#i know people are weird about max and p | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

glitterquadricorn · 2 months

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Look What You Made Me Do - MV1

+summary: The couple was once thought to be the modern-day Romeo and Juliet (minus the unaliving part). Where you saw her, Max was not too far behind and vice versa. And despite his father's insistence to stay from her, he simply couldn't. He was enthralled by her and her persistence on the track. Together, they rose through the ranks and found themselves to be teammates in Formula one. But their story turns sour when Max betrays her in the worst way possible. +pairing: Max Verstappen x F1!driver +warnings: cheating, mentions the p*quets, curse words, hate comments, poorly edited. If i missed something, let me know.

face claim: Florence Pugh

I do not give my permission to have my work reposted. I do not give my permission to have my work translated. If I'm notified that you've stolen my work or claim it as your own, you'll be asked to take it down before I'll report you. End of discussion.

Her phone constantly vibrated against the glass coffee table of Max and Her's home. People were mentioning her in a tweet made from one of those wag accounts saying that Max was spotted with another woman that wasn't her and that he could be cheating. 'Max wouldn't cheat on me, right?' she thought to herself. Although, she remembered he had been acting rather weird lately. But him acting weird could mean anything.

The sound of the front door opening and closing and keys hitting the ceramic bowl alerted her that Max was home. Her eyes went straight to the bright orange bag in his hand. The same bright orange bag from the picture in the tweet.

"What's going on in that head of yours, Schatz?" Max hugged her, kissing the top of her head. He smelled like her.

"Thinking about what to make for dinner. Anything in particular?"

"I was thinking we could get takeout."

"Sounds good." She watched as Max turned towards their bedroom and tucked neatly into the collar of his shirt, which was a redbull shirt no shock there, was a semi dark hickey. A hickey she knew she didn't put there. Maybe that one tweet was right.

Dinner that night was a silent affair. The question of rather or not he was actually cheating weighed heavily on her mind. One half of her was being completely ignorant and believing Max would never do such a thing. The other half, the rational half, are putting the pieces together and ringing the alarm bells and are practically shouting from the rooftops that he is most definitely cheating. It was getting to be too much for her.

"Are you cheating on me?"

Max began choking on the water in his mouth. "What? Are you crazy? Where are you even getting this from?"

"It's just- I kept getting tagged in that one tweet-"

"And you believe it? You know those kinds of accounts make stuff up."

"Never said I did, Max," she said. "But explain the orange shopping bag, or how you got that hickey on your neck, or how you smell like none of the perfumes I have."

"I don't have to deal with this." Max stood up from the table and y/n followed after him.

"So, they're true?"

"Y/n, I don't want to talk about this right now."

"Well, that's just too damn bad. We're talking about this now because If we don't it won't get talked about at all."

Max faced her, his body shaking with anger. "Fine! Yes, I did cheat on you. Is that what you wanted to hear? How you weren't good enough and will never be good enough for me? How you'll never be good enough for anyone? How sometimes I can't fucking stand you to be around you? You. are. insufferable."

Her eyes started to fill with tears. In all the years she's known Max, he's never not once gotten this mad nor has he ever been this hateful. As if he realized what he's said, he began to apologize profusely.

"I'm so, so sorry, Schatz." Max tried to come closer to comfort her, but she stepped away.

"Thanks for letting me know how you really feel about me, Max. I'll uh get out of your hair."

"Y/n, please-"

"No amount of apologizing will ever make me forget what you said. You were the love of my life, the man that I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with and have kids with."

"But we can still have that!"

"It's rather funny you're trying to save a relationship you destroyed," she chuckled loudly at Max's audacity. "Tell me, how long have you been cheating? And be honest, I deserve that much."

With his head hung low in shame, he mumbled, "Nearly a year."

"Unbelievable."

Before heading off to their bedroom to pack some clothes, she looked at the man she once loved. "You know, I've dealt with a lot in my life. I've traveled the world seeing it in a whole new light while doing what I loved, been in a crash or two that was painful, seen and experienced things I didn't think I'd be able to experience, but this... this hurts the most."

Once she left the house, she got in her car and tapped on her lawyer's number, texting him.

I don't care how you do it, but just get me out my redbull contract. DON'T TELL ANYONE ABOUT THIS.

yourinstagram(left) and maxverstappen1(right) . 2hrs ago

yourinstagram

liked by taylorswift, lilymhe, pierregasly and 932,312 others.

yourinstagram: Mama Tay once said don't get sad, get even 💅🏻💋#newsponsor #newthingsarecoming

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taylorswift I taught you well young grasshopper. liked by yourinstagram

lilymhe where are you going dressed like that? cause damn. ⤷ yourinstagram sponsorship meeting with a new sponsor.

user1 you want to explain that second picture?

user2 looking respectfully.

user3 new things coming? what's that supposed to mean? ⤷ user4 she did say she got a new sponsor and I assume it's with Chanel. ⤷ user5 I can't help but think the whole new things coming means something else.

pierregasly 👀👀 ⤷ yourinstagram just taking lessons from you.

francisca.cgomes are you single? ⤷ yourinstagram why yes, I am. you asking me out on a date? ⤷ francisca.cgomes of course! ⤷ pierregasly I'm right here you know. ⤷ yourinstagram I'll make sure to have her home before midnight 😉

user6 not y/n flirting with pierre's girlfriend 🤣

For half an hour, she sat on the couch listening to Lando, Logan, Charles and Pierre answer questions about their summer break, their hopes for the second half of the season and what they want for their teams/cars. Not one question came her way, and she was happy about that. She hated doing media with a passion. She could understand they had bills to pay, families to support, but if she could get away with not doing any kind of media without being fined for it, she'd happily do it.

Just when she thought she'd have an easy day, a reporter she was familiar with, one she has had problems with since her debut in 2021, raised her hand.

"Mackenzie Smith, Espn. I have a question for you, y/n," she smiled. "Over the summer break there was a rumor going around saying you were leaving redbull at the end of the season. Is that true? Can you maybe give some insight on that?"

It's an innocent question to ask, but knowing Mackenzie, she'll somehow go off topic and ask questions she has no business asking about.

"Accounts like that always make up some of the most ridiculous things for clicks. Unfortunately, people believe it and until me, or my agent confirms it, then it's just that. A rumor."

Mackenzie huffed, clearly not satisfied with that answer. But if there's something about Mackenzie everyone should know, is she has a habit of asking rather intrusive questions she has no business asking. "Your relationship with fellow driver, Max Verstappen, ended over the summer break as well."

"My relationship, or lack thereof, is not yours or anyone's business. End of discussion."

"But he-"

"Yeah, and I said end of discussion. What part of that did you not understand?" she paused. "Now, does anyone have any other questions? No? Okay."

She sat the microphone down beside her and walked out the room. Was she going to get lectured by her PR manager? Yeah. Was she going to be fined for walking out? Probably. But she didn't care and if there was one thing she knew she didn't have to sit there and be questioned about her personal life.

porscheformula1team

liked by yourinstagram, mickschumacher, and 1,253,549 others.

porscheformula1team: Come meet our drivers! Mick, who is returning to the f1 grid after missing out on the 2023 season and Y/n, who finished 2nd in the drivers' standings. The future for Porsche looks bright!

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yourinstagram Thank you for this amazing opportunity, Porsche. ⤷porscheformula1team: No, thank you for taking the risk and signing with us.

mickschumacher It's good to be back in formula one.

user7 while I am excited for Mick to be back, I just think y/n is a backstabber for leaving a team that pretty built her entire career. ⤷user6 did you honestly think y/n would stick around after Max cheated on her?

user8 this is the best thing to wake up to!

user9 redbull was holding y/n back, so it's a good thing she left.

user10 future wdc winners? liked by mickschumacher, yourinstagram,porscheformula1team

user11 best driver's pairing in f1 liked by porscheformula1team

user12 signing these two was the biggest mistake Porsche ever made. ⤷porscheformula1team we beg to differ. ⤷user13 Porsche defending mick and y/n 🥰🤗

Max Why didn't you tell me you were leaving? When did you even sign with porsche?

Y/N Didn't know I was obligated to tell you I was leaving. I signed back in August after I got that Chanel sponsor.

Max YOU SIGNED BACK IN AUGUST?! WTF

Y/N I move fast just like you.

Max What's that supposed to mean?

Y/N It means you're okay with getting into a relationship with Kelly 2 weeks after we broke up.

Max You're being childish, y/n.

Y/N Did you really think I'd stay after you cheated? In 2024, you better get used to being behind me because that WDC is mine.

Don't let this flop. I worked real hard on it.

ALL PICTURES ARE FROM PINTEREST AND CREDIT TO THE OWNERS.

Tagging:

@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @patzammit @tinycyberhacker @keenmarvellover @mrspeacem1nusone @lendeluxe @alexxavicry @allenajade-ite @catswag22 @eugene-emt-roe @wcnorris @bibissparkles @cherry-piee

#formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula one x driver!reader #formula 1 x y/n #formula one imagine #formula one x y/n #f1 x reader

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fangirl-dot-com · 2 months

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Chapter 24 - Loving Her was Red and Navy

Guys...it's time

“And that is p-”

Your eyebrows scrunched as you couldn’t hear the rest of what Mitch had said on the radio. You pressed the button down, hoping to try to hear it once again. You had just completed your final quali lap for the Italian Grand Prix. It was definitely fast, but they don’t call it the Temple of Speed for nothing.

“I’m sorry Mitch, the radio went out. What is my position?”

“P-”

The radio scratched even worse than before.

You pressed the button again.

“P what? Mitch I’m sorry, I legit cannot understand you. I’ll see you in the garage?”

The radio just kept crackling after that. You drove your car around the track once again before heading to the pits. Outside, you could see all the mechanics jumping up and down and the engineers hugging each other as your car got closer.

Did Max get pole? You questioned to yourself.

You guessed that they were super happy for not letting Ferrari be front row? You just wished you knew where you were starting today. Your car was parked and led into the garage. Multiple people were patting your helmet as you sat there, deactivating the steering wheel.

Did you get P2? That had to be it.

Once you were out of the car, you took your helmet off, eyebrows still scrunched as everyone was congratulating you. It was starting to weird you out, so you stepped out of the garage, trying to find your teammate.

However, you passed by George and Lewis first. The taller Briton was smiling widely at you, which made your eyebrows pinch even more.

George clapped you on the shoulder. “Great job out there! Congrats!”

“So proud. You’re going to do great,” Lewis said as he gave you a side hug.

“Uh, thank you?”

You kept walking, trying to find Max, or maybe even Charles.

Your wish was granted as you found the Dutchman and Monégasque, along with both papaya drivers. Their eyes were wide as you got closer. Lando almost bulldozed you over in a giant hug. Your hand patted his back as you were stiff, still not knowing what the hell was going on.

Once Lando let you go, Max brought you into a side hug. Your hand patted his back in congrats.

“Good job for pole mate.” You sipped your water.

The four around you went eerily quiet. Your head cocked, looking around.

“Everyone ok?”

Your eyes flitted around the pit, while the men just stared. Your phone buzzed, but you only looked at the time and not the multiple posts and tags from Instagram and every other social media you had.

Your eyes were still glued to the phone when you asked, “Can someone tell me what position I’m in? The radio on my car was super scratchy and I couldn’t hear Mitch.”

Max was about to respond, but a random interviewer came up to the five of you. The group put on their camera smiles as the man began to ask the drivers questions. You were confused when the man didn’t ask anything about pole to Max when he brought up tomorrow’s race. Well, that was, until he turned to you.

“How does it feel to have you first pole position?”

The mic was shoved in your direction. Your face went blank and the world went silent.

“What?”

The man kind of rolled his eyes. “You have just become the youngest pole sitter in Formula 1 history. How are you feeling right now?”

Your eyes widened as you took in the question. You were now hyper aware of Max’s hand on your back, where he had left it after your side hug.

“Uh, great?”

The men around you snickered. You looked around, even more confused.

“This is actually the first I’m hearing about this,” you continued, “I thought that Max was on pole.”

