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atimeofyourlife · 2 years ago

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Steve being the one who is actually a fountain of queer knowledge because he has a gay uncle in San Francisco or New York, one of the cities that had the biggest queer communities.

Robin not having much information because she's a closeted teenage lesbian who can't drive, so she has nowhere to source that information without raising the suspicions of her parents.

Eddie doesn't have the chance because he can't afford to spend weekends in Indianapolis or Chicago, because weekends mean parties, and parties are one of the best times to deal. He might go occasionally, but just hitting up a bar to find a dude to hook up with, not getting into queer theory because he doesn't really care to. He doesn't bother to learn about hanky code or anything else, because he's not interested. All he's interested in is getting a little action.

But Steve? He spent a lot of time with his uncle, Hank, while growing up. Anytime his family was in the area, they would stay with Hank. Sure, Steve's parents would try to explain his partner, Joe, as a friend or a roommate, but Steve always knew. He could see how in love they were, even more than his parents.

It became normal for him. He heard the words that other people would throw around, how they would talk about how dangerous, how disgusting two men together was. But he couldn't understand why people thought so badly about it. Because Hank and Joe were so happy together and they weren't hurting anyone.

When he was twelve, they were the first people he told when he had the conflicting feelings of having a crush on a pretty girl named Annika in the grade above, but also really wanting to kiss Tommy every time the other boy laughed at one of his jokes. Joe and Hank just listened to him, then taught him about bisexuality. That it was perfectly normal to like both. They gave him gentle warnings, that he would have to be careful because people were cruel.

And because his parents had left him with them for a couple of weeks, they took advantage of it to introduce Steve to other people. They took him to a tiny queer bookshop that was run by a friend of theirs, giving him a space to learn in safety. Because of them, he met people of so many different orientations lesbians, bisexuals, gay men. Self-proclaimed dykes and faggots. Transexuals, men who were once women and women who were once men¹ and people that pushed the boundaries of gender entirely. He felt in awe of all these people, but also loved and accepted by everyone he met.

A few years later, the summer of '82, age 15 and between freshman and sophomore year, he was sat down for a more serious conversation. The day after he arrived, Hank and Joe sat him down for a serious talk about safe sex, in way more detail than what he got from his parents, which was just a pack of condoms appearing in his bathroom on his fifteenth birthday, with a note saying to use them so he wouldn't get a girl pregnant. The talk emphasized the need for a barrier during any type of sex, and brought up the very real risk of GRID, which had yet to be renamed AIDS², to point out why he had to be incredibly careful with everyone he had sex with. But they also made a point to reassure him that they were both okay, that he didn't have to worry about them. They made sure that he knew that they were always there for him, just a phone call away if he ever had any concerns or questions.

A year later, at 16, they decided he was ready for more information. They provided him with pamphlets and zines, covering everything from rights movements to AIDS to secret codes. He took an interest in the hanky code, but felt a little intimidated about what some of the colors meant. They also provided him with a fake id that declared that he was twenty one and that his name was Mark. While he was staying with them, he joined them out in the community. Meeting the people affected by AIDS, learning about the real effects of it and not just the few scare stories that were breaking through on the news. Hearing more stories of lived life, getting a better understanding of the people around him.

Just a few months later, November '83. When everything went to shit. Steve was terrified when he saw the photos Jonathan had taken from outside his house and developed in the school dark room. He couldn't help getting stuck on the what if? What if it wasn't Nancy he had in his room? What if it had been that night when he and Tommy got a little too drunk and kissed each other? What if he'd finally got the nerve to bring a guy home? His life could have been destroyed in seconds by an asshole being a creep.

He became more on guard, scared that at any point someone could be taking photos in his backyard. Then seeing Jonathan with Nancy in her room, it pushed him further. With the fight the next day, he just wanted to make his words hurt. He dug deep and threw out accusations that he'd never wanted to say. Allowing his anger and fear to take over. The moment the word queer left his mouth, he felt an uneasy sense of regret. Accusing someone else of being what he was, as if it was a bad thing.

After it was all over, the details were shared, the cover stories were given, the paperwork declaring that nothing had happened had been signed, Steve felt lost and alone. Even after apologizing, he still felt dirty for calling Jonathan queer. After a few days, he breaks and calls Hank and Joe, and tells them, well not everything, but what he can. The photos, the camera, the fight. What he said to Jonathan. They understood his anger and his fear. They disagreed with his choice of words, but told him that if he'd apologized and meant it, and it had been accepted, there was no point in him continuing to beat himself up about it. That he couldn't change the past, but he had to try and be better in the future.

The following summer, 1984, he joined them with a new hatred and fear of the government. He felt safer with them, not feeling like he was looking over his shoulder all the time. But he was also so worried, what if the Upside Down came back when he wasn't there to help. He threw himself into helping others, knowing there were so many ways that the government was willing to screw over citizens. Wanting to do the little he could when he could. It brought him some peace of mind, being able to do something.

After Starcourt, after getting discharged from the hospital, Steve confides in Robin. He tells her about Hank and Joe. About how much he'd learnt from them. He tells her that he's bisexual, a word she was unfamiliar with, but she embraces him anyway. He spins a story of all the different people he'd met, people that proved it could be okay for people like them.

It formed an even deeper bond between them, a shared understanding that they couldn't find in anyone else their age. They share secrets about crushes, about realizations. Judging how attractive customers are together once they got the jobs at Family Video. Steve showed Robin the zines, helping her pick up more pieces of information, about how many others there were out there.

Steve clocked Vickie pretty quickly, almost certain she was bisexual like he was. Robin struggled to believe him, not wanting to get her hopes up, or to risk getting hurt.

When Eddie crashed into their lives during the spring break from hell, Steve found himself falling hard and fast. He'd noticed the black bandana Eddie wore tucked into his back left pocket, and wanted it. He had never considered being into s&m, but would be willing to take anything Eddie gave him.

He tried to bring it up subtly to Eddie, only to be met with confusion. Even trying less subtle ways of questioning it, Eddie still didn't seem to get it. Steve had to ask if he was flagging, and Eddie responded by asking what flagging was. Steve felt mortified, and stuttered about it being a code, and he thought Eddie was gay. Eddie assured him that he was gay, but still had no clue what Steve was talking about with flagging.

Steve showed Eddie the zines as well, going through all the different colors of the hanky code. Eddie got a little embarrassed when he realized what he'd been signalling, but some of the interactions he'd had with guys the few times he'd been to a gay bar made a lot more sense.

It took a few more days after that for Eddie to realize what Steve had been getting at by bringing up him flagging. There was another awkward, and slightly embarrassing conversation to confirm that yes, they were into each other, and no, neither of them were actually into s&m.

(And of course, Hank and Joe got a kick out of the story when they were the first ones Steve told, other than Robin.)

¹I wrote it this way, as it would have been a way that twelve year old could understand different gender identities in 1979. Different language and terminology was used. I believe that it is up to individual trans people for how they describe and consider themselves pre and post coming out and transition, as it is a very personal thing. I'm non-binary and I consider anything about myself under the age of 17 to be a girl, because that's how I identified at that time. ²(AIDS was known by a bunch of different names, some less kind than others, including GRID [Gay-related immune deficiency] and 4H disease [Heroin users, homosexuals, hemophiliacs and Haitians], until the summer of 1982. The name AIDS was proposed on July 27th 1982, and came into use by the CDC in September of that year. The term HIV came into use in 1986.)

This was supposed to be a quick little headcanon, and it ended up taking me nearly a month to write 1.5k words. And I now want to write so many parts about Steve with his relationship to Hank and Joe. They're the gay uncles everyone deserves.

#steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson #platonic stobin #steddie #pre steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #atimeofyourwrites

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wi55iams · 7 months ago

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The 2024 grid as cat breeds

😺

Lando Norris: Devon Rex, Red mackerel tabby, no white spotting

Oscar Piastri: Domestic Shorthair, Black Mackerel Tabby, no white spotting

Carlos Sainz: Abyssinian, Usual/Ruddy

Charles Leclerc: Tiffanie, Chocolate Silver Shaded

Max Verstappen: Bengal, Rosette Snow Lynx

Checo Perez: Maine Coon, Bicolour Silver Classic Tabby

Lewis Hamilton: Balinese, Seal Point

George Russell: Peterbald, Red mackerel tabby (but he is bald lol)

Fernando Alonso: Persian, Golden Chinchilla (only mild brachycephaly because show ring persians are an ethical nightmare)

Lance Stroll: Ragdoll, Seal Mink Bicolour

Pierre Gasly: Oriental Shorthair, Black Smoke

Esteban Ocon: Domestic Shorthair, Black tuxedo cat

Nico Hulkenberg: Norwegian Forest Cat, Amber classic tabby

Kevin Magnussen: Savannah Cat, Brown spotted

Yuki Tsunoda: Japanese bobtail, Black 'cap and saddle' white spotting

Liam Lawson: Domestic Shorthair, Cream Classic Tabby, no white spotting

Alexander Albon: LaPerm, Black ticked tabby

Franco Colapinto: Highlander, Black spotted tabby, no white spotting

Valtteri Bottas: Australian Mist, Blue marbled tabby

Zhou Guanyu: Khao Manee, white with blue green heterochromia

Logan Sargeant: American Shorthair, Silver Tabby

Daniel Ricciardo: Havanna Brown, Chocolate self

Please send me asks about why I chose each i spent 2 hours on this post

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sw5w · 1 year ago

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You Did It, Artoo!

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:54:08

#Star Wars #Episode I #The Phantom Menace #Battle of Naboo #N-1 starfighter #Bravo Seven #navigation scan #celestial hemisphere #reference horizon #power diversion display #orientation grid #autopilot #Futhork #systems monitor #tactical scope

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antrylis · 9 months ago

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✨Kamino’s citadel challenge !✨

I am…very excited about this one. I’ve had this vision for a long time, and I’m so happy it’s ended up looking like that.

Now, there are a lot of things I’ll go into details along close ups under the cut; the only thing I’ll mention above is that I’m very grateful for TCW’s episode guides’ artworks, without which this would have been quite a hassle.

Okay ! Before diving into all the details and things, here is a view from above, to really display how big it is. Dimension-wise, the plank I built it on is around 110*70cm.

Now of course, the first detail which is noticeable is the floor, because, well, it’s everywhere.

