are standing in his kitchen."

The woman tossed both men a flirtatious smile, drenched in a certain sensuality that seemed almost supernatural - the sort of flirtation that would drown lesser men in a tempest at sea in search of a siren. But Conrad and Rafa were devoted to their partners and walked into the home aware they might be dealing with mermaids.

This Hanalei Millen - if even her real name - was trying to distract them, and they knew she was hiding something. But they stopped short of accusing her. They had to be careful with accusations - especially with a probable mermaid - but a running figure outside pulled their attention toward the sea.

Mohawked Uku sped across the sand, letting his legs carry him into the lagoon as he swam away. Conrad raced out to the end of the dock at the back of the house, but Rafa stopped him before he could jump in.

"Conrad, stop! If he's a mermaid, he's in his element in the water. He'll drag you under and you'll never be strong enough to pull yourself up."

Conrad watched him swim away, cursing to himself, before he turned back inside. Hanalei tried to mask her sneering smile. "Where did he come from?" she asked with feigned innocence.

But without Ukupanipo, they had little to hold her for. They also suspected any further questions would be answered with lies, and Conrad and Rafa cut their visit short. "Your friend can't hide from questions forever," Rafa warned her. "Next time we'll bring a warrant."

The woman smiled. "Maybe you should have brought one today."

Getting nowhere, they turned to leave, but Conrad wasn't ready to write off this lead. "Tell Ukupanipo we just want to know what he meant when he said 'the Landgraabs aren't cursed.'"

The woman wore a boastful grin. "Seems obvious considering how wealthy they are. They control everything, want for nothing, and look down on all of us."

"Not all of them do," Conrad insisted.

"Sounds like this is personal, Captain Gordon."

"What would you do for a son, Miss Millen? Would you try to break a curse to save your kids, too?"

"Your son is a Landgraab?" She frowned. "Poor kid. How old is he?"

"He's almost fourteen and there's almost nothing Landgraab about him except his bloodline."

"I'm sorry...but I can't help you right now. If my friend swims home before you leave Sulani, I'll tell him you're looking for him."

The men thanked her but left in disappointment, no closer to learning anything about breaking a mermaid's curse. Rafa tried to look on the bright side. "At least we know he's still in town for now."

They returned to the small shack off the beach and Heather raced outside when she saw them. Her face crumpled with worry.

"Conrad, they're gone! Ash won't answer his phone. He hasn't checked in for over an hour and he and Lavender aren't on the beach!" she cried.

Conrad's head spun, but he straightened his shoulders. "They can't have gotten far in an hour."

Brave Rafa jumped to action, pulling out his phone to organize a search. "We'll find them," he promised. "I won't sleep until they're back with you at the villa." ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary | Gen 2.2 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

"Hanalei Millen" was created by @hashimasims and may or may not have told a bunch of lies! If you're following her legacy you may recognize her from this post - if you're new to her story and want to know a little more about her, check out that post! then you'll officially know more than Conrad and Rafa, despite their suspicions!

And yes, she did heart fart Rafa instantly.

[chara-cat5]

lads isekai au ch 14

reader is gender neutral, warning: swearing, mdni

masterlist

first 1

previous 13

next 15

(q/a for any confused readers!!)

caleb had to go back to skyhaven once the week was through. you hummed softly as he and mia hugged, standing just to the side. the train station was rather empty, still in a asscrack of dawn. it was sleepy and quiet, a few coughs here and there from somewhere. you didn't realize you were spacing out till caleb's large hand landed on the top of your head, directing your gaze back to him.

"gonna miss you too, poppy."

you smiled warmly, wrapping your arms tight around his shoulders. he squeezed you right back, his mouth by your ear.

"take care of mia for me. but know, when i come back, we'll figure out truth about those two questions i asked."

you felt your blood run cold, watching as he pulled away and easily pulled a smile to his face, ruffling your hair like he said nothing.

"make sure you keep her out of trouble. we both know how much of a handful she is."

mia let out a squawk stepping next to you to swatting his hand off you.

"i am not! if your gonna talk shit, you can just go!"

he chuckled softly, but while they laughed and teased, you felt cold and distant.

'i guess me and caleb aren't as cool as i thought...'

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you panted as you forced your sore body to run through drills. right, left, stab, stab, down. right, left, stab, stab, down. right, left, stab, stab, down. sylus was on to you. caleb was on to you. rafayel might even be on to you. who knows abouit zayne... all these dangerous men- men who have and will kill in the name of mia- believing you are a threat... how could you even hope to surive in this world if that what you're up against? right, left, stab, stab, down. right, left, stab, stab, down. right, left, stab, stab, down.

"you're over doing it."

you yelped at the sudden noise, sending a weak shot of vines toward the sound. xavier didn't even move, blinking at you and the weak attack. you clenched your jaw, turning back toward the wall that you had been facing.

"i didn't ask."

right, left, stab, stab, down- clink.

"you need to stop. you're going to hurt yourself."

you scrunched your face, glaring into those blue eyes. his sword had caught your spear again, but this time, you weren't going to take it.

"i'm fine..."

"you're not."

you launched into a series of attacks, going out of order to throw him off. it barely worked, his well rested body able to parry and knock back each swing you made. this did not help your temper. you swung harder, each time his sword caught your attack, the ricocheting force shot up your sore arms. when he had enough, he caught the stick part with his hand, stepping into your space. his gaze was soft, nonthreatening as he searched your own agitated ones.

"please. rest."

you let him slip the spear from your grip, bitting the inside of your cheek as he set it down. he was slow moving, patient as he sat you down criss cross on the ground.

"take a deep breath and slowly let it out. in... out."

he did the exercise with you, grounding you to here and now. it's only after your heart rate returns to normal that he takes your hands in his.

"if you need to talk about it, i can listen. or mia can. i know how much she cares about you."

you looked away, chewing your lip.

"it's-... it's not something i can just talk about... it would change everything. ruin everything. i should- i should just leave. make it easier for everyone else..."

leaving would at least save your life right?

"it won't."

you met xavier's eyes as he squeezed your hands.

"if you leave, you'll only hurt mia and everyone else that cares about you."

he huffed, a conflicted look passing over his face.

"are you... in danger? if someone is threatening you, i can help."

you shook your head out of habit, not wanting to be a bother but... you were kind of being threatened. you felt like you were in danger. hell, thats why you were forcing yourself to train, right? he watched you shift through expressions, squeezing your hands to draw your attention back to him.

"come with me."

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when xavier told you to follow him, you hadn't expected him to lead you to jeramiah's flower shop. the little bell over the door rang, the scent of flowers wrapping itself around you. maybe it was your evol, but you instantly felt comforted, taking in a deep breath.

"the owner is out of town on business, but you can come here as much as you want. people rarely come here and any customers know it's temporarily closed with the owner out."

you glanced at xavier, blinking at him.

"it's safe here, is what i mean."

you chewed your lip, looking away. with your diverted gaze, you spotted a drooping lily of the valley. bending down, you focused a little of your energy into it, despite already feeling so drained.

"... i'm not from this world."

a long beat passed, only the sound of a water feature filling the void of silence.

"i'm not either."

you looked to him at that, seeing the way he lowered himself next to you. he gently tugged your hand away from the plant, replacing it with his own. his evol wasn't plant based, but the lily still perked up. plants do need the light to survive.

"i'm not from your world either."

"i would hope not. i would hate to think i forgot someone like you."

you just watched his profile, his evol casting a warm glow over both of your features.

"... you aren't upset? i- i've basically lied to everyone. to you, to mia..."

"i have also lied to survive. i know you don't want to hurt mia. thats all that matters."

you hummed softly, nodding slowly as you looked back at the plant.

"i know things i shouldn't and because of that, people think i'm a threat. i'm not... i'm not me- not the one whose lived in this world all those years ago. i just appeared and then the world shifted to fit me in. i wasn't a part of the story originally..."

"... the story?"

you looked to him, slight panic in your eyes, but he just looked at you with curiosity.

"i-... in my world, this one was a video game... you were one of the main characters and mia was the player insert. i... don't know how i got here, but now i am here. and i know about you and everyone else and your pasts and secrets and-"

xavier put his hand on yours, pulling you to stand. the bench he sat you on wasn't comfortable, but it was better then crouching.

"deep breath. it doesn't sound like it's your fault. you didn't know this would happen."

he paused, seeming to take in your words for a moment, just processing them.

"so you know about me and other 'characters' from this game and these other 'characters' see you as a threat?"

you hesitantly nodded, chewing your lip.

"you're the only one i've told all this to, so they just think i somehow learned a bunch about then out of nowhere..."

he nodded, eyebrows slightly pinched together.

"not even mia?"

"no... i didn't- i didn't want to make her hate me... to ruin it all. but- but i already have."

"you haven't ruined everything. you just-... you just need to explain everything, right? once they know why you know so much, they won't view you as a threat."

you huffed at him, a skeptical look on your face.

"i still know more then they'd like... don't you think that's enough?"

"i think if worse comes to worse, i can handle a threat. but you have to talk to mia first. she deserves to know why you've been acting weird."

you hesitantly nodded. mia would probably be the easiest to talk to anyway. and if she didn't hate you by the end of it, she could help you with the others.

"... can i stay here the night? just one night to prepare myself?"

he hesitated before nodding, standing up.

"what should i tell mia?"

"that i'm visiting family. thank you so much, xavier. you... you really didn't have to do all this."

his expression shifted, conflicted like he had two voices arguing in his head. he shook it off, meeting your eyes with a kind smile.

"i wanted to. just, try to relax. i think theres a sleeping bag in the back."

you watched him go, questions rising at that look.

'what was that all about?'

.

.

a̶̡̺͚̦͎̟̤͋̄̂̋̓̆̕͝͠f̶̘͊̇̊̅͆̓̑͆͝f̴̨̨̧͚̖̤͓̫̙̭̣̤̽͊͐̽̉̓̐̏̔͐̔̈́̑͘͠ͅi̴̢̛͍̓́̈́̔͒̒̽̈́̾̏̌̊͊n̸̫̗̭̣͓͕̳̥̤̥̝̞͙͇͓̯̉͒̏̽̈͘͜͜͝͝͝i̷̢̨̛͕̭͔̹͎̼̭̳̥͓̫̺̙̥̘̩̽̋͑̿̍̑͌̍̈́̽̏͘̚͘̚̚t̵̛͖̰̓͗̆̈́͋͗̐́̅͘͠͠��͉̦̬̺͙ỳ̶̧̡͉̫͔͔̥̥͚̦̒͂̅͛̿́͛͠ ̷̡͙̘̳͓̼͎̪͚͎̯̮̩͓̉̃̅̒͛̎̍͑̿̃͗͘͜͜ͅl̸̪̂̀͂̂̈̿͑́̊̔̓̔̚e̷̪͍̱̣̾̽̀v̷̨̛͍͕̠̰͚̜̞̳͓͛ȩ̸͙͍̟͓̗̭̲̰̫̝̪͂̽̓̿̑̅͂̔͊̈́̄̅͐̈́̎͘̚͝ͅl̷̡̦͕̗̩͐ ̷̡͓̣̪̞̲̣̮̠̪̲͙͉̱̰̀̂́͆̈̌̂͗̋̾̽͋̚͠[̵̡̡̢̧̜͙̮̭̫͍̣͓̮͕̮̥͕̳̞̒͂̓̊̑̄̽͛́͌̿̾̈́͘2̷̧͉͚̦͚̟̬̝͈̳̉̉͊̓̔̆͒̀̀̉̒̋͆̈́̂̇̂͝0̶̛̮͙̣͈͉̹̮̱͉̘̣͙͕̦̟̉͌̓̿̅͊̄͊͜͝ͅͅ]̸̡̨̘̫͔͙͓͙̰̺̝̰̻͎͔̳̥̭͖̜͂̏͊͊͑̊̐͛̆͒͆̈́͐̽͑̌̕͠

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taglist: @sleepisfortheweakpooh @plzdonutpercieveme @young-adult-summer @mentaltrouble2201 @noxus123 @asakiyu @leftpoetrymoon @hon3yydew @anemobabygirl @clandestienly @crimsonrubie @beaconsxd @yuurisfavblog @cutiesgaloree @udejoenrlddo @mephisto-with-a-knife @poptrim @rhoswen-drake @szafficat @1ren3n @peachystea

'ello, new chapter alert!!

not much to say rn, but i think i can get out another chapter today, NO PROMISES!!

thank you for reading!!

-chara <3

[creepykuroneko]

A lot of people in the notes keep complaining that it's okay to have adult content that does not contain explicit sex scenes. I feel like they are 100% missing the whole point of this post.

Its true no piece of media NEEDS to have a sex scene in it, but if you know anything about conservative Puritan societies, you would be rooting for the sex scenes.

The LIE "we're protecting children" is the excuse used to beat down anyone and anything that doesn't fit into nice clean white, middle class, abled body, cishet, Christian values.

If you have not seen the documentary this film is not yet rated, I highly recommend doing so. It talks about Hollywood's double standards and hypocrisy when it comes to what type of violence and sex is considered acceptable in movies and what is not. Men masturbating on screen completely acceptable. Women masturbating on the screen unacceptable. Men having an orgasm on the camera a okay but a woman having an orgasm on the camera is a no no. Women being raped, beaten, tortured, and murdered is okay. Women having lesbian sex is not.

This horror movie is about a teenage girl who after being let down one too many times by society, starts to kill her rapists one by one? "Can't have that! It's too violent! How is that child appropriate?"

Don't even get me started on the fact that homophobes assume that being gay automatically makes you a sexual deviant. It doesn't matter if a movie/show has zero sex scenes in it, no "crude" or "offensive" humor, if there is a queer couple in it, that's basically an orgy in the eyes of conservatives. Andi Mack anyone? Bluey? I remember in a interview with Alex Hirsch, he talked about how in the Gravity Falls episode Love God, he originally wanted two elderly women to fall in love with each other, but the censors said absolutely not.

Movies that show black joy, black couples having a happy, intimate, romantic, sexual relationship are often put on the back burner. Keep in mind with how little representation Hollywood gives black voices, especially ones that are not harmful stereotypes, it's important for black people to see themselves represented in the media as being happy. Then you also have to acknowledge the fact that when black people make black movies for black audience, they get terrible funding, little to no advertising, and limited run in theaters. Regardless of if a black movie is meant to discuss social issues or it's just the campy movie that happens to star a all black cast, many non black people assume it's automatically political because its made by black people and feel that it would not be a all age is appropriate movie. Despite the fact that they know nothing about the movie and the reality that kids need to be taught about everything. We already know that children in elementary school already start to experience racism from their peers. So I assure you, watching racially diverse films it's the least of society's problem.

Horror is my absolute favorite genre. I'm not saying it's never problematic or you can't criticize it, there are movies that definitely deserve criticism. Sorry, stay with me here I'm about to break this down into two topics.

Horror is good for children. It helps give children a safe contained space to explore different issues, scenarios, and topics that can really help get the critical thinking going. A child reading a book about another child who gets kidnapped and is able to escape from their kidnapper because they figured out how to free themselves is actually good information. It's easy to laugh it off as it's not real life but let's be honest, we know that bad things happen in the real world all the time. Think about how many conservatives get angry when sex ed in schools is brought up because they think it's inappropriate for children to learn? They also don't like media that specifically gets into consent. It's because a lot of them turn out to be pedos themselves. They don't want the children they are abusing to catch on that they need to tell another adult about it.

Horror is the only genre I can think of that features the most physically and mentally diverse characters out there. Don't get me wrong, I'm well aware that the plots are usually ableist. Going back to some constructive criticism needs to be had. At the same time though I can think of over a dozen horror movies off the top of my head with real disabled actors in them. How many movies can you think off the top of your head that are not under the horror genre that feature disabled characters? The 1930 film freaks, features a cast of disabled characters. The film was banned for decades because it was considered "grotesque". When American Horror Story freak Show came out, it was very heavily influenced by Freaks. There's some really good interviews with the cast about how they don't find being called a freak offensive. They explained their disabilities, what their life is like, and what they want people to know about them. Despite the title, the cast is very open about sharing their voice and being open with their disabilities. You also have iconic horror actor like Javier Botet who is very open about the fact that he has Marfan syndrome. Botet does not necessarily do child friendly horror but a lot of kids do see his horror movies and love him. Oftentimes when I speak with families of a child with Marfan syndrome, Botet is the first real world example of a famous person with the same condition as the children. It absolutely makes children happy to see that their favorite monster on screen has the same disability as them. Granted this is not true for everyone with Marfan syndrome. I have met people with Marfan syndrome who hate the horror genre and that is okay. Have also met other people with marfan syndrome who love horror films and love seeing actors with the same disability as them.

Child media is so heavily censored as it is. Adult media does not need to be handled with kid gloves as well. Children should not be watching cocomelon because we already know it rots their brains, adults really don't need to be fed cocomelon-esque type of slop. Sorry/not sorry for going on a long rant there. We need diverse stories with diverse characters in them. Adults deserve to have good media that yeah touches on issues that make SOME people uncomfortable. To the person who experiences discomfort watching certain types of media, what exactly is it that makes you uncomfortable? If it's a burry your gays Trope or poc, disabled, and women's lives are disposable while the white man lives I can understand disappointment at seeing your life devalued time and again. If you are outrage though because we got to see the actresses nipple, the rapist priest got decapitated, a group of Native Americans are killing the group of white zombies who are trying to kill them, the white abled body cishet man is the only character to die, or God forbid we should see a black woman kissing an Asian woman, then you need to sit in the corner and unpack that.

hot take possibly? but i actually think it’s okay for things to be marketed for adults. it’s literally okay if things aren’t suitable for children. i feel like we are losing the plot

[starryhyuck]

behind the bookshelves. (m) — PATREON EXCLUSIVE

pairing: librarian!hyuck x afab!reader

words: 6.2k+

summary: you’re desperate to impress the cute librarian until you learn he already has a girlfriend.

genre: fluff, angst, smut

warnings: hyuck has a gf (briefly), public sex, fucking in a library (of course), fucking against a bookshelf, pussy eating, slight breeding kink, creampie

this fic is exclusive to the $5 tier on my patreon, which you can access here! below is a tumblr preview

You’re finally getting your first library card.

Although you say all the time that you want to get back into reading, you usually make up excuses for why you haven’t started yet. It’s Mark who finally pushes you into your local library, rolling his eyes when you insist you can do this part yourself.

“I’m sure you can. Then I’ll have to hear for another six months how you plan to come down here.”

He leaves you to your own devices while he roams the area freely. You approach the counter, hoping to speak to a friendly worker when the cutest boy in the world turns around. He stops his task of sorting through books, smiling at you.

He has the most adorable pair of full lips and glasses perched neatly on his nose. He runs his fingers through his brown, fluffy hair while the three moles dotting the side of his face stretch when the corners of his lips quirk up.

Jesus, are all the men in libraries usually this cute? You should’ve come sooner.

“Hi, how can I help you?” He asks, approaching the counter.

You stutter. “I-I was hoping t-to get a new library card.”

He perks up, typing on his keyboard to wake it up. “Perfect! Did you just move to the area?”

You don’t quite know how to explain that no, you’re not new here, you’re just an incompetent citizen who should have wandered in for a library card sooner. You’re not confident on how to explain that, so you say, “Yes!”