The man let out a small laugh before thanking you for your time. Your eyes were still wide as Max led you back to the garage, where the cheers got even louder. A second water was placed in your hands as you got closer to Mitch.

She turned to you once she noticed you were back and brought you into a big hug. You started laughing as you squeezed her tightly.

“What’s with the giggles?” she asked, trying not to laugh herself.

“I thought Max was on pole. My radio was super scratchy and I couldn’t hear you. Some random journalist was the one to tell me!” you exclaimed over the celebrations in the garage.

Vito came to you next and brought you into a side hug. You inhaled deeply as his arms enveloped you in a safe space.

You whispered, “I did it. I really did it.”

His hand came up to ruffle your hair. “Always knew you could kid. Always.”

Next was Christian who, like Vito, bear hugged you. He patted your head during the hug. You sighed contently in his arms.

“Is it nap time now?” you questioned, making everyone laugh.

Christian spoke up. “We have debrief and then you can go back to the hotel to sleep. I think there’s a surprise for you.”

Now that did it. Your leg bounced up and down the entire meeting. You mentally tried to will Christian to hurry up, but he kept on going. The minute the meeting was done, you bolted out of your seat.

Sadly, your car was being transported for tomorrow, so you couldn’t go very fast. And besides, you had taken an uber, thinking that they would have gone much faster. Yet, their version of fast was nowhere near your version. When the car finally stopped, you quickly thanked the driver and threw some money at him, not even waiting for the change.

The elevator also thought it would be good to give you a lesson in patience as well, as someone before you had pressed all the buttons – making you stop on every floor. You groaned as it stopped once more at the floor below yours. The moment the door opened up to your floor, you all but ran down to your room.

Your key card almost fell out of your hands as you were trying to get the door open. It flew wide as you finally got the thing to work. You ran to the empty room. Your eyebrows pinched for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Your eyes flitted around, but didn’t land on anything special.

“Maybe Christian got it wrong?” you asked yourself as you jumped on the bed, face forward.

What or who you failed to notice was a lanky Monegasque creeping out of your closet. Arthur watched as you deeply inhaled into the pillows, eyes fluttering shut. He almost felt bad for what he was about to do.

Key word: almost.

He quietly inhaled before launching onto the bed. A scream left your lips at the arrival of unneeded body weight on you. Your went stiff as your mind raced. This was it. Some crazy fan had gotten into your room somehow and was about to strangle you. Your arms flailed as you tried to hit the intruder.

Except, you stopped once you heard a familiar laugh. You gasped as you rolled over to find you boyfriend’s face in yours. The two of you looked at each other for a bit, gasping for air (you from holding your breath and him from laughing so much).

Arthur suddenly dipped his head, going in for a kiss. Yet, you had other plans.

You smacked his face. Arthur froze as he was halfway down, lips still puckered.

“Well that hurt.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Sorry for thinking I was about to be killed Thur. That wasn’t nice,” you whined. “And I was about to sleep and now I’m not tired anymore.”

Arthur smirked. “Maybe I can make you tired another way?”

Hit.

“I deserved that.”

You scoffed. “Max is right in the room next to us. He would hang me if he heard.”

Arthur huffed before putting his full weight on you, face in your neck. You let out a soft oof as the air was a bit knocked out of you. Your arms came up and wrapped around his neck. The two of you basked in each other’s presence for a bit, before a soft kiss was placed on your neck.

You whispered, “No marks please.”

You felt his lips trail up until they hit the bottom of where you ear was. A soft gasp left your lips as he kissed from there to your lips. His hands started rubbing at your sides and he finally placed his lips on yours.

Your mouth opened just a bit, letting him in. Your hands made their way to his hair, fingers bunching the dirty blond strands. Arthur let out a please groan at the motion, which made him kiss you a bit harder. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he kept pressing his body onto yours, the pressure making a whine escape from your throat.

The two of you had to part for a breath, but only for a second until you placed your lips back on his. His hands wandered up your torso, now exploring under your shirt. His lips were firmly on yours as he pressed into you harder.

A loud moan escaped from under his lips, making him smirk into the kiss.

When Arthur finally deemed you more relaxed, he leaned back, watching you gasp for air. Your head rested against the pillow as Arthur slid next to you. He arms were still wrapped around your middle.

He gave one more kiss to your neck, before whispering, “My pole sitter. I’m so proud of you.”

Your eyes began to flutter shut, mind sinking into a deep sleep.

Sunday morning came too quickly. Arthur had to almost drag you out of bed. That almost was an understatement: he did drag you out of bed.

You had picked out a nice gray pant suit for today, something that Mitch had given you as a present. You had always loved all of her pant suits and tried to complement her whenever you could.

Your phone buzzed with a notification that your car had arrived safely and it was waiting for you, and Arthur outside. Max wanted to come with you, but it was a hyper car and it only two seats. With your sunnies on, you stepped out of the hotel. Thankfully, there weren’t any fans waiting for the two of you.

The V12 engine roared to life as you started the car up. You made sure that Arthur had on the seatbelt before you even started to move. The car came with two headsets so that you and the passenger could talk to each other.

“Did you know that this is my first time driving this car on the road?”

“What?”

You didn’t answer him and kept on driving. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him grip the sides even more. You giggled as you continued through the Italian streets. At stop lights, people seemed to scramble for their phones, wanting to take pictures.

You revved the engine as you got close to the paddock. The car was definitely loud and turned a lot of heads. Yet, people really couldn’t see who was in the car.

A big group of the drivers were waiting for you and Arthur at the entrance before they went in. Charles’s head was the first to whip around at the sound of a Ferrari V12 engine.

Lewis let out a loud whistle as the orange spaceship came closer. Lando and Oscar’s mouths were open wide. Alex and Logan just stood staring.

“Whose car is that?” Carlos questioned, watching the car rev for a few more rounds.

Max stood to the side with a giant smirk on his face. The cameras around them were all pointed to the futuristic car.

Charles cocked his head. “Isn’t that the car that Y/n wanted at some point? Someone should call her and tell her it’s here.”

Max laughed loudly, causing the group to look at him weirdly.

He answered Charles, “Mate I think she already knows.”

His finger came up and pointed at the car, door already opened with you stepping out. Their jaws dropped as Arthur also stepped out, grabbing his and your bags. You waved to the group, only getting half waves in reply. You giggled as you handed someone the key, only trusting a select few to park it.

“Hello boys,” you said as you stepped closer.

They were all silent, eyes still on the car.

“When do I get a ride?” Logan asked first, breaking the silence. An uproar of the rest asking followed after that.

Another giggle escaped your lips as you waved your hands, silencing them.

“So, no matter how today turns out, I’m having a house party down in Capris after the race. Max said we can take his jet. Everyone on the grid is invited, except you know who.”

A smirk formed on your face as you left, scanning your card at the turnstile. The males followed in suit, now excitedly talking about the party.

redbullracing has posted

redbullracing and how are we feeling today? "Uh, great?"

liked by y/n.89, arthur_leclerc, monza_tifosi, lechair, and 309,204 others

y/n.nation I have no words - wow, just wow

losingmy_everlovingmind UM THE CAR? ARTHUR? HELLO??

y/n.89 guys it wasn't my fault, I just didn't know I was on pole - admin how could you

redbullracing it was max's idea maxverstappen1 HEY

charlos4ever guys, Charles win 2024?

rookie_on_top nah Y/n win 2024 y/n&co here here

f1 lets go racing!

The red and yellow crowd roared as you walked by, waving to everyone. You thought that there would be a lot of booing, but surprisingly there was little to none. The crowds seemed to adore you, just as they adored their Ferrari boys.

At the garage, you had finally found out that Max had gotten P3 in a Ferrari sandwich, namely Charles in P2 and Carlos in P4.

You were nervous as you sat in your Red Bull. This could be it. This could be your winning moment.

Or this could end up like Suzuka. Another win in your grasps and then ripped from your hands.

“Radio check kid?”

“Mitch, I’m scared.”

The older woman frowned as she sat at the pit wall. That didn’t sound like you. Your voice sounded so young and so scared, almost like a toddler who was scared of the dark. Mitch took a deep breath.

“Kid, listen to me. You are so amazing. Your car breathes the same air that you breath. You just need to focus and be one with the car. You have to be speed. Remember, you eat losers for breakfast.”

A small laugh came over the radio, making Mitch smile.

“One winner, nineteen losers. I eat them for breakfast.”

“Go get them kid.”

“And it’s lights out and away we go at the 2024 Italian Grand Prix!”

You focused on your breathing as you flew down the straights and suddenly slowed at the corners. There was a reason that this was one of the hardest tracks. The G-force of the straights into the corners was hell.

Your head felt as though it was being ripped off as you went around the turns. Thankfully, you were still leading by midpoint. You were on a one stop strategy, and you needed to pit soon. However, you got the call for a yellow flag.

“Who was it Mitch?”

“Max clipped a kerb. He’s fine, but the bottom of his car is ripped. We’re taking this flag to pit you, so come on in.”

You heart sank as you thought of your teammate. It was just you now to bring home some points. Your breathing got a little fast as you came to pit, watching the hordes of people with bright red flags. You were able to come out in first place once again. But you were alone this time. Not teammate to help if needed.

A lone bull in a sea of red capes.

Your pace was phenomenal. Every time people thought a driver would catch up to you, you would manage to pull away.

The final lap flag waved and your stomach jumped to your throat. You crisply cut the corners, managing you tyres and car. Only a few more turns to go. You could almost taste it.

Max, along with the rest of the team, were jumping and cheering, willing your car to take you to the end. As the Dutchman watched you get closer and closer, he rushed out of the garage and climbed onto the fence.

“Y/n L/n has the checkered flag in her sights. The world has thrown everything at her, yet she still rises. Today, she joins the elite group of drivers who get to say that they have won a Formula 1 race. The first woman this century to score points, the first woman to step foot on the podium, and the first woman to reach that top pedestal. Her hunger had turned starving, yet she will finally be satiated today.”

Drivers say that when they’re in the car, everything moves in slow motion.

You watched your crew’s arms slowly jest up and down as you approached the line. When your car finally crossed, everything went silent. Your mind was thrown back to your first karting win.

How everyone was silent as you stood on that top step. A tear trickled down your face in your helmet. This time, you knew there wouldn’t be any silence.

The noise would be deafening.

“SHE DNF-ED AT SPA, PODIUMED AT ZANDVOORT, AND WON AT MONZA. Y/N L/N IS THE WINNER OF THE 2024 ITALIAN GRAND PRIX.”

“You’ve done it!” Mitch screamed over the radio. You however, couldn’t understand yourself over your screams. Word vomit just came out of your mouth. Words in English and Italian sputtered out.

“AAHHHH THE HECK. WHAT EVEN! NON POSSO CREDER! AAHHHHHHHH! THANK YOU EVERYONE!”

Being the first one into Parc Ferme was a surreal experience. Normally, you’d be following someone in, but you were the one to lead.

You stayed in your car for just a moment, taking in deep breaths and trying to will the tears away. Yet, they kept on coming. You quickly took your steering wheel off before getting out of the car on the nose. You raised your fists as you stood.

The crowds were roaring and your head was spinning. You placed your fingers on your helmet before raising them up to the bright blue sky.

The two yellow and red clad drivers watched on behind you as you celebrated. If it couldn’t be them, they were glad that it was you.

You jumped down from the nose and immediately ran to the barriers and into your team’s open arms. You felt their hands rain down on your helmet and back in congratulations. In the sea of team, your eyes finally found bright blue ones to the side.

Max had come around the little gate to hug your properly. You all but ran and jumped on him. Your legs lifted around his hips as he hugged you tightly.

The Dutchman could hear your sobs from under your helmet. His large hands gripped you a bit tighter and held you close. Your fingers gripped the back of his Red Bull polo, not wanting to let go. Yet, you knew that you had to, so you slowly slid back down to the floor.

Max looked into your eyes through your visor. His lips were moving, but you couldn’t really tell what he was saying. He gently turned you around in the direction of your team principal. He lightly pushed you toward Christian, and you took that moment to jog over to him.

Much like with Max, you kind of jumped on the Briton, making him pick you up slightly.

“I did it Dad. I’m on the top step.”