This was probably the most challenging part of the build, because making a grid out of Lego is tough. Most of it is rows and rows of dark square, light lines, separated by 1*n tiles. It was the easiest way to get this pattern with as if it were just tiles; because this is one of the objectives I had here : most of this MOC is smooth, except for a few zones (usually voluntarily).

The fact I used this technic means that the floor in most place isn’t very stable, but it actually holds up pretty well because of some hidden connection points with the foundations underneath, which are mostly hidden under the cover blocks.

Here for instance, I’m using modified 1*2 bricks with a Technic hole : it hold the cover block, and it also attaches the floor to the foundation.

Of course, another problem I ran into were slopes. Much harder to get a smooth effect with the technic I’ve used, so it’s a bit wonky and unstable. Also, most them are not aligned properly, which is visible in the picture above (and some area have some really big misalignments because of a few problems I probably won’t bore anyone reading this with).

Now, since they’re also here, I can deal with the cover blocks. These were, among the details, the hardest to figure out, to get a good size while keeping some texture. Eventually I came up with this design, which, ironically enough, uses the same technic the floor uses, in a different orientation.

Another detail : the miradors :

This is one of the first elements I had in place, because I needed them to get a good sense of scale (and was made better by an existing concept art of a tower alone). Most of it does not have anything noteworthy, except for one illegal technic I used (can you spot it ?)

The pillar holding the roof of the mirador is using a technic I had in my toolbox for a long time, but had never had the occasion to use : if you take two 'brick' bricks and attach them perpendicularly on a snot brick, the small space separating the lines of 'bricks' align to let a 1*n tile in. It’s somewhat reliable (for an illegal technic) and an easy way to get octogonal shapes.

Now, before looking at the Citadel itself, let’s turn around for a minute.

This point of view obviously isn’t the intended one, but it’s still worth noting, if only for some composition.

Notice that the wall here is quite small (smaller than the miradors, even), and light gray; it’s in contrast with the towering dark gray wall on the other side, behind the citadel, which technically should give at least some impressions even to the people who never saw TCW.

Anyway, it’s also on this view that we can see most of my slope struggles, including the central one, which is the biggest I had to do.

And I can’t not mention the most important element :

What would be the challenge without a squad of clones to take it on ? These clones (4 privates and a sergent) are ready to fight ! Well. Kinda. I wish I could have actual cadets, but they are not part of the Lego universe (and the floor was enough of a fee, I can’t afford to get customs figures too). I wish I had the Dominos though. I have TBB Echo, and I plan to get my hands on Fives at some point, but they wouldn’t fit here, sadly, so instead I used some movie accurate clones (because all the others are used for a project I still haven’t posted..maybe later…)

Notably, I at some point tried to get the elevator to work - needless to say it was a disaster (it’s too close to the plate underneath to make something working).

Now, without further ado. The citadel.

I’m very proud of it. I got the proportions just right (I actually made some measurements to make sure of it), and there is just enough texture to not make it bland while leaving it as artificial. This alone took roughly 8-10h (which were all spent during an accidental all nighter, whoops), but it was worth it. It’s completely empty inside, and, in fact, the wall behind it isn’t full as well, anything behind the citadel is opened. The spikes are simple 1*3 angle plates illegally connected, and the walls’ small details were made with a bunch of modified 1*2 plates, there isn’t anything really special in it.

The only really complicated zone was the middle tower, because I had to put all the cannons while keeping it clean and smooth, and including the vertical lime lines. It was a fun challenge. And I included the 'flag' At the top, too, just a red transparent cone on a stick (there’s no need for more), which peeks above the gray wall (for composition and because of a lack of pieces).

Anyway, such a long project deserves one behind the scene photo :

Yes, my desk is messy (and include my mandatory tea cup).

On the left, you can see my remaining floor tiles, which have not been used yet; and just under the citadel, you might notice the foundations visible; it’s a checker of 2*2 tiles which gives my floor a good base to be fixed on. There are also some slopes which haven’t been placed yet (in front of the background miradors), and at this steps, there were no cover blocks or walls yet.

As far as my tools go, you might notice brick separators scattered all around my work environment (I never have enough of those), as well as a tablet in the bottom right hand corner (which i use to check and measure concept arts), and in the middle, the red triangle is an official (albeit old) Lego measurement tool which counts in stud, Lego bar holes and axe length.

Also visible, finally, is the bottom of the foundations, which are stacks of 1*2 bricks (each of the three floor layer is separated by a height of 3 bricks), which means that looking directly under it can lead to watching the dark basement of my build (which isn’t aesthetic…).

Anyway, if you read until here, thanks, I guess ? I still have a few TCW related stuff (a small one next week, some other in the foreseeable feature), so feel free to stick around and maybe leave a note, if you feel like it ? That’s it, bye !

#lego #lego moc #tcw #lego clone wars #kamino

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dandelionsresilience · 8 months ago

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Dandelion News - October 8-14

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles on Patreon!

1. All 160 dogs at Florida shelter found homes ahead of Hurricane Milton

“[The shelter] offered crates, food and anything else the dogs would need in exchange for the animals to spend just five days with the foster parents if the human didn't want to keep them for longer. […A]fter about a day of receiving around 100 messages every 30 minutes, Bada said, all 160 were gone from the shelter and in safe and warm homes.”

2. Restoring Ecosystems and Rejuvenating Native Hawaiian Traditions in Maui

“[Volunteers] are restoring water flow to the refuge, removing invasive species, and restoring a loko iʻa kalo using ʻike kūpuna, ancestral knowledge. […] This human-made ecosystem will provide food for community members and habitat for wildlife while protecting coral reefs offshore.”

3. Solar-powered desalination system requires no extra batteries

“In contrast to other solar-driven desalination designs, the MIT system requires no extra batteries for energy storage, nor a supplemental power supply, such as from the grid. […] The system harnessed on average over 94 percent of the electrical energy generated from the system’s solar panels to produce up to 5,000 liters of water per day[….]”

4. Threatened pink sea fan coral breeds in UK aquarium for first time

“The spawning is part of University of Exeter Ph.D. student Kaila Wheatley Kornblum's research into the reproduction, larval dispersal and population connectivity of Eunicella verrucosa. […] Pink sea fans are believed to have been successfully bred by only one other institution, Lisbon Oceanarium, in 2023.”

5. Tiny 'backpacks' are being strapped to baby turtles[….]

““We analysed the data and found that hatchlings show amazingly consistent head-up orientation – despite being in the complete dark, surrounded by sand [… and] they move as if they were swimming rather than digging[…. This new observation method is] answering questions about best conservation practices,” says Dor.”

6. New California Law Protects Wildlife Connectivity

“A new state law in California will instruct counties and municipalities to conserve wildlife corridors when planning new development. […] This could entail everything from creating wildlife crossings at roads or highways, employing wildlife-safe fencing, or not developing on certain land.”

7. ‘I think, boy, I’m a part of all this’: how local heroes reforested Rio’s green heart

“By 2019, [the program] had transformed the city’s landscape, having trained 15,000 local workers like Leleco, who have planted 10m seedlings across […] roughly 10 times the area of New York’s Central Park. Reforested sites include mangroves and vegetation-covered sandbars called restinga, as well as wooded mountainsides around favelas.”

8. Alabama Town Plans to Drop Criminal Charges Over Unpaid Garbage Bills

““Suspending garbage pickup, imposing harsh late penalties and prosecuting people who through no fault of their own are unable to pay their garbage and sewage bills does not make payment suddenly forthcoming,” West said. [… The city] has agreed to drop pending criminal charges against its residents over unpaid garbage bills.”

9. New Hampshire’s low-income community solar program finally moves forward

“The state energy department is reviewing seven proposals for community solar arrays that will allocate a portion of their bill credits to low-income households. […] New Hampshire’s strategy of working with utilities to automatically enroll households that have already been identified streamlines the process.”

10. The Future Looks Bright for Electric School Buses

“EPA has awarded about $3 billion in grants from the infrastructure law, which paid to replace about 8,700 buses. Of those, about 95 percent are electric. [… Electric buses are] cheaper to operate and require less maintenance than diesel buses and will soon be at cost parity when looking at the lifetime cost of ownership[….]”

October 1-7 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

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felassan · 1 year ago

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RPGsite did an interview with Corinne Busche and Bellara is confirmed to be a mage????? SO EXCITED

hello! ◕‿◕ !! cool! thankyou for sending this in. :D

Text reads:

"Busche: So each follower, each companion has five core abilities. There are decisions you can make along the way that add mechanical changes to each ability. Now, going back to your question - Neve and Bellara are both Mages, so they share two core Mage abilities between each other, right? However, the other three are class or character-unique. Neve is an ice mage, Bellara is not - so Neve is going to have ice-specific abilities that are unique to her."

Other notes from this interview, which is titled "Dragon Age: The Veilguard’s director talks RPG systems, skill trees, and being inspired by Final Fantasy XII"

"After seeing the hands-off demo, we got a chance to briefly chat with Dragon Age: The Veilguard director Corinne Busche - who right away gushes about being a real RPG system nerd"

Progression is very deep

Where Mass Effect is an ARPG which big action and 'minor RPG', DA:TV is almost the total opposite of that

The skill tree is unlocked a few missions in

Every level up you get skill points

The skill tree is huge and bespoke to Rook's class

The skill tree is almost like a gigantic spider-web visually.

(Sounds like the skill tree wire-frame they shared in a blog in February 2023..)

