#i wonder if that's how he was with william too

[dark-frosted-heart]

He Doesn’t Know That I Turned into an Animal - Roger Barel (Premium End)

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. None of my translations are proofread until a day after posting

Roger: Can you follow this scent too?

Roger held out a white handkerchief to me.

(This is the handkerchief I lent to Roger on a mission…!)

(Could it be that the one he’s looking for is me…?)

Roger: I have sharp ears, so I was listening for the voice of this handkerchief’s owner, as well as her heartbeat and footsteps. But I haven't been able to hear anything. So…please. Help me find her.

(Last night you were listening for me…)

(Why did I assume that he wouldn’t?)

(I want to tell him that I’m right here since he’s so worried about me!)

I led Roger to my room.

Roger: The scent led you to this room?

Kate: Arf! (Yes!)

Roger: …Any clue where she went after?

I made laps around my room. I wanted to convey to Roger that the scent couldn’t be traced out of this room.

Roger: You’re telling me that Kate never left her room…? No…that’s not right. She left without anyone noticing?

(Yes! You’re doing great, Roger!)

I’ve been wondering about how I ended up like this, but…

I think the cause was me touching some kind of chemical while cleaning up the infirmary.

The things Roger researches range from useful to questionable.

The fact that he had a drug that could turn a person to an animal shouldn’t be a surprise.

(Since Roger’s the one that manages the drugs, he should be aware of the possibility of me turning into a corgi…!)

Roger: …Like if she could disappear like Liam, or transform, then no one would notice her.

(You’re pretty sharp, Roger…!)

Roger: As an animal, the lil’ lady wouldn’t be able to say anything or call for help…

(You’re getting there, Roger!!)

Roger: And then a cute female corgi just so happens to show up… Meaning you’re— 

Kate: Arf! (I’m Kate!)

I met Roger’s eyes and barked to make it sink in. However…

Roger: … No, that’s impossible…

Roger looked away from me, throwing the answer he worked toward out.

Roger: This is bad. I don’t have a clue.

(You’re kidding me…All that work and you’re not putting it together?!)

From experience, I knew Roger was knowledgeable and open-minded.

Normally it’s impossible to turn into an animal, but I thought he’d consider it.

(How do I tell you…?)

Roger: Hmm… I should write down what I know so that I can find Kate…

Roger took out a notepad from his pocket and started writing things down.

Maybe he was writing down things he noticed while looking for me.

(...It felt like Roger was analyzing things just then, but maybe I was imagining things?)

(In any case…I can’t give up! I’ll keep trying until I get through to Roger!)

And so I used all of my corgi brain power…

I tried to tell Roger that this corgi was Kate.

I tried to use the typewriter… (My dog paws were too big)

I tried to use the piano to show that I was human inside… (William praised me for being a genius, though as a dog)

I tried to show the mystery novel where people and animals swapped places… (Harrison tossed me out his room)

After numerous failed attempts, the sun set— 

By the time I returned to the infirmary, I was completely exhausted.

(What can I do…)

Ale: Arf? (What’re you trying so hard for?)

Kate: Awoo…(I want to tell Roger that I’m Kate…)

Ale: Woof woof? (That guy can’t understand us though?) …Woof, woof (...Sometimes Roger gives me a sad smile)

(Huh…?)

Ale: Awoo…(Maybe he still thinks about how he couldn’t wake my previous owner up) Woof, woof? (I enjoy being with Roger, but I can’t tell him that you know?)

Kate: Woof… (Ale…)

(Until now, I’ve always thought that it was important to deliver people’s thoughts and feelings. But as a fairytale keeper…)

(...I’m now in a position where I can’t no matter what I try, so I understand the pain better now) 

Ale: Woof! (There’s no point in moping. Let’s eat some snacks!)

(Snacks…?)

Ale: Arf? (Hey Roger, what do you have there? In your pocket!) Woof… (It’s been rustling for a while now…)

What Roger’s been repeatedly taking out of his pocket was just a notepad.

Every time I did something, Roger would take it out and jot something down.

Ale: Woof?! Woof! (Do you have tasty treats in your pocket?! Give it here!)

It seemed that Ale mistook Roger’s notepad for a treat or something.

Suddenly, Ale jumped high and the notepad fell out of Roger’s pocket.