Christian barely heard you, but he squeezed you a bit tighter once you said that. He set you back down and helped you get your helmet off. He was met with the sight of tears running down your face and your hair being plastered to your forehead with sweat. He led you over to get weighed and then place your helmet on the number 1 pedestal.

You were quickly interviewed before going to the cooldown room. There you met Charles and Carlos.

The Monegasque was the first one to wrap you in a hug. It was nice, but you really wanted the hug of another Monegasque.

“Siamo cosi orgogliosi di te, ragazzo. Finalmente sul grandino piu alto,” he whispered, before sending you to Carlos.

There was little time in the cooldown room before the three of you were called to the podium. Your hat fit nicely, the number 1 on the side beaming. Carlos went first, then Charles, and then finally you. Your eyes squinted as you met the bright Italian sun.

The crowds cheered below as you stood on the top step. Your tears returned as they played your national anthem. You didn’t try to wipe them this time though.

You let them fall.

The Austrian anthem played after and trophies were handed out.

Once the metal was placed in your hands, you raised it up high. The people closest to you knew the significance of it all. The win in Lorenzo’s home country. Your win for him.

Charles knew all the emotions. He too had won at Monza for his papa and Jules. Pierre down in the crowd let some tears shed as he remembered his time up there, winning for Anthoine. Daniel watched in amazement as you held the trophy high before kissing it lightly. There was a time that he was on that step, clad in orange and blue. You were shining.

The taste of the bubbly had never been sweeter. After spraying Charles and Carlos, and getting theirs dumped all over you, it was your turn to spray your team. You tried to point the spray down at Max and Arthur, who had snuck into the sea of navy. Your boyfriend was currently looking up at you, as if you hung the stars. And right now, the sun was making you glow so hard that he truly believed that you might have.

The celebrations didn’t end after that.

In the group chat that you made, excluding one driver, there was only one message to the drivers. It made them all smirk with excitement.

Grid Queen: airmax leaves at 4 see you all in Capris p.s. bring your girlfriends

redbullracing has posted

redbullracing Y/N L/N IS THE WINNER OF THE 2024 MONZA GRAND PRIX

liked by olliebearman, oscarpiastri, nicorosberg, lewishamilton, and 602,209 others

y/n.nation LETS GOOOOOOOOO

box_box_express what a race - I'm speechless

formulalalala1 FIRST WOMAN TO EVER WIN A FORMULA 1 GRAND PRIX WHAT IS SHE

y/n&co the greatest rookie to ever cross the face of formula 1

y/n.89 I think I'm still crying, thank you admin

redbullracing love you too rookie!

iamred_iamyellow oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh

f1_fan and everyone liked that

y/n.89 has posted (max is second pic)

y/n.89 I really don't know what to say other than thank you. you all have put so much confidence in my and my abilities and I'm thankful that it's finally paying off. To everyone, I love you - let's get this bread

liked by arthur_leclerc, maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, and 509,219 others

landonorris knew you could do it bug!

carlossainz55 ah chica, you did marvelous maxverstappen1 words cannot tell how proud of you I am geitje fernandoalo_official nina, you're going to make me retire early oscarpiastri roo, you've done good danielricciardo welcome to the league darl' lewishamilton you drove oh so well love charles_leclerc gosse, you never cease to surprise me logansargeant lets go champ! knew you could do it georgerussell63 you did it again sweetie alex_albon super duper proud (lily is crying) y/n.89 y'all made me cryyyyyy

author this entire post has my heart

y/n.89 thank you for making it happen

*comments have been limited*

arthur_leclerc has posted

arthur_leclerc loving her was red and navy

liked by y/n.89 and others

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Race Results (top 10 + DNF)

Y/n L/n – 26 points (fastest lap)

Charles Leclerc – 18 points

Carlos Sainz – 15 points

Oscar Piastri – 12 points

George Russell – 11 points

Lewis Hamilton – 8 points

Alex Albon – 6 points

Logan Sargeant – 4 points

Daniel Ricciardo – 2 points

Yuki Tsunoda – 1 point

Max Verstappen – DNF

Champions Standings

Max Verstappen – 309 points

Charles Leclerc – 286 points

Y/n L/n – 207 points

Lando Norris – 190 points

Carlos Sainz – 145 points

Oscar Piastri – 130 points

Lewis Hamilton – 113 points

George Russell – 65 points

Alex Albon – 62 points

Fernando Alonso – 45 points

Logan Sargeant – 40 points

Daniel Ricciardo – 25 points

Lance Stroll – 17 points

Valtteri Bottas – 13 points

Pierre Gasly – 12 points

Yuki Tsunoda – 9 points

Zhou Guanyu – 1 point

Nico Hulkenberg

Kevin Magnussen

Esteban Ocon

Constructors Standings

Red Bull – 516 points

Ferrari – 431 points

McLaren – 320 points

Mercedes – 178 points

Williams – 102 points

Aston Martin – 62 points

Alpha Tauri – 34 points

Alpha Romeo – 14 points

Alpine – 12 points

Haas – 0 points

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @glitterquadricorn @laura-naruto-fan1998 @treehouse-mouse @sam-is-lost @kagatinkita @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @myxticmoon @angsthology @cmleitora @fly-me-away @graciewrote @ashy-kit @slutofmultifandom @aexitizen-ln4 @sugarvibez @vellicora @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @cashtons-wife @hoetel-manager @xcharlottemikaelsonx @jayda12 @ilove-tswizzle @justme2042 @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @stopeatread @cha-hot @sadg3 @iloveyou3000morgan @s4turnsl0ver @alessioayla @torchbearerkyle @leptitlu @awekbachira @shreks-sugar-daddy @v1naco @stan-josie @mellowarcadefun @badassturtle13 @beskardroids @callisposts @poppyalice2001 @juniper-july19 @lizzypiastri

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nyoomfruits · 7 months

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54 for omegaverse please and thank

54. "P-please scent me, I don't want to smell like them, I want to smell like you..."

It starts innocent enough, Lando popping his head around the door of Oscar’s driver’s room somewhere between press responsibilities on Thursday. “Hey,” he says, glancing at where Oscar is sprawled over the couch, scrolling through his phone. “Can you scent me?”

Oscar raises an eyebrow. They’ve been teammates for a while now, long enough for Oscar to know Lando’s nose is sensitive. He particular, about who and what he does and doesn’t smell like. Borrows hoodies from friends and family to be wrapped up in their scent, gets antsy when things smell wrong.

So this. This means Oscar… His inner Alpha, the one that’s been screaming mine mine mine ever since he first laid eyes on Lando, rumbles happily. Oscar firmly tells it to shut the fuck up and turns to Lando, reassuring smile on his face, determined not to make this weird. Lando wouldn’t ask him if he wasn’t feeling uncomfortable, so.

“Sure,” he says. “Get over here.”

Lando makes a happy noise and instead of waiting for Oscar to get up so they can do the whole cheek rubbing, neck nosing thing that’s normal between friends, flops down square on top of Oscar and snuggles in.

“Oof,” Oscar wheezes out, when Lando’s elbow ends up somewhere in his abdomen. “Okay.”

“Hm,” Lando says, shoves his nose into Oscar’s neck. Oscar stares up at the ceiling, tries to think of Normal and Sane things that aren’t his teammate currently lounging on his chest, fitting into his arms like a puzzle piece sliding into place.

After about five minutes of Oscar trying to name every single part of the MCL60 in his head and not thinking about shoving his nose into Lando’s soft curls and taking in his chocolate cookie sweet scent, Lando lets out a happy noise and gets up again. “Thanks, mate,” he says, and then disappears before Oscar can utter as much as a ‘No problem’.

It happens again, after that. And again. Lando has clearly added Oscar to his roster of ‘People Who Smell Good’, and makes grateful use of the fact that Oscar is just around, like. All the time. It reaches a point where Lando just follows Oscar into his driver’s room between obligations, sprawls all over his couch, steals his hoodies.

Like he belongs.

And that’s. That’s when it starts becoming a problem. Because the more and more Lando inserts himself into Oscar’s space, the more Oscar’s stupid instincts scream at him that he’s his, that he belongs to Oscar, that he is his Omega. Which is stupid, because Lando doesn’t belong to anyone. Least of all Oscar.

The moment Oscar realizes he’s gotten in way over his head is when him and Lando make it onto another podium, and when Max gives Lando a congratulatory handshake, Oscar actually growls at him.

Nobody catches it, over the sound of the celebrations and the general F1 post-race ruckus, but Oscar realizes that if he doesn’t put a stop to this now it’s only going to get worse and that isn’t fair to anyone. Not to Lando, not to any Alpha that comes close to Lando, not to himself.

He doesn’t tell Lando, doesn’t know how to explain without putting his heart on the table and making it gratingly awkward for everyone involved, and so he keeps quiet, pulls away bit by bit, slowly disappearing back into the shadows he existed in before Lando put him in the spotlight.

Lando, for the most part, lets him. Frowns, when Oscar closes the door to his driver’s room before Lando can follow, when Oscar moves away from his touch. But he doesn’t say anything, seems to accept the distance Oscar is trying to create. Doesn’t push.

It hurts, only a little bit. Oscar had fooled himself, at one point, that maybe it meant something, to Lando. But the way he lets Oscar pull away so easily…

Oscar puts his head down, focuses on the car. He’s here to race after all.

The whole weekend has been shit. Qualifying was garbage for the both of them, and then there’s a sprint on Saturday that goes completely tits up, too. Lando ends up in the gravel somewhere halfway, and Oscar watches the screens, watches him climb out of the car, sulk back to the garage.

Lando gets subjected to a million interviews that all ask him the same questions, and Oscar can see the exhaustion on his face, from his end of the media pen. Something in him wants to reach out, pull Lando close, shade him from the rest of the world. He pushes that something down, and answers the fifteenth question about how they’re expecting the race tomorrow to go now the car seems so spectacularly shit this weekend.

He doesn’t expect there to be a knock on his hotel room door later that night, revealing Lando in all his jittery, exhausted glory. “Oscar,” he says, mouth tight and eyes downcast. He looks so small, and Oscar’s Alpha whines at the sight. “Oscar please. I know I’ve been asking way too much, making you all uncomfortable but please, please scent me. I don’t, I don’t want to smell like them, I want to smell like you.”

Oscar wants to give in immediately. Pull him close, press his nose into Lando’s scent gland. Take off his clothes, because skin to skin scenting is always better. Wants to cover him until Lando smells like nothing but Oscar, so everyone else can smell who he belongs to. But that’s not. He needs answers first. So he restrains himself, tries to keep his face neutral as he says. “Why me?”

Lando makes a frustrated little noise. “Don’t. Don’t be mean, Oscar. You know. You know why.”

“I really don’t,” Oscar says, genuinely confused.

“But,” Lando says, “You pulled away. Because you realized I was in love with you. That’s why… You needed space.”

Oscar blinks. Tries to process fifteen things all at once and comes up completely blank. “I needed space because I realized I was in love with you,” he says, a little dumbfounded.

Lando frowns. “Why would you need space, then?”

“I, because I didn’t think you wanted me?”

“Well, that’s stupid,” Lando says, frown deepening. “Of course I want you. Why would I scent you all the time if I didn’t want you?”

Oscar wants to bring up the nose thing, how he just thought that’s how Lando kept himself comfortable. Want to bring up how Lando never said anything. But it’s details, really. Details that don’t really matter, not when Lando is standing in front of him, saying he’s in love with Oscar.

So instead, he grabs the front of Lando’s hoodie, pulls him close, presses their lips together in a searing kiss. Lando yelps, but then melts into it immediately, making a happy little purring noise in the back of his throat.

(Later, with his arms wrapped around Lando’s naked, sleeping form, Oscar presses his nose into the place where Lando’s neck meets his shoulder. He smells like LandoOscarLandoOscar, and it’s the most beautiful thing Oscar’s ever smelled. He’s falls asleep only seconds later.)

#landoscar #mctwinks #twinklaren #drabble

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lovefoolholland · 2 years

Text

Beautiful - Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Turns out that while the world is ending (and with world, you mean Hawkins), Steve Harrington has fallen in love. Luckily, so have you.