[source]

If Rook is for example a mage, at the very center of this is the core of the "Mage kit"

This aspect of gameplay was heavily influenced by Final Fantasy X, especially FF XII. Corrine compares it to the Sphere Grid

There is ability selection, passives, traits

Each of the specs is on the outer edges of the grid. (Fel note: Referring to the three outer bubbles in the web above? :> there are 3 specs for each class)

You start at the center and work out, in the direction you want

The specs are shown in CC like the classes

In addition to the specs the web is divided into 3 sections, for example the Warrior's are a defense-oriented, weapons-oriented, ability-oriented. "So what you might do trying to get to, say, the Reaper specialization is go… Rather than going up through defense into Reaper, I’m going to go down through Ability into Reaper" (Fel note: other outlets reported the 3 specs for Warrior are Reaper, Champion, Slayer)

Skills are unique per class

Every level you get a skill point

There are other site activities to get skill points

Skill points can be refunded

Level cap is 50

You can 'enter' the spec part of the grid about mid-game

Party members all have unique skill trees, these are organized around their individual abilities

Party member skill trees are organized around their individual abilities. "So when you unlock their full suite of abilities, each one has a skill tree full of choices where you can get autonomous usage, or lower the cooldowns, or add additional effects to the ability"

Each companion has 5 core abilities. Decisions you make along the way add mechanical changes to each

As we saw in the gameplay reveal video, Neve is an ice mage

Bellara is also a mage

Neve and Bellara share 2 core Mage abilities, however the other 3 are class or character-unique i.e. Neve will have ice-specific abilities unique to her

Elements are a big factor in combat

[source]

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #notpietromaximoff #long post #longpost #mjs mailbag #mass effect #thanku also to doggiesnores and dreadfutures and valleyofsand-blog who both also sent this article to me :D

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onenettvchannel · 3 months ago

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BALITANG LOKAL: NGCP to replace aging conductors for the Scheduled Power Service Interruption of NORECO II with major commemorative events in Bohol and France for 2 Sundays of March 2025

DUMAGUETE, NEGROS ORIENTAL -- As part of the late 29th Anniversary celebration for NORECO II, residents of Negros Oriental are in for a worst back-to-back electrical threat - two scheduled power service interruptions in the span of just two weeks. The National Grid Corporation of the Philippines (NGCP) announced on Wednesday (February 26th, 2025) that it will be de-energizing its Amlan-Siaton 69kV transmission line on two separate Sundays to make way for some much-needed maintenance work, according to NGCP District 3 Senior Manager in the Negros Area named 'Lope L. Cañete'.

This was given way in preparation for the upcoming 2025 National and Local Elections in May, to avert the Manual Load Droppings (MLD) during the summer months last year of 2024 for NORECO II. Notably, for the first time in history since January this year, regional power service interruption from the NGCP will go monthly for NORECO II, indicating a more frequent schedule of maintenance activities in the region.

The first power outage is set to take place on March 9th, 2025 from 5am to 6pm, affecting areas from 'Calo, San Jose' to the entire area of Sibulan, Dumaguete City, Valencia, Bacong, Dauin, Zamboanguita and Siaton. The NGCP will be replacing old conductors with new ones along the Amlan-Siaton 69kV line, specifically from structures #31-65, 98-101 and 121-144. Interestingly, by next month, March 9th will also be a memorial for the 20th Anniversary incident of Food Poisoning in 'Mabini, Bohol' from 2005, and the 3rd Season finale of the French-animated slice-of-life kids show 'Les Sister', making it a notable date for various reasons, in cooperation with 'The Provincial Government of Bohol' and 'M6 Groupe'.

Two weeks later, on March 23rd, the same areas will again experience a power outage at the previously stated time. NGCP will work on replacing conductors from structures #65-98 and 144-171 on the same transmission line. The substations affected will include Sibulan, Pulantubig, Bagacay, Dauin and Siation. NORECO II plans to carry out maintenance work during these outages.

While the power outages are scheduled to last for 13 hours, residents are advised that the work may be finished ahead of time and that power may be restored earlier than expected. As a precaution, everyone is reminded to consider the lines always energized. These unprecedented monthly power service interruptions in Negros Oriental highlight the ongoing infrastructure maintenance challenges, while coincidentally intersecting with commemorative events and entertainment milestones that may potentially disrupt local residents' daily routines and planned activities.

SCREENGRAB and PHOTO COURTESY for REPRESENTATION: Gulli, Google Earth and Images BACKGROUND PROVIDED BY: Tegna

SOURCE: *https://x.com/NORECOTWO/status/1894909837508780203 and *https://x.com/NORECOTWO/status/1894958134806094100

-- OneNETnews Online Publication Team

#local news #dumaguete #negros oriental #NGCP #NORECO II #Negros Oriental Electric Cooperative 2 #National Grid Corporation of the Philippines #scheduled power service interruption #blackout #food poisoning #bohol #les sisters #saison 3 #finale #France #awareness #OneNETnews

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yandere-daydreams · 2 years ago

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Title: Insecure.

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Toxic!Wanderer x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 5.0k.

TW: Modern AU, AFAB!Reader, Non///Con, Public Sex, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Wildly Unhealthy Relationships, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Intimidation, and Self-Oriented Victim Blaming From Reader. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. No Seriously Dude Those Doves Are So Dead.

[Part One]

“This is boring.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s too hot to be outside. And this place reeks.”

“You’re wearing long sleeves in the middle of summer, and it’s a college campus. I don’t know what you expected.”

“You look hot.”

You let out a disgruntled groan, leaning back in your seat and bringing a hand up to your temple. Kunikuzushi seemed to drink in your agitation, crossing his arms, the corners of his lips pulling up into a smug grin. “How did you even know I was here?”

His answer was immediate, non-verbal. He held up his phone, the screen blatantly and proudlydisplaying a simple grid-map and, of course, a little blue dot settled into the grey backdrop. You felt something start to ache in the back of your skull. “You’re tracking my phone?”

“Yeah, right, your phone.”

You started to buckle into yourself, but stopped yourself. You were in public – tucked into the smallest corner of your campus’ most out-of-the-way common area, sure, but still in public. There was a group of students gathered around one of the bigger tables less than ten feet away, and another couple just behind them. You used to fight with Kunikuzushi so often. You’d never resorted to public screaming matches, but you’d never had to think twice before storming out of bars and cafes, never thought twice about blocking his number or throwing away his flowers or telling anyone who’d listen that you were absolutely, definitely, totally going to break up with him for good, this time. Now, you couldn’t find it into yourself to be so brash. You couldn’t stand the idea of being seen with him, let alone calling more attention to yourself. It felt like you were one slip-up, one arm draped around your waist, one ring of bruises wrapped around your neck before someone saw through you, guessed what kind of person Kunikuzushi was and confronted you about why you’d stay with someone like that. You were afraid of him, sure, but you were more afraid of what would happen if people realized just how scared you really ought to be.

Not that you wanted to be with him. You wanted to move across the country, to burn your clothes and cut your hair, to change your name and pretend he’d never so much as lookedat you, but your options were limited. He’d taken care of your internship the day you’d moved in with him, and he bought you out of your lease within the same week. The few friends you still had after Kunikuzushi sunk his teeth into your social life were pushed to a distance, and the thought of running back to the same people who’d told you to stay as far from Kunikuzushi as you could get was enough to make you feel dizzy and exhausted, light-headed and glued to the floor all at once.

Even that, the idea that you could go to someone for help, was delusional. He barely let you go to class, and even that was a tedious connection, a privilege that could be revoked with a phone call and a new deadbolt on the door to his apartment. He didn’t like it when you had things to think about that didn’t revolve around him, and while keeping him happy was in the best interest of your safety, dropping out wasn’t an option. You could find another place to live. You could find another internship. But, if flunked out, if you failed too many classes, you’d lose your scholarship. If you lost your scholarship, you wouldn’t be able to graduate. If you didn’t graduate…

You had to graduate. You had to.

You weren’t sure you’d ever be able to get away from Kunikuzushi, if you didn’t.

You heard a scoff, felt the table shake as Kunikuzushi drove his heel into one of its legs. “Y’know, it’s rude to ignore people. ‘specially after I came all this way just to spend time with you.”

You must’ve zoned out. You hadn’t meant to, you never wanted to give Kunikuzushi an excuse to shorten your leash even further, but it’d been happening more and more. On your best days, you could keep yourself grounded, stay in your own body long enough to make it seem like you were managing what has left of your life. On your worst days… well, you didn’t remember much of your worst days. You usually couldn’t bring yourself to get out of bed. Kunikuzushi loved your worst days. “Sorry,” you mumbled, more out of reflex than any genuine remorse. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“Like I said, I wanted to spend time with you.” He shrugged, still grinning. “You should drop out.”

Just like that, your heart dropped into your stomach. If you hadn’t been in public, if you weren’t so disconnected from what went on in your own mind, you might’ve cried.

Instead, you bowed your head. Your voice was quieter than you wanted it to be, but it was a small miracle you could force yourself to speak at all. “I… don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Since when do you think for yourself?” He wasn’t fazed. The question was accompanied by a slow, breathy laugh, a flash of teeth as he leaned forward, propping his head on his fist. “I mean, c’mon, it’s not like you’d actually use a degree. I’m already taking care of you.” He dropped lower, taking on a raspy lilt. “All you’ve gotta worry about is keeping me company and taking my—”

You cut him off with an indignant huff, already recoiling. You moved to stand, to get away from him, but felt a pair of hands cover your eyes before you could. There was a familiar laugh, the feeling of curly hair bruising against your cheek, and then a melodic voice playing just beside your ear. “Guess who.”

For the first time that day, you couldn’t help but smile. “I know it’s you, Ajax. You’re the only person lame enough for this.”

There was a hum before he let you go, bracing himself on the back of your chair and leaning over you. He was dressed like he always was – which was to say, like it was the middle of winter, his coat long enough to reach his ankles and thick enough to make you shudder with sympathy pains, your agony unaided by the scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. Maybe you shoulddrop out, or transfer, at least. Between him and Kunikuzushi, you were starting to think there was something in the air that made people want to get heatstroke. “Hey, I’m just trying to surprise my favorite study-buddy. You looked like you could use a little cheering up.” He glanced toward Kunikuzushi, then flashed you a knowing grin. “I know this guy tends to bring down the mood.”

Kunikuzushi sunk into his seat, his smugness immediately overshadowed by agitation. “Oh, you know each other?”

“We’re coworkers,” Kunikuzushi answered, glaring daggers toward Ajax.

“Wait, you have a job?”

He didn’t indulge you with a response, only scoffing and throwing his head to the side. Ajax took up the mantle. “Honestly, I’m more surprised to see him hanging out with someone outside of work. Always struck me as the ‘lone wolf’ type, if you know what I mean. If I knew you two were friends, I would’ve made more of an effort to drag him to our—"

As he spoke, his hand came to rest on your shoulder, but he’d barely touched you when Kunikuzushi pushed himself to his feet, already snarling. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself.” Reflexively, Ajax pulled back, holding his hands up defensively, and with a ragged breath and a half-hearted effort to calm himself down, Kunikuzushi went on. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to touch someone’s fiancé, idiot?”