Roger: Ah, Ale!

Ale: Woof… (What the…This isn’t a treat…)

The notepad fell open on a page…and I happened to catch what was written on it.

“Animal transformation curse observation record…Subject: Kate”

And then the page turned thanks to Ale’s paw touching the notepad.

(...Hm?! This…)

“She understands human speech, but can’t speak due to having a dog’s vocal chords.”

“To reveal her identity, she played the piano and tried to show me a novel. She’s kept her memories from when she was human.”

His notes were filled with information related to me as an animal.

Kate: Arf…? (Roger…?)

I stared hard at Roger and quickly put his notepad away.

Kate: Arf! Arf?! (This! This is my record, isn’t it?!)

Roger: Ah…You saw, lil’ lady?

Kate: Arf! Arf?! (Just now! Did you say “lil’ lady”?!) Grrr…(You noticed that I’m Kate, didn’t you…!)

Roger: Can’t understand what you’re saying, but I know you’re angry.

Kate: Arf! (Explain!)

Roger: You probably want an explanation now?

Roger sat down on a chair in the infirmary and began his explanation.

Roger: I didn’t notice that you turned into a dog until this morning. When you led me to your room after smelling the handkerchief… That’s when I finally realized that you might be a dog.

~~ Flashback ~~

Roger: As an animal, the lil’ lady wouldn’t be able to say anything or call for help…

(You’re getting there, Roger!!)

Roger: And then a cute female corgi just so happens to show up… Meaning you’re— 

Kate: Arf! (I’m Kate!)

Roger: No, that’s impossible…

~~ Flashback end ~~

(You did notice at that time…?!)

Roger: …This is probably why you became a dog)

Roger fetched a green bottle from a shelf.

Roger: This bottle has a “become whatever animal you want to be” drug. But…it was leaking because of a crack on the bottom, so you probably touched that while cleaning.

Kate: Woof…(Yeah…)

Roger: Also, I have a guess on how to turn you back. With a kiss…

(K-kiss…?)

Roger: Like in the fairy tales you know? A curse is broken with a kiss.

(If you knew that, then why…)

Roger: Why didn’t I turn you back immediately? So that I could study you, of course.

Those words reminded me of how Roger acted this morning.

~~ Flashback ~~

Roger: This is bad. I lue. Hmm…I should write down what I know so that I can find Kate…

~~ End flashback ~~

(At the time, I thought Roger’s tone was analytical…)

(I can’t believe you were pretending to take notes to find me when you were really just writing down your observations…!)

If Ale hadn’t jumped and Roger hadn’t dropped his notepad…

I would never have known.

Kate: Grr…Yip! Yip! (You…mad scientist! Egoist!)

Roger: What’d you expect me to do? It would've been such a waste to turn a valuable research subject back so soon. But I’ve done enough research for now, and I miss your human form. Shall we turn you back?

Kate: Grrrr…! (You’re the worst…!)

It’s true that Roger looked hard for me before realizing who I was.

Last night, he looked so serious while listening for me.

(But…that’s besides the point!)

(I worked so hard to make you realize who I was so it’s right for me to be angry that he decided to use me as a research subject!)

Ale: Woof…? (I don’t know what’s happening, but is it Roger’s fault?) Arf! (In that case, go all out!)

(Go all out…Yeah, let’s do that!)

Following what Ale said, I jumped onto Roger’s lap—

Roger: !

I kissed Roger on the lips.

I didn’t do this for Roger, but because I wanted things to go back to normal, but…

Maybe because I wasn’t used to having a corgi body, I only touched the corner of his lips.

I doubt this could be called a kiss.

(Will this really turn me back…? …Ah)

At that moment, my body grew hot…The corgi body started to shift.

Kate: Finally! I’m back…!

Roger: Ah…Lil’ lady, I don’t wanna say this, but…

Roger’s gaze on my body made me realize that I was naked.

Kate: D-don’t look!

I quickly wrapped myself in a blanket and huddled a corner of the infirmary.

Kate: Will you take responsibility for making me your research subject and bring me some clothes?

Roger: Yeah, no problem. But… Is that what all?

Roger pointed at my head and my body that was hidden by the blanket.

Kate: …? What do you mean— 

I casually touched the spot on my head that he was pointing to…And froze.