“Welcome!” He grins, and it’s so blinding that you have to hold onto the counter to balance yourself. “I’m Donghyuck. I can help you get started with a new card.”

He prints out an application for you and requests for proof of your address while you’re filling it out. You chew on your lip as you jot down your name and date of birth.

“So… are you a full-time worker here?”

“Yes, you can catch me here nearly everyday,” he replies, and your heart flutters at the prospect of seeing him in your daily schedule. “It’s just me and one other person. We keep the place running, but there are always open slots if you know anyone who’s interested.”

Maybe you could juggle another job. It would be worth it to see this cute boy, and you desperately want to lean over and pinch his cheeks.

“I’ll ask around,” you promise, sliding the application back over to him.

He activates your card and hands you a packet with introduction papers, saluting you when he’s finished. “Congratulations! Welcome to the public library system.”

“T-Thank you,” you say, flustered over him. You wonder how much you can milk his kindness for. “You wouldn’t happen to have any recommendations, would you? I have no clue on where I want to start.”

“Oh, I have plenty!” He says, rounding the corner of the counter to join you on the other side. Butterflies swarm your stomach when you see him up close, noting how pretty he is. “Let me show you.”

You play dumb while Donghyuck gives you a tour of each aisle in the library, ranging from children’s storybooks to tearjerker romance. You locate Mark in the comic book section, browsing through the earlier editions of Spider-Man.

Mark perks up when he sees you strolling by with Donghyuck. “I think I’m going to check this one out.”

“Oh, is this your boyfriend?” Donghyuck asks, sending you into a hurried frenzy.

“No!” You blurt out, desperate to ensure this cute librarian knows you’re single. “No no no. Mark is my friend. I don’t have a boyfriend. Haven’t had one for a while!”

Mark stares at you like you’ve grown three heads while Donghyuck chuckles softly at your rant.

“Okay,” Donghyuck murmurs. “Good to know. Well, I’ll leave you with your friend. I’ll be up at the front if you have any more questions.”

When Donghyuck disappears between the bookshelves, Mark throws you a look. You stare back at him innocently.

“What?”

“I did not drag myself out of bed today so you could fuck the librarian.”

“Hey, I’m just doing exactly what you planned for,” you say, waving around your new library card in between your fingers. “It’s not my fault if a cute boy is my motivation to read.”

“I mean, it kind of is.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I didn’t ask for your opinion. Now help me find the books he recommended. We need to go shopping for an outfit for me to wear when I return them.”

Mark groans while you tug his arm towards the fiction section.

want to read the rest? access the $5 tier on my patreon here!

[holylulusworld]

The assistant (14) – Secrets and other problems

Summary: You are invisible most of the time.

Pairing: Former!Boss!Steve Rogers x Former!Assistant(plussized)!Reader

Possible pairing: Jake Jensen x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader, Curtis Everett x Reader, Ari Levinson x Reader, Andy Barber x Reader, Mike Weiss x Reader, Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Warnings: flirty CEvans characters, language, plus sized/chubby reader, protective brothers, Lloyd being Lloyd, arguments, brothers being brothers, fluff, dangerous situation

The assistant masterlist

The assistant (13) – On the road with Captain Turd

“Great, someone damaged the gate.” Lloyd angrily kicks imaginary stones. A van rammed the gate. The intruders didn’t get far, but he’s still pissed because someone tricked them. “How could you let this happen, Jake?”

“I told you, no one comes inside,” Jake grunts. He points at the undamaged gate. “No one gets inside without my allowance. The gate is made of vibranium, and our men are the best-trained defenders in this world.”

“Ahem,” Steve taps his shield and jerks his head toward Tony floating above the mansion to scan the area for any signs of more enemies. “Do you want to rethink your statement?”

“Oh, please excuse my confidence in our security system and our team,” Jake grunts in your former boss’s direction. “I mean normal people, not the people using their superpowers as an excuse to treat others like shit.”

You gasp loudly. Jake never gets angry or yells at people. He’s the sweetest, but right now, he’s in Captain America’s face, ready to rip Steve a new one.

“Jake.” The softness in your tone makes Jake stop. He looks at you, nods, and goes back to his laptop placed on the hood of Andy’s van.

There is no indication of any security breach inside. The only damage they did was totaling their van and leaving it behind. Amateurs.” Jake laughs before checking the surroundings using the cameras he hid in the area without their neighbors’ knowledge. “No enemies lurking around either. I think we are good.”

“For now,” Steve snarls in your friend’s direction. “This isn’t over, and you know it. Y/N, pack your things. You’ll come with me to the Avengers’ tower. You are not safe here any longer.”

“What? No!” Curtis is quick to step in front of you. “She’s safer with us than the likes of you. You’re the one always getting into a fight with aliens and witches and robots, and who knows who else is waiting for their turn?”

“Curtis, that sounded dirtier than intended, huh?” Lloyd cackles because he saw Steve’s cheeks turn red. “Imagine, every evil being in the world is after Captain America’s ass.”

“Guys, that’s not funny.” Ransom still sulks because you refused to hug him. “They could’ve found out the truth about Lloyd being adopted and all.” He flashes Lloyd a smirk. “Right, you are not our brother.”

“Ransom, can you just not?” Andy sighs. He puts his hands on his hips, looking at Ransom. “We have other problems going on. Stop fighting.”

Ransom curls his upper lip. “He called me a pussy first. I won’t let the mustache-wearing asshole walk all over me. Lloyd believes he’s the boss of us all his life.”

Steve shoves Curtis out of his way to grasp for you. “This is ridiculous. You cannot protect her while fighting like dogs over a bone. I’ll be taking her away from you.”

“Hey!” You slap Steve’s hand away. “She is right here and can make her own decisions. You have been taking me for granted since we first met. And after Sandy came into the picture, it got even worse. Before, you overlooked me and didn’t value my hard work. But then, you treated me like trash. I won’t trust you ever again.”

“Well then, I must stay here to show you that only I can protect you and that I value you more than these.” Steve wrinkles his nose, looking at the brothers who stopped fighting. “I will not leave your side for the time being.”

You roll your eyes at Steve’s antics. He’s not wrong, though. The brothers could need a helping hand. Even if it’s the man hurting you deeply. “Guys, we should head inside.” You rub your tired eyes. “It’s getting late, and Mike is already on the edge. He’s blaming himself for falling for the hacker.”

“It’s not his fault,” Tony says as he lands next to you. He sends the data he collected to Jake, confirming that no one broke into their home. “Your friend isn’t wrong. Their mansion is well-guarded. Anyone can get tricked.”

“I’ll stay here,” Steve stomps his foot. “You won’t see me walk away. I can take on all of you at once.”

“No!” You slap his shield. “Captain, I appreciate your effort, but it’s not necessary. Especially because you only try to protect me because of your guilty conscience. You fucked up in the past, and now you try to act like a knight in shining armor. I don’t need or want you to play my prince on a white horse.”

You grab Mike’s wrist and walk toward the mansion. The security guards immediately open the gate for you, greeting you as if you always belonged here with the brothers.

“A hell of a woman,” Tony concludes, while the remaining brothers watch you walk away in awe. They sigh, decide to stop fighting, and start making things up to you.

“Captain Turd,” Lloyd clears his throat. Tony talked the brothers into letting Steve stay for a little longer. They may be brave and powerful, but it cannot hurt to have a super-soldier and the Avengers as a backup team. “We should talk about the rules in this house again.”

“No fighting, Lloyd!” You look in Lloyd’s direction and tut. Mike, Jake, and you played Monopoly until the rest of the bunch joined you in the living room. “I’m about to win this round.”

“Nah, you won’t,” Jake grins, ready to steal more money from you. “I’ll win.”

“You cheat,” Mike mutters. He was so close to building a hotel but ended up in jail twice in a row and lost a lot of money, landing on Jake’s hotels. “I know you do.”

“He’s cheating, huh?” Curtis and Andy are suddenly interested in the game, too. “Maybe we should join them to beat Jake and stop him from cheating.”

“I’ll beat all of you,” Lloyd declares, already shoving Ari out of his way to sit closer to you. “Right, Cupcake. Lloyd will help you beat them all.”

“Uh—there are only figurines for eight people,” Mike points out. “What about the captain?”

Steve furrows his brows. He watched you play, wishing he could join you and the brothers.

“We are building teams!” Lloyd hurriedly says, and adds, “Cupcakes is on my team.” He grins at his brothers, starting a new fight…

[house-of-dadneto]

The House of Dadneto 2025 has drawn to a close! ✨

Apologies for the delay in getting this recap to you all, I've been away the past few days but it's been so exciting seeing all the final entries roll in for the House of Dadneto! We cannot believe how big the event has grown, and we just want to thank all the amazing, beautiful creatives who jumped in this year to make this whole thing possible! You should all be incredibly proud of the work you've done, and we hope you enjoyed this event as much as we have!

In the final week, the House of Dadneto had 43 unique works posted for the event!! 🎉🎉🎉

For one last time, we have created a list below with links to all the fics, edits, gif sets and animatics that were posted in the past week! Don't forget to share some love with these amazing creators who worked so hard to make this event possible, and we'll be back soon with the final masterlist and instructions for our incredible winners this year!

✨ Just a quick reminder that the House of Dadneto has an official AO3 Collection you can browse or add to if you are posting on AO3! Check out this post for more details on how! ✨

Final Week of the House of Dadneto!

Vacation? by @callie-caje

Peter needed a vacation, a trip away from the chaos of teaching young mutants to harness their powers safely while also watching them fail geometry. So, a trip away from the students and away from the chaos? It seemed welcome, invited even. That did not mean he was asking to be kidnapped, no matter what Erik argued.

5+1 by @mapofyourstars

Gifset: 5+1

For The Last Time by @superherotiger

Animatic: Memories + Embrace + Music + Peace

save every day ‘til eternity passes away (just to spend them with you) by @xxqueenofdragonsxx

Once, the sight would have filled him with panic. Once, it had. OR Erik wakes up in the Pentagon nineteen years after being freed. It isn’t the first time.

A Gentle Touch by @onlyheartaches

Five times Pietro and Erik used an aquarium as a vessel to strengthen their bond, and one time they couldn’t. (Or, five times Erik rested a hand on Pietro’s head as a form of comfort - and one time he didn’t.)

let me love you in this life by @sunsetuniverse

After Jean repairs Erik’s psyche, he has a hard time coping with what he saw in his mind, or rather, who. [Longer summary inside] or, giving magneto depression 101

You Were Everything by @superherotiger

Animatic: Broken + Head Injury

Something to make it all worthwhile by @silverpleatherjacket

Erik looks back on his life and wonders, after all the bloodshed, all the loss, all the pain, if it was all worth it. A certain someone reminds him that it was.

takes a strong hand and a sound mind. by @mapofyourstars

Chapter 16: Head Injury - Erik has had enough, and he doesn’t care how silly he looks - it’s practical. Chapter 17: Suffocating - Erik's eldest baby leaves the nest. He doesn't take it well.

when everything’s made to be broken (i just want you to know who i am) by @stolenlullabies05

“You’re disappointed,” Peter says quietly, but it’s phrased in more of a question, because in all honesty Peter can’t tell what Erik is feeling right now. All he knows is that he’s here and he’s not leaving. Erik looks affronted for a moment, eyebrows creased in resolve. “How could I be disappointed? You’re… you’re perfect.” (Or, 5 times Peter pictured telling Erik he was his son and +1 time he actually did.)

Checking Up by @onlyheartaches

The X-Men are together again, Apocalypse is defeated, the world is saved - but there are only three people whom Magneto wants to make sure he finds.

1983 (What a mess) by @star-lights-up

Nina lives, Apocalypse sleeps - this is what happens when Erik and his daughter come to the school. Chapter 13: Head Injury Chapter 14: Outsider POV Chapter 15: Peace

Someone, Somewhere, Right Now by @dandelion-blues

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m full.” Peter exclaimed, a full grin upon his face, as he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes in bliss. He would have broken someone out of the pentagon sooner if it meant eating like that again! Of course, the teen, thus missed the concerned looks that all the adults gave each other at such a remark. Somehow, this leads to Pietro spilling his guts, because no one will ever blame his wonderful mother. Magna Maximoff is a saint, and it’s not her fault Pietro probably eats enough to feed a whole football team. Unfortunately, Erik did not get the memo that he had a son, but he’ll do his best to be there for him now. And giving his son a hug and a talk about how wonderful he is isn’t a bad way to start.

Both Arms Cradle You Now by @superherotiger

Animatic: Sanctuary

Outsider POV by @mapofyourstars

Gifset: Outsider POV

Un peu plus près des étoiles / À l'abri des colères du vent by Etoilemauve

5 times where Erik wanted to watch the stars with his family but failed to and 1 time his children organized a surprise for him.

Time In A Bottle by @onlyheartaches

Erik’s tortured past means he can’t handle peacetime well, so Pietro offers some advice.

(Don’t) Do This by @onlyheartaches

When Magneto escapes Bastion’s prison, the pain and trauma of Genosha weighs, and he breaks. He returns to the Xavier Institute with a rebuilt Asteroid M - And his son, maimed in Genosha himself, reaches out, begging Magneto to see reason.

Asteroid M by @mapofyourstars

Gifset: Asteroid M

January 30th, 1973 by @theaterpug-writes

Peter Maximoff travels back to 1973 with the time traveler known as Cable to witness the day his father was killed in front of the whole nation on the lawn of the White House. When he interferes in the Sentinel attack and saves his father’s life, he unleashes a universe destroying paradox upon the world. AKA, a Doctor Who "Father’s Day" AU (not necessary to have any Doctor Who knowledge).

in the quiet by @xxqueenofdragonsxx

“Do you remember when you stabbed a guy for insulting me?”

In Little Ways, Everything Stays by @superherotiger

“Would you ever have one of your own?” Pietro’s features fell into a frown. “I’ve seen too much of this world to put a kid into it,” he answered bluntly. “Wouldn’t be fair to them.” “And in a different world?” Erik asked. Or, Erik sees a new side of his son.

but if I lose you I lose everything by @callie-caje

Before Luna, Pietro had understood very little of the world and how it worked. He had known there were people out there who used their mutations for Evil, but he also knew there were those who used them for Good. All his life Pietro had aspired to be one of the latter, but no one had told him that the fear for his daughter’s safety would make him one of the former. OR The five times that Pietro’s belief in humanity wavered and the one time it was broken completely.

it was enchanting to meet you by @sunsetuniverse

Post-Apocalypse - A week after Peter tells Erik the truth, something… weird happens.

Branding by @mapofyourstars

Gifset: Branding

MAGENTA WAS RIGHT by @onlyheartaches

Magneto and Quicksilver have a conversation about knockoff X-Men merchandise.

Mourning Doves by @onlyheartaches

On the anniversary of a devastating loss, Pietro and Magneto make a connection.

Patrilineal by @theaterpug-writes

After his twin sister's memories are rewritten by Mastermind, Pietro Maximoff isn't so sure she's his sister anymore.

Peace by @mapofyourstars

Gifset: peter implores erik to choose peace.

Luna's Favorite by @theaterpug-writes

In which Erik visits his sick granddaughter.

Wake Me Up by @onlyheartaches

This is a follow-up to my "Alternate Universe" entry. Pietro wakes up with nightly panic attacks, haunted by dreams he can't fully remember and the feeling of suffocation. He can only hope that being able to spend winter break with his father will help.

Memories by @mapofyourstars

Gifset: peter’s mother hints at some bad memories she had with magneto.

gutted by Caspiansea

The lamp bathes them in golden, honeyed light, the only illumination in the room, aside from the box television in front of them. The TV flickers steadily, buzzing softly against the howling of the wind. Pietro is stretched out next to him, curled around a heap of blankets. His feet are burrowed under Erik’s thigh, wedging there in an attempt to annoy him and left there to fight off the cold

The sun will set, but not tonight by @silverpleatherjacket

Erik floated himself over the blood that was flowing slick on the once white floor of the experimentation facility. Charles’ way didn’t work. The humans would take and they would take and they would take. Well this time, he’d take from them. Peter goes missing. Erik refuses to let him stay that way.

wicked like a torturous dream (like a sweet calamity) by @sunsetuniverse

Peter is falling.

Band on the Run by @callie-caje

Peter was no stranger to time and its ways of twisting and turning, but he never expected it to turn on him. --- “Peter,” Charles, greeted him, “Shouldn’t you be headed towards the east wing for history class? You’re going to be late.” Peter smiled, “We both know I’ll still beat Logan there. He’s never been on time for class since he started teaching.” A part of Peter was confused, his mind spinning as it tried to make sense of what was going on. The other part was spinning in the opposite direction full of anxiety, wondering if he was imagining things. or A Dadneto Timeloop where Peter has to slow down and stop running away.

I Couldn’t Say the Words like You by @superherotiger

“Do you need anything? Blankets, pillows- a shit ton more drugs?” A weak chuckle escaped his father’s lips. “No my son, I-” Without warning, Erik raised a hand towards Pietro’s face. A gesture he had tried only once before, back when they first met. One that Pietro had rejected in a heartbeat. One that even now made him flinch without meaning to. ~~~ Or, the final scene of ‘To be Loved is to be Changed' from Pietro’s perspective.

Patrimonial by @theaterpug-writes

Wanda contemplates her relationship with Pietro and why he keeps looking at her like that.

The North Star Guides Me Home by @theaterpug-writes

5 times Erik Lehnsherr looked to his daughter for guidance and the 1 time he couldn't anymore. Or, Erik Lehnsherr and Lorna Dane throughout the years.

A Question Of Need by @onlyheartaches

When Charles seeks to learn why Magnus hasn't shown up at work for several days in a row, he makes a rather unexpected discovery.

the wishing well by Caspiansea

“Erik?” Erik shot upward, reaching out with his mutation to sense the metal nearby. Pietro stood at the edge of the doorway, haloed by the light of the hallway. Erik began to scramble forward, trying to untangle himself from the sheets. He looked for Charles, briefly, before remembering he was giving a talk at Oxford. “Pietro? Are you alright?” He squinted, trying to adjust to the sudden state of awakeness. His instincts were propelling him forward, but his largely peaceful life at the mansion had softened them, if only slightly. That, and he wasn’t as young as he used to be. “Yeah, yeah, chill. I just– could you help me with something?”

let us find laughter beyond the screams by @xxqueenofdragonsxx

The speedster is loud.

If there are any details missing or mistakes in this list please let us know and we will amend it as soon as possible!

Thanks again to everyone who participated in the event! Stay tuned for the final masterlist coming out within the week! ✨

Announcement // Prompts // Event Info

[good-to-drive]

Cause you seem to be the best at psychoanalyzing the beats, esp with the anon answer about potential childhood abuse with mccartney, i wanna know what you think about George and his sex habits, primarily with being a "homewrecker".

Maybe its just the asexual in me who thought the circumstances of losing his virginity wasnt the healthiest thing in the world, but i cant help but think of a link between the story of him losing his virginity to his later exploits. In my mind, i think of this as a subconscious way of one up-ing other men. Or maybe something else in his life that led to this behavior with others wives?

And yeah if you think this is bs go ahead and tell me, lmao.