This time, Ajax’s laugh was slightly more strained, his posture slightly more stiff. “Yeah, uh, right. My bad, dude.” He moved to ruffle your hair (his most common send-off, no matter how often you groaned and complained that you’d look like a mess for the rest of the day), but stopped himself quickly – rubbing the back of his neck. “I… didn’t realize you were engaged.” Despite his stiffness, he managed to offer you a small smile. “See you in class?”

“Save me a seat.” And then, letting your eyes fall to your feet, “Sorry about him, he’s…”

“Territorial, I get it. I’d be a little jealous too, if I managed to get a ring on your finger.”

He winked, and before you could roll your eyes, he’d turned on his heel and disappeared around the nearest corner, melting into the throng of milling students. Once he was gone, you turned back to Kunikuzushi, still seething. That was one of the worst things about being with Kunikuzushi. It wasn’t enough to make your life miserable, he had to make sure you didn’t have anything left to live for. “Why would you tell him we’re engaged?”

“I’ll get you a ring.” You opened your mouth, but he was talking before you had a chance to cut in. “This is why you shouldn’t bother with this shit. All you’re going to do is waste your time and get hit on by desperate losers trying to get their dicks wet.”

“As opposed to staying home with you, where I can get hit on by one desperate loser trying to get his dick wet.” You shook your head, but shut your mouth and stood up before he could pull you into a real argument. Throwing your bag over your shoulder, you turned away from him, starting in the direction of your lecture hall. “I have to get to class. We can talk about this later.”

Before he could protest, you made your way out of the common area. There was a beat of silence, a brief moment of respite. Then, you heard his footsteps pick-up behind you, settling into pace with your own. You glanced over your shoulder and, predictably, found Kunikuzushi walking behind you. “What do you want now?”

“You’re going to class,” he said, a smug grin already tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m coming with you.”

You frowned. “It’s a general credit. You’ll be bored out of your mind.”

“I don’t care.” He took your hand in his, squeezing gently when you tried to pull away. Immediately, you stopped resisting, hyper-aware of the way his blunt nails scraped against your skin, of how intensely his eyes burnt into yours. “Is it a crime to want to spend as much as time as I can with my fiancé?”

You shuddered involuntarily. You couldn’t tell if jealously staking his claim to you during a minute-long conversation with your classmate and his coworker was genuinely his idea of a proposal, or if he just took joy in the way you flinched every time he threw that word around. Either way, you didn’t like it.

“Fine, whatever.” You shrugged open the door to one of the more rustic buildings on campus, dragging Kunikuzushi along with you. “Just don’t cause a scene, okay? I’m really not in the mood.”

He only smiled, letting his head lull to the side. You forced yourself to tear your eyes away from him, focusing on the crowded hallway in front of you instead. Your class was in one of the larger lecture halls on campus – stadium style, oppressively beige, the rows of desks curved around the raised stage at the front of the room. It was already mostly full, too, thanks to how long Kunikuzushi had held you up. You made a brief effort to find Ajax before deciding you didn’t want anyone you knew by name to see you latched onto your moody boyfriend and moved toward one of the middle rows, but he stopped you, digging his heels into the floor. “Sit in the front.” You sent him a look that said ‘what the fuck do you want now?’, and he grinned. “What? I’m trying to do you a favor.”

“You can do me a favor by letting me get through this with minimal psychic damage.” You dragged him to the back of the hall and slid into a relatively empty row, trying to stay as far away from the other students as you could. In spite of his stubbornness, his preference to control everything down to how often you blinked, he didn’t fight it, just slipping into the seat next to you, leaning back and watching on as you pulled out a half-mangled notebook and a couple pens. You knew you wouldn’t be able to focus, much less take notes with Kunikuzushi hovering over your shoulder, but you wanted to at least pretend you didn’t care about him and his leering for the next two hours. It wasn’t like he’d leave you alone once you got back into the confines of his stifling, barren apartment, so you had to take advantage of what little peace you’d be able to get, today.

By the time your class started, he was fully reclined, his arms crossed and his expression slack in boredom. The rows hadn’t been crammed as closely together as possible, he might’ve propped his feet on the desktop, shut his eyes, done everything he could to show just how disinterested he was in the lecture he’d demanded to sit through.

By the ten-minute mark, he’d pulled his chair next to yours, watching over your shoulder as you jotted down what little of the professor’s lecture you could hear over the sound of your race heart. You didn’t like it when Kunikuzushi got so close to you, anymore. It was hard to remember why you ever had.

Twenty minutes in, you felt his hand ghost over your leg, his fingertips grazing past your thigh. You tried to brush it off, to ignore him, but his hand settled onto your knee and you snapped up to glare at him. “What are you—”

He shushed you, leaning against your side. “Keep your voice down. We’re in class, remember?”

You frowned, but relented, turning your attention back to the front of the classroom. You resigned yourself to pointedly ignoring him, jotting down incoherent notes and attempting to drown out Kunikuzushi’s looming presence with the professor’s droning lecture. You’d almost blocked him out by the time he started moving, again, kneading the plush of your thigh gently, his dull nails burrowing into your skin just a little too deeply to ignore. Determined, you didn’t react, but that didn’t faze him. His hand only crept higher, catching the hem of your shorts and toying with the thin fabric, forcing you to acknowledge just how little you’d done to fend him off. If you’d known he was going to visit you on campus, you would’ve worn jeans, or made more of an effort to avoid him. If you’d known he was going follow you into class just to harass you, you would never have gotten up in the first place.

You jumped as his fingers slipped under the fabric, fanning out against your skin. With an airy sigh, you leaned back, already swatting away his hand. You spoke under your breath, trying to hide the way your voice shook. “Fine. If you’re going to be a brat about it, we can go home.”

“And ruin your attendance?” His tone was pleading, muted but dripping with something thick and saccharine. “I can’t let you do that, baby, not when your grades are so importantto you.”

You tried to get up, but he drew back, throwing an arm over your shoulders and pulling you back into your seat. “I tried to take you home, but no, you decided that sitting in a dusty room with that fucking redhead was more important to you than me.” He hauled you closer, holding his mouth next to your ear. “If you decide to go home now and waste more of my time, I promise, you’ll be in for something much worse than anything I can do to you here.”

For the second time that day, you froze, suddenly unable to move. Kunikuzushi took your silence as submission, kissing your cheek before his hand fell back to your thigh.

This time, he was kind enough (or cruel enough) not to play coy, not to try to hide what he was going to do. He squeezed your thigh with enough force to bruise before delving into the space between your legs – his middle finger tracing over the seam that ran over the length of your cunt, only pausing to rub circles into your clit through the material. You really, really should’ve worn something else, something thicker, something that would’ve put you at a distance from his invasive touch. You would’ve given anything not to feel that slow, painful friction, not to recognize the aching curl of arousal starting to form in the pit of your stomach. Kunikuzushi was an asshole – a possessive, controlling asshole – but he knew you. He knew your weak points. He’d held you down and exploited them until you knew that as well as he did.

With two fingers, he pressed into your clit, and you jolted into yourself. Reflexivity, you tried to clench your thighs shut, but Kunikuzushi caught you by the knee and spread your legs farther, making more room for him to work between them. “Play nice.” He was whispering, but you wished he wouldn’t talk at all. You wished he’d keep his mouth shut and let you suffer in silence. “You don’t want to make this into a show, do you?”

You didn’t. God, you didn’t. You couldn’t imagine anything worse than getting caught, than having someone notice and scream and draw attention to what Kunikuzushi was doing to you. In the best case scenario, he’d stop and you’d have plausible deniability, pretend that you believed you could say your overly affectionate boyfriend was just being touchy and someone would buy it. In the worst case scenario, in the most likely scenario, he wouldn’t, and you didn’t know how you be able to live with yourself if someone saw you like this. Would you have to appear in front of the dean to apologize that your boyfriend had fingered you in front of a captive audience? Would there be paperwork? Would any of the blame fall on Kunikuzushi, or would you be the one held responsible for what he couldn’t stop doing to you?

You shook your head frantically, clenching your eyes shut and balling your hands into fists. Kunikuzushi clicked his tongue, cooing in mock-disappointment. “That’s just mean, baby. First you don’t want to admit we’re in love, now you don’t even want to be seen with me. Next, you’ll want to forget I exist altogether.” He flicked his wrist, and you dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek. “And you remember how well it went for you last time you tried to ditch me, right?”

It was a labored effort, jerky and jolting, but you forced yourself to inhale, to straighten your back, to curl your hands around the corner of the desktop and make a passing effort to ground yourself, but Kunikuzushi wouldn’t let you have your peace for very long. You let out a small sigh as he pulled back, but your relief was short-lived – ripped away from you the moment his fingers found your waistband, slipping into your shorts before you could so much as delusionally hope he'd show you mercy. There was a breathy laugh, two fingers pressed into your clit. “Christ, you’re soaked,” he muttered, his delight audible. “I still can’t believe I turned you into such a fucking slut.”

You tried to shrink into yourself, to cross your arms over the desktop and hide your face, but Kunikuzushi caught you, keeping you upright and leaving you to bury your face in his shoulder. The desk would’ve been more soothing. He was moving too quickly, his arm shifting uncomfortably against your chest as he rubbed tight circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves, as he fell lower – his ring and middle fingers dipping into your drenched pussy in quick, shallow thrusts that only seemed to make you more aware of the slick starting to drip down the inside of your thighs. Your professor was still talking, but the lecture was incomprehensible, drowned out by the wet squelching of Kunikuzushi’s digits thrusting into you, somehow barely audible and skull-crushing deafening all at once. No one else could hear it. It just wasn’t an option; it wasn’t a possibility. You couldn’t let yourself start to think about what would happen if someone else heard it.

He was merciless, grinding the heel of his palm into your clit as his slender fingers pumped into you. He didn’t pause, didn’t experiment, just held himself to the same monotonous, uniform thrusts, punishing you with a brutal pleasure you just couldn’t seem to escape. His fingertips scraped against something soft and needy inside of you and reflexively, your hands shot to his arm, your nails burrowing into his sleeves and biting into his skin. If he felt it, he didn’t seem hurt. Kunikuzushi only laughed, resting his head against yours and falling into a brutal, unfaltering tempo.