There was something coming out of my head that shouldn’t have been there.

Kate: W-what is this?!

I borrowed a mirror to check…

I still had corgi ears on my head and a short corgi tail on my butt.

Roger: Maybe because it wasn't a full kiss so it wasn’t a complete transformation. This really is interesting.

Kate: No way…! How do I turn back completely?!

Roger: Why not kiss me again?

Kate: It doesn’t have to be you, does it? All I need is a kiss.

Roger: If that person loves you, then it’s no problem.

Kate: Love…

Roger: Actually it has to do with the area of contact, the duration, and saliva composition… A loving, passionate kiss should do just the trick. A loving kiss is what breaks the curse in a fairytale after all.

(If that’s the case, then the half-hearted kiss only undid part of the transformation…)

Kate: Roger…do you…l-love me?

I felt oddly embarrassed asking that, and my voice was shaky.

Roger: Of course I do. You were so cute as a corgi.

Roger’s answer wasn’t really what I wanted to hear.

He probably knew what I was really asking and dodged the question on purpose.

Roger: Is that all you wanted to ask? Then go ahead and kiss someone else?

Kate: …

I was angry with Roger for knowing who I was but not saying anything about it because of research.

That’s why I wanted to kiss someone besides him…

(...Why can’t I move my legs?)

Roger: Just so you know… If you leave this room with those cute corgi ears and tail, you’re gonna run into some troublesome men. Not everyone in this castle’s a gentleman. Since research’s my priority, it’d be safer to kiss me.

Kate: Why are you saying stuff to make me stay?

Roger: It doesn’t feel good watching someone you’re fond of wagging their tail for someone else. It’s only natural.

(I can’t take this anymore…)

(I should be angry with Roger, but more than that…)

(I really want to kiss him)

Surely this was just an after-effect of Roger doting on me when I was a dog…

That’s what I told myself.

Kate: Okay… Since you took care of me while I was a dog, I’ll take care of you.

Roger: That so? Thanks.

The moment I saw Roger’s satisfied smile, my tail started wagging under the sheet.

(What am I so happy for!?)

Roger: But before a kiss to turn you back— —Let me do a thorough examination of your body.

#ikemen villains #ikevil #ikevil jp #ikevil translations #roger barel #ikevil roger

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Teaching Evasive Maneuvers

Previous =-= Next

Author's note: More of Symith in mermay.

Summary: Symith and his younger brothers and cousins are patrolling, he spots a new arrival coming in. Realizes it's a Custodes and teaches rapid evasive maneuvers and gets them all back to base before the Custodes makes a splash.

Warnings: ... Let me know if I need to add more.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k

Symith is with the same mixed squad of Ultramarines and Space Wolves, all of them younger than him by decades, how they got here, was usually due to battle- and the strange twist of circumstances that had them from one breath to another There to Here. He's not one to ponder who gets chosen or why, and from what he's heard, even Custodes have been dropped onto Ancient Terra, not many, Thank the All-father, for they are far more dangerous than even the worst of Rampaging Khornate Space Marines.

He's heard the stories of whole pods of Space Marines being torn asunder, Loyalist, Renegade, and Chaos, because the Custodes deemed them unfit for Life, or because they wouldn't listen to the words of the Loyalists, explaining when and where they are. He suspects that they are trying to seek out the much younger version of The Emperor. Which, well- he wonders if they'll find him or not. He wonders if them being here will effect the time line, or if they are now in a new timeline, or if this will just be a temporary thing and won't actually affect things at all. Or- one of the younger space marines swims over to him with a concerned frown.

"You're bleeding from the nose," The young Apothecary with them says in concern, "Did you hit your head or something?"

"Ah- just got a wicked headache," He says waving the youngster off.

He had been... thinking about- oh, bad nope, not going to try going to think or poke at what is for Witches and Rune Priests to deal with. He's good at teaching and protecting and fighting, among other things. Such navel gazing and thoughts of philosophy and causality and other fancy-smancy nerd shit is for those of a higher intelligence than him. He allows the young Apothecary fuss over him as the Warp wipes away his thoughts on things that he should really not try to think too hard about. It just is.

"You didn't have to fuss so much," He says with a mild grumble

As they continue to patrol this area of the seas, on Ancient Terra, there had been some Excitement, some Idiot Chaos Psyker had tried to do some Great Working and it had twisted and gone wrong, and potentially really cursed an underwater cave system nearby.