Hi anon! That’s a super interesting question (and thank you so much!! I really really appreciate that <33333)

This got kind of long and rambling, so the TL;DR is that I think that's a really strong theory, and it got me thinking more about the relationship between intimacy, masculinity, adulthood, and misogyny. More under the cut.

I do find George’s philandering a little harder to make sense of than John and Paul – not so much because they eventually found relationships where they could be loyal as because the reason for their disloyalty seems so much more straightforward. I talk about this in the context of Paul and Linda here, but there’s this phenomenon where men who are deprived of emotional intimacy by social pressure or their own internal fears will substitute sexual/physical intimacy. This can lead to a much deeper and more present need for sexual intimacy, an almost obsession with it. Y’know, the whole “men are dogs” thing.

I think that, with both Paul and John, they were such enormous black holes of emotional need and were so resistant to expressing any kind of need/vulnerability in anything but a sexual context that they, well, cheated like dogs. That is, until they found a person willing to subjugate every single one of her own needs and desires in order to dedicate herself solely to caretaking her husband’s emotional wellbeing. And in both cases the women seemed pretty okay with that arrangement, so I’m not judging, I’m just saying that I don’t think either of them grew out of the mindset that led to their chronic cheating. I think they just found a different way to satisfy that mindset. 

What’s odd about George is that he didn’t seem to fear emotional intimacy or vulnerability in non-sexual relationships, at least not to the same degree as Paul or John. This is the guy with “romantic friendships” who won’t let you leave the room until he hugs you for ten minutes and tells you how much he loves you. The idea that he was doing the classic boomer male thing and substituting sex for emotional vulnerability doesn't really hold up. So it’s not at all clear why he felt the need to sleep with everything that moved. Or, for that matter, why he did seem to specifically pursue women who were already attached. 

With women who have a fixation on being a homewrecker, I think it often has to do with experiencing or witnessing gendered abuse. The thought process is something like “if I can get men to choose me over other women then it proves I’m better and more important than they are, and that means men won’t hurt me the way they would hurt those other women.” Angelina Jolie has been pretty open about holding this mindset in her youth and predicating her entire sense of self-worth on her ability to attract married men. 

With men who have a fixation on other people’s wives…. honestly, your theory makes a lot of sense. The way he lost his virginity was SO weird to me – I know “the beatles had weird boundaries” isn’t a fresh take, but holy shit, it is so bizarre to me that this fifteen year old boy had sex in the same room as all of his friends and then they all applauded. Yeah, you can read it as typical teenage boy humor, but you can also read it as sort of a humiliation ritual designed to initiate him into the “older boys” group. 

And, speaking of that, I always found it interesting how fixated they were on George’s age. I do wonder if it had to do with his relative lack of sexual experience; if, like most teenage boys, they viewed sexual encounters as the definitive mark of True Manhood and so they infantilized him because he made it all the way to 15 years old without having sex (and they apparently did not). Paul still goes out of his way to tell people George is his Baby Brother, which is cute if George liked the term and pretty nasty if he didn’t, and there are some interesting stories about George joking that he’s the little baby of the group. Astrid’s comments are revealing:

“He was a lovely little boy,” says Astrid, telling of their Hamburg days. “He was just little George. We never judged him in any way, the way we used to work out how intelligent or clever Stu, John and Paul were. He didn’t develop as quickly as the others had done. But he wasn’t stupid. No one thought that for one minute. He made lovely jokes at his own expense, sending himself up for being young. I gave them all their Christmas presents one year, all wrapped up. John opened his first and it was an Olympia Press version of the Marquis de Sade. George picked up his and said, ‘What’s in mine then, comics?’”

(x)

So not only did they see George as a little boy who wasn’t "developing" as fast as they were, but George saw himself the same way. Or at least, he was aware he was seen this way and was willing to joke about it. And I definitely think men tend to see masculine prowess as a hallmark of manhood, so being characterized as childlike and immature is another way of saying he’s not a Real Man like the rest of them.

It’s honestly crazy to me that I never realized his relationship with gender is probably related to his relationship with adulthood/manhood, but now that you bring it up, it makes SO much sense. And then of course his identity was so deeply shaped by being a beatle, so deeply shaped by the role he played for the other beatles, that in some ways he probably never could stop feeling like a Baby Brother. Or at least, couldn't stop wondering if he was seen that way.

So I can definitely imagine a world where George views sexual conquest, especially at the expense of other men, as proof that he’s as much of a Man as anyone else. A way of rejecting the characterization as a slightly inept, slightly unnecessary little boy, because sexual prowess is the antithesis of a failure of masculinity, and therefore “stealing” a sexual trophy from another man is proof that you’re more Man than he is.

All that being said, some of this is definitely just a pure lack of respect for women. The ability that some men have to hold one moral code for their interactions with men/nonsexual relationships, and a completely different moral code for their interactions with women/sexual relationships, will never cease to amaze me. And I think it goes into overdrive when they have something to gain from it, like being a real Manly Man.

And, actually, it kind of annoys me a bit that we don’t talk more about how badly it beat Pattie down to be disregarded over and over again, and how it drove her to Eric. I’m not saying it’s George’s fault she ended up in an abusive relationship, I’m just saying that women in abusive relationships often have a complex trauma history, including previous relationships where they weren’t treated with respect, and I think we owe it to Pattie to understand her experience with Eric as one chapter in a larger story with many different characters who contributed to her understanding of herself and the world in general. 

George once told Pattie that he would financially support her no-strings-attached if she decided to leave Eric, which seems sweet until you realize that this heavily implies George knew something was wrong between the two of them and continued to call Eric one of his closest friends. Which isn’t remotely shocking, of course. He was close friends with John, Paul, and Ringo, too, and there are accusations (and admissions) of physical abuse there as well. I think it’s just more evidence of how easy it is for men to disregard how other men treat women, and how this often reflects their own internal belief systems around gender and sex. How these belief systems are often predicated on lifting men up while using women as tools to meet men's needs.

To be honest, a lot of women view men and women this way, too -- including, I suspect, Pattie, Jane, and Linda. But that's a conversation for another day.

I don’t think George knew for a second Eric was abusive – abusers are too good at hiding it – but abusers will show just a little fucked up shit in public, just enough that people will think they know the worst of it and won’t look for more, and it’s a shame that George’s continued love for Pattie didn’t include reassessing his feelings about the man who was hurting her.

[yuma-mukami-garden-god]

How would they react to love at first sight like their s/o walks in and she's the prettiest woman they've ever seen and every man turns his head when she walks in

Shu Sakamaki – "Tch… What the hell is this feeling?"

He’s sprawled lazily somewhere, probably half-asleep, until the room shifts. The murmurs grow louder. Men whisper. Heads turn.

Then he sees her.

A vision of confidence, grace, beauty—too beautiful. And suddenly, he’s wide awake.

“...What an irritating woman.”

But he can’t look away. His fingers twitch. She walks past, and for a moment, their eyes meet—and his entire body reacts

Later, he corners her lazily, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You planning on stealing every gaze in the room, or just mine?”

Reiji Sakamaki – "This is illogical. I don't fall for appearances."

Reiji is poised, unbothered, refined—until she enters the room, and his breath catches. Her elegance, her posture, her poise—it’s almost unfair.

He watches her. Calculates. Tries to dismiss it.

“A beautiful woman is not a rarity.”

But when she speaks—her voice like silk, her wit razor-sharp—he knows. She isn’t just beautiful. She’s brilliant. And she’s stolen his composure.

“Who… are you?”

“Your next obsession,” she says with a smile.

He's doomed—and he knows it.

Ayato Sakamaki – "Oi, who the hell let a goddess in here?"

Ayato’s jaw literally drops. He sees her walk in, every man turning to look, and he feels an unfamiliar twist in his chest.

Jealousy. “Tch! She’s not that hot…”

But he’s already pushing past people, ready to stake a claim. He gets cocky, of course.

“Yo, babe. Quit lookin’ around. You already found the best—Ore-sama.”

She smirks. Unbothered. Unimpressed.

And that’s it. He’s hooked.

“Shit… why’s my heart beatin’ like this?!”

Kanato Sakamaki – "Why is she looking at anyone but me?"

He stares. Intently. Possessively. Her beauty terrifies him—because if everyone wants her, how can he keep her?

“Don’t… don’t talk to anyone else.”

He’s drawn to her instantly, obsessively. When she smiles at someone else, he seethes. But when her gaze finally lands on him—curious, intrigued—he whispers:

“You’re mine. From the moment you walked in. Mine.”

And he means it. Fully.

Laito Sakamaki – "Ah~ How sinful... you made me fall with one look."

Laito’s all charm and mischief, but when she walks in? He forgets how to flirt.

For a split second, he’s just a man stunned into silence.

Then his mask returns, smoother than ever. “My, my… Is that Aphrodite herself? Or just a woman who plans to ruin me?”

He’s drawn to her like a moth to flame, circling her with teasing remarks—until she teases back, and suddenly, he’s spiraling.

“So bold~ Be careful, Bitch-chan. I fall fast.”

And he just did.

Subaru Sakamaki – "Tch... why the hell can’t I breathe?"

Subaru’s heart slams against his ribs. She walks in like she owns the world—and he can’t tear his gaze away.

He blushes. Looks down. Then looks again.

“She’s… really somethin’...”

When every man turns to stare, he clenches his fists. It’s not just lust. It’s something deeper.

When she smiles his way?

“F-Fuck…” He looks away, flustered—but you can bet he’ll be protecting her fiercely within the hour.

Ruki Mukami – "A queen has entered the room... fascinating."

Ruki notices immediately. The shift in energy. The reverence in the air.

And then he sees her.

She walks like power. Like fire. Like she’s never had to try.

“Such presence…”

He watches her carefully. Studies her. When she catches his eye and doesn’t look away?

He smirks.

“Livestock… I may have found someone worthy of breaking me.”

Kou Mukami – "Ooh~! Someone just stole the spotlight~"

Kou’s used to being the center of attention—until you walk in and turn every head. Even his.

“Now that’s what I call fan service~”

He’s instantly in awe. Envious. Intrigued. You steal the show—and he loves it.

“Mind if I steal the star of the evening? We’d look good on camera together.”

But it’s not just for clout. He’s falling. Hard. Fast.

“You’re beautiful. But I bet you’re even prettier when you smile at just me…”

Yuma Mukami – "Who the hell…?"

Yuma's in the middle of chewing something when she walks in—and he actually chokes.

“Shit…”

She’s the hottest woman he’s ever seen. He watches every step she takes like a man hypnotized. “The hell’s a girl like that doin’ here lookin’ like that?”

He plays it cool—but you catch him staring. Over. And over.

Later, he corners you against a wall and growls:

“You lookin’ for someone to worship you? 'Cause I already do.”

Azusa Mukami – "So… beautiful… it hurts…"

Azusa stares in stunned silence. “I’ve never seen… anyone like you…”

He’s not used to love at first sight. Or desire that feels so immediate. His voice trembles.

When others look at you, he shuffles closer. Protective. Reverent.

"Please… don’t look away from me…”

He already feels like he’s bleeding from the inside, and he doesn’t even know your name.

Shin Tsukinami – "Tch. Mine."

Shin is cocky. Always in control. Until you arrive.

You walk in, radiant, magnetic. His instincts roar. “She’s mine.”

He doesn’t even blink. He’s next to you in seconds, grinning.

“You just made every guy here your bitch. Including me.”

He’s dangerously smitten. Jealous. Already planning how to make you his forever.

Carla Tsukinami – "An anomaly… and yet I cannot look away."

Carla stares. Still. Silent.

He’s seen centuries of beauty—but this?

This strikes something in him he thought long dead.

“You’ve captured the room. And something far more valuable… my attention.”

He approaches like a king—calm, regal—but the storm inside him is violent. She is his from the moment their eyes meet.

“If fate has sent you… then I shall never let you go.”

Kino – "Well… fuck."

Kino laughs softly the moment he sees you.

“Damn. I didn’t know I had a type until right now.”

He watches you like a predator, low and coiled.

“Guess I’ll have to kill anyone who looks at you too long.”

But when you look his way? Smirk? Maybe wink?

He short circuits.

“Okay. Yeah. I’m yours. Ruin me.”

Karlheinz – "Is this what it feels like to be human?"

Karlheinz has felt everything—except this. The second he sees you, the world stills.

He’s transfixed. All-powerful. But now?

Utterly helpless. “Who… are you?”

He moves to you like in a dream, gaze unreadable—but his voice is laced with wonder. “You are… magnificent.”

And he means it.

Richter – "She’s… perfect."

He stiffens. Mouth slightly open.

You walk in, unaware of the chaos you’ve caused—and Richter is hooked. His heartbeat echoes in his ears.

“No. No, don’t fall. Not now…”

But it’s too late. You smile in his direction—and he’s ruined. “I have to have her… even if it destroys me.”

[fierceanduntamedemotions]

The Better Man

Pairing: fem!Reader x oldman!Price, your ex's dad.

Sick of the dating apps and desperate for a real shot at lasting romance, you start chatting up older men in hopes of finding any sons that might be up to your standards. But maybe the man you were meant to end up with was never the boy—it was his father. Inspired by real events and real delusions.

Reader Pet Names: darling, dear, sweetheart, sweetie, my girl, baby Content & Warnings: 18+ MDNI!!! abortion and miscarriage mentioned, cheating, age gap (26f and 50m), slow burn romance, incesty-ish but not really, depressive episodes, breakups and divorce woes, smut (PinV, oral, daddy kink, breeding kink). Music Inspo: Here We Go (Uh Oh) [Remix] By Coco Jones (feat. Leon Thomas)

Part 1: The Set Up

Part 2: It Takes Two

Part 3: Lessons of Lesser Men

Part 4: Moving In

Part 5: Moving On

Word Count: 2.8k

Kyle: Hey. Just wanted to say I’m sorry. I know it’s been a while, but I didn’t handle any of that right. Also… I’ve moved on. You: Thanks. Not sure the life update was necessary though…

Rub it in, why don’t you.

Kyle: Just thought you should hear it from me, not a random post or something. How’s dad? You: Do you not talk? Kyle: I talk to Mom. And Simon. Not really him. Still… working through some stuff. Hoping to repair the relationship soon. You: It's weird that I talk to him more than you, so fix it soon please. I'm not a family mediator, and you can ask Simon for details about your dad too… Kyle: Si told me to ask you if I wasn't gonna reach out to dad. Says dad spends more time with you than him. Fuck me I guess. Sorry for asking. You: Ugh. Your dad is fine. Last time we had a bite to eat he told me he’s trying to convince Simon and Johnny to adopt so he can finally get some grandkids. Kyle: Jesus. You: Brief your new girl before she meets him. He’s on a warpath. Maybe that's why Simon got snippy with you. Kyle: Si is always snippy with me. Thanks for the heads though. Are you going to Johnny’s birthday party? You: No. I’m not family anymore. Wasn’t invited. Kyle: Well, I’d like you to come. You: Why? Are you planning on hard launching your new girlfriend?

What the fuck is wrong with this guy?

Kyle: No. Mom’s bringing her boyfriend though. They’re getting serious. You: Woah. Big yikes. Kyle: Yeah. I think dad’s gonna have a hard time with it. I know it’s been more than a year, but I just think it’d help if you were there to help him avoid the elephant in the room, you know? You: I’m still the elephant in the room too. Not sure if we can both fit in your brother's house like that. Kyle: Well, I'm counting on it. Don't want Johnny's birthday going sideways. You: Fine, I’ll come for dinner. But I can't promise that my presence will be a harbinger for world peace in the Price household.  Kyle: Thanks. Seriously. You: Don’t thank me. I’m not doing it for you.

----------

Johnny’s birthday went surprisingly well. No one batted an eye when you approached the birthday boy first, kissed him on the cheek, handed over his present, and settled into your old place on the couch. There were moments of awkward silence, sure, but nothing dramatic happened. 

To be honest, the whole event was awkward as hell. 

What used to be “same-same, but different,” now just felt “different-different.” It was alien, a twisted nightmare of Twilight Zone proportions. Everyone was on their best behavior, fussing over Johnny and Simon, trying not to devolve at the onslaught of base instincts and unresolved issues. You know it was a ticking time bomb, and it only takes one to light a fuse.

It’s been three months since your split with Kyle, but you were proud of your composure, closure, and the distance you had found yourself with. To the outsiders, you all seemed like a proper blended family. But all families had their problems.

That’s when Kyle walked in with his new girl. No, it was not the girl he cheated on you with, it was a different one. 

Sometimes you gotta let a man make his own mistakes. You were just grateful you didn't have to stand by Kyle’s side while he continued to make them. Being in that girl's shoes was a job you did not envy. Which is why you wished her the best of luck and love, treating her with hospitality and respect. Thankfully, you managed to avoid any questions about how you knew the family and she didn’t seem to know who you were to these people.

Best to keep it vague: a friend of the family.

You helped Kyle's mom smooth things over with food, second helpings, and a lot of careful not-looking—on both yours and John's part. The man that Kyle’s mom introduced was very nice and down to earth, but in a way distinct from John. There wasn’t anything to dislike, or cause concern, or find irritable. He was just a person, like we all were, hoping for a second shot at happiness in life. 

After dessert, you locked eyes with John. He understood the signal and announced his exit, claiming tired bones, a full belly, and that he was taking you home. You stood up accordingly, both making your goodbyes, and followed him out.

When he pulled into your parking garage, he didn’t unlock the vehicle right away. Just looked at you across the cab of the car.

“Need a fuckin drink,” he grumbled.

You let out a sigh, “Me too.”

Rain had started to fall, light but insistent. You grabbed your umbrella and followed him into it, feet splashing through shallow puddles as he led you around the corner to a dim little pub with honey-colored lighting and music humming through the bricks.

The first drink went down smooth. So did the second. By the time his third arrived, his shoulders had started to sink a little lower, but you could tell, he was all storm brewing in there. So you took up the mantle of lightening the mood with your rambling:

“Chloe face-timed me last night while I was stress-baking. Well I didn’t realize I’d gone a bit overboard because we were talking about other things. Chloe’s still trying to get me off the apps,” you continued. “She keeps sending me guys who look like they eat chalk for breakfast. Anyways, between feeding my sourdough starter, and my second round of loaves to rise, we started spitballing names for my starter. The front runners are Lilith, Odette, Gretel—” 

He chuckled, but it felt forced and strangled. 

“—and my personal favorite, Pilomena.” 

“You’re asking my opinion on naming a loaf of bread? Don't I need to taste it first to properly decide?”

“Technically, she’s not a loaf of bread and never will be. But at the same time—she is—in the sense that I cut parts of her off and bake those. It’s Theseus’ ship, except the ship regenerates itself. So even if there’s just one splinter left for me to feed and water—”

“You’d tell me if you were seeing someone, right?” he asked bluntly.

You blinked while processing the abrupt transition from dating to focaccia and back to dating again. It wasn’t until later you’d realize that’s not really why he was asking, but you answered the question in the moment.

“Yeah. I mean… I’ve been on a couple first dates just to shake off some nerves. Nothing worth mentioning.” You shrugged. “It’s hard for me to be single again, dating apps and clubs aren’t my thing. I’m more comfortable with word-of-mouth recommendations from people.”

He raised a brow, “Like I did with Kyle?”