Distantly, you heard paper sliding against wood, pages turning, then a low whistle. “Why didn’t you tell me you could draw?” If you’d been able to think, you might’ve been angry. If you’d been able to do anything, you might’ve pulled your notebook away from him and made sure he couldn’t taint any part of you he hadn’t already ruined, but you couldn’t so much as imagine opening your eyes, much less trying to get away from him, again. “It’s cute. If you’re good, I’ll get you a real sketchbook – better than this cheap shit.”

It shouldn’t have felt as patronizing as it was. It shouldn’t have stung, just to know he was looking at something you’d never thought to keep away from him. It shouldn’t have hurt any more than anything he was already doing to you, and yet, you shrunk into yourself, something in your chest withering and dying off as he continued to flip through your notebook, to split you open on his fingers. A third digit was added, his touch now deep enough for you to feel the chill of his rings against your entrance. There was a pang of tension, a slight pain to accompany the stretch, but the buzzing in the back of your mind, the knot pulling tighter and tighter as he pulled his way deeper into you. You curled around him, something hot and piercing rising up from your core, creeping into your veins until—

Until Kunikuzushi pulled away without warning, only pausing momentarily to drag his hand over your thigh and smear your own slick across your skin. If you hadn’t known him so well, if you hadn’t been with him so long, relief might’ve softened your confusion, but you weren’t naïve enough to think that he’d suddenly found a pocket of kindness in his cold, stony heart. He didn’t try to tease you, either, to string you along and make you think that he’d let you go with an anti-climax and a few probing comments. He was cruel, but he didn’t like to waste his time. He didn’t have to pretend he didn’t want to play with his favorite toy.

With a small smile and a darkglint in his eye, he took your notebook and achinglyslowly, slid it off of the desk and watched passively as it toppled to the floor. Seconds after it landed, he sighed, shaking his head before pressing a fleeting kiss into the corner of your mouth. “You’re so clumsy, babe. I just don’t know what you’d do without me.”

Realization dawned on you like blood rising into the back of your throat. You hugged his arm closer to your chest, hoping beyond hope that he’d see your distress and for once, hold himself back from taking what he wanted. “Kuni, please don’t do—”

“Save it.” He didn’t even hesitate, tearing his arm out of your vice-grip without so much as a trace of strain. “You can thank me when we get home.”

You didn’t get another chance to protest before he dipped down, slipping out of his seat and below the desk. You spared a glance in either direction. You were in an aisle seat. Your row was mostly empty, and you could only hope that the people sitting behind you couldn’t see Kunikuzushi between your legs, his mouth already pressed into the inside of your thigh. Without someone to hold onto, you were left to cross your arms over your chest and try to school your own expression, to look like you hadn’t just had your orgasm torn away from you, like your ex-turned-overly-attached boyfriend wasn’t on his knees with his face buried between your legs. It was a small comfort, knowing he couldn’t do anything worse than this, not unless he wanted to bend you over the teacher’s desk and fuck you with an audience.

It was terrifying, knowing he couldn’t possibly do anything worse than this.

Your breath hitched as you felt his fingers curl underneath your shorts, dragging the flimsy material down your legs and letting it pool around your ankles. You were wearing an oversized shirt, and your jacket was long enough to obscure everything above your mid-thigh, but you still shuddered, still had to fight the temptation to snap your thighs shut as soon as you felt the cool air against your slick cunt. Kunikuzushi was quick to block that out, too. You felt the flat of his tongue lap over your entrance, a soundless moan reverberating against your pussy and up the length of your spine. This time, when you bit down on the inside of your cheek, you didn’t stop until you tasted blood.

Now, now, he decided to draw out your agony. You could feel his searing breath against your pussy as he chewed bruises into your thighs, painting love bites across your vulnerable skin that you could only hope wouldn’t be visible when you were finally able to shamble out of this lecture hall as a mangled, fucked-out wreck. When your legs twitched, his hands found their way to your ankles, pinning your feet to the ground as he latched onto your clit, dragging his tongue in loose, careless patterns as he sucked gently – giving you enough stimulation to leave you irritated and antsy but still withholding any anything real, anything satisfying. If you’d been in his bed, or on his kitchen counter, or laid across the backseat of the car he barely knew how to drive, you could’ve hidden your face in his sheets or clawed at his shoulders or screamed bloody murderer while he sucked and licked himself into a pussy-drunk stupor. You were never overly vocal – you couldn’t be, when you knew Kunikuzushi would take and abuse anything you said under the influence of his harsh affection– but now, you couldn’t afford to so much as tear-up, to rake your fingers through his hair, to whimper as his tongue thrust into you, just as awful as his fingers and twice as hot. You made the mistake of glancing towards him, of letting him catch your eye as a wide, arrogant smirk spread across his parted lips, a dark flush now painted across his pale cheeks. You looked away as quickly as you could, but it didn’t matter. His hands came up to your knees as he dragged your legs apart, giving himself more space to work between them. That had to be the worst thing about Kunikuzushi. No matter what you did, no matter how little you gave him, he’d always find a way to get off on it, to convince himself it was just your little way of retuning his fucked-up love.

Desperate for something to latch onto, you crossed your arms over the desktop and clawed at the polished wood. The bridge of Kunikuzushi’s nose ground against your clit and you buckled into yourself, burying your face in your arms and forgetting for just a fraction of a second to care whether or not you’d ever be able to show your face in public again. It took long, agonizing seconds to find the strength to raise your head, to frantically glance around the lecture hall for something, anything that would help you block out what he was doing to your body. Rather than a saving grace, you found a head of bright, ginger hair a few rows in front of you, the chair next to its owner vacant. Ajax, already staring over his shoulder, his piercing eyes wide and his expression blank with horror. As your gaze met his, as Kunikuzushi let out another throaty moan, the pressure mounted, that string of tension in your core snapping before you could attempt to hold yourself together. With your teeth grit and tears streaming down your cheeks, you came undone on Kunikuzushi’s tongue, a breathless whine forcing its way out of your throat as you collapsed back into your arms, completely limp.

Kunikuzushi nursed you through it, taking long moments to untangle himself from you, to press another kiss against your thigh, to pull your shorts back into place. You didn’t care. You were numb, your body humming with an awful sort of static, only interrupted by the weight of Kunikuzushi’s hand against the small of your back as he hauled himself back into his seat, pulling his sleeve across his mouth. Your notebook was still at your feet, splayed open and abandoned. You couldn’t seem to bring yourself to pick it up.

There was a kiss to your shoulder, then the top of your head. “Is it time to get out of here?”

You forced yourself to nod. You felt his arms wrap around you, one stringing under your knees and the other bracing against your back, keeping you pressed into his chest as he side-stepped back into the aisle and started for the door. A few students turned their heads, a couple stopping to ask if you were alright, but Kunikuzushi ignored them. Whatever. It wasn’t like you’d ever see any of these people again.

Kunikuzushi was taking you home, and as far as he seemed concerned, you’d never be leaving again.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x you #genshin imagines #genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere genshin imagines #scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche #yandere wanderer #wanderer x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth · 1 month ago

Text

Are you now or have you ever been

(Sam Winchester x female reader)

Fic masterlist

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Chapter 2 - Kilgore

Sam runs his hand through his hair, still wet from the shower, as he steps into the kitchen. He doesn’t miss the look Dean throws him at the fact that he obviously slept in, is walking in with a rain cloud over his head.

“Morning,” Sam mumbles and Dean nods at him. “Is there coffee?” Dean nods again.

“Gotta take it to go, though,” he answers. “Found us a case.”

You wake in the field behind the house, early morning sunlight falling on your face. The ground is hard and cold. Your clothes are wet from the dew on the grass around you. You get up and look around. You have no idea where you are. Except for the farmhouse, there is nothing to orient yourself by, so you start walking.

It takes you a while to find a road and by the time you do, you're shivering. It’s a long country road and you start walking along it, picking a random direction. After a while, you hear an engine and turn around.

It’s a large truck, barreling down the road. Getting picked up out here by a stranger is a bad idea. But you don’t know what else to do. So you stick out your hand.

As the car pulls up next to you, you look up and down the road again. Then you lean into the window. The man inside is old, white hair, skinny.

“Where you going, honey?” he asks, voice a little suspicious.

“Into town,” you answer. He nods.

“Well, I’m going into Kilgore,” he answers. “I can take you there.” You look down the street again.

“Do they have a police station there?” you ask and the man nods.

“Yeah,” he says. You think for another second. Then you get in.

The old man pulls back onto the road. You look out the window, at the fields going by, but you can tell that he’s shooting looks over at you.

“Did something happen to you?” he asks, voice careful. “Did someone hurt you?” You keep looking outside.

“I don’t know,” you answer. He’s quiet for a moment before he speaks again.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks. You feel your eyes fill with tears.

“I don’t know,” you reply.

A part of the electric grid dying and some weird weather aren’t much in the way of supernatural omens, but it’s enough to pique Dean’s interest, apparently. Sam’s pretty sure that his brother is just trying to get him out of the bunker. He’d be moved if he wasn’t so damn annoyed by it. He just wants to sleep.

Instead, he is wearing his FBI suit, talking to the deputy after he and Dean have just walked into the local police station. He’s a middle-aged man with impressive sideburns, who distantly smells like tobacco.

“I’m telling you,” he says as he leads Sam and Dean away from the front desk into the station proper, police bustling around them, phones ringing off the hook. “Nothing out of the ordinary has happened in this town in the fifty-three years I’ve lived here, and then in one weekend, boom!” He shakes his head.

“Any idea how these things could be connected?” Dean asks, but the deputy just frowns at him over his shoulder, not stopping.

“Connected?” he asks. “How would these things be connected?” Dean does his best non-committal shrug. The deputy waves him off.

“You take care of the conspiracy theories, son,” he says. “I’m just trying to make sure people can watch the game tonight. Lotta good it’ll do me, I’ll probably have to stay with our Jane Doe.” Sam frowns at his back.

“Jane Doe?” he asks, and the deputy nods.

“Yeah,” he answers, “young woman, doesn’t know her name or where she came from. She was picked up by Jim Hoover this morning. Wait.” He stops, turns around to face the brothers, scratches his chin. “I thought that’s why you were here.”