Exactly where, he's not been told, mostly so he doesn't go poke at it with his bolter and get bitten by something Nasty. Also, another thing, there was some rumblings about a Nurglite Infestation that had nearly destroyed a Coral Reef ecosystem, that too, was being handled by those who are qualified to handle it. He had his squad are to try and see if they can find other Strange Things that might be happening, or Chaos Bastards who aren't where they are supposed to be.

Also, he's unsurprised that the Chaos Marines are Up To Shit, and Causing Problems On Purpose for everyone else. It's what they do, they are, after all, Chaos Marines. He has Opinions on this 'armistice' between the two sides, especially since he knows that certain factions within the Chaos Marine pods and shoals aren't doing their part of the deal as well as they should. The larger Chaos Marine Pods would claim that it was smaller shoals that aren't a part of the Alliance that lies at fault, but he's got his doubts on that. Even odds on whether it's true or not. He swims to the surface and looks up- he'd spotted something glittering and sparkling above him and then swum fast down to where the Scouts are.

"Boys!" He calls sharply.

Gratifyingly they all turn towards him swiftly. "We need to move out of the area- a new Custodes is landing in these waters."

They all seems startled and start to whirl, "Move it lads! I don't want to become shark chum from a raging Custodes having a fit from their arrival. We also need to let the Chapter Masters in the area know so they can decide on the approach. Now- get moving!"

They are all loyalists, but depending on when the Custodes is from, what they were doing, and where they were before coming to Ancient Terra... being Reasonable is Not something that was designed by the Emperor within his Golden Host. So- they are swimming, fast and in the deep and in a circuitous pattern- he's barking out orders to them to help them with evasion and hopefully, staying unnoticed by one of those Stuffy, Uppity bastards who were more likely to kill, than listen to anything anyone said, or pull their weight and bully any and everyone who knows exactly what they are to their advantage, taking more in supplies and resources, and knowledge faster than they usually allowed new arrivals to have.

But such was the Custodes- catering to those bastards whims.  New Custodes, are very likely to be Unbonded. Trying to risk sending a message to one of the Bonded Custodes about their newly arrived brother, usually they would deign to speak with their brother and explain things. Which was a better way, in his opinion, let the Bonded Custodes deal with unbonded Custodes and leave them out of it.

He thinks it had worked, none of them are dead without realizing it, and he's not heard the whale song- and booming crooning calls of a Custodes on a hunt, when they decided to be noisy. Informing the Captain in deck of what was going on had been fun, but since he's done his job, and now that problem is so far above his paygrade it isn't funny. He grabs his squad of Scouts and tucks them into one of the shared nests to make sure they are all safe, alright, and most importantly, do not be stupid and try to catch a glimpse of a Custodes. His boys are safest where he can see them, scruffing the Apothecary and tucking him into the middle of the group.

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #space marine husbandry #warhammer #adeptus astartes #mermay #mermay 2024 #mermay 40K #poor unfortunate souls #poor unfortunate souls au #oc: Symith

[crumbleclub]

AU where, after Pizzasim, Henry finds that he's come back as Evan's Fredbear plush in a new universe. He has to try and set things right from there, to save all the children from the threats that loomed...

Including himself, and everything he turned a blind eye to.

#half asleep but the au called to me #brought to you by i was hugging MY fredbear plush #fnaf #henry emily #this is especially funny bc i think henry is helpy in pizzasim #he's been assigned small bear #well. also regular bear. both as in fredbear suit wearer and he's popularly seen as a bigger hairy queer guy who might use the term #maybe he feels small. as in lacking power #or maybe he doesn't thibk he utilizes it as well as he does supporting roles #that sort of fits #i wonder if that's how he was with william too #so easily manipulated #but enough meta in the tags. i gotta sleep #feel free to ask abt this au. or any au. my brian go brrr #henrybear fix it au #henry bear fix it

[oensible]

🦈 post-win celly-ing ^_^ // SJS @ CGY // 2024.02.15 🦈

+ some gifs:

#san jose sharks #sharks lb #mackenzie blackwood #filip zadina #william eklund #fabian zetterlund #hockey tag #video tag #gif #ok. so like. i just figured out how to edit gifs with gimp and ffmpeg on my computer instead of through an external site #and i was like wow! this is so much fun having so much control over the colors :) #and then 2 hours into individually editing layers to have the same effects i realize wait a minute... i have a WARM TINT on my display.... #i turn it off. lo and behold. they are BLUE! BLUE!!! #i am too lazy to redo it so if you are wondering. why the heck are they blue. well that is why sorryyyy #i also wanted to get a gif of zadina cellying from this clip since he was the other focus but he was just chilling so i didnt in the end #edit i never looked at these on a big enough screen to tell but my god these look awful what the fuck lmfao

[dannybobany]

Fnaf au where William figures out how to actually resurrect cc and then the aftons just have to live with that— not only is cc undead now but dad is freaking victor Frankenstein !! (like, literally, I imagine William discovered how to harvest remnant from recently deceased corpses rather then killing anyone himself, thus the mci doesn’t happen and Charlie doesn’t die either)

They just have to pretend this is normal and fine

#I imagine it’s especially awful for cc and Micheal I mean #think about how odd that is for cc #most of him are the original parts but many internal organs had to be replaced #the parts that become unusable quicker.. #he looks the same on the outside but he knows the difference. he knows something is very different #furthermore he wouldn’t age normally #if he ever wanted to look older he’d have to add new parts.. new bones and skin #and I imagine that’s a disturbing prospect for him so he’d avoid it at all cost #trapped in an unageing body for presumably eternity #and then theirs Micheal #while the whole family grieved Michael’s grief was in tandem with guilt #he killed his brother- it’s his fault this happened #but then he just.. came back.. as if it didn’t happen? how is Micheal supposed to be ok with that #how can you ever reverse the death of someone in your mind when you’ve already lived the grief? #I wonder how this would effect Williams relationship with his family #Clara I’m sure would be upset with him for not telling her #like he was digging up corpses and experimenting with forces beyond human comprehension #and he didn’t think for even a second “maybe I should tell my wife??” #she’s worried she’s not getting the full story- that’s it’s worse then he’s telling her #and I think Williams relationship with his kids would change too #Elizabeth could go either way but maybe she’d side with him #she in her naivety would believe that it’s a good thing #cc is alive! isn’t that what matters? didn’t you miss him? aren’t you happy he’s back? #I’m gonna cap this here #I’ve been going on too long

[magpigment]

ok i’m just saying what is it with charlie slimecicle and having ALMOST EVERY DND CHARACTER HES PLAYED EVER ON JRWI (william, gillion, and br’aad- technically not peter) have extremely complicated and immensely tragic relationships with their older sibling. like william and david, gillion and edyn, br’aad and sylnan- how does he keep doing this??? and why does it hurt so bad every time. like all his characters are just younger siblings who would do anything for their older sibling even to their own detriment, even if it ended up being the worst mistake of their entire lives, who so desperately want to trust that their older sibling is doing what’s right even if they’re so scared that they’re not. i

#dandy talks #jrwi #jrwi spoilers #like. hello??? #charlie slimecicle #jrwi the fated #jrwi riptide #jrwi prime defenders #like what #i could go on such a long rant about this dude #honestly #only reason peter is excluded is because his character arc didn’t directly include his siblings and also he’s the middle child #but man #hows he keep doing this #gonna be working on some art soon for david and william #becauseeeee. the parallels between how they view each other vs the stark juxtaposition between what they do about it #william who trusted his brother so much that he inherited his brothers blood stained hands. #david who cleans the blood off both their hands with a rag and throws it away with a bright smile that showcases his blood stained teeth #and william has to wonder if blood runs deeper or if all that blood is from innocent people too. knowing that the blood in his veins isn’t #his own. #anyway

[trashmuis]

Mmmmmmm ok so im very sorry folks, I meant to make some TCM content today but I got really busy and ended up not being at home so i didnt get a chance to make anything post worthy. rip... I will post some tho!! I'll make up for this i swear!! I'll finish stuff up so I can post it!!!! forgive me!