You snorted, “Exactly.” Pausing to take a drink, then, “What a twat.”

He sighed into his glass, “I wasn't going to say it.”

“And you shouldn't, you're still a good dad. It's one of the last redeeming qualities you have,” you giggled.

He looked down at his glass, swirling the amber. “I’m really sorry about him. I mean it. I thought you were it, the final puzzle piece. You made our family better, fuller.”

Fingers clutched your drink harder, words and feelings stuck inside.

He added, “You deserve a big family. One that celebrates you. Not fractured birthdays and holiday tension.”

“You’re forgetting—my parents were divorced before my dad died,” you corrected. “So trust me, I know from experience that divorce equals spoiled children and double the Christmas presents.”

“You’re not spoiled,” he asserted quietly. 

It was your turn to raise a brow in protest.

“You were… provided for. Loved, and it shows. You’re perfect.”

A nervous laugh escaped you. “Yeah, well, try dating after that. Once you’ve been treated right, the bar’s high—too high. Love bombing doesn’t work. Ghosting won’t cut it. Men think I’m expecting too much.”

“You’re not,” he said, a soft truth.

You finished your second drink as another landed on the table. He was already on his sixth, working his way through a bottle at this point.

You leaned back, “You know… for all his bullshit, Kyle wasn’t that bad. We just didn’t fit together anymore.”

“His mother and I didn’t, either,” John said bleakly, tracing the rim of his glass. 

“Well then, we’re both hopeless rejects.” Turning to him, you mused, “They say it takes two months for every year of your long-term relationship for you to get over someone.” Lifting your drink at him, “So I’m halfway there.”

He groaned and clinked your glass with his. You chuckled at his displeasure.

“Guess I’ve got three years left on my sentence,” he said.

Cringing, you realized your mistake, “Oof. That wasn’t funny. I’m sorry—” You reached out and started rubbing his shoulder, like you were trying to erase your words. Trying to find a silver lining, you considered what kind of woman would catch John Price's eye.

“They also say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else,” you offered.

But that wasn’t received well either, he groaned louder and moved the topic back to you. “Please don’t start hitting on more older men to see if they have eligible sons.”

Grinning, you countered, “Why not? It's good networking and it worked out pretty well the first time.”

“Didn’t you learn anything from that silly boy?”

“I did,” you said, tone softening. “I still want what Kyle and I talked about. Loyalty, communication, and respect. But I can’t make a guy hold up his end of the bargain, even if I do find someone who says he’s on board. I want someone whose actions match their words.”

He turned his head and looked at you for a long moment, “Have you always been this wise?”

You rolled your eyes. “I came out the womb a fully formed sage, John. I’m not so much different from when I met you. I’m just that much closer to calling it quits and joining a convent now,” turning to him with a delusional smile.

John looked down, thumb tracing the edges of a coaster. “You know, you’re not the first woman I’ve known to swear off men altogether.”

Tilting your head, you smiled, “No? Were the others you dated as charmingly jaded as me?”

He chuckled softly, “No, but she didn’t make it sound like such a loss.”

You took a slow sip of your drink. “I think I just peaked too early. Used up all my patience on a starter marriage that never happened.” You meant it to sound light, but it didn’t land that way. You sounded defeated. Maybe that’s how you felt too.

“Hey,” he said, low and serious now. He looked at you, really looked—like he could see the echo of every version of you that had been let down and kept loving anyway. Then he lifted a hand slowly and brought it to the back of your head, gently shifting your eyes to meet his. “You didn’t waste anything. Loving someone like that… that’s not time lost. It’s a treasure.” His thumb brushed across your scalp, twice—then lingered in your hair before trailing down like an afterthought he didn’t want to let go of.

“No more,” you asserted. “Come on.”

That was when the bartender came up with the water and offered a menu. Then his hand returned to him, like it had never touched you to begin with. One glance at John’s flushed cheeks and the look in your eyes made it clear you both were having a bad night. She was going to keep John’s keys or stop serving if you didn’t order something. John almost ordered, but you gestured to her to close the tab.

“You cutting me off?” John prodded.

“No,” you said, standing. “I’m taking you home.”

You walked him back to your place, pulled close with an arm looped in his. Just in case he tried to make a run for it—not that you had any reason to expect that from his other drunken states you’ve witnessed. He was always shockingly sober, regardless of the amount of alcohol consumed. John and his boys could probably tank an entire pub, just the four of them. Heavy weights, all of them. 

He blinked, semi-sober thoughts rising to the surface. “I can sleep in my car.”

You gave him a look, with an eye roll, and one eyebrow arched so high it asked if you brought snacks because the munchies were hitting. “I'm not letting you get behind the wheel, even just to sleep. You’re staying on my couch.” You hoped that would be the end of the discussion but…

“I’m fine to—”

“Two words: back pain. And one more: hypothermia. I will out-dad you into submission, Jonathan Michael Price.” The full name alone hung like a threat and a lullaby in one. He let the issue drop after that.

At your door, he kicked off his shoes as usual and you took his wet jacket to hang up. Having accepted his fate, he lowered himself onto the couch with a tired grunt. He looked around like he wasn’t quite sure how he got here—or maybe he just didn’t recognize how tired he really was. 

“You're too sweet," he muttered with a smirk tugging half-heartedly at his lips. 

“I’m not sweet. I’m efficient,” you deflected his tipsy complement.

“You are,” he said, more serious now, eyes following you as you laid extra bedding across his lap. “But I’m supposed to be taking care of you," he said pointedly.

You hummed. “You do take care of me, John. But who's going to take care of you when you need it?" you said, words blunt but hands continuing their gentle touch arranging pillows and blankets for him.

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me, baby girl,” he said eventually, voice rough from something more than just whiskey. “I’m not that old. I want to take care of you, not the other way around.” 

“Well, you can take care of me,” you offered, bringing him a glass of water and anti-inflammatory meds next, “by making breakfast tomorrow, okay?”

He grunted in response after taking the medicine and water without a fight. Small victories. You lingered a moment before retreating to your room, watching his form melt into the cushions; half-asleep, head falling down, giving up the fight. It was a rare moment where his guard is almost entirely down, and he's just John. Not a father or a soldier. Just a man, who feels heartbreak like the rest of us, you thought. 

Later, alone in your bed, your mind wandered. The thoughts continued to swirl as you lay on your back, waiting for sleep to release the tension of the day from your body.

The question he’d asked you earlier about dating still rattled around in your brain. At least Kyle had given you an answer, even if it was the kind you didn’t want to hear. But John had been blindsided, ambushed, and left to face the collapse of his family pretty much by himself. For the second time in John’s relationship, it made you sad to see that hurt rise to the surface for him again. 

© fierceanduntamedemotions

May that love never find either of us again, you wished, rolling over into the soft embrace of unconsciousness.

In the morning, the smell of eggs and toast pulled you from your sheets. A quick minute in the bathroom later, you walked into the kitchen, barefoot, hair tied up. You skirt around him, brushing the small of his back as you start boiling water for tea.

He exhaled—just a soft breath, but one you felt in your chest.

While you wrapped a loaf of sourdough to send home with him, he watched you like you were something precious. John didn’t say more than a morning greating, just cracked another egg. His expression soft, settling on your form as you moved, orbiting him like he was a permanent fixture in your kitchen. Basking in the nostalgia of how natural this felt, he thought about how domestic and easy it would be to pretend this was a Sunday morning in a shared life.

He wouldn't think about the butterflies battling in his chest every time you fluttered by, or the way your eyes squished closed when you smiled, or the way they grew wide with excitement when he set your plate in front of you. Maybe that’s what scared him—he craved your company now.

When he set your breakfast in front of you, you felt something shift. A quiet understanding growing stronger with each small gesture. Every time he told you to eat, or rest, or be kinder to yourself. Every time he showed up. You weren’t sure if this was healing or hope, but it felt like the beginning of something.

It reminded you that to be properly fed and watered, like any living thing, was maybe the first step to being loved again. And you could help but notice.

[stlllle]

Hello! I would just like to say off the bat that I LOOVE your writing, it makes me giggle and kick my feet whenever I read them.

But anyways, could I request a Yandere Dae-ho x male!reader smut fic?

Basically the reader gets Invited to join gihuns group by dae-ho after he notices that the reader gets kicked out of his team for being seen as the "weaker link". Gradually over time, dae-ho gets more obsessed with the reader to the point he can't stand the reader forming deeper connections/talking with anyone else in the group or just even a small conversation with another player. If it's another player, he'll pull them to the side and blackmail them the best he can within the games in order to get them to stay away from the reader, knowing nobody is going to believe the other players even if they told anyone or the reader due to dae-hos kind and cheerful persona, at some points he'll even purposefully trip those said players in mingle to get them killed.

In hide and seek (better known as keys and knives/the 4th game), dae-ho ends up successfully switching with someone and is a seeker (this should've happened in canon trust). Dae-ho also kills any other players that the reader talked with out of spite, when he starts looking for the reader, he catches another seek attempting to kill the reader and kills the seeker before they could kill the reader

In the end, dae-ho physically and mentally can't take it anymore and confesses everything he feels for the reader and fucks him in one of the rooms, and uses the dead seekers body as a barricade to keep anybody else from getting in? (With consent ofc)

I apologize if this seems messy! I just rarely see any x male reader fics for dae-ho 💔

Mine to the End

--

Pairing: Dae-ho x Male!Reader

Rating: +18 / NSFW

Genre: Yandere, Darkfic, Angst, Smut, Psychological Horror

Warnings: Violence, Obsession, Manipulation, Murder, Non-con themes, Knife play, Blood, Death, NSFW content (MLM), possessive behavior, mental instability.

Word count: ~15k

---

Summary:

In the brutal world of Squid Game, survival comes at a price — and some players are willing to pay it in blood. One lonely player finds himself drawn into the orbit of a seemingly cheerful teammate. But behind that smile hides something far darker, and as the games progress, protection turns to obsession… and there’s no escape once you belong to him.

---

Author’s Note:

Hello! I’m genuinely so happy you enjoy my posts 😃. I really loved your request!

To be honest, I’m not entirely sure how well it turned out (I rewrote and deleted this about ten times lol), but I sincerely hope it meets your expectations 🙂. It was a bit of a challenge for me, since it’s my first time writing a smut scene between men, so I had to do a bit of research… but I truly hope it makes sense and captures what you imagined (and if not — please feel free to tell me!). If you have more ideas, don’t hesitate to send them my way! I’d be so happy to write them for you.

That’s all — enjoy the read 😛✨

__

My requests are open if you’d like to send something else my way 😊

Masterlist –[link]

--

POV: Dae-ho

I’d never really paid attention to him before. I mean… I’d seen him around, sure. Sitting in the corner, hair hanging in his face, those exhausted, scared eyes that screamed he didn’t belong here. One of those players you glance at and think “he won’t make it to the next round.”

I thought that.

And now, I realize how fucking stupid I was.

That night, they kicked him out of his team. A bunch of morons pointing fingers like he was some rotten piece of trash.

“Too weak. He’ll get us all killed.”

“He just stands there shaking.”

“First one to die, for sure.”

I heard it all. Sitting nearby, pretending not to listen. But my eyes never left him. The way he tried to speak up but nobody let him. The way he lowered his head and bit his lip, trying not to cry.

Pathetic. Fragile. Helpless.

Perfect.

When I saw him crouched against the wall, alone, I knew it. That was it. He was for me. Just the right kind. And I could do something about it.

I stood up, adjusted my jacket, and walked over. Wearing that easy, friendly grin — the kind that makes people let their guard down. I was good at this. Damn good.

“Hey,” I called out, stopping in front of him. He looked like he wanted to shrink even more, like I was just another one about to kick him while he was down.

He glanced up at me, those dark, tired, scared eyes. Like he was expecting anything but kindness.

“You… got a team yet?” I asked.

He shook his head, hesitant. Obvious. Of course he didn’t.

“How about you join ours? Got room. Safer that way, yeah?” I flashed my usual wide smile, soft voice. The kind everyone trusted around here.

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. I saw it in his eyes — a flicker of relief. Predictable.

Easy.

I slung my arm around his shoulders, feeling him flinch a little under my touch. Adorable. Led him back to Gi-hun’s group. Nobody complained — who the hell would? My image was spotless.

From that moment on, he was mine.

---

During the Mingle, he tried making conversation with a couple of them. Idiots. Some even found his anxious little stammers kinda cute. I saw it all from a distance, pretending I didn’t care.

But I cared.

It was only a matter of time before someone crossed a line.

This one girl — I think her number was 271 — got too close. Spent too long. Laughing at his awkward jokes. Touching his arm.

I watched all of it. Pretended I wasn’t looking.

But I was.

That night, when most people were settling down, I went after her. She was digging through some scraps of bread, murmuring with another woman. I slipped up beside her, casual as ever.

“Hey. 271, right?” I whispered.

She glanced at me, wary.

“What?”

I leaned in, my smile in place.

“About 199. Stay away. Friendly advice.”

She frowned.

“You’re fucking crazy. I was just talking to him.”

I smiled wider.

“I know. But… accidents happen, you know? Someone trips in the next game, catches a knife in the gut… I’d be so sad if something like that happened to you.”

Her eyes widened. I gave her shoulder a little pat.

“Take care of yourself, alright?”

And walked away like nothing happened.

And it worked.

Next day, she didn’t even glance his way.

---

The following days, I kept it up. A couple more tried too. There’s always some idiot wanting to play hero or make a friend. But a whispered threat, a little shove in the crowd. People get the message.

Nobody suspected me, of course. Because I was Dae-ho. The nice guy. The friendly one. The protector. The guy everyone liked.

Nobody suspects the one who smiles the most.

Except… he started to notice.

I saw it in his eyes. That confused look, trying to figure out why people suddenly wouldn’t talk to him. Why no one wanted to sit by him. Why even the most harmless conversations died out.

One night, he actually asked me about it.

“H-Hey Dae-ho… d-did you notice that… no one… wants to be around me?”

His voice was soft, dragged out, like he was scared to hear the answer.

I placed my hand on his shoulder.

“Ah, don’t worry about it. This place makes people weird. Everyone’s just trying to survive. It’s not personal. I’m here though, right?” I gave him my easy, reassuring smile.

He hesitated, then nodded. Like a scared little puppy.

God, what a sight.

---

That night, I stayed up watching him sleep.

Even with the grime and exhaustion, his face… it had something beautiful. Something that was mine. And only mine. His messy dark hair falling over his closed eyes, those uneven breaths. Curled up like the world was out to get him.

And it was.

But not me.

I forgave him.

I protected him.

I’d kill for him.

I’d spill blood for him.

First kill, first mess, first body on the floor — all for him.

And when no one else was left, when it was just us… then he’d understand.

He’d be mine.

And I’d be his.

Forever.

POV: Dae-ho

The red marble rolled into my palm, and a wicked grin formed in my chest.

Seeker.

The best fucking draw I could’ve hoped for.

I faked a disappointed sigh for show.

Looked straight at him — Player 199 — holding that little blue marble in his trembling hand.

Eyes wide, chest heaving, lips parted like he was already seconds from crying.

He had no idea what was coming.

I walked over slowly, like a concerned friend.

— "Damn… guess I won’t get to be on your team again." I murmured softly, masking the hunger in my voice. "Take care, alright? For me."

He nodded, and fuck — the way his eyes shimmered with trust and fear at the same time made my cock twitch.

This kid was mine.

The alarm blared, and chaos broke loose.

People running, shoving, screaming.

I grabbed my knife from the table, cold and sharp in my palm.

Today was the day.

—

Two pathetic hiders crouched behind some boxes.

One slash to the throat, and the other barely got out a whimper before I buried my blade in his gut and twisted.

The hot spray of blood on my face calmed me.

But none of them mattered. Only one person did.

That bitch who kept flirting with him the other day?

Found her dead behind some chairs.

I made sure of it.

Pulled her by the hair, knife to her stomach.

— "No one fucking touches him."

Left her bleeding out.

—

I kept moving, but my eyes were hunting for him.

My blood boiled.

Then I heard it.

His voice. That trembling, desperate little cry.

I moved fast.

My pulse pounding in my ears.

And there he was.

A seeker cornering him against the wall, knife raised.

I didn’t think — didn’t hesitate.

I slid my blade into the bastard’s neck from behind.

Blood splattered hot across my hand.

The body hit the floor.

He stood there frozen, shaking, his chest heaving.

Eyes wide, face pale.

Beautiful.

I stepped in, cupped his face. His skin was feverish, wet with sweat and tears.

— "It’s me… it’s okay, I’m here."

He flinched, but didn’t pull away.

I grabbed his hand.

— "Come with me. Now."

He followed.

—

I dragged him into an empty room, door half open, stinking of blood and metal.

A dead seeker’s body slumped by the wall.

I pulled the corpse over and propped it against the door.

He stood there in the middle of the room, trembling like a leaf, chest rising and falling fast.

I was already fucking hard.

That small, fragile frame.

Sweat-soaked hair stuck to his forehead.

His hands trembling.

Perfect.

I stepped closer, footsteps echoing on the grimy floor.

— "Look at you… shaking so bad, and you’re already fucking hard, aren’t you?"

My hand went straight to his crotch, palming the hard length beneath the fabric.

He gasped, trying to pull away.

Pathetic. Innocent. Mine.

— "Don’t lie to me. I know you wanted this. Dreamed about it. Me fucking you so hard you’d forget your name."

I squeezed tighter.

His breath hitched.

I crashed my mouth onto his — a rough, desperate kiss, tongues clashing, teeth scraping.

I bit his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood, and he whimpered.

I pinned his wrists above his head with one hand and ripped his shirt open.

Sweaty, pale skin marked with bruises and dirt.

Ran my hands down his chest, leaving red trails.

I let go of his hands only to rip open his pants and yank them down with his briefs.

His cock was hard, leaking at the tip.

I dropped to my knees, licking a long stripe up the shaft.

He trembled, a broken moan escaping.

I swallowed him whole.

Throat-deep.

His hands gripped my hair, half trying to pull away, half pushing me down.

The taste of him, the heat, the faint taste of sweat and fear — made my cock ache.

I sucked hard, taking him to the back of my throat, letting him gag a little.

Pulled off with a wet pop, grinning up at him.

Dropped my own pants.

My cock was rock-hard, veined, dripping pre-cum.

I spun him around, shoved him face-first against the wall.

His body fit perfectly in my hands. Small. Easy to control.

I spread his ass cheeks, running my fingers over his tight entrance.

Spit in my palm and rubbed it over.

— "It’s happening. Right now."

I pressed the head of my cock against his hole.

He let out a strangled cry.

— "W-wait, Dae-ho, it— it hurts—"

I grabbed his hips, thrusting in.

The tight heat gripped me like a fucking vice.

He screamed.

— "You’ll get used to it. You’ll love it."

I stayed still for a second, feeling him clench around me.

Then started moving.

Hard. Deep. Ruthless.

Skin slapping.

His cries mixing with my grunts.

Each thrust made his ass bounce against me, his cock smearing pre-cum on the wall.

I grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanked his head back.

— "Say you’re mine. Say it."

He sobbed.

— "I-I’m yours…"

I fucked him deeper, harder.

Pulled him off the wall, bent him over an old table.

Spread his legs, lined up, and slammed back inside.