“We’re here to cover all the… bases,” Dean jumps in, polite smile on his face. “What can you tell us about her?” The man shrugs.

“Not much, seeing as she don’t seem to know anything herself,” he answers. “Doc checked her out earlier. She’s an amnesiac, or whatever the hell it’s called.” Sam nods. A witness is always a good place to start.

“Where is she now?” he asks, and the deputy gives an awkward smile.

“Still here at the station,” he says, rubbing at his chin again. “We don’t really know what to do with her, truth be told. We’re checking all missing person reports in the state involving women around her age.” He shrugs, a distant look of desperation coming over his face.

“So far we got nothing,” he continues. “We don’t even know if she’s from around here.” He snaps back into the moment.

“Might be a good idea for us to talk to her anyway,” Dean offers.

“Well, if you think she can tell you anything about electrical storms,” the deputy continues, “knock yourselves out.”

He leads Sam and Dean towards the end of the open office space into another hallway, to a door that reads Interview 1. He opens the door and walks in.

“Ma’am,” he starts, “these two gentlemen from the FBI are here to talk to you.”

“Look, I already told you,” you say as you turn around in your chair to look at the three men in the doorway. “I don’t know anything else.”

Sam stops dead in his tracks. He sees you, he recognizes you, but he doesn’t believe his own eyes, doesn’t trust his judgement. He’s had this happen a lot – walking down the street and thinking he sees you in the distance, only for it to be a complete stranger. That’s what he expects this to be.

He waits for the confusion to clear, for his brain to turn your face into the face of someone who only slightly looks like you. But it doesn’t happen. He blinks and still it’s you. It can’t be. He says your name.

“What?” you reply, your eyes going to him. There’s no reaction there, no recognition.

Dean must be equally stunned, but he’s the one who snaps out of it, takes over. He tears his eyes off you and turns to the deputy.

“You mind giving us a minute?” he asks, practically already shooing the man out of the interview room. “Just have a few questions.” The deputy opens his mouth to say something, but then Dean closes the door in his face, spins around.

Meanwhile Sam takes a step closer to you. He can’t take his eyes off of you. How is this possible? He thinks your cheeks might be a little bit more hollow, maybe your hair is a little longer. Is that possible? So he says the thing that he believes will clear things up.

“It’s me,” he says. “It’s Sam.”

Your eyes are big as you stare at him, slowly shake your head.

“I-- I don't…” you say, but don’t finish the sentence. Sam takes another step forward, and that’s when you stand up, back away. Bring distance between you and him. “Who are you?”

Dean has turned back from the door, watched the exchange. Sees his little brother grappling with what he has in front of him, who he has in front of him. So he takes over, once again,

“It’s us,” he says, motioning towards the two of them. “It’s Sam and Dean.”

Nothing changes on your face, almost as if you’ve never heard these two names before. Dean quickly looks back at Sam, checks his reaction, but Sam’s only staring at you. You are looking between the two brothers. Sam’s stares seem to make you uncomfortable, and you can’t keep his gaze.

“I don’t know you, okay?” you finally say. “The… the doctor at the hospital thinks I might have had an, uhm, an accident, which is why I don’t remember anything.” You rattle off this information as if you’re a kid and it’s your home address that you just learned.

“Do I,” you start, then stop. “Do we know each other?” Sam’s still frozen in place but Dean can only give an unbelieving scoff.

“Yeah,” he says, like he can’t believe you’re asking. “Yeah, we know each other. Are you saying you don’t remember us at all?” You shake your head.

“No, I’m—I’m sorry,” you reply, then look the brothers up and down. “Did I—was I a fed too?”

Dean doesn’t understand what you’re talking about for a second before he follows your gaze, looks down himself and remembers what he’s wearing, who he’s pretending to be.

“No, no,” he answers, then wonders if it would help you trust them if you think that you work together. “I mean, kinda. Look, it’s a long story.” He narrows his eyes at you. “You really don’t remember us?” You shake your head.

“I don’t remember anything,” you reply.

There’s a knock on the door. Dean turns halfway towards it.

“Give us a minute!” he says, voice raised so it can be heard on the other side. Almost like his loud voice makes Sam snap out of his stupor, the younger Winchester suddenly blinks his eyes.

“I… I can’t believe it’s you,” he says, still not looking away from you. You look up at him, nervously.

“Okay,” Dean says when he turns back. “First thing we’re gonna do is get you out of here. We can take care of everything else after that.” He’s interrupted by another knock on the door.

“I said, give us a minute!” Dean repeats, voice loud and annoyed. Meanwhile, Sam takes a careful step closer to you, hand raised like he’s trying to calm a scared animal.

“You’re safe, okay?” he says, voice a little thick. “It’s all gonna be okay.” This time, you don’t back away. You study him, and then slowly nod. Another knock breaks the sudden silence.

Dean turns back to the door, hand reaching out. “I said—” he starts as he rips it open to give whoever is on the other side of it a verbal thrashing.

It’s the deputy. But there’s something strange about him. His eyes are turned up and there’s blood on his bottom lip. He fills out the doorway for a second, and then collapses to the floor, only to reveal another police officer behind him. This one with black eyes.

“The King of Hell wants a word with you,” he says. Dean pulls the angel blade quickly, barely a conscious process at this point, more like a honed instinct.

“You can tell Crowley to shove it,” he says through clenched teeth. The demon moves his head towards Dean.

“Not you,” he says, and then glares back into the interview room. “Her.”

Your eyes go wide, but it’s nothing compared to what happens when Dean reaches out, grabs the demon by the shirt collar and rams the blade into his neck, black smoke inside flickering. You scream, and Sam turns to you, but he also knows he shouldn’t take his eyes off the door. There could be more. There always are.

Dean meanwhile drops the body and then peeks out into the hallway, looks up and down it. He pulls his head back, turns to Sam, who’s pulled out his demon knife.

“I don’t see any more, but I doubt he’s on his own,” he says, and Sam nods. No matter what is going on between them, this is what they’re good at. This is where they work perfectly together. Sam turns back to you. You are staring at the dead officer on the ground.

“You killed that man,” you mutter and, well, Sam can see how that might look.

“Believe me,” Dean cuts in. “That wasn’t a man. Now come on.” Since Sam still seems to be out of it, Dean walks towards you, wraps his hand around your arm. You flinch at the contact, but don’t fight him, maybe too stunned to do anything.

Sam walks out first, knife raised and when he nods back at Dean, the three of you slowly make your way back towards the front of the station.

“That guy…” you say, voice shaky as you walk next to Dean, needing to take two steps for every one he does. “He… he had black eyes.”

Just then, you enter the area with the desks. It’s completely empty at first glance. That could be good. It could also be very, very bad.

“Those were demons,” Dean explains as he drags you through the room. Your eyes widen.

“Demons?” you repeat, then take a deep breath. “Oh my God, you’re lunatics.”

Sam, who’s walking ahead, stops suddenly, Dean almost running into him. He looks past his brother.

He can just see into the entrance hall of the station, where the reception is. The front of the building is mostly glass. Beyond it are more demons than Dean can count.

Some of them are in police officers and some of them are civilians. They are surrounding the station, all turned to look at it. Making a split-second decision, Dean drags you behind the reception counter, out of sight, Sam following and kneeling next to the two of you.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” you mutter. You might not believe in demons, but the visual of those people outside is chilling, no doubt. Sam looks around the counter.

“Dean,” he says, the first thing he’s said in a while. “We’re not gonna make it out that way.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean answers, looking around. “There.” He nods towards the side of the room. There’s a door with the words Roof access on them. Sam understands, and keeping low, he makes his way towards the door. Good, Dean thinks. He needs to keep him busy. Because Dean saw the look in his brother’s face. If you’re not, well, you… He’s not sure Sam’s gonna survive that.

“Now,” he says, letting go of you, pretty sure that you’re not gonna try to run now, and reaches into his jacket. “You don’t remember anything, huh? Not us or demons or how you got here?” You shake your head intensely.

“No,” you say, keeping your voice low. “I just… I woke up in some field, and I don’t know anything else.” Dean nods, then takes his hand out of his jacket. In it he has his silver flask, passes it to you. You frown at him.

“I’m not sure drinking is the solution right now,” you say and it makes Dean grin.

“It’s holy water,” he says. “Just wanna make sure you’re not one of those guys with the black eyes.”

“Holy water?” you say, lowering your head. “Are you going to kill me and, and cut up my body and play with my innards, or something?” This time Dean chuckles. You might not remember who you are, but there’s something very distinctly you about whoever he’s talking to.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he responds. You eye him for another second, then take the flask from him, smell it. Dean guesses that if you really don’t remember who you are, you would also want to make sure you’re not a demon. Hesitantly, you take a sip. Nothing happens. If Dean was the praying kind, he would send a quick thank you up to Heaven. He takes the flask back from you.

“I guess you don’t have any actual liquor, do you?” you ask and Dean turns towards you. He shakes his head, and you look disappointed.

Just then, Sam comes back. Dean notices he’s avoiding looking at you, but still can’t stop himself from his gaze flickering to you. But he always looks away quickly. Maybe he’s too scared to get used to the sight of you.

“The door’s unlocked, we can get up there, try to make it to the next building,” Sam explains, then looks at you. His face immediately goes soft. “How are you doing?” You look at Sam, brow furrowed.

“Not great,” you say and Sam nods.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he says again. Maybe he needs to convince himself more than anything.

“Okay,” Dean says, getting both of your attention, “I say we make a run for it. On three. One—”

All the glass windows at the front of the building suddenly explode.

“Three! Three!” Dean yells. You’ve brought your hands together over your head, but Sam grabs one of them, pulls you after him and then all three of you are running towards the stairs. Dean takes the rear and he can hear footsteps behind him, people running. Sam rips open the door to the roof and starts sprinting up it, needs to slow himself because you are not as fast as him. Dean turns around last second, grabs the door handle and slams the door closed behind him.

You reach the roof and Dean looks into the distance. The Impala is parked down the street, just one building further. If you can get to that building and climb down it, you should be able to make it to the car and drive off with a head start.

There’s a little bit of a gap between the two buildings, Dean sees, as he jogs towards the edge of the roof. The good news is though that the next building is lower, so it should be an easy jump.