but uhhhh even tho today was busy, i did have a little bit of tequila when i was out in this evening after everything,,,, so when i did come home i actually just decided to rewatch Phantom of the Paradise instead of doing anything else like productive? (sorry again)

ive sobered up a little more now and i need to sleep but God damn man. it was so good to see the movie again. my husband was in disbelief the entire time. he both loved and hated it. he says it isnt a movie. I love the movie so much. the scene with The Phantom SPRINTING down the hall always kills me. it's such a raw shaky cam shot of him BOOKING IT i laugh so hard

and oh yeah,,, Winslow Leach. i love that tall nerd with the big blue eyes and thick-ass glasses and turtleneck sweater and fluffy hair!!! hes so fucking awkward and overly passionate and ugh! but also when he is the world's dorkiest goth bird man in the bodysuit with the black makeup im???? in love. im IN. love. i pretty much screamed in joy every time Winslow Leach was on screen bc I love that FUCKING DORK I LOVE HIM!!!! like why am I like this? why lmao

im gonna post all the fanart I've saved of this movie too bc it's all beautiful and amazing and I cant get enough. and yeah also the art and stuff I have too and some more tcm bc im still also obsessed with that too heehee

#William Finley just has this.... face. and body type. and performance style. that i really like ok #im simply drawn to him in this movie #he makes Winslow SO cute and SO nerdy in this wonderfully silly way but also SO dramatic too im in awe #I LOVE CHARACTERS WHO ARE UNIQUE AND CRAZY AND HAVE TOO MUCH PASSION AND CANT CONTAIN THEMSELVES #bc thats me i guess :) #also usually i like characters id gladly fight on the floor - currently chop top and nubbins #or characters that are so cute and i want to love them with all my heart - currently bubba #but Winslow is both and neither? i would be like aw cute but also steal his glasses and bully him and make him frustrated but then apologiz #and then touch his long slender pianist hands and say he's so talented and he might brush it off and accept it and it'd be all good #.... ok weirdly a lot of detail there sorry im. getting too into this hypothetical wtf (it happens) but um #i guess when it comes to the Phantom tho id just want to watch him run around and gasp and screech. idk. hes so weird and i love his drama #i want everyone to know i love my husband so much ik it's weird im gushing over another fictional man and mentioning him at the same time #but like it's not the same. i hope u all understand. my love for my husband is real and tangible. characters are.... different #just let me fantasize about the silly people i see in movies and stuff and compartmentalize it in my heart and brain ok. i cant help it #i always wonder how the fuck people see me when it comes to that but also if it bothers u i hope u get the difference like actually??? idk #not tagging #my life

[and-stir-the-stars]

Huh. Suddenly realizing that I haven't put any thought into Henry's place within Saffron Pawn

Ig ownership of Fazbear Entertainment would pass to him after William's capture? I wonder if Henry would elect just to shut the entire company down

#also mike sometimes thinking about trying to get henry to see if ev is alright after running away #but he never does because he knows henry can't be trusted #i wonder if henry ever heard evan say a red flag about william manipulating him into being a murderer and henry #just. didn't do anything. #saffron pawn au #mike definitely has resentment about henry (and maybe guilt over said resentment) #but i wonder if evan has any resentment too #how would they respond if henry just like. walked back into their lives post-capture.

[brw]

i think simon had asthma as a child & despite not needing to breathe anymore gets feelings of being extremely short of breath when panicking.

#brieuc.txt #headcanon upon ye #i think simon had a lot of serious illnesses too--he was described as noticably skinny as a child & incredibly weak #idk. i think it makes sense with eric's simultaneous berating & overprotective personality towards simon too #n how much martha kinda babies him / protected him over eric #ch: the man of wonders! #wonder man #simon williams

[herethereverywhere]

was speaking to some friends last night about how roan martins prime is THE prime defenders song of all time

#do you see my vision? no? #too bad youre going to #so much of me still feels so new can be either dakota or william - im partial to william because how his relationship with his powers #effects how he sees himself #the chorus can be either william or dakota because #summer <3 #i know the just roll what ifs arent canon but i think about dakota saying that vyncent and william almost betrayed everything they stood for #every day #and we know from s2 e1 that dakota did feel betrayed in some regards that william and vyncent #essentially went rouge without consulting him #and the bridge is them again because dakota wants more than anything to be a hero #and season 1 william . has so much responsibility put on him i could go on for HOURS about that subject alone #dont tell me it gets worse #let me get through this shit first #thats anyone whos not an adult and either a hero or a villian in pdverse lets be honest here #anyways enough with my silly ramble check rbs in a sec to see the art my wonderful friend jamie did for this concept in a sec :] #sonder thoughts