Warnings: None, just lots of fluff and maybe a really sweet reader?

A/N: This is really short but I loved writing it, hope you like it too!

Steve hadn’t really thought about you that way until he saw your bright hair on the other side of the room, piling away some old and ragged clothes that none of the people who had just been affected by the gate wanted. It was as if, when the whole thing was going to hell, your presence still sparkled something in his sight.

He took a deep breath to appreciate what his mind had just thought.

But getting serious, he never thought that you would even turn to look at him with those kind, soft eyes of yours in a lovely manner. Not even in high school, when he used to steal glances of your friends whenever you were around; not even a year ago while working together at Starcourt; it was now, that he was surprised when you catched his stare from afar an offered him a sweet yet small smile, waving in his direction and returning to your work in short time.

“You should talk to her” Robin said, stepping in with a sandwich in her hand. Steve jumped in his place, looking at her in big, scared eyes because she suddenly got him out of a trance “, P&J?”

Now, Steve looked at his best friend with his eyebrows furrowed.

“What?”

“Oh, you hadn’t eaten anything so I thought a peanut butter and jelly sandwich would cheer you up, if you don’t want it I…”

“No, Robin, I know what you meant by that” she giggled before nodding in agreement.

“Right, I meant, go talk to her, ask her out or something. The world is ending Steve, why keep it all together?” Steve raised an eyebrow in surprise. The words that had just left Robin’s mouth made Steve genuinely startled. He choked in his own words when he tried to answer something to that “Ha! See? Bet you never thought about that, huh?”

“Don’t ruin it” Steve said, making his usual annoyed face when he was around Robin, and she just smirked like she did when she found something funny “, don’t you have work to do?”

“Uh yeah, but you kinda needed help” Steve rolled his eyes, taking one spare shirt in his left and walking up to your station. Robin jumped in her place out of excitement, clasping her hands together “. There goes the Hair.”

Honestly, he was scared. Lately, things had been weird, and with weird he meant that his ex girlfriend and him became closer than before that one night all of the party confronted Vecna. Nancy Wheeler had been his comfort zone, and other than her, he hadn’t established another intimate relationship with anyone.

But you… It had been different with you. From sneaking Scoops’ cones to fighting Vecna beside each other, things had drastically shifted between the two when you jumped in the water for him the instant Watergate got him. When Steve attacked the vines that got your neck at Creel house. When, all of the sudden, your instincts brought each other together and all you could do was talk in whispers while everyone was asleep at the Wheeler’s.

But he wasn’t the only one who had noticed this change. In fact, you were so anxious around Steve that you couldn’t keep your head focused. Your thoughts went from you talking to Steve about how horrible it was, in fact, to be single; to Eddie Munson’s death and Max’s coma. And frankly, you didn’t know what to think of everything, much less how on earth did this shirt not seem to have a back or a front and now was a mere mess…

“Hey” his voice got you out of your frustrated trance. You gulped at the sight of his golden and brown hair, and his chocolate eyes staring into your own.

“Hi” you said back, giving a little smile in return. That seemed to cheer him up, getting a smile out of him “, how’s things in there?”

You threw a look over to the piles of clothes that were being accommodated according to ages. Steve shrugged his shoulders and then looked at you with a frown in his face.

“Good. A little boring, but at least we’re helping.”

His voice was decreasing more and more, and you couldn’t help but nod, a little wrinkle of worry in the middle of your eyebrows.

“Yeah… It’s kind of a mess” you answered, and then inclined your body to his in order to take the shirt in his hand “, can I or are you keeping it to yourself?”

He looked at the old, torn purple shirt in his hand. He lifted it and gave it to you, your soft hands taking it from him in a simple yet delicate manner.

“No, uh… All yours” you nodded and folded it in a perfect way, putting it at the top of the shirts that would have further use.

He wouldn’t think you would be all kind with him. Most of you were in shock, however there was something in your nature that made everyone feel safe.

He loved that about you, it made him want to have late night talks and calls over the phone in the middle of his shift at Family Video. It sparked something in him that not even Nancy could have back in the day.

“Are you okay?” Steve quickly nodded when he noticed he was looking at you while thinking. He scared himself when he thought it could’ve been a little creepy, but as soon as you noticed his disturbed expression, you made sure to correct yourself “No, you just… Why were you staring? Not like it creeped me out or anything, just…”

Steve, watching you apologize while the sun reflected smoothly on your skin and your silly smile, couldn’t help but think out loud.

“You’re gorgeous.”

Your mouth opened in surprise, a hint of wanting to say something back, but nothing came to mind. Steve noticed this, your mind wandering around his presence, wanting to avoid his eyes out of shyness.

“I mean, you look good” he then shook his head “, beautiful, yeah. You’re beautiful.”

Your cheeks were burning, with deep red in your cheeks out of surprise. Not in a hundred years would you have imagined Steve talking to you in such a flirty, yet delicate way.

“Steve” he nodded, and you finally gathered the courage to look deep into his eyes “, I think you’re beautiful too.”

Rush. That’s what he felt. A rush of adrenaline going through his body, and then getting stuck in his throat and cheeks, reflecting in a pink blush and a laugh.

“You really don’t know what you do to me” said the boy, passing a hand through the rough surface of the plastic table.

“Just…” you closed your eyes in anticipation, then took his hand on yours.

“Yeah?” he then asked, a soft tone in his voice.

As you took your other hand to his neck, you felt everything stop around you. It wasn’t as if the whole world was ending, or Hawkins was going to hell all of the sudden, it was as if the place around you was empty and the only two people in the room were Steve and you.

Your lips clashed together, but not in a messy way, it was more like a passionate way. Steve could hear Robin’s gasp from across the room, and a couple of clothes hitting the floor. He couldn’t help but smile, wrapping his free hand around your waist in order to pull you closer.

You let out a gasp, and opened your eyes when Steve broke the kiss all of the sudden, his chocolate eyes sparkling with something more than excitement while the sun went through the big windows of the high school cafeteria, marking his shape and the details of his face to your sight.

From the little shade of beard to his nose slightly touching yours, intertwined just like his experienced lips were going all over yours just a few seconds ago. He really was beautiful.

“Does this mean that you like me?”

You let out a scoff.

“Steve” you said, giving him a scolding look “, isn’t it obvious?”

“Right” he said, passing a hand through the side of your face and putting away all of the hair in it. The look of admiration in his face was truly amusing “, I just wanted to make sure.”

“Right” he laughed at your response.

“Maybe another kiss will clear my doubts?” he asked, eyes now on your soft, pillowy lips.

You laughed and shook your head, now recognizing all of the people around you, but giving all of your attenton to that one beautiful boy in front of you.

“I don’t know, let’s see.”

#steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fic #steve stranger things #steve harrington blurb #stranger things 4

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mybeypage · 2 months

Text

For entertainment purposes, I sometimes play around with an incorrect quote generator. To make it fun, the characters + quote have to be completely random / I can't shuffle names, and they have to make me laugh.

Here are some of my favorites. Hope they bring you a laugh.

Kai: Sometimes I like to call people by the wrong name to show them I don’t care about them. Ray: That’s brilliant. Kai: Thank you, Kenny.

Max: I dare you- Kenny: Kai is not allowed to accept dares anymore. Max: Why not? Kai: "I have no regard for my own or others personal safety", as some would say.

Kai: Ok so, apparently the "bad vibes" I've been feeling are actually severe psychological distress.

Max: What's worse than a heartbreak? Ray: Stepping on a cat's tail and not being able to explain that you're sorry.

Kenny: Just be yourself. Say something nice. Kai: Which one? I can't do both.

Kenny: Emily noticed only today that they can label their email inboxes, but they took apart their entire bloody laptop two weeks ago. Ray: This reminds me of the Emily who couldn’t turn on the coffee maker, but remembers about 500 digits of pi. Kenny: I’ll be delighted to inform you that this is the very same Emily.

Kenny: That sounds like a terrible plan. Ian: Oh, we've had worse.

Emily: Just trust me. Have I ever put you in an unsafe or uncomfortable situation? Kenny: All the time. Emily: Then you should be used to it by now.

Emily, to the Squad: If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands! *silence* Emily: Damn, y’all depressed as fuck... Salima : You didn’t clap either- Emily: SHUT UP!

Ray, staring at Mariah in a cage: ...Why are they in a cage? Tyson: Because they growled at me.

Ian: You’re giving me a sticker? Julia: Not just a sticker. That is a sticker of a kitty saying “me-wow!” Ian: I’m not a preschooler. Julia: Fine, I’ll take it back- Ian: I earned this, back off!

Bryan: You know you've made it when you see your picture everywhere you go. Max: Those are wanted posters!

Kai: Yesterday, I overheard Max saying “Are you sure this is a good idea?” and Spencer replying “Trust me,” and I have never moved from one room to another so quickly in my life.

Julia: I’m not being weird. Am I being weird? Tala: Yes, and that’s coming from me.

Kai: I assume you realize that this kind of idiocy will not be tolerated in this house. Ian: Is there any kind of idiocy you would be more comfortable with?

Mariam: The best part of an oreo is the cookie part, not the frosting. Deal with it. Salima : Darkness without light is an abyss. Light without darkness is blinding. You cannot have a coin with one side. Emily: YO SOCRATES! IT'S A FUCKING COOKIE!

Mariah: Here you go, Emily, a nice hot cup of coffee! Emily: It's cold. Mariah: A nice cup of coffee. Emily: It's horrible! Mariah: Cup of coffee. Emily: I'm not sure if this even IS coffee. Mariah: C U P.

Mariam: I don’t need to touch grass, I need the fall of capitalism.

Bryan: Would anyone know any good vendors for professional-quality brass knuckles? Ray: I know you’re serious, but you say the scariest shit sometimes.

Julia: Why would you give a knife to Kai?! Kenny, shrugging: Kai felt unsafe. Julia: Now I feel unsafe! Kenny: I’m sorry… Kenny: Would you like a knife?

Emily, to the squad: And remember, if I get harsh with you it is only because you’re doing it all wrong.

Julia: Bryan’s gonna kill me. Spencer: No, he'll probably make me do it.

Kai: That's it, you're grounded! Tala, no adventures for you! Mariam, no fighting for you! Ian, no stealing for you! And Bryan... oh my god, is there anything that you love? Bryan: Revenge. Kai: No vengeance for you. Bryan: I was going to say "I'll get you for this," but I guess that's off the table.

Max: You're violent. Ian: Yeah but I'm also short and that's adorable.

#beyblade #incorrect quotes

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maxverstepponme · 25 days

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Oh my god, this is so funny. It seems that it hurt Kelly a lot to see how they say she is only with her daughter for a couple of days and then leaves her, but not before taking 20 thousand photos of her to make they believe that she is a good mother. So she decided to extend the time with her daughter a little more and she shouted it out to everyone a moment ago on her ig stories, where she posted a photo of Max and P in Japan. What draws a lot of attention is how Max has his two hands together, while P is leaning on him, he doesn't really try to bring her closer with his arm or anything. Someone isn't really looking to be a father figure or anything like that.

It is also how she really cares more about what others say about her, so Kelly makes the decision to spend more time with her daughter, than the fact that she by her own decision, seeking to ensure the health and integrity of her daughter, she decides spend more time with her

1. I told y’all this would happen because a lot of people have opened their eyes on the matter and on Kelly’s intentions. That TikTok account not only is making fun of her but is also exposing her for the weird shit she’s done, which is helping people realize she’s not as good as she pretends to be. Of course that’s going to have her shaking.

2. I don’t know how many times Max will have to say he’s not the father or the step father for people to stop pushing this narrative. If the guy in question is saying he doesn’t consider himself any of that, why keep pushing it? I understand some people pushing it, but Kelly? How disgusting do you have to be.

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whentvsfly · 1 month

Text

S.E.E.S, but Pokemon. (Kudos to those who can tell who's who without the readmore)

More info after the cut!

Tried to make everyone look like themselves without adding clothing/accessories. More difficult than expected, but a nice challenge!