The table creaked, his body jerking with every thrust.

One hand gripped his hips, the other stroked his leaking cock.

He was rock-hard. Dripping.

— "Look at this — moaning like a whore while I destroy you."

He whimpered, head lolling to the side.

I bit down on his sweaty neck, marking him.

Came deep inside him.

Filling him to the brim.

But I wasn’t done.

Flipped him onto his back on the table.

Missionary.

Pushed back inside, staring straight into his dazed, teary eyes.

One hand wrapped around his throat, the other jerking him off.

— "Cum for me. Now. I wanna see your face when you lose it."

He cried out, legs shaking, and came all over his chest.

Hot, thick ropes of cum.

I fucked him through it, milking every last drop before releasing inside him again.

Stayed buried deep, panting.

Ran my hand over his face, licking his cum off his chest.

— "Now you’re mine. And no one else will ever fucking have you."

He stared up at me, ruined, trembling, crying, still hard.

Exactly how I wanted him.

Reader's POV

My entire body ached. Every muscle throbbed, and the warm sensation running down my legs made me want to disappear. I was lying on that old, dirty table, the rough wood scraping against my back, while the suffocating air of that cramped room reeked of blood, sweat, and semen.

Dae-ho stood there, right in front of me. His smile… it was wrong. Too wide, his eyes shining in a way that made my stomach twist. And yet… some broken, miserable part of me felt grateful he had saved me. No matter how fucked up that was.

My head spun. I could barely process what had just happened. My body trembled, not just from exhaustion or physical pain, but from fear. A suffocating fear that made it hard to breathe.

He walked toward me, every step pounding in my chest like a thunderclap. I instinctively inched toward the edge of the table, desperate to get away, to flee, but there was nowhere to go.

"You were perfect, you know that?" he murmured, his fingers brushing my face, wiping away a bead of sweat rolling down my temple. "So beautiful… completely ruined by me. I always knew we’d end up like this."

My stomach turned. I didn’t know if I wanted to cry, scream, or beg. The desperate will to live mixed with the horror of what he’d done… of what I’d let happen.

"D-Dae-ho… this… this isn’t right…" my voice came out weak, hoarse, barely a whisper.

His grin widened even more.

"Not right? Who decides what’s right here? I saved you. I protected you when no one else wanted you. When everyone else turned their backs. You should be thanking me on your knees, fuck."

He took another step, and my legs threatened to give out.

My eyes darted toward the door blocked by the dead seeker’s body. The metallic stench made my head spin. I wanted to vomit. Wanted to wake up from this nightmare.

"I… I’m grateful… you…" I swallowed hard, trying to buy time. "You don’t… you don’t have to do this…"

He laughed, but it wasn’t a normal laugh. It was low, rough, almost childlike in how it took pleasure in my misery.

"But I do." He picked up the bloodstained knife from the floor, spinning it between his fingers. "Because if you’re not mine… you won’t be anyone’s."

My heart raced. That cold fear crawled up my spine. My hands were sweating, my legs weak. I knew what was coming. I finally understood there was no way out.

"Dae-ho… please…" I tried, tears already stinging my eyes.

He came closer and cupped my sweaty, dirty face. His thumb wiped away a tear rolling down.

"Shhh… don’t cry, baby… I’m going to take care of you. Always." He leaned in and kissed my forehead. "I just have to make sure no one else ever gets that chance."

I tried to gather my strength, but my body was limp. He pushed me back onto the table easily.

"I love you, you know that? Since day one. When I saw you there, all alone, scared, I knew you were mine. That no one else could ever touch you. And I waited… waited for the right moment." He sighed, staring at the blade. "And now you’re mine. Mine forever."

The knife gleamed under the dim light.

"D-Dae-ho, please…" my voice cracked.

He took a deep breath, like he was trying to calm himself.

"It’ll be quick, I promise." He said, and then drove the blade into my abdomen.

The pain was unbearable. A burning, slicing heat spread through my body. I screamed, the sound muffled by my own blood.

"I told you you’re mine… only mine…" he muttered, plunging the knife again. And again. Every stab tearing a piece of me away.

My eyes filled with tears, my vision blurring. I felt the warmth of my own blood coating my skin with every move he made.

My body instinctively writhed, but I was too weak.

His face was the last thing I saw. Those eyes shining with pleasure. That deranged grin. His ragged breathing.

My consciousness began to fade. The world around me turning into nothing but sound and blurred light. I thought of when it all started, the games, the nervous laughs, the foolish hope of surviving… and now here.

Dae-ho leaned down, kissing my bloodstained lips.

"Forever mine…" he whispered.

My last strength drained away, and then everything went dark.

[Extra Scene — After the Murder | Dae-ho’s POV]

The silence after the final stab was louder than any scream.

I stood there, knife still in my hand, warm blood running down my fingers, staring at that small, lifeless body on the table. He looked beautiful. So perfect like that… pale skin stained with red, chest rising and falling until it didn’t anymore.

His face, even smeared with blood and dried tears, still looked peaceful. Finally calm.

I stepped closer and brushed my fingers along his cold cheek.

“Now you’re only mine…” I whispered, a deranged smile curling my lips.

Leaning in, I kissed his lifeless lips, tasting the metallic mix of blood and spit. The taste of my victory.

The room reeked. Blood. Sweat. Fear. And yet… it was the most beautiful place in the world to me in that moment. I wanted to freeze time right here. Wanted to stay with him forever.

I pushed a few strands of hair off his sweaty forehead. He’d looked so beautiful moaning my name… and now, even dead, he was still perfect.

“I told you,” I murmured. “I told you no one else was ever going to have you. Not touch you. Not even look at you.”

My breathing was heavy, my chest rising and falling quickly, blood-soaked fingers trembling. My heart pounded in my chest, not with fear or guilt, but with something worse. Pleasure. Peace.

I sat beside his body, just watching. Not missing a detail. The marks I left, the scratches on his skin, the stains, the exhausted expression.

For a brief second, I pointed the knife at myself. Thought, “If I kill myself now, I’ll stay with him here.” But no. I still had things to do. There were people who got too close to him. I had to finish what I started. Clean this game.

But I’d come back. I’d always come back for him.

Standing up, I carefully arranged his body on the table, like tucking someone in for sleep. I gave him one last kiss on the forehead.

“Wait for me, baby… I’ll be back. I promise.”

I grabbed the knife, wiped the blood off my hands on my uniform, and gave one final look at his face… leaving the room filled with death behind me, his body untouched by anyone else.

Forever mine.

[End]

[luxthecreator]

—𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 02: 𝕾𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖓 𝖘𝖚𝖌𝖆𝖗

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟸.𝟷𝚔 𝚊𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚡 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜: polycule lads, reader-insert, LADS men x reader, SFW, romance, fluff, comfort, self-aware LADS men.

𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝙰𝙾3

Once Sylus got everything under control almost admonishing Kieran and Luke for almost traumatizing the poor worker and getting our orders in the process. Everyone thanked him and he, as he always does, dismisses it. As if money and paying for stuff wasn’t a problem or a hassle at all. And you know in his world it wouldn’t be, but you can’t understand how he seems to hold the same power and grip in your world too. You tucked that thought into your on-growing list of things you wanted to ask them. Or if they danced on answering you, you could always try and find Luke and Kieran. Wherever those two had disappeared to.

“So where should we start?” you ask a little nervous but also bussing with excitement. Like have you seen this? Part of your most loved characters are here in the flesh before you. Of course you have trillions of questions, but you are happy, and I won’t be looking at the gifted horse teeth. You were thankful for this awesome gift and would treasure it forever and ever.

“Pipsqueak, it’s a lot; maybe we can just be happy that we are together now” Zayne gave Caleb a warning look.

“Caleb, we promised we would tell her. Not leave her in the dark of the situation. I know we want to protect her, but leaving this kind of information from the start could deter the relationship we want to build on the long run” Zayne said commandingly. The kind of command you heard of him when being Dawnbreaker Zayne or Doctor Zayne. Not gonna lie, you were fangirling about that. The aura he was giving was amazing.

“Having fun, kitten?” Sylus murmurs into your ear when he passed behind you to take out the empty cup of his to the trash. You warn him with a look. Your nose scrunching making him think how adorable you looked, like a kitten that was turning redder by the second with the fact of having been caught red-handed. Oh, he was totally going to have fun with that knowledge.

“It’s okay, cutie. I too love that side of him,” Rafayel said “I like dominating it more, though”.

“Rafayel!” you whisper a scream to him almost red as a tomato. You started regretting your thankfulness, you wouldn’t survive with these 5 dudes.

I need my mom –you thought.

“Caleb, please” You beg looking at him after a few seconds of silence where the ambience felt heavy enough to cut with a knife. “I need to know. I must know what is happening so that I can help too or see what we can do and plan with you all. Living in the dark could put me more at risk than knowing. We will be okay, safe and sound, but we need to work as a team for that to happen”.

“She is right” Xavier said looking at his cup moving ever so slightly the straw still a little sleepy but looking intently towards the half-full cup.

Caleb sighs and moves his sight from Xavier back to you. That frown softening. You knew he still didn’t like the situation, and you understood. You would want for the ones you love to keep living without worrying about anything, blissfully unaware, but you also understood that joining forces is better than acting alone and Caleb needed to understand that too. He wasn’t alone, not now, not ever again, if it was in your capacity and of the other guys too.

“Fine. I’m still not happy about it. You must promise me if we say stay back you will do so. We can’t lose you now. This is bigger than us. Do you understand?” You nod, still feeling how he wasn’t hundred percent okay with the decision.

“I do, coronel. I’ll follow the rules if you do too.” You smile trying to lighten his mood. And it works, he lets a little laugh break through his coronel’s persona.

“So, it’s decided we are telling everything, but this must stay between everyone on this table unless we say otherwise, understood?” Rafayel said looking pointily at your friends and then at you but winking for you at the end. Again, the aura these guys carried would be the end of you.

Infold look at what you have done.

A chorus of yes were said but before any of the guys could say anything more Caleb stood up with a poker face you knew well from the cards. He took his already finished tea and hovered over the trash can, unmoving.

You look over to the guys. Some of them let out a sigh. Xavier made a motion to stand up, but you stop him taking his hand back into yours.

“Let me, please. I think I can do this” Sylus and Xavier nod leaving more space for me to get out of the table Rafayel still looking troubled about my statement.

“Caleb?” you ask once you reach him seeing how he is playing with what once was a good to use straw.

“Not now, pipsqueak. Go Back and listen to them.” He says almost like a murmur.

“They can tell me the story later, but right now I need to talk to you”. You try and put yourself between the trash can and him “. Hey, look. I know this isn’t ideal, but you need to understand my point of view like I do yours. I’m also scared to shits. What if something happens to you all because of being here. Be it Astra, or EVER, or even people from my world. I don’t want to lose you the same way I know you don’t want to lose me.” He looks at you now, face unmoving, almost like he is mad at you and ready to kill, but his eyes tell a different story. As if there were two Calebs fighting for power.

“Love, my heart. You know me. Even if it sounds weird for me to be saying this. In the small amount of time that you have been with me, you have demonstrated that you somehow know how I am. So… you know why you need to tell me. I need to know so I can be more cautious. That way I can be in the lookout for patterns, suspicious activity, maybe the way they talk, walk or present themselves”.

“You think too much” he stops my rambling still angry looking, but you can detect how he is also trying not to laugh at your own paranoia even though he was trying not to show how your paranoia was well founded. He needed to protect you, for you to look at him as your protector. He didn’t allow himself to show weakness.

“If you knew I was like this then why did you chose me” you joke as you always do with your friends, he lets a small laugh still torturing the poor straw with his hands.

You stop him gently by taking the straw and throwing it into the trashcan while keeping both of his hands in your own. Making small movements trying to direct his thoughts back to you and the moment at hand.

“I can’t be on the dark, Caleb. I’m not MC even if my dad says I could punch a very good combo I’m still no hunter, nor do I have an evol to my knowledge. So, please… let me have this at least. I know where you are coming from, but I also know that this is not the way to do things. Not when so much it’s at stake.” You pause letting him and yourself have a moment to take your words in.

“There will be moments when you or the guys aren’t with me and—”

“We wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let that happen” he stops you.

“Caleb, you don’t know that. Shit can happen or maybe I’m alone because I went to buy more chocolate or—”

“No” he says. Interrupting you again. Like he is fighting with himself and his thoughts.

Why were you telling all these scenarios? Why wouldn’t you let them accompany you everywhere? He wouldn’t let you be alone. He can buy that chocolate, even make one himself. Or tell Sylus so Mephisto keeps an eye on you. His heartbeat started to skyrocket as more fake scenarios of you in possible danger came to his mind.

“Do you want me to be a bird in a cage, Caleb?” and that simple question does it. He takes you by the shoulders, his eyes piercing yours almost like, you internally laugh at the irony, an animal that’s been caged for too long.

“Don’t put words in my mouth” And your full name came with that. No pet names. No pipsqueak or any other. You know he was serious after that. “Don’t. Just, don’t.”

“Caleb, please” you beg, “I’m not her.��

“You are! Yes, you are. Not the same but, yes.” You don’t understand what he means, and he knows that. Frustrated, he puts a hand over his mouth like he doesn’t even know where to begin or how to explain himself. After a few seconds he seemed to conclude over whatever was on his mind. “Not here. Too many eyes, too many ears. We will explain when we get home. For now, you get the version they are telling your friends so they can understand the heaviness of the situation at hand”.

You nod, still a little confused, but you thought: this is as good as it can get…for now.

With that being said, the both of you return to the conjoined tables more ‘calmly’ if you could call it that. Though… this time Caleb didn’t let you sit on your chair, but he moved you towards his lap and you let him. Something in you told you that this was the only way he could feel calm right now. Having you here; close to him as possible ready to act if anything came to shove. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had his gun hidden somewhere in his jacket or pants. Or maybe his evol could be enough.

Your friends almost laugh and you, being the mature one, you stick out your tongue out to them. Then you laugh remembering the phrase Zayne said once. The one of him being at least more mature than MC.

“As I was saying, this is something we will deal with, but you need to let us handle the heavy stuff and do as we say” Zayne continued.

“This is sounding like a bank robbery.” Your friend pointed out trying to lighten the mood.

“You need to understand, we are working with a god and people that could well be like a mafia.”

“Think of it as if Ever, the group Zayne is talking about, was Hydra from Marvel”. You said trying to make your friends better understand what your dear doctor was trying to explain.

“Oh, that’s bad, really bad. Are you going to be okay, though?” your friend asked you directly.

“With them at my side I know I’m gonna be in the safest place. Don’t worry guys. These guys are something else I tell you.”

“Thank you for the high praise, pipsqueak.” Caleb said almost immediately, looking at you like he wanted to laugh and smother you in kisses at how dearly he felt at your statement.

“I’m just stating facts” you countered almost wanting to pout at the embarrassment you felt with all the eyes laying upon you.

You look at Zayne pleadingly and then at Xavier. Asking them or at least hoping they understand that you are asking for mercy.

“Neither Astra nor Ever are going to stop till they get what they want. We need to be careful. If we got out of the “game”, they could too. It’s just a thing of waiting until they realize what is happening and we need to be prepared for that.” Xavier continued.

“They could also join forces with people of our world” you added, thinking as always in all the possibilities and outcomes.

You stayed in silence thinking and digesting all the cards that were now laid upon the table. The only thing that got you out of that state was your name being dropped by Sylus.

You look back at him and as if he could read your mind he answered.

“I know you are scared, my beloved. But as you said, we’ve got everything under control you just need to trust us. Your loved ones will be okay too. We got you.”

And with those last words you knew that no matter what happened next you were going to be okay. With that thought you leaned more into Caleb, letting his arms engulf you with his warmth.

𝚂𝚄𝙿𝙿𝙾𝚁𝚃 𝚄𝚂 𝙱𝚈 𝚃𝙸𝙿𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰 𝙲𝙾𝙵𝙵𝙴𝙴!

[arkosfan]

Time Pass by Titus and Calgar Along Their Brothers Blasting Demons with Their Primarch Robute Guilliman

Moving from day to night, we find ourselves in the new student barracks/dormitories, and the changes and differences for every male and female student are immediately noticeable.

Where once there were hormonal teenagers and idiots, now they were just a shadow of their former selves.

You can see them lying in the fetal position, others in denial, others saying it was a nightmare or an elaborate prank by Arc.

RS: I want My Mommy

RS: This is BULLSHIT, This CAN'T be real, sure it's a Nigthmare

RS: PRETTY FUNNY ARC STOP THIS BULLSHIT!!! ISN'T FUN ANYMORE!!!

Everyone now has a similar black Pijamas for men and women, and those who tried to wear their old ones were punished by sleeping naked on the floor.........Both men and women... with some begging to sleep next to classmates or their lovers, but everyone involved was punished the same.

RS: I CAN'T WEAR THIS!!! IS HORRIBLE!!!! (You can Guess who's)

RS: STOP!!! THEY WILL TEAR YOUR CLOTHES!!!

RS: AT LEAST YOU'RE WEARING SOMETHING!!! STOP LOOKING AT MY ASS!!!

RS: STOP LOOKING AT MY BREAST!!! OF COURSE MY TITS ARE HARD, IMBECIL!! IT'S COLD HERE!!!!

RS: HONEY PLEASE LET ME SLEEP WITH YOU!!!

RS: STOP LOOKING AT MY DICK, IT'S COLD HERE!!!

RS: THE FLOOR IT'S TO HARD!!!

No one dared to help anyone now. That didn't stop them from enjoying the free show, a small consolation for all these poor devils/devils.

Those who chose to find solace in the warmth, lust, and passion of others were granted this small luxury... hell awaited them, and the soldiers already knew that they would either die or become servants first.

Soldier1: Those Brats Will die in the Training Tomorrow.

Soldier2: Yeah, those bastards are fucking like animals Trying to Forget about today.

Soldier3: should we stop those?? They're making an orgy.

Soldier1: No, let them have This tonight, Tomorrow Will be worse.

Instead of separate rooms for teams, they now have common rooms that serve as dormitories for a certain number of students.

Everyone now has their hair cut military-style, with many, especially women, mourning the loss of their beautiful long hair, as they now only have the regulation length.

Yang: My Hair 😥😥😥😥 My Beautiful Hair 😭😭😭😭 *Say While hold her Beautiful Golden Hair........ Or what it left in Her Hands*

Weiss: MY HAIR, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY HAIR!?!? GIVE ME MY HAIR BACK!!!! 😭😭😭

Blake: 🥺🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭😭

Of course, there were those who complained or tried to intimidate with their names or social positions... those ended up bald and may never have hair again.

Many were clutching their stomachs in pain, as after being taken to have their hair cut and their uniforms issued, they were instructed in their new drill routines and military and combat training.

Nora: REN!!! MY 🥞🥞🥞 😭😭😭😭 THEY BURN MY 🥞🥞🥞

Ruby: 😭😭😭😭🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪

Pyrrha: Shhh shh, it's ok Ruby 🥺🥺🥺

Needless to say, they saw how lethal and relentless the Astra Millitarum soldiers are... but unfortunately for them, the commissar forces his soldiers to train with such a brutal regimen that even the other commissars find it excessive....... well, Commissar Arc receives missions from even the Custodes themselves and even from Primarch Robute Guilliman himself.