“This way,” he says, then takes a few steps back and jumps across the gap. He lands on the other side, then keeps going to the edge, careful the demons below can’t see him. There’s a fire escape down into an alley – if you’re fast, you can cut the demons off, make it to the car.

Sam, meanwhile, is intensely aware of the fact that he is holding your hand, and the fact that he will need to let go for either of you to make the jump. He turns to you, looks at you intently.

“I’ll go first,” he says. You’re looking around, terrified, but then focus on him, look at his face. “And I’ll catch you, okay?” He dares to look at your face.

It’s you, Sam thinks. It’s really you.

Then he needs to let go. It takes him everything but he turns, makes the jump. It’s not far, really. He turns around, stands close to the edge and looks up at you. But you don’t jump.

Instead you look back as someone bangs against the inside of the door leading up to the roof. Sam can see your breathing picking up. You’re panicking, he’s pretty sure.

“Come on,” he says and your eyes shoot towards him.

“I… I can’t make it over there,” you say. “It’s too far.” Sam shakes his head.

“No, it’s okay,” he says, and now he feels himself start to panic. He should have let you jump first, should have stayed up there with you. He went first because he thought you’d find it easier if you had him to jump towards. But you don’t know him. Jesus, do you really not know him?

“You can do it,” he says, trying to reassure you. “I’ve got you.” You turn back to the door, more banging coming from there. When you turn back to Sam, he sees tears in your eyes.

“They’re gonna kill me,” you say, lips shaking.

“No,” Sam says, trying to make his voice as clear as possible, trying to break through to you. “They’re not.” But you’re looking away from him.

“Hey!” Sam says, voice loud, and you finally look at him again. “Look at me.” And you do. Your eyes stay on him.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” he says, his own voice shaking. “But you need to trust me. Please.” And you still look unsure, but you also look so much like you. Those times when you would let Sam see your fear, your soft, gooey center, as you'd call it afterwards, wiping away your tears, trying to make light of the situation.

“Please,” Sam repeats. “I can’t lose you again.”

The door behind you bangs open, and the first demon comes through. He looks around for a second, and when he spots you he starts sprinting towards you. You don’t have time to walk backwards and get more of a run-up. They’re too close. So you simply jump.

Sam leans forward, and he can feel the moment his arms wrap around you. He pulls you in, holds you, turns so that your feet land on the roof. When they do, you gasp, and he quickly looks down at you to make sure you’re okay.

It seems that you are and the moment he looks at you, so close, staring back at him, he knows it’s really you. Being a hunter has taught him to always make sure, always look for proof, but it’s also taught him to trust his gut. And his gut is saying one thing loud and clear – that this is you. That you’re not dead, but that you’re alive.

Sam can already hear the approaching footsteps, so he tears his eyes away from you and grabs your hand again, takes you over to the edge of the roof he can just see Dean disappearing down. You let him hold your hand as he leads you to the ladder. This time he makes you go first.

Dean’s feet hit the ground of the alley, and when he turns to move towards where the Impala is parked, three demons are just turning the corner. He stops, turns, starts going the other way just as you and then Sam reach the ground as well, but there’s more demons already on the other side.

Without thinking about it, Sam reaches out for you and pulls you back, between him and Dean. Each brother faces one way, knife drawn.

It’s too many, Dean thinks as they approach slowly.

Sam doesn’t think that. All he thinks is that he will not lose you again. He won’t. This time, he’s going with you.

“Hello, boys,” they suddenly hear a smooth voice saying. “Should have known it would be you two.”

Crowley isn’t there and in the next second he is. The demons stop their approach while the King of Hell saunters towards the brothers, both now turned towards him.

“What the hell do you want, you limey ass?” Dean asks, voice low. Crowley grins at him.

“Keep it in your pants,” Crowley says, then tilts his head and looks at you. You’re half hidden behind Sam, shoulders pulled high.

“There’s my little runaway,” Crowley notes. Sam raises his knife.

“Stay the hell away from her,” he pushes out through gritted teeth. Crowley only scoffs.

“And what if I don’t?” he asks, keeping Sam’s gaze. “What if I tell my lackeys here to tear you all to pieces?” Sam stares back at Crowley, hoping, praying, he’s bluffing. That Crowley will let them walk away the way he so often has.

At last, the King sighs, slowly shakes his head.

“At least tell me how you did it,” he says, looking from Sam to Dean and back. “Let me know where I need to tighten up security.” Dean blinks, and looks sideways at his brother, then back at Crowley.

“Did what?” he asks. Crowley gives a deep sigh.

“You really are as dumb as you are lucky,” he complains, then points at you, making you tense up. “How did you break her out?” Sam narrows his eyes.

“Out of Hell?” he asks, and this time Crowley can’t help but roll his eyes.

“No, out of Disneyland,” he says. “Of course out of Hell!” Sam looks at Dean, notices his brother studying him.

“That wasn’t us,” Sam replies, making Crowley narrow his eyes.

“Then who was it, Romeo?” he says. Dean cuts in.

“We don’t know, okay?” he says.

Crowley thinks for a second. The magic it takes to drag a soul out of Hell is significant, and he must know the brothers couldn’t have done it without some help. And the fact that it’s you that’s been brought back puts them in the library with the candle stick. But they’re too simple to lie this well. Someone had to help them, and maybe they don’t even know. But Crowley can’t just let this go. He needs to make an example out of someone, anyone. He purses his lips.

“I want whoever did that spell,” he says, his eyes landing on you. “Or I’m coming back to collect what’s mine.” With that, he’s gone.

In the next second, all demons surrounding the three of you raise their heads, rip open their mouths. The black smoke screeches out of them, and the humans they were possessing collapse to the ground. You gasp, but Dean shakes himself out of it.

“Come on,” he says and starts walking. Sam looks down at you. You look terrified, and he doesn’t blame you. But you move, follow Dean, which he decides, for now, to take as a good sign.

The Impala is down the street, and there’s more of the recently possessed humans lying around it.

“Are these people gonna be okay?” you ask. Sam steps over the legs of an older woman.

“They’ll be fine,” he says. “They’re just out of it right now.”

Dean walks around to the driver’s side, gets in while Sam opens the door to the backseat, stepping aside so you can get in. But you don’t. You look at the car, then down the street. Finally at Sam. It feels like lightning traveling through him, to have you look at him.

He’s not sure if you trust him, but you do get in the car then. Maybe just because you think you don’t have a choice. Sam gets in the front just as Dean starts the engine.

Nobody says anything for a few miles. You make it out of town and onto the country road. The taller one with the dark hair – Sam? – keeps throwing looks your way, like he expects you to disappear into thin air. The other one whose name you can’t remember is concentrated on the road, both hands on the wheel.

You have your arms wrapped around you, look outside. The adrenaline you burned through is slowly making you tired, but if there’s one thing you know, it’s that the only thing dumber than getting into a car with two strange men who apparently are devil worshippers or something, is to fall asleep in that car. Still, you need to suppress a yawn. It makes Sam fully turn around in his seat.

He opens his mouth to say something, but seems to forget it in the same moment. Instead he just looks at you for a second before he catches himself.

“Uhm,” he says, and you couldn’t agree more.

“So I’m guessing you’re not really FBI agents?” you ask before he can say anything else. He seems confused for a second, then chuckles.

“No, uh, we’re not,” he says, looks down, then back up at you. “We’re hunters. We hunt demons and monsters and other things.” You nod, even though it’s a tough one to swallow. Part of you wants to tell him to take a hike, but also what you just saw… You don’t know how to explain it. If they’re just trying to kidnap you for some reason, get you to trust them, they’re going through an awful lot of trouble. And that guy, the one with the English accent, he really did just appear out of thin air, and then disappeared again. And that black smoke… Your memory catches on something.

“That guy in the suit,” you say, trying to remember. “Cowley?”

“Crowley,” the one who is driving corrects you. You nod.

“Crowley,” you say. “He said something about Hell? About breaking out of it?” The driver throws Sam a quick look. You’re not sure why, but for some reason you feel that a lot is said with that single look. Driver shifts in his seat.

“Yeah,” he says. “You were in Hell.”

You’re about to say something to that, something like I think I’d remember that I’ve been to Hell, but the answer dies in your throat. You don’t remember anything. And you don’t believe in Hell. At least you think you don’t.

“Okay,” you say, nodding slowly. Just in case these two are the psychotic kinds of lunatics and not the selling-your-organs-on-the-black-market ones, you decide to play along. “And why was I in Hell? I mean, is there a Heaven?” Quiet, again. Sam has turned back around, is looking out the front window. He has a deep frown on his face. The driver shoots him another look, like he’s waiting for him to answer.

“Because you sold your soul,” he answers when Sam doesn’t.

“Right,” you say, because of course you did. “And why did I sell my soul?” The driver sighs.

“Because you were trying to help someone who—” he starts, but Sam interrupts him.

“Dean,” he says, voice warning. Dean looks at him, studies him for a second, then looks forward. Again you feel like a whole conversation has passed without you noticing.

“You helped people,” Dean says instead, looking at you in the rear view mirror. “You did what we do. And you sold your soul to help someone.” He looks at Sam again, raises his eyebrows. You’re not sure what that means.

“I hunted things too?” you ask. Well, this is interesting. “Demons and monsters and stuff?” Now it’s Sam’s turn to turn back to you.

“Yeah,” he says, voice softer than when he spoke to the other man. “You were really good at it, too.” He smiles a little at you. It makes you blink. For a second, he seems incredibly familiar to you, but it’s gone a moment later. Maybe just déjà vu.

The three of you keep driving for a while, nobody saying anything. You look outside, watch the fields and then small towns and then farm houses and then fields again pass by.

“Where are we going?” you ask after a few miles. Dean clears his throat.

“To the place we live,” he answers. “You’ll be safe there, and we can figure this all out.” Sam turns around again.

“It’ll be a few hours,” he says. “If you wanna sleep, or something—” Whatever goes over your face must tell him that the last thing you’re gonna do is go to sleep in this car. You might have followed them, but then the alternatives weren’t exactly tempting. He closes his mouth, then leans forward. He moves, then pulls the knife he had earlier out from somewhere. You tense for a second, but he sees and raises his other hand, turns the knife so that he’s holding the blade, then passes it to you over the seat.