I imagine either only persona users can use their moves (at all, or effectively, not entirely sure which) or when they use their personas (personamon?) they appear as an altered version of their fully evolved forms. Kinda like the second one better, as a way to use more powerful attacks and keep in theme with Persona games

Tried to keep them with their elemental affinities:

Mitsuru Kirijo: Sneasel. It just had the right vibe for her, and I curled the tail (feathers?) to make it look like her hair (although Akihiko is standing in front of most of them).

Akihiko Sanada: Pawmo. I needed electric type, and with his affinity for boxing and being fit, I figured an electric/fighting type would work well for him! Didn't want to do Pawmi because it wasn't yet fighting type (maybe he evolves sometime after The Fire) and didn't want to do Pawmot because no one else is evolved, so having him be max evolution would feel *weird*.

Shinjiro Arakgaki: Scraggy. A solely phys skill user HAS to be fighting type. There were several choices for him - Mankey was one, I believe - though something about Scraggy's appearance made me go with it.

Minato Arisato / Makoto Yuki: Castform (Sunny). I like to make the wild cards pokemon with several forms, or the ability to transform in some way. His 'base' form in Tartarus is Sunny, since Orpheus has fire attacks, but he shifts with whatever element he's using.

Yukari: Ducklett (Shiny). She was just going to be normal ducklett, but then I remembered the shiny was pink, and it makes her more 'special' and talk of the school, so I decided that's fine haha. Flying is the wind equivalent, here, so it was hard to Not make her some sort of bird. It works though, I think!

Junpei Iori: Charcadet. Needed a fire type, and charcadet seemed spunky enough to be him, out of the ones available. After Chidori [redacted], his personamon changes from an Armarouge-equivalent to a Ceruledge-equivalent.

Fuuka Yamagishi: Psy attacks don't exist in p3, though they do in p5, who I also already pokemoned, but Psychic still fits both psy attacks and navi abilities, so I'll let them overlap. She was able to avoid being killed in Tartarus for 10 hours, so she would have been using teleport to keep herself safe, as well as other psychic moves to detect where shadows lurked. Wanted a pokemon not usually known for attacking, to fit more with the navi role.

Aigis: Iron Valiant. Another phys-heavy user, so I wanted fighting type, and Iron Valiant happened to be just that. Looks like Gallade/Gardevoir (*is* Gallade/Gardevoir but in the future/ an alternate dimension?) but is also distinctly Robotic. Luckily most people pin the oddness about her as 'why is she fully evolved and in highschool' rather than 'hey, that's not a pokemon I know, what the hell'.

Koromaru: Houndour (Albino). There are not too many fire/dark pokemon, to go along with Koro's fire/curse attacks, and one of them just Happened to be a dog. I had to. I also made up an 'albino' coloration, based off of real albino dogs. If shiny, as a genetic mutation exists, then others can as well!

Ken Amada: Dedenne. Very similar to Koro, there are exactly two (2) pokemon that are electric/fairy, as I equate bless to fairy type, and one of those was a legendary. So Ken is Dedenne. It oddly works out, since he looks up to Akihiko, and they're both small, rodent pokemon (who happen to be their pkmn generation's equivalent of pikachu :P)

I have Many more thoughts on this crossover, if anyone wants to talk about it! I have a few more P3 characters planned out (Strega, pharos, ryoji, nyx avatar), P4's Investigation team, and P5's Phantom Thieves, though I need to actually Draw them all.

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dropout-if · 7 months

Note

hi hello, can we have the NSFW alphabet for Wanda as well? please? 🥺🙏

You can anon!

Statler • Jean/Jade

NSFW Below!

A = Aftercare

Typically gets very lazy and clingy, Wanda peppers kisses all over their partner, wraps her arms around them— and then she starts rambling. Even if she and her s/o need a shower, she'd most likely say it's a problem for future Wanda to take care of.

B = Body part

Wanda's body isn't the same as it used to be four years ago, but she still loves her legs, especially her thick thighs. Her partner's mouth is one of her favorite things about them—she doesn't really like committing to just one, and so Wanda's answer would seldom be the same.

C = Cum

Loves teasing her partner by licking their cum off her fingers.

D = Dirty secret

Wanda once crashed her parents' car when she was fifteen. She didn't think twice about blaming it on her dad.

E = Experience

Wanda used to sleep around, she's had three boyfriends in the past, and Gabi's dad too. That being said, it's been a while since she's had sex with anyone. Wanda is a bit rusty, but she still knows what she's doing— and she's especially good with her hands.

F = Favorite position

69, riding her partner.

G = Goofy

Wanda doesn't think things much. She likes to have fun and tease, and she definitely doesn't take sex seriously at all.

H = Hair

Her hair is rarely a natural color nowadays. Wanda shaves her legs and pits, and she trims her pubic hair (which is naturally dark brown) to a bikini line.

I = Intimacy

Romanticism is something Wanda enjoys about sex, even if it's with her flings. She likes complimenting their looks, praising them, making them feel appreciated.

J = Jack off

Wanda is really into the idea of her partners masturbating to her nudes.

K = Kink

Having someone beg/making her beg, bondage and lingerie.

L = Location

Couches, beds, tables. Wanda loves having sex during her morning shower too.

M = Motivation

It's pretty easy to get her in the mood, Wanda can get turned on by making out and heavy petting. She's also really into her partner kissing and biting her neck and shoulders.

N = No

It feels kinda weird for her to be called mommy now. Especially during sex, she doesn't mind so much if people tease her about it, or call her a MILF as a joke.

O = Oral

Loves giving and receiving. Wanda especially likes when someone sits on her face, and sitting on someone's face herself.

P = Pace

Mixes fast and rough moments with more sensuous and slow ones. Typically goes as torturously slow as possible until her partner begs her to stop teasing.

Q = Quickie

Wanda doesn't see the point in holding back: if she and her partner are in the mood and have little time, quickies are perfection.

R = Risk

She's very open to experimenting and trying out new things. Wanda is often the one coming up with new positions and games, and she's really enthusiastic when her partner proposes their own ideas.

S = Stamina

Wanda is a mom. Her energy is definitely not what it was, but she can last a few rounds no problem (perks of being a woman).

T = Toys

She's terrified of Gabi accidentally finding something. Wanda used to own a dildo but has since discarded it. Currently, she only has a few ropes and handcuffs.

U = Unfair

Loves loves loves teasing, Wanda is a huge tease. It's the easiest way to get someone to beg, too. She enjoys being teased too.

V = Volume

Pretty loud. Her moans are breathy and slightly high-pitched, Wanda can't be quiet even if she tried.

W = Wild card

Wanda loves sending random nudes to her partner, even if she's at work—going to the bathroom and snapping one doesn't take too long.

X = X-ray

She has a D cup.

Y = Yearning

Currently, Wanda's sex drive is in a coma. She has learnt to put it to sleep and ignore the urge. When she's in a relationship though, Wanda does have a pretty high sex drive.

Z = Zzz

Falls asleep fast enough, max 30 minutes of cuddling.

#dropout if #dropout #ask #nsft #wanda pavon #alphabet

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uncouth-the-fifth · 1 year

Text

pythia, a supernatural rewrite. phantom traveler, p.2

read it on ao3. masterlist.

words: 4747 notes: HI FOR THE LOVE OF GOD HELLO. uni is finally no longer kicking my ass, so here is a pythia update! since it's been an embarrassing amount of time since I last posted, i rly wanted to get something out for u guys - and as a result this chapter is shorter than what I'd like, but I hope still fun and silly ;) thank you so much for holding on with me and i can't wait to hear your thoughts! p.s - sam and dean are extra sweet this chapter bc i want all of u to love me again >:)

PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 3rd, midday.

George Phelps was Max’s passenger, and, among other things, a loving and committed husband. He lived in a quaint little house in the suburbs, where his wife put his picture on the mantle and refused to say much to you. She didn’t have to. Just looking up at their house from the curb, decorated with soft glowing Christmas lights and silver crosses, you knew George Phelps wasn’t your guy. Maybe Max had seen him pry open the emergency exit on the flight, but you seriously doubted a dentist with acid reflux was behind the deaths of two hundred people.

Sitting in George’s living room and speaking with his wife, you swore that there was almost something there, but it was neutral enough that you doubted it was anything more than the wisps of George’s presence in the house. Fresh grief always felt the same.

You didn’t like how this hunt had been gnawing on you. The visions always itched you in their own way, but this time was distinctly, uncomfortably different, and you just couldn’t pin down why. It was your job to take the weird inclinations the Gift gave you and turn them into something usable. Somehow, you couldn’t even manage that.

You were the first one out of George Phelp’s stifling house and the first one into the Impala. In the safety of the backseat, you curled your nails into the upholstery until your fingers hurt and just felt. What were you missing? What were you recognizing, but failing to remember?

The thing you were hunting was big game. You’d had hundred-year-old vengeful spirits in your head, and they couldn’t even glimpse the kind of hatred you were dealing with here. It affected audio recordings, had loads of strength, and took a metal bat to your Gift every time you even thought about it. Somehow, it manifested with or connected to normal people. None of this rung any bells with you. Which was ridiculous, since it felt more and more familiar the longer you rolled your vision over in your mind—beyond close, like it was within arm’s reach.

Sam, in the Impala’s passenger seat, started giving you cautious looks in the rear-view. Dean had been halfway through griping about this case when Sam finally spoke his mind: “____… What exactly did you see in your vision?”

Both of the boys shared a furtive glance, then turned to look at you as one.

You must’ve shown the panic you were feeling on your face, because Dean’s clammed up with awkward sympathy. “...I know this one was tougher n’ usual, but I need you to buck up a bit, okay? This thing’s got nothing on you. C’mon.”

When you frowned, there was a bitter tang growing on the back of your tongue. You weren’t six. You didn’t need someone to coax your nightmares from you, and you definitely didn’t need anyone telling you to put your big girl pants on. Dean didn’t have to ask Sam to toughen up, even four years off his game, and you doubted he ever told himself to. Grr.

“Just start driving,” you gruffed, and failed to stop your lip from curling.

The arm Dean had hung over the front seat slouched into his lap. “...Sure thing. What’d you see?”

He turned the key and got you on the road again, joined, right on cue, by Sam’s kicked-puppy look swaying back to the windshield. You reminded yourself that the only reason you were pissed was because of how awful these last few days had been, and explained yourself.

“It was intense. Way more intense than most visions I’ve had. Not because of anything I saw—though the crash was… awful—but because of the feeling it gave me. Even when I got out of it… it just filled my head, I guess. This thing has a seriously powerful influence.”

Sam’s brows furrowed. “Did you see it at all?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, reminded again of how little you were helping. “Most of it was just flashes of the passengers. The plane going down. Before that, I saw a man’s hand grab the handle to the emergency door, the pilots talking about a flight out of Pittsburg, and then smoke. Loads of it.”

The car sunk into a heavy, thought-honed silence that only served to ramp up to your anxiety. You kept the case on your mind for all of two seconds, then were pulled to the ceaseless clicking of Dean’s turn signal and how scratchy your bandages were. Your suit sat too stiff on your body for you to relax into your seat, squeezing your empty belly in the worst way and chaffing on Baby’s leather. The cold air was too dry and your eyes and throat burned with the strangest pressure. Not a sick pressure, but a living one, pressing in. Black smoke. Your pain meds were wearing off too, so the sinew in your body felt taut and worn on an unfamiliar skeleton.

You stared dead-eyed at nothing for a minute longer, then Dean hauled the Impala up to the curb again and declared: “Fuck it. We’re getting lunch. What are you in the mood for, baby?”

“That’s a weird way to say the car needs gas, Dean,” you managed.

“No—not her-Baby, you baby!” Dean flushed, and honestly, he deserved some serious points for scrounging up any humor right now. Again, he tossed an elbow over the seat and threw a dazzling, morale-boosting grin at you. “What do you want to eat, darlin’? We can go to a sit-down place, have an actual meal. Or we can just grab something from the store. Anything.”

You hesitated to answer, and caught Sam’s grimace—you were way too poor right now to go for anything beyond instant noodles. “...We can wait til’ later, Dean. I don’t really have an appetite right now,” you lied.