Yes... these poor bastards were assigned to the commissar who is entrusted with the most difficult and impossible missions that even the Custodes believe are impossible. Hence, he demands so much from his soldiers.

However, since he arrived here and obtained information about this Aura and Semblance... he has forced them to undergo a training regimen that even the Primaris consider Inhuman.......hmp!!! Cowards, his veteran soldiers are awaiting this new training regimen once they manage to obtain all the secrets and information about this Aura for the Soldiers and Astartes, because he has had a vision from the Emperor himself to secure this world!!!!

.

.

.

But he also received a vision of himself... one where he isn't a commissioner or a soldier... but who also possesses an Aura.

He even found information about him in this world....... about his family, something that shouldn't be true since his world died to the Demons when he was still a cadet!

What secrets does this Virgin world hold?

Unexpected Guest Part 2

A/N: none of this is Canon to three Arc’s Au, this is just a rwby shitpost I'd doing with @arkosfan. but if anyone else wish to join in this shitpost writing, you are more than welcome to join in.

The students and the Thems of RWBY and JNPR (minus Jaune) ware all enjoying a nice lunch at the beacons cafeteria, with all the students either chatting with their friends or simply eating their food.

Meanwhile both teams RWBY and JNPR were noticing that their lovable blonde golf ball knight was missing.

Ruby: Hey guys, has any of you seen Jaune?

Weiss: No.

Blake: No.

Yang: Nah.

Nora: Nope.

Ren: I haven't seen him.

Pyrrha: No.

This fact of none of them seen Jaune, has made them to be slightly concerned from their friend/partner/team leader.

Ren: Come to think of it, we didn't saw him in your dorm room when we all woke up.

Nora: Yeah! Fearless leader is always the last to wake up, So why he wasn't in his bed? *gasp* Maybe he was taking… BY ALIENS!!!

Weiss: Seriously Valkyrie. don't be ridiculous, There’s no such thing as aliens.

Nora: YES THERE IS!

Weiss: *rolls eyes* it's obviously that Arc Got himself lost, probably forgot what his left and right was again.

Ruby: WEISS! that's mean. *puffed up her cheeks in the childish way*

At this point Pyrrha, Jaune’s own partner. was beginning to be concerned for her partner/secret crush well-being, which the rest of the group notice this.

Pyrrha: Do you think he's okay?

Yang: Chill out P-money, I'm sure vomit boy is fine. I mean, what could worse hap-

BOOM!!!!

A large explosion blew out the cafeteria doorway, with the entire entrance become nothing but rubble and smoke. All the students and the Thems of RWBY and JNPR We’re cut off guard by the explosion, with some of the students beginning screaming or outright panicking.

???: The path has been cleared, GO! GO! GO!

Ordered a heavy muffled voice as From the smoke emerged a group of heavily armed man that were all carrying heavy weapons that has tubes attach to what it seems to be a some kind of battery backpack on their backs.

???: Search the perimeter, leave no place unchecked!

The mysterious armored men has began perimeter search of the cafeteria, with some of the men unceremoniously slamming the backs of their weapons too any screaming or panicking student that got on their way. while the rest of the men made sure that the students stay put and didn't do anything stupid.

???: *prices two fingers on Vox that was on the sides of his helmet* Sir, the perimeter is secured and the student has been pacified.

As the heavy armoured soldier reported his message, heavy footsteps of letter boots can be heard from the smoke.

A New mysterious figure was slowly emerging from the smoke, But this one was different from the heavy armoured soldiers.

As this person was wearing at what looks like an black and red officers uniform with letter boots and gloves, and a officer cap with a skull on it.

The mysterious figure was slowly emerging from the smoke revealing even more of himself, with the most noticeable thing about him, is the robotic red eye that was glowing brightly in the smoke.

As the figure has finally came out of the smoke, the person has finally revealed to be none other than…

RWBYNPR: JAUNE/ARC/ VOMIT BOY!!!

The now revealed to be none other than Jaune Arc, does supposed Jaune took a long look at all of the students before turning his head towards the heavily armoured soldier.

Commissar Arc: Excellent work captain, you and your man are truly worthy of being Tempestus Scions. You and your man can all be proud of yourself.

Captain: *Gives a salute* Thank you Commissar. me and my man are doing our sworn duty, Sir!

Commissar Arc: As we all are, Captain. as we all are.

The supposed Jaune turned his gaze once again at the student, he cleared his fault. Before beginning to speak again.

Commissar Arc: Attention! students of the Schola Progenium Beacon Academy! I am Commissar Jaune Arc, loyal servant of the golden throne!

The now identified to be Jaune Arc or rather Commissar Arc. His booming authoritarian voice was a echo across the cafeteria, making sure that none student were dare to interrupt him or say a word without his permission.

Commissar Arc: By the will of the god Emperor, me and many others warriors of the imperium were brought here to your world to bring the imperial of truth and the light of the emperor upon your world!

with each word, he said. The student can hear the zealous and relative fanaticism towards this mysterious God Emperor, that he was mentioning numerous time.

Commissar Arc: So with this day forward you're all conscripted into Imperial Guard, you all shall serve the Emperor's will. *intensify his glare* previous instructors and headmaster were relieved after their duties for their incompetence, for not training you into proper protectors of man. *his voice becoming more harsh and loud* So from now on, I am in charge of this Schola Progenium. I will make sure that each and one of you into proper soldiers! *Now speaks with a calm yet threatening voice* But If any of you would dare objecting my or the Emperor's authority,*raises his boltgun* You shall face a dishonourable death!

these last words from the Commissar’s booming speech, has made all students fall in shock and disbelief. But most importantly, the Commissar has made all the students to be on the edge and shake in fear.

Commissar Arc: Now, Does anyone has any questions?

[stinkbeck]

still can’t believe one of my profs tried to catch me in a lie that one of my protags had going on lol. i feel like there was 1 person in that program who knew me lmfao.

[pucksandpower]

Since Forever

Max Verstappen x Schumacher!Reader

Summary: there’s been one constant in Max’s life since his first wobbly toddler steps in the paddock — he’s loved her since he was ten, through scraped knees and family vacations — and now it’s time that the rest of the world knows it too

Warnings: depictions of Michael Schumacher post-accident which are entirely fictitious because none of us truly know how he’s doing nowadays

The Red Bull garage smells like brake dust, adrenaline, and over-commercialized energy drinks. It’s chaos in that organized, obsessive way Formula 1 teams thrive on. Engineers speak in clipped, caffeinated sentences. Tires hum against concrete. Data streams across ten thousand screens.

And then you walk in.

“Is that-”

“No way.”

“Schumacher?”

You’re used to it. The way your last name wraps around every whispered sentence like a secret. Like a warning. Like a prayer. You keep your shoulders back, walk straight through the center of the garage in black trousers and the team-issued polo. The Red Bull crest is stitched onto your chest like it’s always belonged there.

Christian sees you first.

“Look who finally decided to join us,” he says, striding forward like he hasn’t been texting you at ungodly hours for three weeks straight.

You smile, small and knowing. “You know, most teams onboard a new staff member with an email.”

“You’re not most staff. You’re a Schumacher.”

“Still have to sign an NDA like everyone else, though, right?”

Christian laughs, claps you on the shoulder. “Welcome to the team. We’re all thrilled. And Helmut — well, he’s pretending not to be, so that’s basically the same.”

“Flattering.”

You don’t say more because you don’t need to. You feel it before you see it. The shift. Like gravity getting heavier in one very specific corner of the room.

And then-

“Y/N?”

His voice slices through the garage like it was built for this very moment. Not loud, not urgent — just certain. You look up. And Max is already moving. He doesn’t walk, doesn’t run. He just moves. Like the world rearranges to let him reach you faster.

He’s halfway through a debrief. Headphones still hanging around his neck. One of the engineers tries to catch his sleeve.

“Max, we’re still-”

“Later.”

He says it without looking, eyes locked on you. The garage quiets. Not because people stop talking, but because no one can pretend they’re not watching. The way his mouth tugs into a smile. The way his eyes soften — actually soften.

You don’t realize you’re smiling back until you feel it ache in your cheeks.

“Hey,” he says when he stops in front of you. He sounds different now. Not the Max the media knows. Not the firestorm in a race suit. This Max is … quiet. Warm.

“Hey yourself,” you say.

He doesn’t hesitate. His hand finds yours like it’s muscle memory. Like it’s what he’s always done. Like no time has passed at all.

And the silence in the garage goes from curiosity to stunned disbelief.

“You’re actually here,” Max says, voice low. “You didn’t change your mind.”

“Why would I?”

“I don’t know. Thought you might remember what this place is like.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You mean competitive? Chaotic? Full of emotionally repressed men pretending they don’t need therapy?”

He laughs, really laughs. It’s the kind that creases the corners of his eyes. The kind that makes even Helmut Marko glance over from a screen with a raised brow.

“You’re gonna fit in just fine.”

“I’m not here to fit in, Max. I’m here to work.”

He squeezes your hand gently. “Yeah. Okay. But maybe also to see me?”

“Debatable.”

He grins. “Liar.”

And just behind him, leaning against the edge of the garage like he’s watching a slow-motion movie unfold, Jos Verstappen crosses his arms. The old-school paddock fixture, the human thunderstorm. He sees your joined hands, sees the ease between you and his son, and — for the first time in years — he smiles. A real one. A soft one.

You spot him. “Uncle Jos.”

That does it. That cracks the surface of the paddock.

“She called him Uncle Jos.”

“Did she just-”

“Holy shit.”

He pushes off the wall and walks over with that casual menace that makes grown men flinch. But not you. Never you.

“You’re late,” Jos says, but his voice is warm.

“I’m fashionably on time,” you shoot back.

“You’re your father’s daughter.”

You nod. “And you’re still terrifying. Some things never change.”

Jos chuckles. Then he puts a hand on your shoulder. And the garage collectively forgets how to breathe.

“Good to have you back.”

Max watches the exchange like it’s some kind of private miracle. Like he can’t quite believe it’s all happening out loud, in front of everyone. You look up at him, still holding his hand. He looks down at you like nothing else matters.

“You’re going to make me soft,” he mutters.

“You were already soft,” you reply.

He huffs, drops your hand only to throw an arm over your shoulders instead. Casual. Familiar. Ridiculously comfortable. And no one — not a single soul in the garage — misses the way you lean into him like you belong there.

Because you do.

“So,” Max says, glancing back at Christian, who is clearly enjoying the spectacle. “Does she get a desk? Or do we just give her mine?”

“She’s your performance psychologist,” Christian says. “Not your shadow.”

“Close enough,” Max says.

“Jesus Christ,” mutters someone in the back.

You elbow him. “You’re making this worse.”

“I’m not making anything worse,” he says, turning back to you. “You think I care what they think?”

“Max.”

“They’ve always talked. Let them talk.”

You sigh. But it’s the kind of sigh you’ve always saved for him — half exasperated, half enamored. “This is going to be a circus.”

“We were always the main act, anyway.”

It’s true, and he knows it. From karting in the middle of nowhere to Monaco summers and Christmases in St. Moritz. You and Max were a constant. A unit before you knew what that even meant.

And now here you are. Older. A little more tired. A little more careful. But still you.

A comms guy in a headset leans over and whispers something to Christian, who nods.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Christian says. “Much as I’m enjoying the reunion special, some of us still have a car to run. Y/N, your office is upstairs. We cleared the far corner for you — less noise, more privacy.”

“Perfect,” you say.

Max doesn’t move.

“Max,” Christian warns.

“In a second,” he replies, and somehow it’s not bratty, just firm.

You turn to him, squeezing his wrist this time. “I’ll see you after?”

“Try and stop me.”

And then — just when you think he’s going to let you go like a normal person — he leans in. Presses his lips to your temple in the most casual, unremarkable, intimate gesture in the world.

And that’s the moment the garage truly loses its mind.

Phones are out. Whispers spiral.

Max Verstappen kissed someone in the middle of the garage.

Max Verstappen is in love.

You pull away, roll your eyes at the attention, but Max just smirks and says, “Told you they’d talk.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, walking toward the stairs.

“You used to like that about me.”

You don’t turn around. Just throw a hand up over your shoulder in mock surrender. “Still do.”

And Max?

He watches you go with that same expression he used to wear when he crossed finish lines as a kid. Like he’s already won.

***

When you open the door to the Monaco apartment that evening, you don’t even get your bag off your shoulder before Max says, “You’re late.”

He’s barefoot, shirtless, still damp from the shower, a tea towel thrown over one shoulder like he’s playing housewife. The smell of something lemony and warm wafts from the kitchen. He’s already made you dinner. Of course he has.

“I said I’d be home after eight,” you reply, dropping your bag and slipping off your shoes. “It’s eight-oh-six.”

“Which is late.” He walks toward you, frowning like you’ve personally offended him.

“You sound like my dad.”

Max stops in front of you, looks down with that slow smile that always disarms you more than it should. “Your dad liked me.”

You snort. “My dad made you sleep on the sofa for five straight summers.”

“Because I was thirteen and in love with you. He was protecting his daughter l.”

You laugh, eyes softening. He leans in, presses his lips to your forehead. “You’re tired.”

“I’m always tired.”

“I’ll fix that.”

“You’re not a sleep aid.”

He pulls away, grinning. “I am if you let me be.”

You smack his chest and walk past him, straight to the kitchen where there’s already a mug waiting on the counter — chamomile, oat milk, two teaspoons of honey. Exactly how you like it. You don’t even remember telling him the ratio. He just knows.

“You unpacked my books,” you say, surprised.

Max shrugs. “You’ve had those same four boxes for three years. Figured it was time someone gave them a shelf.”

“In your apartment.”

He leans against the counter, arms folded. “You live here.”

You tilt your head. “Do I?”

Max raises an eyebrow. “You’ve got three drawers in my closet, your toothbrush is in my bathroom, and I bought non-dairy milk for your weird tea. You live here.”

You take a sip and sigh. “You didn’t really give me a choice.”

“You didn’t argue.”

“Because you unpacked everything before I even had time to look for a place.”

He shrugs again, smug. “Felt like a waste of time. You were gonna end up here anyway.”

You hate that he’s right. You really do. But he’s so smug and soft about it — never controlling, just sure. Sure of you. It’s terrifying. And wonderful.

“You didn’t even leave a single box for me,” you say, feigning irritation.

“I left one,” he says. “It’s in the bedroom.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

He looks at you, serious now. “It’s the one with your karting suit in it.”

Oh.

The memory crashes into you, vivid and sharp.

***

You’re nine years old and your leg is bleeding.

Not a little. Not a scratch. Bleeding.

Max is already beside you on the asphalt before anyone else reaches the track. He’s crouched down, pale, shaking, trying to keep your helmet steady with trembling fingers.

“You’re okay,” he says, but he sounds like he might cry. “You’re fine. You’re okay.”

“I’m not crying,” you snap.

“Good,” he says. “Because if you cry, I’ll cry. And I’m not crying.”

Then he takes your hand.

And doesn’t let go.

He holds it all the way to the ambulance, all the way through the stitches. Jos tried to pry him off you once. Michael stopped him.

“She’s fine,” Jos said.

But Michael just smiled.

“She will be,” he said, “because he’s not going anywhere.”

***

Back in the kitchen, Max watches you closely. You set the mug down and turn to him.

“That’s why you left the box?”

He nods. “Didn’t want to touch that one.”

You take a slow breath. The air feels thick with everything you’re not saying.

“Did you keep it?” You ask. “The one from your first win?”

“Framed it,” he says. “It’s in the sim room.”

“Next to your helmets?”

He nods. “Next to your letters.”

Your throat tightens. “You kept them.”

Max looks at you like you’ve just said something ridiculous. “Of course I kept them. You wrote me every week for two years.”

“I didn’t think you’d still have them.”

“They’re the only reason I got through that time. You know that.”

You do. God, you do.

***

Another flash: summer in the south of France. You’re thirteen. He’s fourteen. Your families have rented a villa together, as always. It’s hot and lazy and stupidly perfect.

You’re floating in the pool, eyes closed, and he splashes you on purpose. You scream. He laughs.

Later, he sits beside you on the balcony, his leg brushing yours under the table. He doesn’t move it.

“I think I’m gonna marry you one day,” he says, out of nowhere.

You nearly choke on your lemonade. “What?”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re not serious.”

He looks at you. Really looks at you. “I am.”

Your dad walks out just then, sees you both with flushed faces, and sighs so loud it could be heard across the bay.

“I swear,” Michael mutters, half to himself, “he’s going to marry her. Jos owes me fifty euros.”

***

Now, standing in your shared kitchen in Monaco, you lean against the counter and say, “My dad predicted this, you know.”

Max doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah. He told me when I was twelve.”

“What?”

“We were in Italy. You had that meltdown after you lost the junior heat.”

You remember it. You remember throwing your helmet and screaming into a tire wall. You remember Max just sitting beside you until you stopped.

“He came over and said ‘You’ll marry her one day. I hope you realize that.’”

You stare. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that?”

Max shrugs, looking down at the mug in your hand. “Didn’t want to scare you off.”

“You were twelve.”

“Still could’ve scared you off.”

You laugh, soft and disbelieving. “You’re insane.”

He leans in, presses a kiss just below your jaw. “You love it.”

You do.

You really, really do.

***

Later, you’re curled up on the sofa, legs over his lap, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your ankle. The TV’s on, some mindless movie you’re not watching. You’re both too tired to talk, but not tired enough to stop touching.

Max breaks the silence. “They think I’ve changed.”

You glance at him. “Who?”

“The team. Everyone. They look at me like I’ve become someone else.”

You shift, sit up slightly. “Because you hugged me in the garage?”

“Because I let them see it.”

You frown. “Do you regret that?”

Max turns his head to you, slow and deliberate. “Never.”

Then, quieter, “I just didn’t expect how much it would shake them.”

You study his face. There’s a war behind his eyes — one part him still battling the image he built, the other part desperate to tear it all down for you.

“You’ve always been soft with me,” you say. “They’re just catching up.”

He exhales, long and tired. “They’re going to ask questions.”

“Let them.”

“You know I don’t care about the noise,” he says. “But I care about you.”

You nod, moving closer until your forehead rests against his. “You make me feel safe.”

“I want to.”

“You do.”

He closes his eyes, breathes you in. “Then I don’t give a damn what they think.”

You smile. “There’s the Max I know.”

***

You fall asleep that night in his t-shirt, tucked into his side, his hand splayed across your hip like he’s making sure you don’t drift too far.

The last thing you hear before sleep claims you is his voice, soft and certain in the dark.

“You’ve always been mine.”

And you don’t say it out loud — but you know it, too.

***

Dinner in Monaco is supposed to be discreet.

But nothing about Max Verstappen sitting at a corner table with you — his arm stretched lazily along the back of your chair, his thumb tracing absent circles into your shoulder — feels subtle.

Not to Lando, at least.

He spots you from across the restaurant. He’s walking in with a few friends, half-distracted, arguing about who’s paying the bill when he stops mid-sentence.

“Wait, no fucking way.”

Oscar glances at him. “What?”

Lando squints.

“No way.”

At first he sees just Max. Max in a black linen shirt, sleeves pushed up, hair tousled like he’d showered and walked straight here without looking in the mirror once. Relaxed. Like he’s not the reigning world champion with the weight of four back-to-back seasons on his shoulders.