[baycitystygian]

Mark and Howard are so iconic!!!

in a better timeline they would be two of my besties & we’d all get high at paulie’s house together

#fun fact! when he separated from his first wife that is specifically what howie did. he literally went to Paul Williams’s house and got high #talk about a fuck it attitude #i love his autobio so so so much he just tells it like it is #and how it is is absolutely amusing how dumb they could be. they meaning him #the universe didn’t want mark to be too powerful so they gave him a bad case of Total Klutz #I wonder if he legit has dyspraxia cause like. dude was FAMOUS for being Really Really Clumsy #i can just imagine them making a Pop Star Massage Unit for me as a gag gift and I absolutely would have kept it to this day #i shan’t say more of the details because some thoughts are just Inside Thoughts and some of those thoughts are not Blog Appropriate Thoughts #but let’s leave it at It Would Be Personalized Because They Were Also Friends With My Hubby

[pucksandpower]

Too Sweet

Toto Wolff x Reader

Max Verstappen x ex!Reader

Summary: Max used to think that you’re too sweet for him … now he has to learn to live with the fact that Toto has quite a sweet tooth (inspired by the song that I’ve had on repeat)

I take my whiskеy neat

The doors to the upscale restaurant swing open and Max strides through, his fingers lightly grazing the small of your back as he guides you inside. The dimly lit interior is bustling with the chatter of well-heeled patrons enjoying their evening repasts. A sharply dressed hostess greets you with a polite smile.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome to The Sazerac Room. Do you have a reservation?”

“Verstappen,” Max replies curtly.

The hostess consults her tablet, then nods. “Right this way please.”

She leads the two of you through the elegant dining room, weaving between tables topped with crisp white linens and elaborate floral centerpieces. Max keeps his hand at your back, his thumb idly stroking in a soothing pattern as you take in the opulent surroundings with wide eyes.

“This place is incredible,” you murmur, craning your neck to admire the ornate chandeliers glittering overhead. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He simply grunts in acknowledgment as the hostess stops before an intimate table tucked discreetly in the corner. After pulling out your chair for you with a flourish, she sets two leather-bound menus on the table.

“Your server will be right with you,” she informs them before departing with a polite nod.

You waste no time in opening your menu, hungrily perusing the offerings. “Oh Max, look at all these amazing cocktails! The La Vie en Rose sounds divine — rose liqueur, raspberries, lemon ...” You glance up at him hopefully. “We should get a couple of those to start.”

Max barely glances at his own menu before shaking his head. “I’ll just have a whiskey neat.”

Your face falls slightly at his brusque response. “Are you sure? These all look so good! We should live a little and try something fun for once.”

He fixes you with a stern look from across the table. “You know I don’t like frilly drinks. Now stop pestering me about it.”

Chastened by his harsh tone, you lapse into a wounded silence and continue reading the menu with diminished enthusiasm. A few moments later, a dapper middle-aged gentleman in a crisp suit appears at your table.

“Good evening, and welcome to The Sazerac Room. My name is William and I’ll be your server this evening.” With a polite smile, he produces a notepad from his breast pocket. “May I start you off with something to drink?”

You glance back at Max, giving him one last chance to change his mind. When he simply gazes back at you impassively, you sigh. “I’ll have the La Vie en Rose cocktail, please.”

William jots down your order before turning to Max expectantly.

“Whiskey neat,” Max says flatly. “Redbreast 27 Year, if you have it.”

“An excellent choice, sir.” William makes a note. “And may I bring you both some bread from our bakery while you decide on your meals?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” you reply gratefully.

William departs to place the drink orders, leaving you and Max alone once more. An awkward silence stretches between you, filled only by the tinkle of silverware and murmurs of conversation from surrounding tables.

Finally, you try again. “Max, are you sure I can’t tempt you with one little sip? This La Vie en Rose cocktail sounds absolutely divine. You might lov-”

“For fuck’s sake!” Max suddenly explodes, slamming his menu down on the table hard enough to rattle the cutlery. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t want any of your ridiculous fruity bullshit? I’m a fucking race car driver, not some ridiculous Instagram model trying to look pretty with my drink.”