Dean never begged, but forever reason he was willing to today. Maybe you seemed even worse off than you’d thought. “...C’mon, kid, you’re killing me here. Whatever you want. My treat.”

Again, you didn’t jump at the chance to answer. Truth be told, you could eat a grocery store whole right now, but the three of you did not have the budget. Dean was insane and devoted enough to steal lunch for you, too, and you didn’t feel like bailing him out of jail right now. Just the idea made your wallet tear up.

You opened your mouth to try and be realistic, only for Sam to interrupt you.

“Ice cream,” he read your mind. “She wants ice cream. The big grocery store tubs.”

Dean didn’t wait for any objections. He whipped the Impala out of park, jerked back into your lane, and peeled away toward the nearest store. “Ice cream! Hell yeah. I could fuck up some cherry garcia right now. Sam? Could you fuck up some ice cream right now?”

“Me? Oh, big time,” he lied, catching your eyes in the rearview again. You’d maybe seen Sam eat ice cream twice in your entire life. Again, he was probably hiding that he was lactose intolerant.

You had only a sliver of fight left within you. “Boys…”

“Yes?” They chimed. In their own ways, their voices dared you to resist, but the combined power of both Winchesters was too strong to withstand.

You bit down your grin and fell silent.

A few minutes later, Dean pulled into a thirty-year-old mini-mart that looked it’s age. Of course, he parked the Impala as far from the other cars as possible, so the mile-long walk through freezing, finger-numbing winds put everyone in the mood for ice cold ice cream. The first euphoric rush of interior heating made you sigh out loud. When Sam and Dean had swiped the snow off their blazers, you made an attempt at leading them toward another toastier, cheaper snack.

“You want ice cream,” was all Sam said, shrugging, and scooped up a basket for the three of you to use.

Either you were predictable or he could read minds, because even with the snowy weather you were more than ready to fuck up some ice cream. Just thinking about it made your bandages feel less scratchy. Lounging on the couch and plowing through a tub was a privilege the road really didn’t allow, so you were pretty sure you hadn’t even had any ice cream since October. Since you’d actually lived in your apartment.

“How did you know?” You asked him, out of honest curiosity.

Sam gave you a mysterious smile instead of an answer, swiped some snow off your jacket, then tilted his head after Dean in an unspoken come on. His brother had already caught the scent of the frozen treats section, so you both hurried to catch up with him. You stole glimpses of Sam as you wove your way to the back of the store. He was a little taller than the aisles, and his loafers cleared the age-stained linoleum in half the time your heels did. For whatever reason this is when your heart decides to remind you how absolutely spellbound you are by him. He takes a turn around an endcap of Little Debbies to find Dean, and you float right after him, orbited by cartoon hearts.

Maybe that’s intentional on Sam’s part, since you forget all about money and budgets right up until you’re staring down the row of smudged freezer doors. Dean’s already hefting his tub of cherry garcia overhead when you approach, and after a lot of fake stadium-cheering and whooping, he free-throws it with a perfect swish into Sam’s basket. Then, he slides aside and unveils the mini-mart’s slim selection of ice creams to you. Unfortunately, you’ve been trained from birth to think Dean’s funny, so you bite down on your cheek-aching grin and take a look.

“I dunno…” you say, even though you’ve already come this far. The math is starting to stack in your head. One tub is fine, but one for each of you builds up, and that cuts into real food money and motel money and gas money and—

“How about this,” Sam interrupts your mounting anxiety, voice smooth and anticipatory. “Dean gets his and then you and I get one to share. Sound good?”

You thank him with a small smile, imagining the face he’d make if you yanked him down by the lapels and kissed him for knowing you so well. Sam was a great kisser.

“That’d be perfect.”

Instead of going for your favorite, you swipe the dairy-free cookies and cream.

Dean shoos Sam further down the aisle, and his brother props up the basket like a hoop and starts serpentining between the frozen pizzas, the two of them beaming like rowdy middle school boys. You turn your tub over in your hand and line up your shot. Dean’s taunting and pinching is ultimately fruitless—the victory grin is already comfortable on your face when your ice cream swishes flawlessly into Sam’s basket. Sam whoops.

“Not bad, Slayer,” Dean approves. He gives your shoulder a playful budge, and you budge him right back on the way to the registers.

With your bad mood successfully thawed, you’re easy to distract while Dean sneaks away to (hopefully) pay for your plunder. One minute you’re in line with them, and in the next Sam is coaxing you away to poke around the value movie bin, hypnotizing you with a few well-placed, dimply grins. You forget altogether that ice cream costs money. You’re only just remembering what money is when Dean reappears, shoving a receipt in his pocket and jabbing a thumb toward the bakery.

“Cashier lady said they got spoons over there,” Dean explained.

You paused. “Don’t we have, like, a gazillion in the car?”

“You mean the car with the heater that takes ten years to start?” Dean sassed back, which instantly dissolved into one of his cheesy, goading grins. He started to rifle through the grocery bag for his flavor, half-walking and half-wrestling with it. “We’ll eat in here. Don’t worry about it.”

Somehow, you didn’t worry about it. Dean cracked jokes about adult freedoms and whole sleeves of raw cookie dough, Sam rubbed his belly like just the thought made him nauseous, and you giggled at every little thing they did. You were still laughing when Sam parked you by one of the bakery’s vents, the two of you crowded close to get as much warm bread fog as possible. Dean went over and bartered for three plastic spoons. The whole time he stole glances at you loudly giggling with his brother, and patted himself on the back for his job well done.

Dean wiggled closer to you both to be under the warmth of the vent. Now equipped with a way to get this ice cream into your ice-cream-ready belly, you borrowed Sam’s pocket knife to shred the plastic seperating you from your treasure. There wasn’t really a contactless way to hold the tub between you both. While Dean ravaged his cherry garcia, you and Sam tried, and failed, to preserve your personal space, only to lazily gravitate closer to each other with the first glorious spoonfuls of cookie-dough. The first bite balmed your sore throat and your sensitive burns. It was sweeter than you were expecting for dairy-free ice cream, but the surprise was welcome.

Dean stabbed his spoon into his cherry garcia. Then, he gave you another welcome surprise. He dropped his hand in your hair, smoothing it back, and asked around a mouthful of cherry flavoring, “Good?”

You couldn’t help but beam. “Yeah. I’m good.”

NTSB EVIDENCE WAREHOUSE, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 3rd, midday.

The next step in your investigation, naturally, was to break into a government warehouse, slip past security undetected, and hopefully learn something useful from the wreckage without being caught. No amount of ice cream could make that easy, but you couldn’t let your anxiety get in the way. The heart attacks you had showing your fake badge to the security guards were nausea-inducing, but the overpowering psychic weight of a disaster this fatal was going to be a thousand times worse. You steeled yourself.

Before you’d been a hunter, you’d come from a long line of spiritualists and occultists who made death their livelihood. They communicated with the spirit world, they studied life after death, they made the passing of old souls easier. Even before your Gift opened up you’d had similar connections to death. Beth, eyes gleaming with pride, used to tell stories about you at four, talking to the darkness of the attic’s crawlspace like there was someone there. Dean got head to toe heebie-jeebies when you brought that up, but a connection to the other side at such a young age was a Proctor mark of pride. The first time you’d ever seen an apparition had been celebrated as a milestone of womanhood. Death was your older sister, so you shouldn’t have been afraid of her.

You’d sensed her just a few miles out from the warehouse. It was gentle at first, seeping into your ears like a shift in air pressure, then gradually filling up your other senses. But over two hundred real living people—people who loved and were loved like you loved Sam and Dean—had died in that crash, so in no time you were squeezing your eyes shut and plugging your nose in the backseat. You felt Death every day in small doses. In Sam, restlessly watching the ceiling of your rooms at night, in your motorcycle, in the graves you dug up and the homes you questioned civilians in. Your sister sat beside you in the back of the Impala every day.

But two hundred whole people. You dug the nails of your right fist into your palm until it burned, thinking, desperately, about ice cream.

The closer you came to the scene, the more overwhelming the sense of death became. You were almost swaying on your feet flashing your badge at the security desk, who, of course, have to remind everyone of how useless you are.

“FBI? Don’t you guys usually work in pairs?”

Sam gave a tight smile. “She’s our aircraft specialist, thank you.”

A security clerk from the main office drove you out to the right hangar on a golf cart. Dean laid his action movie smolder a bit thick on the guy, but he at least could’ve passed as a trainee. By comparison, Sam at twenty-two and you at twenty-four were round-faced babies, too young to play agents on TV, nevermind in real life. The two of you squished together on the back bench of the cart and sat ramrod straight the whole ride, refusing to turn around. The less people who could remember your faces, the better.

When the warehouse was unlocked and the three of you were inside, your sister struck.

There was so much death. Great mouthfuls, lungfuls, chestfuls of it in the air, diffusing through your nose every time you breathed. You gagged on the psychic taste of it until your eyes watered.

A smarter person would’ve stayed in the safe bubble between Sam and Dean, but you’re done being babied. You break ranks the first chance you get. While the boys take slow steps around the perimeter of the wreckage, you gravitate toward the split-open center of the fuselage. All that remains of the plane’s body are a few rows of seating, gutted curves of scrap, and long tangles of roasted wires. There was so little left that you had room to walk through the middle, down the same path the passengers had taken to board.

When the ringing in your ears was too loud to hear over and you felt like a massive fist had closed around your chest, you stopped. Reached out. Felt, beyond the veil, the mark of the thing that had done this. It hung over this warehouse like a funeral shroud, but you felt it first through its spider web, which kept the last impressions of over two-hundred different people tethered to this place by invisible strands. None of the people—the spirits from the crash had manifested yet, but every living thing left an impression of itself behind. A footprint.

You pulled at different strands of the spider’s web for a while, sorting through the last memories of those on the plane for something useful. It was just as terrible as you’d expect. Mothers held their children, husbands clutched their wives, everyone wailed and screamed. This many people should’ve made up a whole nebula of different feelings, but instead you sensed just one: absolute, incalculable terror. With every passing moment the fear pressed in closer, but you ignored it. You pushed yourself deeper. Max Jaffey gasped into his oxygen mask. The seat in front of him was empty, and he was looking at someone—you reached and reached—across the aisle, a man sobbed and pressed his girlfriend’s trembling hand into his heart—you were going to die you were all going to die—

You’re ripped out of the swarm of memories.

For the millionth fucking time, you come out of the vision on your ass with the boys hovering over you. You’re slow to remember where you are and what’s going on, but the shame is there waiting for you, like always.

“—okay, just breathe, you’re okay—” Sam is telling you, soft and unbelievably patient, considering the number of times he’s had to do this.

His heart is full-on pounding like it’s gonna punch right out of his chest, and you wonder why you know that until you glance down. He’s got your wrist fished in his hand, pressing your palm to flat to the crisp chest of his suit, and it’s just plain embarrassing at this point how much it pulls you back to earth. Your dignity wants you to rip yourself away from him, but, luckily, Dean does it for you. He pushes Sam back and kicks a box of wires neatly between you, just in time for his premonition to come true: your twisting stomach makes its move, and you promptly throw up into the box like a sick toddler in a ball pit. Dean could always tell.

“Touchdown,” he winces.

This is it. You’ve reached the final level of humiliation you can stand. No matter how hard you try, every pathetic dive you’ve made to be useful to the Winchesters has ended with your face in the mud. You can’t even wipe your face right. Sam ends up doing it for you with his sleeve, and sighs, out loud, just to add insult to injury: “Poor baby.”

PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 3rd, evening.

Two hours later, you’re back in the motel, sitting criss-cross at the end of Dean’s bed and contemplating what color you’re going to dye your hair. You’ve already landed on what your new legal name will be—Elizabeth Ripley. Elizabeth as in Pride and Prejudice and Ripley as in Alien. Sam would appreciate a Jane Austen reference and Dean would appreciate anything Alien related, so everyone would be happy.