But then he sees you.

You’re laughing.

Not polite chuckle laughing. Full body, shoulders-shaking laughing. One hand over your mouth, the other pressed to Max’s forearm like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the present.

And Max-

Max is smiling. Not grinning like he does after a fastest lap. Not smirking like he does when he overtakes someone into Turn 1. Smiling. Wide, open, boyish. Like it’s just the two of you and the rest of the world can fuck off.

“Mate,” Lando whispers, stunned. “He’s pouring her wine.”

Oscar follows his gaze. “Holy shit.”

Max tilts the bottle just right, careful not to spill a drop, and doesn’t even blink when you steal a sip from his instead. He lets you do it. Like it’s happened a thousand times. Like it’s yours anyway.

Lando keeps staring.

“Are they-”

“Looks like.”

“When did-”

Oscar shrugs. “You’ve known him for a while, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, I-” Lando shakes his head. “I just didn’t think …”

He trails off, watching Max lean over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Not hurried. Not performative. Just gentle.

Max, being gentle.

“I’ve gotta say something,” Lando mutters.

Oscar blinks. “Why?”

“Because if I don’t, I’ll explode.”

And before Oscar can stop him, Lando peels off from the group and makes a beeline for your table.

***

You’re still laughing when you feel the shadow loom over the table.

“Now this is a sight I never thought I’d see,” Lando says, hands in his pockets like he’s wandered into a museum exhibit.

Max doesn’t even flinch. “Hi, Lando.”

You look up, grinning. “Hey.”

Lando stares between you both like he’s waiting for someone to yell Gotcha!

“You’re smiling,” he says to Max, incredulous.

Max raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“And you’re touching her. In public.”

“She’s mine,” Max says easily. “Why wouldn’t I touch her?”

Lando sits himself down at the edge of your table without asking. “No, see, this is wild. You’re smiling. You’re pouring her wine. You just-” He points at Max. “You tucked her hair. You tucked her hair.”

“Are you having a stroke?” You ask, fighting another laugh.

“Don’t play it cool,” Lando says. “This is monumental. I’ve known this guy for years. He barely makes eye contact with me, and now he’s feeding you olives.”

Max calmly pops one into your mouth. You chew it slowly, grinning.

Lando’s jaw drops. “That. That. Right there.”

“Glad you stopped by,” Max says dryly.

“You like him like this?” Lando asks you, scandalized.

“I love him like this,” you say, just to watch Lando’s face implode.

Max smirks, proud. “Careful. You’re going to choke on your disbelief.”

Lando leans back in the chair, still staring like he’s just discovered aliens live in Monaco and go by the name Verstappen.

“When did this happen?”

You glance at Max. “Depends. Do you want the karting story? The vacation story? The letters? The part where my dad called it before I even hit puberty?”

Lando blinks. “Letters?”

“She wrote me letters for two years,” Max says, like it’s common knowledge.

“I-” Lando stutters. “What? You wrote him letters?”

“Every week,” you say.

“She was in Switzerland. I was doing F3,” Max adds.

“And you kept them?”

Max’s voice softens. “Of course.”

Lando looks like he might cry. “I thought you were a robot.”

“He’s not,” you say. “He’s just careful.”

Max shrugs. “She knows me. That’s all.”

A beat of quiet falls over the table, warm and strange. Lando frowns down at the half-eaten bread basket like it’s going to offer some kind of emotional clarity.

Then-

“Wait. Does Jos know?”

“Of course he knows,” Max says.

Lando laughs. “Oh, God. I bet he flipped. He hates when anyone distracts you.”

You sip your wine.

“Jos adores her,” Max says.

And as if summoned by prophecy, Jos fucking Verstappen walks into the restaurant.

Lando nearly knocks his glass over. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Jos spots you first. He nods once at Max, then walks over to the table with all the urgency of a man browsing a farmer’s market.

“Y/N,” he says, and then he leans in and kisses you on the cheek.

Lando drops his fork.

“Hi, Uncle Jos,” you say, smiling.

“Good to see you,” Jos replies, warm and surprisingly soft. He looks at Max, gives him a firm nod. “She settling in?”

“Perfectly,” Max replies.

Jos claps him on the shoulder once — approval, affection, something else unspoken — then disappears toward the bar.

Lando stares after him like he’s just seen a ghost.

“Since when does Jos smile?” He hisses.

Max smirks, takes a slow sip of wine. “Since forever,” he says, “with her.”

***

After dinner, Max laces his fingers through yours as you walk along the quiet Monaco street. The ocean glimmers to your left. The lights are low, golden. Your heels click softly against the cobblestones.

“You okay?” He asks.

You glance up. “More than.”

“Sorry about Lando. He means well.”

You smile. “It was kind of funny.”

He chuckles, squeezes your hand. “I meant what I said, you know.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

You stop walking, tug him gently so he turns to face you. “Even the part where I’m yours?”

His voice is low. Serious.

“Especially that part.”

You lean in, forehead against his. “Then you’re mine, too.”

“Always have been.”

The city hums around you. Somewhere, someone laughs. A boat horn echoes softly in the harbor.

And Max kisses you like he’s never known anything else.

***

It starts, as most things do in the Red Bull motorhome, with Yuki Tsunoda standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He’s hunting for snacks — something chocolate-adjacent and preferably smuggled from catering. He’s halfway through opening a cupboard when he hears voices coming from the other side of the thin wall that separates the corridor from Helmut’s little meeting nook.

One voice is unmistakable. Gravel and grumble and full of slow-burning nostalgia.

Jos Verstappen.

Yuki stills.

“I said thirteen,” Jos says. “Michael said sixteen.”

There’s a beat of silence, the sound of a spoon clinking gently against ceramic. Helmut, Yuki guesses, is stirring his sixth espresso of the morning. Probably about to scoff at whatever nonsense Jos is peddling.

But Jos goes on. “We had a bet.”

Yuki blinks. A bet?

“On Max and Y/N?” Helmut sounds surprised. “You’re telling me that’s been going on since-”

Jos chuckles, low and fond. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see them.”

There’s a pause. “I said they’d kiss first at thirteen. Michael said they’d get secretly engaged at sixteen.”

Yuki’s jaw drops. He forgets the cupboard, forgets the snack, forgets why he’s even standing there. He presses his ear closer to the thin wall.

“What actually happened?” Helmut asks.

Jos laughs. Really laughs. Not the bitter kind — the real kind. The kind that sounds like it’s been waiting years to escape.

“Turns out,” he says, “Max gave her a ring pop when they were ten and called it a promise.”

There’s the scrape of a chair being pushed back. Jos again. “He said — and I swear, Helmut, I swear — he said, ‘It’s not real, but I’ll make it real later.’”

Helmut mutters something in disbelief, but Yuki’s not listening anymore.

Ten.

Ten years old.

***

It’s impossible to unhear.

That’s what Yuki decides an hour later, legs bouncing under the table in the drivers’ debrief while Max sits across from him looking utterly, maddeningly normal.

Except … not.

Max is focused, sure. He’s got the data sheet in one hand, telemetry open on his tablet, and he’s nodding at something the engineer says. But his foot taps. His eyes flick, just once, toward the clock on the wall.

And then, suddenly, he shifts forward, cuts the meeting off mid-sentence.

“Give me five.”

The room stills.

The engineer frowns. “You want-”

“Five minutes.”

“No, of course, just, uh, okay?”

Max’s phone is already in his hand. He’s out the door before anyone can question it.

Yuki waits a beat, then rises too. He murmurs something about needing the loo and slips out after him, ducking into the corridor just in time to see Max rounding the corner toward the hospitality suite.

He slows when he hears the door open, then Max’s voice — low, quiet, more intimate than Yuki’s ever heard.

“Hey. Did you eat?”

There’s a pause. Yuki’s heart thumps. He knows it’s you on the other side.

“Max,” you say, fond and exasperated. “I’m fine.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I had a bar earlier. And a banana.”

“A banana,” Max repeats like it’s an insult to your entire bloodline.

“I’m working.”

“I’ll bring you something.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to.”

Another pause. Then your voice, softer. “You’re supposed to be in the debrief.”

“I’m supposed to make sure you’re okay.”

Yuki has to slap a hand over his own mouth to keep from reacting out loud.

Max’s voice again, lighter now: “Did you drink water?”

“You are such a-”

“Did. You. Drink.”

You sigh. “Yes. I drank water.”

There’s a smile in Max’s reply. “Good girl.”

Yuki practically blacks out.

***

When Max returns to the meeting five minutes later with an unopened granola bar still in his hand, nobody says a word. Nobody dares.

Except Yuki.

He waits until they’re in the sim lounge, just the two of them, while Max’s seat is being adjusted and the engineers are fiddling with telemetry in the back.

Then, “So … ring pop?”

Max freezes. Just for a second. Then he shoots Yuki a look.

“Where did you hear that?”

Yuki grins. “Jos and Helmut. Thin walls.”

Max sighs, shakes his head, but he doesn’t deny it.

“She still has it,” he mutters.

“No way.”

“In a box.”

“Oh my God, Max.”

Max shrugs. “It wasn’t for anyone else.”

Yuki leans back, grinning like it’s Christmas morning. “You were in love at ten.”

Max just smiles. “Yeah. And I still am.”

***

Later that afternoon, you wander into the garage between meetings, one hand in your pocket, the other rubbing a spot at the base of your neck where stress always seems to collect. Max finds you before you even reach catering.

He always does.

“You didn’t finish your bar,” he says, holding up the wrapper like it’s damning evidence in a courtroom.

You give him a look. “You checked?”

“I check everything.”

He moves closer, smooths a wrinkle from your shirt with one hand, then slips the other to the small of your back. His touch is warm. Steady. His body shields you automatically from the chaos behind you — people moving, talking, planning — but all you feel is him.

“I had coffee,” you offer.

“Not food.”

“Coffee is made of beans.”

“Y/N.”

You laugh. “Okay. I’ll eat. Just don’t tell Yuki I’m stealing his instant ramen.”

Max smirks. “About that …”

You narrow your eyes. “What did you do?”

“Nothing. He just overheard something.”

“Max.”

He kisses your temple. “It’s fine.”

“Define fine.”

“He found out about the ring pop.”

Your mouth drops open. “You told him?”

“Jos told Helmut. Yuki eavesdropped.”

“Oh my God.”

Max shrugs. “I gave you my first promise. And I’m keeping it.”

You fall quiet, heart doing somersaults in your chest. You’re suddenly ten again, sticky-fingered and sun-drenched, holding a cherry-flavored ring pop while Max grinned at you like he’d just won Le Mans.

You reach for his hand now, fingers threading through his.

“You have kept it.”

He nods, solemn. “Every day.”

***

Jos watches from the hallway, arms folded, expression unreadable.

Yuki sidles up next to him.

“They’re pretty intense,” Yuki mutters.

Jos glances at him.

“She’s the only person he ever listens to,” he says.

Then he smiles.

Again.

Yuki shakes his head. “Unreal.”

***

The Red Bull garage is silent in that way only disaster can command.

Not the loud kind of disaster. Not the chaos of spinning tires or radio static or desperate engineers shouting into headsets. No, this is worse. This is the silence that comes when the pit wall realizes, together, that the lap isn’t going to finish. That the car isn’t going to limp back. That there’s only carbon fiber confetti, blinking yellow flags, and a flickering onboard camera showing Max Verstappen’s helmet motionless in the cockpit, framed by smoke and gravel.

He’s not moving.

“Red flag. Red flag. That’s Max in the wall.”

GP’s voice crackles through the comms, tight with alarm.

“Talk to me, Max.”

Nothing.

Then-

“I’m fine.”

The radio comes alive again. Gritted teeth, labored breath.

“Fucking understeer. Car didn’t turn. I said it didn’t feel right this morning.”

You’re in the garage, watching on a monitor, a pen stilled in your hand and a racing heart thudding in your throat. The medical car is already on its way.

***

The medical center smells like antiseptic and tension.

He’s on the bed when you get there. Suit unzipped to his waist, skin smudged with gravel dust and the beginnings of bruises.

And he’s angry.

“I’m not doing a scan,” he snaps, tugging at the strap of his HANS device like it personally betrayed him. “I’m fine.”

“Max,” the doctor says with all the patience of someone who’s dealt with world champions before, “you hit the wall at a hundred and seventy. We’re doing a scan.”

“I said I’m fine-”

“Max.”

Your voice.

Quiet. Steady. Unmistakable.

He turns. The fury in his shoulders drains almost instantly.

“Schatje.”

You cross to him, not rushing — because if you rush, he’ll think you’re panicked. And if you’re panicked, he’ll dig his heels in deeper.

You cup his jaw gently, running your thumb across the spot just beneath his cheekbone. His eyes flutter closed for a second. He exhales, jaw loosening.

“Let them do the scan,” you say softly.

“I don’t want-”

“It’s not about what you want right now.”

He sighs. Mutinous. “I hate this part.”

“I know you do.” You nod, brushing sweat-matted hair from his forehead. “But I need to know you’re okay. I need the scans.”

He opens his eyes again, searching yours.

“Just a formality,” you whisper. “You’ll be out in twenty minutes.”

He hesitates. Then finally, “Okay.”

You turn to the doctor. “Go ahead.”

The doctor blinks at you like he’s watching a unicorn read a bedtime story to a lion.

Max doesn’t argue again.

GP, standing just behind the exam curtain, looks like he’s aged five years in twenty minutes. He leans toward you when Max disappears into the back for imaging.

“That was witchcraft.”

You shrug. “It’s just Max.”

“No,” GP says. “That was magic. He looked like he was about to throw a monitor at me.”

“He wouldn’t have.”

“He would’ve thrown it at me,” the doctor chimes in, still stunned. “And now he’s apologizing to the nurse. Who are you?”

You smile softly. “Just someone who knows how to talk to him.”

***

Jos arrives fifteen minutes later, face stormy and footsteps sharp. The room collectively inhales.

You’re seated in a plastic chair, eyes on the monitor that shows Max’s scan progress. You don’t turn around when Jos enters. You don’t have to.

He stops just behind you.

“Is he hurt?” He asks.

“Not seriously,” you answer. “But they need to check for microfractures. The impact was sharp on the right side.”

Jos is quiet for a long moment. Then his hand, heavy and warm, settles on your shoulder.

“You got him to agree to scans?”

You nod. “He was being Max.”

“That sounds right.”

GP, standing by the sink with a paper cup, watches the moment unfold like he’s witnessing history.

Jos Verstappen. Smiling.

Max reappears ten minutes later, changed into clean Red Bull kit, hair still damp from a quick shower.

You rise. “All clear?”

“Yeah.” He moves straight into your arms. “Just bruised.”

You press a kiss to his shoulder. “I told you it was fine.”

Max turns to Jos. “Hey.”

Jos scans him up and down, then nods once. “Could’ve been worse.”

Max shrugs. “Could’ve been better, too.”

“You’ll get it tomorrow.”

Max tilts his head. “That’s optimistic for you.”

Jos’s hand is still on your shoulder. “She makes us all softer, apparently.”

Everyone in the room hears it.

GP actually drops his cup.

**

Back in the garage later, Max sits on a folding chair while you rewrap the compression band on his wrist.

“It’s not tight, is it?”

“No.”

“You’ll tell me if it is?”

“Of course.” He smirks. “You’ll know before I say it anyway.”

You smile. “True.”

Max glances around the garage. “They’re all looking.”

You nod. “Let them.”

“I don’t care.”

“I know.”

He takes your hand in his. “Thanks for earlier.”

“You were being impossible.”

“You love it.”

You grin. “I do.”

***

Outside, the paddock buzzes with gossip.

Inside, you kneel in front of him, fingers moving expertly over tape and skin. And Max looks down at you like he did when he was ten years old with cherry candy on his finger, asking you to keep a promise he hadn’t yet learned how to name.

And still, somehow, keeping it anyway.

***

Max is late.

Which isn’t unusual — especially not after a race weekend, not when media has clawed its way through his post-crash interviews like blood in the water. He told you he’d try to be back by seven, but it’s pushing eight-thirty, and the pasta you made sits cold on the counter while you curl up on the couch in one of his hoodies, a blanket around your shoulders and a book cracked open across your knees.

The apartment smells like rosemary and garlic and something so distinctly him that it makes your chest hurt. You should be used to this place by now — your name on the buzzer, your shoes by the door, your shampoo next to his in the shower — but some days it still feels like walking around in someone else’s dream.

The book is old. Max’s, clearly. Worn at the spine and dog-eared in ways that suggest he’s either read it a thousand times or used it to prop up furniture. You only picked it up to pass the time. You weren’t expecting it to feel like a trapdoor.

You weren’t expecting the letter.

It slips out from between two pages around chapter eleven, delicate and yellowed and folded into a square so neat it feels like it was handled by trembling hands. Which, you realize instantly, it probably was.

Your name is written on the front in Max’s handwriting.

But it’s Max’s handwriting from before.

When he still dotted his Is with a slight curve, when his Ts slanted just a little to the left, when his signature hadn’t hardened into something that looked more like a logo.

Your breath catches. You unfold it slowly.

And read.

March 5th, 2014

Y/N,

I don’t know what to say to you, so I’m writing this instead. Everyone’s talking, but no one is saying anything real. I hate it. I hate seeing the photos. I hate hearing my dad whisper when he thinks I’m not listening. I hate that I wasn’t skiing with you in France. I should have been.

You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.

You’ve always been braver than me. I don’t think I ever said that out loud, but it’s true. Even when we were kids and you crashed in Italy and your leg was bleeding and you didn’t cry — I almost did. I think I loved you even then.

I don’t know if you’ll come back to racing. I don’t know if I’ll see you in the paddock again. But if you do when you do I hope you come sit in my garage. Right in front of me. I hope I can look up and see you, just like before.

Because I drive better when you’re there. I always have.

Your Max

***

By the time you finish reading, you’re crying. Quietly. The kind of tears that don’t shake your shoulders, that don’t come with heaving sobs or gasps for breath — just the steady, unstoppable kind. The kind you didn’t know you were holding back.

The kind that were never just about the letter.

***

Max finds you like that.

The apartment door opens with its usual soft click, followed by the sound of keys in the dish and shoes kicked off against the wall. He calls out, “Schatje?” the way he always does.

When you don’t answer, he moves through the hallway, brow furrowed.

And then he sees you. Still on the couch. Eyes red. Shoulders small.

“Hey-”

He crosses to you instantly, crouching down so you’re face to face.

“What happened?” He asks, voice gentle, hands finding your knees. “What is it?”

You don’t speak. Not right away. You just reach for the folded piece of paper on the coffee table. Place it in his hand.

He looks down. Sees it. Recognizes it.

His eyes widen — then narrow. Carefully, he unfolds it.

You watch his throat work through a swallow as he reads.

Then he looks back at you.

“You found this?”

You nod. “It was in the book.”

He exhales. Drops the letter into his lap and reaches for your face, brushing your tears away with his thumb. His touch is featherlight. Reverent.

“You kept it,” you whisper.

“Of course I did.”