“Sammy—” Dean says but Sam doesn’t listen to him. Carefully, you reach out, take the knife. Lay your hand on your thigh and just hold it there. It feels strange in your hand, but not strange the way you expect it to feel.

“Would you prefer a gun?” Sam asks, studying you carefully. You take a deep breath and play over the revelation that apparently these men have guns.

“I’ve never shot a gun before,” you reply and Sam nods.

“Okay,” he says, then looks away, then back at you. You force a little smile onto your face.

“You don’t look… like a Sammy,” you say, hoping to lighten the mood a little. Maybe they’re less likely to sell your organs if they think you’re charming.

But Sam seems taken aback, blinks, frowns a little. He’s handsome, you realize, thick chestnut hair and an earnest, masculine face.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly add. “I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “It’s just…” He’s quiet for a moment, continues watching you. This time you hold his gaze.

“That’s what you said to me the first time we met,” he says, and his voice sounds impossibly gentle. You’re not sure what to do with that, how to understand what he’s saying. The first time you met? This is the first time you’re meeting. But then you remember that these two think you’ve known each other before. Before you went to Hell. Because you sold your soul.

Sam turns back in the next second. He looks out the window on his side, and you can’t see his face but he sits perfectly still. Dean looks his way again, but he doesn’t return the look. So instead Dean looks at you in the rear view mirror again, and then back at the road as he keeps driving.

You lean back into the seat, tightening your grip on the knife just in case.

#supernatural #spn #fanfic #sam winchester #gadreel #spn fanfic #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #gadreel x reader #gadreel x you #are you now or have you ever been #aynohyeb

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moviecritc · 1 year ago

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Hi! Could you do a driver!reader who is dating Max and is in ferrari and the whole Carlos thing is happening to her so in Australia she ignores team orders and goes to win the race. Charles is mad at her and in the post race interview when asked about it she is just like "Happy multi 21 day everyone" and like Max is so fucking proud his gf is in her reputation era 💅💅💅

on the edge ⋆ max verstappen

pairing: max verstappen x driver!reader

word count: 1.7K

warnings: charles leclerc being himself (a bitch)

a/n: this is my first request it makes me very very happy!! thanks anon for your request, i hope you like this. i love max with all my heart and i love writing about him aswell.

just wanted to tell you guys that for the requests you can ask for reader and oc, even though when it's not a request it'll probably be an oc bc i love to give names to my characters <3

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

Y/N didn't have a seat for the upcoming Formula 1 season, and that stressed her out quite a bit. She and Charles had been teammates for three years, and she really thought Ferrari would keep her on the team, but upon learning that Lewis Hamilton was leaving Mercedes, they were the first to snatch him up and turn their backs on her.

Now she had two options: give up, pray to sign with Williams or Haas, or outperform herself this season and force her way into one of the top five teams. And for now, she had chosen the second option. P3 in the first race and in the top five in the second. She was extremely motivated for Australia.

Y/N loved the view of the fireworks from the podium, the champagne, and, above all, celebrating with Max Verstappen. Because let's not lie, it was obvious that Max would be on most of the podiums.

They kept their relationship out of the media. Being coworkers, neither of them wanted their relationship to hinder their success in Formula 1, but that didn't mean they didn't support each other every time the other achieved something.

Max had been with her throughout her Formula 1 career. They were the same age, but when Max debuted in the competition, she was still in Formula 2, battling against Albon and Russell for the title. A year before his debut, Y/N got a spot at Alpha Tauri as a reserve driver. It was in that year that Max and she started a relationship, at first quite casual and sporadic until they realized they were too obsessed with each other not to formalize it. And four years later, they were still together, sharing an attic in Monaco and competing together for the championship.

"It's going to be great for both of us, I'm sure," Y/N nodded. Before each race, they had a kind of ritual where they wished each other good luck, hugged, and kissed.

"I see a Y/Nstappen 1-2," Max assured before giving her a long kiss, resting his arms on his girlfriend's waist.

"I hope so,"

"Oh, come on. You're starting fourth, it'll be bad if you don't get on the podium," Max said. He knew her situation in Formula 1 was tense and did everything he could to make her feel good and positive. Max loved racing with her, and if she ended up off the grid next season, he would probably suffer from seasonal depression.

They kissed once more and were about to hug when someone knocked on Max's door to get them to the drivers' parade. They couldn't complete their little ritual, but neither of them gave it too much importance.

They went out to the parade where she was asked about her future in Formula 1, as they had been doing since the season started. That also annoyed her, would it always be like this from now on? Would everything be oriented towards whether she was unemployed or not? She answered with the best smile she could and ended the interview as quickly as possible.

She returned to Max, who was leaning on the fence of the truck they were being taken in for the parade. She leaned on the railing, holding it with her hands. Then Max discreetly placed his hand on hers, making her smile at the contact. Max wasn't very fond of physical contact, but if he could manage to brush against her shoulder, he would, maintaining professionalism wasn't as easy as it seemed.

"How's it going, mates?" Surprisingly, Leclerc approached them to start a conversation, first fist bumping with Max and then with Y/N, pressing his lips a little.

Their relationship as teammates was quite complicated at the moment. She was killing it in the few races that had passed, while Charles was just doing okay. Plus, although when Y/N joined the team, Charles and she had gotten along very well, that year they had been growing apart for obvious reasons.

They talked for a while about the race and expectations, especially Max and Charles, while Y/N disconnected from the situation a bit. Sometimes she was surprised that Charles and Max got along so well.

"Good luck today, Y/N," Charles said before leaving with Gasly.

Y/N blinked and looked at Max, puzzled. "What did he mean by that?"

"What do you mean?" Max frowned a little.

"He wished me luck, as if he thought I needed it," she insisted, biting her cheek.

"Everyone needs some luck, Y/N," Max said, knowing how nervous she could get when something didn't fit in her head.

"He didn't say anything to you," Y/N argued, crossing her arms.

"I mean…" Max tilted his head a little, eliciting a little smile from Y/N. "Don't dwell on it too much, you'll do great."

She loved that, how Max was able to lift her spirits in any situation, getting a little smile out of her. She loved him for that.

The parade ended, and they each went to their garage, fist bumping as a farewell because anything else would cause a stir in the media. In the Ferrari garage, her engineer commented on the strategies that focused on supporting and defending Charles even if he started two positions below her.

She gave Charles a short glance before going to the cars and taking their respective positions. It’s light and away we go. Y/N was so focused on passing Lando Norris that she didn't realize her boyfriend was no longer in first place, actually, he wasn't there anymore. She asked the engineers what had happened; Max had had some problems with the brakes and had retired from the race. "Don't fuck with me," she said, not fully believing it. "Is Max okay?"

"We don't know, focus on the race," her engineer emphasized.

"When you know, tell me, please," Y/N added, without receiving a response. There had been no accident, no red flag, so he was probably fine. But if there was smoke and sparks, there was always a chance that something had happened to him in the pits.

Y/N took a couple of breaths and refocused on the race. She looked on the bright side; she was third and had a chance to win. A few laps later, she managed to overtake Lando Norris. She pitted, and in the last third of the race, she was in first place. Behind her was Charles, so she thought they would change the strategy, and he would be the one defending the position.

"Y/N, let Charles pass," her engineer said, taking her by surprise.

"What?" Y/N practically shouted. "But I'm in first,"

"They're team orders, let him pass,"

"He's slow! He's over half a second behind me, letting him pass will make me slow down!" She couldn't believe this was happening.

"Y/N."

"If he can overtake me, let him, but I'm not letting him pass. I'm winning this fucking race."

And so it was. Y/N crossed the finish line first, and when she got out of the car, Max was there to greet her with a hug. He tried to make her not notice that there were hardly any people from her team there, but Y/N realized it, and her gaze darkened a little. Still, Charles came second, and when he parked his car, several Ferrari mechanics went to congratulate him.

Max watched Y/N, worried that she would take it badly. But then he saw her exchange a triumphant

look with Charles, who, upon seeing her, turned serious. And if that wasn't enough, she blew a kiss to Charles and then went with Max, who put an arm around her shoulders.

"That was incredible," Max said.

"The race or Charles's face?" she questioned, with an ironic smile.

"Both. I thought you'd be sad because there was no one to greet you,"

"You were there,"

"From your team, I mean," Max explained.

"You and I are a team, Maxie. Have you never thought about that?" She looked at him with a smile. "You're right, we are,"

"Are you okay?" Y/N asked. "I got quite worried when you DNF’d."

"I'm okay, no serious damage,"

"And emotionally?"

"I'm fine. Proud of you, above all," Max nodded. "Now go celebrate your podium, I'll be watching you from below,"

They gave each other a brief kiss on the cheek, not caring too much about the cameras; she had just won the race, she deserved at least a kiss from her boyfriend. She received her prize with a smile and celebrated the podium with Charles and Lando, more with Lando than with Charles. The McLaren driver had congratulated her countless times that day, but Charles barely spoke to her.

"Are you okay, mate?" Y/N asked, knowing what was coming.

"You didn't follow team orders," Charles said directly.

"Oh, right. That," she shrugged, raising her eyebrows. "You came second, Charles. It's not that bad,"

"Damn, but if they tell you to let me pass, you let me pass. What does it matter to you?" he raised his voice a little.

"What does it matter to you? You have your golden seat at Ferrari. Some of us have to work really hard to have a seat, crazy, right?" Y/N rolled her eyes with a smile and turned around, leaving Charles with a word on his lips.

Y/N reached the interview area, where Lando and Oscar were doing their respective interviews.

"Y/N! You won the race by disobeying team orders, does it feel the same as winning a race fair and square?" a man asked.

"Fair and square? I was fast enough to cross the line first, the rest weren't. I think that's how a race is supposed to be won," she argued. She smiled widely; she saw Max was also around, waiting for his turn for interviews.

"Don't you have any remorse?" he questioned.

"Not one,"

She ended the interview after that; she didn't feel like explaining. As she turned around, she found Max with an almost mischievous smile. They fist bumped, and he went to do the interview. "Max, can we ask you about the win of your girlfriend?"

"About Y/N,"

"Yes, about Y/N," he nodded.

"I'm extremely proud of her, it's her second victory, and even though I had to retire, I'm glad she won this race,"

"Even given the circumstances of the victory?" the reporter questioned.

"With the circumstances of the victory," Max assured with a broad smile.

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