You’re not sure where this plan to change your name and face came from. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that, after you gracefully threw up everywhere and failed to learn anything new about the case, the real FBI showed up. Like. Real, gun-slinging, tie-wearing FBI agents. And they may or may not have chased you out of the warehouse. (Which you would’ve seen coming, by the way, if you hadn’t royally exhausted your powers). Just in case all that was enough—while you were off being useless, Sam and Dean got a potential sample from your mystery monster. An actual workable lead.

Fucking great.

The two of them are deciding what to do with you. If you were to look beyond the lens of your self-hatred for a moment, it’s more likely that the boys are worried about you and trying to figure this out. But you feel embarrassed and gross and unhelpful, so you strain to pick up every word you can and glare a new hole into the wall. They’re going to tell you to stay behind. Well that, at least, is something you can beat them to.

Ever since you were little, the three of you had a very special rhythm together. Sam was the mind and Dean was the heart and you were the subconscious. Each of you was important, and though you could work on your own, you were so, so much better as a system. With you sending out fucked-up signals, the two of them would be down a crucial piece.

Whatever. They’d probably function just fine without you on this one.

Of course, Dean sics his little peacekeeper on you. The door clicks open. You smear the last of your frustrated tears on your sleeve and talk before Sam can say anything: “Hey, is it okay if you guys take that sample to Jerry without me? It’d probably be good for us to get a leg up on research, and you guys don’t exactly need me there.”

Sam comes toward you, his voice extra soft and placating. Since, y’know, you’re a shitty timebomb that needs to be handled with kid gloves. “...Alright. That’s a good idea. That’d help out a lot.”

He says that specifically because he knows you feel unhelpful. He gives you those dewy, understanding Sam eyes and puts his big Sam hand on your shoulder, and all it does is piss you off. You hate how easily he can read you, and how much you want to listen to him. None of this should be such a big fucking deal. You’re twenty-four—you should have a handle on your Gift by now. Sam’s been back at this for, what? Two months? Nobody’s treating him like he can’t handle the pressure. He’s not being haunted by visions twenty-four-fucking-seven or dealing with stupid burns or—or being creeped on by random hunters! Or throwing up at crime scenes!

Your eyes start to burn. You glare harder at the wall, and force yourself not to take this out on him.

Sam’s hand goes to move off your shoulder, but something changes his mind and he keeps it there for another lingering moment. “Look at me a second.”

You force yourself to look at his face. As mad as you are, the boy-crazy teenage girl in your head gets one look at him and squeals into her pillow.

“Go easy on yourself,” he says, softer than before. “Really. Nobody’s built for this kind of thing.”

You want to scream. Me! I am! I’m built for this! But you’re not a teenager anymore, so you compose yourself, sigh, and tell him, “...I’ll try.”

Instead of getting up, Sam stares at you for a long beat. There’s something in his eyes you can’t describe, and his hand is still on your shoulder, tethering the two of you to each other. Your mental teenage girl is about to succumb to romantic psychosis when Sam’s greenish eyes find something else to look at, and he passes you something from his pocket.

He mutters something like feel better and gets up, leaving you with a shard of metal about as long as one of your fingers. He doesn’t explain what it is to you. He doesn’t tell you what to do with it. Because you’re a hunter, dammit, and Sam knows you can handle yourself. His warm, calloused palm slips off your shoulder and you get the impression that he was never using any kid gloves with you to begin with.

Sam leaves. You stare at the shard as the Impala slinks out of the parking lot. Just by touch, you know it’s a piece of flight 2485’s fuselage.

…You do as Sam asked, and go easy on yourself. After a shower, a little teeth-brushing, and a lot of mints, you’re feeling way less gross and a lot more like a hunter. The whole time you pour through research on your laptop, you rub the shard of flight 2485 between your fingers and sort through what this thing could be. Inhuman strength. Uses a vessel. Black eyes. Black smoke.

Nobody’s built for this kind of thing, Sam had said, and he’d been wrong. You’d been honing this Gift before you’d even known you’d had it. Most of your life had been spent learning every kind of divination under the sun, so there was no way this thing could hide from you.

You started easy, reading the shard through psychometry. The nauseous feeling rose up inside you again, and again, you heeded Sam’s warning and chose to push away from it. You tried numerology, which felt like a push in the right direction; 2458 wasn’t relevant, and though 7 survivors could mean something interesting (luck, the union of the physical and the spiritual, yadda yadda), your gut told you it was something else. The plane crashed 40 minutes in. Biblical numerology, maybe? Promising. But also potentially terrifying.

When your bone casting read felt flat and uninspired, you defaulted to the simplest method you could think of. Tarot.

The first time you’d seen an apparition, your mom had scooped you up into a massive hug and paraded you around the house, declaring to the spirits of the underworld that a new heavyweight champ had entered the ring. (This became a lot funnier the older you got). You were bought ice cream and root beer and told in a thousand ways, subtle and unsubtle, that this was a good thing. One of the ways Beth convinced you was with her childhood tarot deck, which she’d gifted you that day.

You turned the cards over in your hands, imbuing the worn-smooth texture of the paper with the feelings from your vision. The first card you pulled was done on nothing but pure instinct. And the second. By the third, you shuffled the deck as thoroughly as possible, but the answer was still the same every single time. You’d never pulled the same exact card three times. All at once, things pulled together—the overwhelming sense of evil, the human host, the numerology, the way it sucked up death like a goddamn sponge—no survivors, it’d said on the EVP. Holy shit.

You were dialing Dean’s number the second you set the card down. He answered on the second ring, and spoke at the exact same time as you—

“It’s a demon."

Underneath the illustration were two blemished words. The Devil.

tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looouou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoonn

NEXT PART: phantom traveler, p.3.

#uncouthspn #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #user uncouth #sam winchester fic recs #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #pythia #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural rewrite

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sixdegreesofbali · 5 months

Text

One of the most annoying things to me is Dutch people commenting on Max whilst seemingly not knowing a thing about him besides being an F1 driver.

The amount of comments from Dutch people I've seen on video's of Max and P, being snobbish about the fact that Max is speaking English, not Dutch...

Have you ever seen news of Max becoming a father? No. So from that I think you can conclude that P is not his biological daughter and therefore maybe she isn't Dutch and therefore it's quite normal that he isn't speaking Dutch to her. Or that he isn't speaking Dutch on a stream with his English teammates....

Why are people so weird about everything when it comes to famous people??

#max verstappen #f1 #formula 1

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astrobei · 1 year

Note

hello beloved suni. for valentine's day ficlet prompt... a lumax valentine's day perhaps?

(ft. lucas going Overboard and max secretly loving it?)

abby i would literally give you the world if you asked me to <3 happy early valentine's day and i hope you like this one !!

“I don’t understand this holiday,” El frowns, peering over the displays of red cardboard boxes and bulk-order roses. This corner of Melvald’s is completely decked out, with glitter and flowers and plush teddy bears as far as the eye can see– or at least until aisle three, where the store returns to its regularly scheduled programming of household cleaning supplies.

The floral scent is almost nauseatingly strong, and Max is suddenly extremely thankful she’s nowhere near as allergic to them as she used to be, or Mrs. Byers would have had to drive her to the hospital as she broke out in hives. “Me neither,” Max says, squinting at a teddy bear with particularly beady eyes. “Consumerist nonsense.”

El gives her a bit of a weird look. “Um–”

“It means they just overdo the lovey-dovey thing to get people to buy stuff,” Max adds, and El’s frown smooths itself out.

“Oh, okay. I was just going to say that I don’t know why there’s only one day out of the whole year to buy someone flowers.” She reaches out, touches a tentative finger to one of the petals on the nearest rose, and then immediately retracts her hand as the petal falls off and flutters slowly to the checkered tiles of the floor. “Oh no.”

Max bites back a laugh. “I bet those flowers have been sitting in storage since the beginning of the month.”

“I don’t get this holiday,” El says again, and shakes her head. ��Why buy someone flowers that have been sitting outside for two weeks?”

“Again,” Max says, rolling her eyes at the 20% off! sign, “they just want to make money off this stuff. They don’t care about love.”

“Bullshit,” El says, so suddenly that Max can’t bite back a laugh in time to keep herself from giggling loudly, the sound ringing through the quiet of the store. Half an aisle over, a guy in a suit shoots her a glare. She pulls a face at him.

“Bull– yeah, I guess so,” she says, as El turns to study the display of chocolates on their other side. “So jaded already?”

“I don’t know what jaded means,” El muses, “but I think this holiday is bullshit.”

“Yeah, that’s– yeah,” Max nods. “You got it. Hey, if these chocolates are on sale, then maybe we should get some anyway.” She picks up a heart-shaped box and flips it over. “You’re not allergic to nuts, are you, El?”

“I don’t think so. Won’t Lucas buy you chocolates?” El asks, turning back around to give Max a curious look. “He’s your boyfriend.”

“Yeah, well,” Max sighs. “This whole thing is so cheesy. I don’t need him to buy me chocolates, I just need him to put up more of a fight before I beat him at Super Mario Bros. I swear it’s not even fun anymore.”

El wrinkles her nose. “At least it would be better than what Mike did.”

“Oh yeah?” Max raises her eyebrows, then puts the box of chocolates down. The handful of change in her pocket can be spent on better things than overpriced and over-marketed chocolate anyway. “What did Mike do?”

“He got me a card that said I like you.”

Max stares. “I like– you’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope.” El pops the p, and gives Max a look like yeah, I know.

“Okay, well, good riddance,” Max snorts. “I’ll be praying for Will. Poor guy.”

“I think it probably helps to actually love the person you give the card to,” El says thoughtfully, which is a pretty good point, and Max honestly doesn’t have much to add to that. She gives another cursory glance over the piles of sickeningly-sweet flower displays, the rows upon rows of stuffed bears that all look exactly alike, and then her eyes land on a discount bag of M&Ms.

“Okay, well, I still want these,” she says as she grabs them. “M&Ms are good no matter the day. You want anything, El?”

El peers around the corner of the aisle, and her face lights up. “Reese’s!” she cheers, then disappears from view. “One second!”

Max sighs, tossing the bag of chocolate up and down in one hand as she waits. She can imagine it now, being one of those poor schmucks at school who get bombarded with tacky cards and flowers that are on the brink of collapse. Just another way to flaunt relationships that are equally on the brink of collapse, probably. No one goes through the motions of over-the-top, elaborate stuff like this unless they’re trying to compensate for something.

She thinks about it, for a fleeting second– being given roses at school. The secondhand embarrassment of it all. A teddy bear that’ll no doubt collect dust on her bookshelf for the next ten years. Cheesy greeting cards– be mine and hugs and kisses and–

“Ready to go?” El pops back into her field of vision, a bright orange package clutched in one hand.

Max blinks. “Yeah,” she says, then firmly banishes any thoughts of cheesy greeting cards from her mind. No, thank you. She’s fine with her discount chocolate– that she got herself, mind you. No consumerist bullshit for her this time. “Yeah, let’s head out. Maybe Mrs. Byers will let us use her employee discount again.”

—-

Max knows something is off the next morning before she even gets in the car.

“You look weird,” she frowns, in lieu of a greeting. “What’s with you?”

Lucas ignores her. “Good mooorning,” he says, long and drawn-out and not nearly as obnoxious as it should be. “Are you ready for today?”

Max slams the passenger door shut behind her and says, “Well, my history presentation is today. So, no.”

“You’re going to crush it,” Lucas says, even though they have different history teachers this year and of course Max got stuck with the nitpicky one. “World War II isn’t going to know what hit it.” He takes the car out of park, backs slowly away from the lot in front of the trailer, and onto the main road. “But come on, that’s not what I mean.”

Max raises her eyebrows. Look, she’s not dumb, okay. It’s February 14th and she’s dating Lucas Sinclair. She knows there’s only one place this conversation is leading to. “Oh yeah? Well, I heard they’re serving chicken nuggets in the cafeteria today,” she says anyway, just to be difficult.

Lucas indulges her. He always indulges her. “Well I’m ready for chicken nugget day,” he says, even though he shouldn’t be, because Max is certain they haven’t used chicken to make them since before Indiana was even a state. He reaches for her hand over the console and says, “You might have to drive me to the hospital after but it’ll be worth it.”