“I didn’t know-”

“I didn’t write it to give it to you.” Max’s voice is quiet. “I wrote it because I didn’t know how else to talk to you. You were gone. Everyone kept telling me to stay focused, to push through. But I missed you so much it made my chest hurt. I didn’t know if you’d ever come back.”

You press your forehead against his, and he leans into it like gravity is pulling him there.

“You never left me,” he murmurs. “Even when you did.”

Your breath hitches.

“I used to look at the garage before a race and pretend you were there. I’d pick a spot and tell myself, she’s sitting right there. She’s watching. Make it count.”

You sniff, choking on a watery laugh. “That’s why you got better?”

He smiles softly. “That’s why I survived.”

A pause. Then-

“I thought you might hate racing after … everything.”

You shake your head. “No. I hated losing it. I hated what it became without him. Without you.”

He shifts beside you, pulling you gently into his lap. You curl into him without hesitation, your cheek pressed against his collarbone, his hand sliding up your back and resting there, like it always does.

“I was scared,” you admit. “To come back. Not just to the paddock. To you.”

Max doesn’t flinch. He waits. Lets you speak.

“I knew if I saw you again, I wouldn’t be able to pretend we were just kids anymore. And that scared the hell out of me.”

“Why?”

“Because I never stopped loving you. Not for a second. And I didn’t know what that would mean.”

He kisses your temple. “It means you were always mine. Even when you didn’t know it yet.”

You shift to face him again. “Did you really mean it?”

“The letter?”

“Yeah.”

He holds your gaze, unwavering.

“I still mean it.”

You smile. “I sit in your garage now.”

“And I drive like I used to.”

“No,” you whisper. “You drive better.”

He grins. “Because you’re here.”

“Because I’m home.”

***

Later, much later, when the dishes are cleaned and your tears have dried, he pulls you into bed and tucks the letter between the pages of the book again.

“I want it close,” he says.

You trace the edge of his jaw. “Me too.”

Then he pulls you to his chest, your head against his heartbeat, and whispers against your hair:

“Promise me you’ll never leave again.”

You lift your chin. “Promise me you’ll always write me letters.”

He smiles.

“Deal.”

***

You don’t notice it right away.

The photo.

You’re sitting on Max’s couch, legs tangled with his, a shared blanket draped over both your laps, when your phone starts vibrating on the table.

Once.

Twice.

Then nonstop.

Max lifts his head from where it rests against your shoulder, brow furrowed. “That your phone?”

You reach over to check it, already expecting a handful of texts from your mother or maybe Mick with some new meme. But it’s not that.

It’s dozens — no, hundreds — of messages, pinging in rapid-fire succession from people you haven’t spoken to in years. Old classmates. Distant cousins. PR reps. Journalists. Even Nico Rosberg, who once jokingly told you he’d know before the internet if anything happened between you and Max, has sent you a simple message:

So … it’s out.

Your stomach twists.

“Y/N?” Max asks again. He’s sitting up now.

You click one of the links. It takes you to a Twitter post — already at 127,000 likes in under twenty minutes.

A photo.

Of you.

And Max.

It’s clearly taken the night after the race, when you and Max walked along the water after dinner, just the two of you, winding down through the dimmed cobblestone streets where no one was supposed to notice.

He’s standing behind you, arms wrapped around your middle. His face is tucked into your shoulder, eyes closed, and your hands rest on his forearms. There’s a soft smile on your face. The kind of moment that wasn’t meant to be seen. Quiet. Intimate. Entirely yours.

It’s not yours anymore.

The caption: IS THIS MAX VERSTAPPEN’S MYSTERY GIRLFRIEND?

Max takes the phone from your hand before you can process much more. He stares at the screen, expression unreadable.

You murmur, “Max …“

He doesn’t speak.

You’re already scanning through the quote tweets and reposts, the chaos unraveling fast.

Whoever she is, he’s IN LOVE.

That’s not just a fling. Look at the way he’s holding her.

His face in her shoulder? Oh this is serious.

Wait. Wait. Wait. IS THAT Y/N SCHUMACHER?

Your heart hammers in your chest. You feel stripped bare.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “Someone must’ve followed us.”

Max shakes his head slowly, jaw clenched. “Doesn’t matter.” He turns the phone over, screen down.

“Max …“

“I don’t care. I don’t give a shit who sees it. I’m just pissed they took it without asking.”

You hesitate. “It’s everywhere.”

He meets your eyes. His gaze is clear. “Then let it be everywhere.”

***

You think that might be the end of it. Just one photo, one viral tweet.

But you underestimate the sheer velocity of Formula 1 gossip.

By the time the sun rises, the image is on every motorsport news outlet. Paparazzi camp outside your apartment building. Journalists send emails with subject lines like “Verstappen’s Secret Girlfriend: A Deep Dive” and “Schumacher Family Ties: Romance in the Paddock?”

Christian texts you. Let us handle it. Don’t say anything. Max will be briefed before press.

You reply. I’m sorry.

His response comes a second later. Don’t be. He looks happier than I’ve ever seen him.

You almost cry again.

***

But nothing — and you mean nothing — could have prepared you for Jos.

You’re sitting in the Red Bull motorhome the following weekend when Yuki bursts in with his phone held up like a holy relic. He’s breathless, half-laughing, half-screaming.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. You guys. Look. Look.”

“What?” Max asks, bemused, glancing up from his telemetry notes.

Yuki throws his phone on the table. “Your dad.” He’s pointing at Max.

Max raises a brow. “What about him?”

“HE COMMENTED. PUBLICLY.”

You frown, inching closer to see.

The photo’s been reposted on Instagram by a gossip account. The caption is asking for confirmation. A sea of users is speculating. Arguing. Debating theories. And right there, in the middle of it all, under his verified name:

@josverstappen7 About time.

There’s a moment of pure, undiluted silence.

Then-

Max snorts. Actually snorts.

You blink. “He what?”

“He’s never commented on anything in his life,” Yuki gasps. “That man barely smiles.”

Max looks a little stunned. Then a slow, crooked grin stretches across his face.

“He likes you,” he says, quiet and proud.

You blink. “He’s always liked me.”

“Yeah, but now the world knows it.”

***

The paddock can’t stop buzzing. It’s not just that Max Verstappen has a girlfriend — it’s who she is. The daughter of Michael Schumacher. The girl who practically grew up beside him. The one everyone assumed had vanished from the scene. The one no one dared to ask about.

Even Helmut gives you a brief nod of approval in the hallway.

But it’s not over. Of course it’s not. There’s still the press conference.

***

You’re not there when it happens — you’re finishing up a private session with a Red Bull junior driver who nearly fainted during sim training — but you hear about it immediately.

The moment.

The question.

The quote that breaks the internet again.

Max is calm, cool as always in the hot seat. Wearing his usual navy polo, fingers tapping the table rhythmically while the journalists volley back and forth about tire strategy and engine upgrades.

And then-

A Sky Sports reporter leans in, trying to be clever.

“So, Max,” he says, “the internet’s in a frenzy over a certain photo from Monaco. You’ve been quiet about your personal life for years, but … care to confirm?”

There’s laughter from the room. A few mutters. Even Lewis shifts in his seat to glance over.

Max doesn’t bristle. He doesn’t scoff.

He just tilts his head slightly, expression softening.

“She’s not new.”

A pause.

“She’s always been there.”

***

When you see the clip, it hits you like a wave.

You watch it alone, in the empty Red Bull lounge, curled into one of the oversized chairs with your laptop on your knees and your heart in your throat.

The way he says it — without fanfare, without nerves — makes you ache.

He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t evade.

He just tells the truth.

Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

***

You don’t have to wait long before he finds you.

He walks in still wearing his lanyard and sunglasses, head slightly tilted.

“You saw it?”

You look up from the laptop and nod. “You really said that?”

“I meant it.”

“I know,” you whisper.

He sits beside you, pulls you into his lap without hesitation, arms snug around your waist.

“They’ll keep asking,” you murmur.

“Let them.”

You smile softly. “You’re not worried?”

“About what? Loving you in public?” He shrugs. “I’ve loved you in private since I was ten. I can do both.”

You press your forehead to his.

“They’re going to write stories.”

“Then I hope they write this part down.” He kisses you, slow and steady, like punctuation.

***

On your way out of the motorhome, your phone buzzes again. This time it’s a text from your brother.

Tell Max if he hurts you, I’ll find a way back to F1 just so I can crash into him on lap one.

You laugh. Max, peeking over your shoulder, rolls his eyes.

“I like Mick,” he says, deadpan.

You grin. “Then be nice to me.”

“I’m nice to you every morning.”

You bump his hip. “You’re also mean to me every morning.”

“That’s foreplay.”

You laugh. Out loud. Bright and sudden.

And this time, you don’t care who hears it.

***

The drive is quiet.

Not tense, not awkward, just quiet. The kind of silence that lives in the space between heartbeats, between memories that never stopped aching. The kind of quiet that comes with going home.

Your fingers are looped with Max’s across the center console, neither of you speaking. You’re an hour outside Geneva, climbing into the familiar, secluded hills that line the lake. The roads are winding, shaded, and Max handles them like second nature — like he’s driven this route in dreams a hundred times before.

He probably has.

You definitely have.

You haven’t brought anyone back here in years.

Not since the accident. Not since everything changed.

But Max isn’t just anyone. He never was.

“I’m nervous,” you say softly.

“I know,” he replies, eyes still fixed on the road.

You twist the hem of your sweater. “It’s not that I’m worried about him meeting you. It’s just … it’s different now. You remember.”

“I remember everything.”

You glance over at him. “Do you?”

Max finally turns to you, just briefly, but long enough for you to see the honesty in his expression. “He used to tell me I wasn’t allowed to marry you unless I learned how to heel-toe downshift.”

A small, watery laugh escapes your lips.

He squeezes your hand. “I got good at it. Just for him.”

You blink hard. “I just want him to know.”

“He knows.”

“Max-”

“He always knew.”

***

The estate hasn’t changed much.

The front gate still creaks a little. The garden still bursts with the same wild lavender and pale roses that your mother always insisted were Michael’s favorite, even though he could never name a single one correctly. The driveway curves the same way, gravel crunching under tires as Max eases the car into park.

You hesitate before getting out.

He doesn’t rush you.

Instead, Max leans over, presses his lips to your temple, and whispers, “Take your time. I’ve got you.”

You nod, even though nothing about your chest feels steady.

***

Your mother meets you at the door.

She pulls you into a hug instantly — tight, wordless, and lingering longer than usual.

Then she reaches for Max, and to your surprise, she hugs him too.

He hugs back.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says softly.

Max only nods.

She turns toward you. “He’s in the garden.”

***

You lead Max through the long corridor, past the living room where your father once danced around in his socks to ABBA to make you laugh. Past the kitchen table where Max, age fourteen, carved your initials into the wood with a butter knife when he thought no one was watching. (You never told anyone. You ran your fingers over it for years.)

The sliding glass doors to the garden open slowly. The breeze hits first — cool, gentle, still carrying hints of mountain pine.

And then, you see him.

He’s sitting under the willow tree, just like always, his wheelchair angled slightly toward the sun. There’s a blanket draped across his knees, and a small radio plays softly on the stone table beside him — some old German song you half-remember from childhood.

His eyes are open. Alert.

Your breath catches.

Max is silent beside you.

You step forward first.

“Hi, Papa.”

His eyes flick to yours.

Your voice breaks immediately. “I brought someone.”

Max takes a slow step closer.

Michael’s gaze moves to him.

There’s no flicker of surprise. No confusion. No question.

Just … calm recognition.

As if he knew you were coming all along.

“Hi, Michael,” Max says, voice low, steady. “It’s been a while.”

There’s no response. But Michael blinks, slowly, and Max takes it like a nod.

You kneel beside the chair. Take one of your father’s hands in both of yours. “You look good today.”

He doesn’t answer. He hasn’t, in years — not in full sentences. Sometimes a sound. A shift of the eyes. But it’s not the voice you grew up with. Not the laugh that echoed across karting paddocks. Not the firm, confident tone that once told Max he was going to win eight titles just to piss him off.

But his hands are warm.

You press your forehead to his knuckles, eyes closed.

“I missed you.”

Max kneels beside you.

He doesn’t say much at first.

Just lets his hand fall gently on your back.

Then, in a voice softer than you’ve ever heard from him, he says, “You were right.”

There’s a pause.

“You told me once that I’d marry her someday.” His thumb brushes a slow, grounding line along your spine. “I used to think you were joking. I was nine. I didn’t even know how to talk to her properly.”

You let out a breath that trembles.

Max continues, “But you saw it before we did. You knew.”

Michael’s eyes shift again. Toward Max. Then to you.

Still no words.

But something passes between the three of you. A ripple. A current. The invisible thread that’s always been there.

You blink hard, but tears fall anyway.

“I wanted to tell you before anyone else,” Max adds. “We didn’t mean to make it public. But now that it is — I wanted you to know.”

You choke on a sob.

Max moves instantly, both arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

You don’t resist.

You bury yourself into him, the tears shaking through your body, your grip fisting the back of his shirt like you’re afraid to let go.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, over and over. “I’m sorry I waited so long to bring him.”

He strokes your hair. “You brought me now.”

“He doesn’t even …“

“He knows,” Max says again. “He knows.”

You look up at him, eyes red, cheeks damp.

And he says it, not for the first time, but with a weight that anchors you to the earth:

“I love you.”

Your voice cracks. “I love you too.”

Michael’s hand twitches.

You freeze.

Then, slowly — almost imperceptibly — his fingers curl around yours.

Max sees it too.

His voice breaks a little. “Thank you, Michael.”

***

You stay in the garden for hours.

Max pulls an extra chair over and doesn’t complain when your head falls against his shoulder. He lets you speak. Lets you cry. At one point, your mother brings out coffee. He thanks her in gentle German. She smooths your hair down like you’re six years old again and then kisses your father’s forehead with practiced tenderness.

Michael watches everything. Quietly. Distant but present.

You catch Max whispering something under his breath at one point, leaning just slightly closer to your father.

You don’t ask what he said.

Later, as the sun dips low over the lake and the shadows stretch long across the grass, Michael’s eyes start to close. His breathing slows.

You press a final kiss to his cheek.

Max pushes your hair behind your ear, kisses your temple.

The way he carries your grief — without fear, without pressure — makes something in your heart crack open.

“I wasn’t ready,” you whisper in the hallway later.

“I know.”

“But I’m glad we came.”

“I am too.”

You pause.

“Max?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you ever — when we were kids — imagine this?”

He looks at you for a long moment. Then he smiles.

“You were all I ever imagined.”

***

Victoria doesn’t knock.

She never has. She has a key, the code, and more importantly, Max has always told her, “Just come in. You don’t need permission.”

But today something feels different the moment she steps through the door.

It smells like vanilla and something warm and sweet. There’s music, soft and low, playing from the kitchen. Stevie Wonder, maybe? She toes off her shoes, sets her weekend bag down by the stairs, and follows the faint scent of pancakes.

And then stops dead in the hallway.

Because Max is leaning against the kitchen counter, arms slung loosely around someone else’s waist. And that someone is barefoot, in one of his old Red Bull t-shirts that hangs to mid-thigh, hair tied in a messy knot, flipping pancakes with an ease that can only come from familiarity.

She recognizes you instantly.

As the girl Max would talk about when he was sixteen and swearing up and down he didn’t believe in love. As the girl who used to show up on the pit wall and make her brother forget to breathe. As the one name he never said bitterly.

The one girl he never had to get over, because he never stopped waiting for her.

You.

Y/N Schumacher.

And Max is kissing your temple like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Whispering something low and private, like he’s done it a thousand times before. You laugh — really laugh — and Max’s hand slips beneath the hem of the shirt like it’s instinctive, fingers resting warm against your hip.

Victoria blinks.

Not because it’s jarring, but because it’s not.

Because it looks like he’s home.

She clears her throat, and Max turns his head lazily over his shoulder.

“Hey, Vic.”

You turn too, startled, spatula still in hand.

“Oh! Hi, sorry, I didn’t know you were coming today. I would’ve-”

“She’s here,” Max says to you, then to Victoria, “You’re early.”

“I didn’t know I had to schedule a slot now,” she teases.

Max rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

Victoria steps fully into the kitchen, scanning the countertop cluttered with batter, coffee mugs, and fresh strawberries.

“This is … surreal,” she murmurs, setting her sunglasses down.

“What is?” Max asks, biting into a strawberry you just sliced.

You swat at him. “That was for the topping.”

He grins. “I have training later, I need carbs.”

Victoria watches all of this with quiet fascination.

Max is … soft.

Not weak. Never that.

But soft. Like velvet over steel. Like he’s stopped fighting air and finally has something solid to hold onto. Like the sharp edges of his world have finally rounded into something resembling peace.

She pulls out a stool at the counter.

“Okay, I need to hear everything,” she announces, folding her arms. “How long has this been going on? When were you planning on telling your favorite sister?”

Max reaches for a mug. “Technically, I told you when I was nine.”

You blink. “You what?”

Victoria smirks. “You what?”

Max shrugs, pouring coffee. “Told her I was gonna marry you. At dinner. After karting in Genk. You had that sparkly lip gloss and made me crash into a barrier.”

“Oh my god,” you say, half-laughing, face warm. “That wasn’t even — Max, you were such a menace back then.”

He leans in, voice low. “Still am.”

You swat at him again, cheeks flushed.

Victoria watches with something like awe.

“I knew it,” she says softly. “I knew when I saw you with her at Spa. You stood differently.”

“I did not,” Max replies, sliding a pancake onto a plate.

“You did. Like the noise stopped.”

He doesn’t argue.

You glance at him, puzzled.

Victoria turns to you. “You calm him. I don’t think he even realizes how much.”

“I do,” Max says immediately, gaze fixed on you. “I realize it every day.”

You go quiet.

He reaches for your hand and squeezes once.

Victoria sips her coffee. “So … are you living here?”

Max answers before you can. “She’s not going anywhere.”

You smile down at the pancakes. “He unpacked my boxes before I could even choose a closet.”

“I built you a desk,” Max adds.

Victoria raises a brow. “You hate assembling furniture.”

“I made GP help.”

You burst out laughing. “You yelled at the instructions.”

“They were wrong,” Max mutters.

Victoria watches you both, a soft look settling over her features.

“You’re good for him,” she says, quieter now. “He’s still Max, but … I’ve never seen him this happy. Even when he won the championship. It wasn’t like this.”

You glance at him.

Max is already looking at you.

“She’s always been it,” he says, shrugging like it’s obvious. “Even when she wasn’t here.”

You press your lips together.

He leans in again, presses another kiss to your temple.

Victoria pretends to gag. “God, you’re disgusting.”

Max smiles. “I know.”

But you notice the way he pulls you in closer. How he kisses your knuckles when you pass him the syrup. How his eyes keep coming back to you like he’s still making sure you’re real.

You’ve been through everything.

Secrets. Distance. Paparazzi. The weight of family names. The ache of watching a parent disappear in pieces.

But this?

This is the part you never thought you’d get to have.

Pancakes and Stevie Wonder and barefoot Saturdays. Max leaning against you like it’s the only place he’s meant to be. Victoria grinning across the kitchen island like she’s always known.

You hand her a plate.

“Tell me if it’s too sweet,” you say.

Max nudges your hip. “It’s perfect.”

You look up at him.

So is he.

So is this.