Max bites back a smile and looks out of the window before he can see. “Loser,” she says. It comes out too fond for her to have any hopes about hiding it, and even though the radio is blasting Madonna, she hears him laugh as he squeezes her hand.

She thinks he’s dropped it, or maybe he’s picked up on the hint and hastily canceled whatever it was he’d been planning, but of course, no such luck. “Okay, well,” he says, as they get out of the car and make their way up to the school. “Can I walk you to your locker at least?”

She stops in her tracks. It wouldn’t have been suspicious if he didn’t ask, because he always walks her to her locker before class starts, but now–

“No,” she decides, walking away as fast as her legs will allow. “Don’t you have Calculus to get to?”

He catches up to her easily. “Come on,” he grins, matching her pace effortlessly. “It’s–”

She holds a finger up to his face. “Don’t say it.”

Lucas holds both hands up in surrender. “I didn’t say anything!”

“You’re thinking something! I know it! You’re– you’re scheming and you’re– up to something, I don’t know. Up to no good.”

“Up to no good?” Lucas laughs. “What are you, fifty?”

“Shut up,” she says, and then they’re basically at her locker already, and his grin grows exponentially which leads her to believe that maybe this was the plan all along.

“You should open your locker,” Lucas says, leaning against the adjacent one and clearly trying his hardest to look blasé about the whole thing. “Just saying. Because your books are in there and stuff.”

“If I open this and something jumps out at me,” Max grumbles, spinning the combination lock. “I’m going to–”

She trails off. Stares.

“Um,” Lucas is saying, peering around the open locker door. “You’re going to– what?”

“Kill you,” she whispers, before reaching into her locker and pulling out the biggest fucking bouquet of roses she’s ever seen. “What the hell?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Lucas smiles. There’s something a little nervous about it, like maybe he was worried that she had some deep, lifelong trauma rooted in the holiday and maybe she was about to start crying in the middle of the hallway. “Do you like them?”

She could lie and say no, just to keep up appearances, but that would be mean, probably. “Yeah,” Max says, feeling herself smile before she can help it. “What– how did you get my locker combination?”

Lucas waves a hand dismissively. “Dustin,” he says, like this explains everything. Maybe it does– she doesn’t know. She tries not to keep up with whatever they have going on, because the less she knows the better. “But seriously– do you like?”

“Of course,” Max says softly. They’re pink roses, the real kind, fragrant and fresh and not falling apart at the seams like the flowers that had been shedding all over the Melvald’s floor yesterday. She wonders where he got them. She wonders how much he paid for them. “They’re– how?”

“I have my ways,” and okay, apparently Lucas is a total man of mystery now, and Max does not care enough to find out what his ways are, because–

Oh, these flowers are gorgeous. Like actually, genuinely, mind-blowingly gorgeous.

“You got me flowers,” she says, more to herself than Lucas, like maybe stating this fact as just that– a fact– will make it easier to comprehend.

He got her flowers. A lot of flowers.

Apparently Max Mayfield is, after all, one of the poor schmucks being given flowers at school.

“Well, I figured you’d think the red ones are dumb,” Lucas goes on, blissfully ignorant of the way Max can literally feel her entire face turning hotter than the inside of an oven. “And I know you like red, but they're red roses, which I know you’d think are tacky, so I figured these would be more your speed. More subtle. More– uh. Max?”

She blinks. “Huh?”

“Are you okay?” Lucas frowns, waving a hand in front of her face. “You haven’t blinked in, like, a minute.”

Max is definitely very, very red now. “I’m fine,” she gets out, “it’s just– thank you. These are nice.”

“Oh.” The tension slips away from Lucas’ shoulders, and he stands up a little straighter. Puffs his chest out just a bit, which makes her laugh. “Good. I’m glad.”

“I might just– leave them here for now, though.” She motions to the locker and tucks the flowers back inside. “If that’s okay.”

“Fine by me,” Lucas grins, then slings an easy arm over her shoulder. “Now about your history presentation–”

—-

And Max isn’t stupid, per se, but maybe it wasn’t the smartest of her to assume that it would end there. At lunch, Max is about to resign herself to her fate of a pathetically soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich, when Lucas’ grinning face pops up in front of her.

“Hey!”

“Jesus Christ,” she gasps, and Mike snickers softly as she jumps.

“No,” Lucas says, pointing at himself. “Lucas.”

Max peels back the cling film around her sandwich with a growing sense of trepidation. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Oh, no reason,” Lucas says, and so obviously Max does not believe him in the slightest. He’s got both hands behind his back, and Will is next to him stifling a laugh into his hand, and Max doesn’t trust Lucas as is but she especially doesn’t trust him if Will is involved.

“Could someone just tell me–”

Lucas sets a plastic tupperware container in front of her. “Ta-da!”

Max frowns. “What’s this?”

“Well maybe if you opened it,” Mike starts, and then she elbows him and he lets out a sharp, offended gasp. “Ow!”

“Shut up,” she says, peeling off the lid of the box. And then, “Lucas.”

He grins. “Yes?”

What the fuck. Max reaches into the box and pulls out the most perfect cupcake she’s seen in all seventeen years of her existence. “Did you– did you bake me a cupcake?”

Lucas scratches the back of his neck with one hand and says, “It’s from a box mix but. Technically, yes.”

“And it’s–”

“Red velvet!” Lucas announces, and he’s definitely being a little smug about it now, but Max supposes it’s probably deserved, with the way she’s been staring at this thing for the past forty seconds. “Um. Your favorite.”

“I–”

No one’s ever baked her anything before. She figures that no one’s really had any reason to, before Lucas, but that means it’s something that hadn’t even been on her radar of things that you can do for other people until now, which also means that she’s been staring at this damn thing long enough for Mike Wheeler to reach across her and try to scrape some of the frosting off the top.

That spurs her into action. She swats his wrist away. “Hey! Get your own!”

“I don’t have my own,” Mike pouts dejectedly. He looks over at Will. “Can you make me a cupcake?”

Will sets a second tupperware down in front of Mike. “One step ahead of you,” he laughs, “but you ruined the surprise.”

Mike’s mouth drops open, then closes, then opens again, in an excellent impression of a goldfish. “What–”

“Will came over last night,” Lucas announces, and they both have identical grins on their faces now. “While El and Max were off wreaking havoc on the poor city of Hawkins.”

“We went to catch a movie,” El chimes in, shoveling baby carrots into her mouth. “Hawkins is fine.”

“I can’t believe you,” Max hisses, because this is the second time Lucas has made her turn redder than a beetroot today.

Lucas just grins wider. “You love me,” he says, linking their fingers together across the cafeteria table.

“Gross,” Mike gags next to her, and then Will touches a hand to his wrist and he falls blessedly silent.

“You were saying, Wheeler?”

“Oh, shut up.”

—-

Max thought that maybe going home would mean an end to her suffering, but apparently not.

She frowns. Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic. It’s not like the roses and the desserts and the cheesy greeting card Lucas had pressed into her hands before dropping her off are hurting anybody. She rolls over onto her side in bed, hours later after dinner and homework and when she’s done boiling herself alive in the shower, and stares at the card where she’s propped it up on her desk.

I love you bear-y much, it reads, with the most ridiculous cartoon illustration of a bear behind it. So ridiculous, in fact, that she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’d totally just picked it out to see the look on her face when he gave it to her. And it must have worked, and she totally gave him exactly the reaction he’d been looking for, because he’d laughed for, like, a solid three minutes after pulling up in front of her place.

“This is so stupid,” she’d said in the car, fighting back a laugh with every molecule in her body, and it’s true– it is stupid, maybe one of the most stupid things she’s ever seen– but suddenly her cheeks hurt and there’s something warm and fuzzy and gross bubbling up inside her chest, and she’s smiling.

“What the hell,” she whispers aloud, horrified, hiding her face in her pillow like there’s anyone around to witness her throwing all sense of morality to the wind and partaking in stupid greeting card traditions.

Clink.

Max sits straight up in bed. There’s a noise from the window, like someone’s tapping on it, but there’s no one there.

She frowns. What? Maybe it was a stray gust of wind, or a tree branch, or–

Clink.

A pebble comes flying at her windowpane, so small that she barely even sees it, then bounces off harmlessly.

“What–”

Lucas Sinclair is standing outside her bedroom window, waving like a maniac. “Hi,” he says, as soon as she gets the window open. “Are you busy?”

“Lucas?” Max looks down at her pajama pants and t-shirt, one she’s had for so long that she’s started to wear holes in it. “No, I was just– what the hell are you doing?”

“Being romantic,” Lucas says simply. “I was going to bring a boombox and blast something cheesy but I figured maybe waking up your mom and the entire community was less romantic and more asshole-y.”

“Asshole-y is not a word,” she says, in a meager attempt at a distraction from the smile breaking across her face. “You could have just knocked. At the front door.”

Lucas makes a face. “But that’s boring. Now are you going to come outside or do I need to climb through your window again?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Max decides, even as she swings one leg through the open window, shaking her head. “You are so ridiculous.”

“You’re laughing,” Lucas says gleefully. Her feet hit the grass and she shivers slightly, the ground gone icy with the February chill.

“Yeah, so?”

“And you’re also cold,” he says, and then he’s shrugging his jacket off and holding it out. It’s his varsity jacket, the one he has on almost every day. She’d never tell him, but she loves wearing it because it’s already a little big on him which means it’s huge on her and maybe the most comfortable thing she’s ever put on.

She accepts the proffered jacket without a fuss, which is maybe out of the ordinary for today, but whatever. “Someone’s being real gentlemanly today.”

“Please. I’m always a gentleman,” and he says it kind of laughingly, but it’s not a joke. Not really. Lucas is the most gentle person she knows, and he brought her flowers and baked her cupcakes and gave her the most stupid card ever, and–

“Thank you,” she says earnestly, tucking the jacket in around herself.

Lucas shuffles his feet on the grass. “I know you’re cold,” he starts, “so I won’t stay too long. I just wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me?” Max stares. “You saw me all day at school. And you picked me up and dropped me off and–”

“I meant just you,” Lucas corrects, tugging her arms down from where she’s got them wrapped around herself, twisting their fingers together. “No rush. No first period bell. No basketball practice in the way.”

“I,” Max starts, throat gone completely, embarrassingly dry. God, she’s dating this guy, and she has been for forever, so why the hell is she still getting so flustered? “Really?”

“Uh, yeah?” Lucas says it like a question, like it’s obvious. “And I know Valentine’s Day isn’t your thing because you think it’s totally stupid, which is fine, because you’re kind of right, but– I don’t know. All I could think about all day was how lucky I am to be dating you.”

Jesus Christ. This is not a good look for her. If Mike ever asks, Max kept her composure, and was calm and collected and as totally cool as a cucumber.

“Really?” she squeaks, just a little bit, because the unfortunate reality of the situation is that she is not as cool as a cucumber and is, instead, as warm as– something that’s very warm. “You– really?”

Lucas laughs lightly. “Yes, really,” he says, thankfully ignoring her sudden combustion into a thousand little Max-shaped pieces. “And I’m sorry if the flowers and everything was over the top and they were so cheesy, but I literally just could not help myself.”

Max shakes her head. “No,” she says, warm and fuzzy and so happy that it’s threatening to spill over and out of her entirely. “No, it’s– I loved them,” she admits softly. “I did. They were lame and corny but I loved them. Even the bear card,” she adds, and he laughs again. “But holy shit, Lucas, you gave me so many things.”

“You deserve lots of things,” Lucas says. “Lots of good, corny, cheesy things.”

“I’m going to need you to shut up now,” Max says, then promptly buries her face in his chest. He doesn’t even seem fazed by the impact, solid and steady and unmoving as she wraps her arms around him. “But happy Valentine’s Day, stalker.”

She hears him laugh, somewhere above her. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says, and kisses her on top of her head. “I love you.”

#posting this now for the five people that are online #oh i love lumax so much #so disappointed in myself for not writing them before #anyways #lucas sinclair the boyfriend of all time so true #max mayfield the astrobei self insert of all time she's just like me fr #ugh #just let her be spoiled and given good things n made flustered and and and #<333333 #lumax #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #+ a little bit of #el hopper #fic #fun sized fics

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