His nostrils flare as he leans across the table, eyes flashing with irritation that you would dare continue to push the issue. “I’ve had a long fucking day and I am going to drink whatever the fuck I want. So order your stupid fucking girly cocktail if you must, but don’t act so goddamn disappointed and keep shoving it in my face when I say no.”

You shrink back in your chair, eyes widening with hurt at his enraged outburst. The crestfallen look on your face is enough to douse Max’s fury like a bucket of ice water. He slumps back, remorse already stirring as he witnesses the light dimming in your eyes, lips trembling ever so slightly as you blink back sudden tears.

“I … I was just excited to try something new together,” you whisper shakily. “But never mind. You’re right, I’m sorry.”

The arrival of William with a basket of assorted breads and your glittering pink cocktail garnished with raspberries provides a merciful distraction from the tension.

You immediately reach for the drink, wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and taking a large gulp — both to avoid making eye contact with Max and to sample your coveted libation.

A look of bliss softens your features as the tart, sugary concoction bursts across your taste buds. “Mmm, this is incredible!”

For a beat, Max can’t help but drink in your look of pure enjoyment — the way your eyes flutter closed in delight, pink lips quirking into a contented smile as you savor each sip. It simultaneously tugs at his heartstrings and fills him with an irrational stab of resentment.

Here you are, sweet and radiant, able to find joy in the simplest of things … while he is just a miserable bastard who can’t let himself enjoy anything without getting irrationally angry.

You deserve so much better than him.

The thought is sobering and he feels shame burn hot in his gut. Unconsciously, his shoulders slump as he watches you take another euphoric sip of your cocktail.

“I knew it, this is amazing,” you sigh happily, seemingly recovered from his earlier tantrum as you bask in the deliciousness of your drink. “Max, you have to try just one little-”

“No.” The refusal is automatic, the word slicing through your offer before he can think better of it.

Your face shutters once more, the bright light in your eyes dimming as your smile fades into resignation. With a soft exhale, you set your glass down and reach for the bread basket instead.

“Suit yourself, then.”

As you silently butter a roll, Max finds himself at a rare loss, anger dissipating into regret as the knot in his stomach tightens painfully. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration after his impressive win on the track, a chance for the two of you to enjoy each other’s company and make more happy memories together.

Instead, he’s gone and ruined the mood … again … just like he always does.

***

“Another round?” Checo’s voice cuts through the sound of laughter and chatter around the table.

Max glances up distractedly from pushing the remaining bits of food around his plate. He, Checo, and a few other members of the Red Bull team are celebrating a successful Monaco Grand Prix. Despite making the podium, Max’s mind hasn’t really been on the festivities.

“I’m all set, thanks,” he mutters, raising his glass of whiskey with a tight smile before taking a sip. His gaze drifts across the opulent dining room of Cipriani Monte Carlo, idly scanning the crowd of wealthy patrons enjoying their evening meals.

That’s when his eyes catch on a shockingly familiar figure.

You.

Sitting at an intimate corner table, bathed in the soft glow of a candle’s flickering flame. For a moment, Max’s breath catches in his throat as a thousand bittersweet memories assault him all at once.

The hurt look on your face that night at The Sazerac Room … the resignation in your eyes as you accepted, yet again, that he would never be able to appreciate the sweet, simple pleasures that brought you such joy ...

The cold, empty silence that descended over your apartment when he finally left for good, stuffing his belongings into a duffel bag as you watched with trembling lips from across the room ...

Max blinks, and the moment passes — but his gaze remains riveted to your table. Because there, sitting across from you with adoration written across his insufferable face … is Toto Wolff.

Max feels his lips curl into an unconscious sneer as the Mercedes team principal murmurs something to you with a gentle smile, reaching across to delicately brush a lock of hair behind your ear. You catch Toto’s hand as it falls, pressing a tender kiss into his palm that makes the older man’s expression soften even further.

Your waiter arrives then, providing a momentary distraction as he lays out a couple of fresh cocktails on crisp white linen — a bright purple concoction garnished with a sugared rim and a plump cherry for you and an amber-hued old fashioned for Toto.

Your eyes light up as you take in the colorful beverage, immediately wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and bringing it to your lips to sample. A look of pure delight crosses your features as the no doubt sugary drink bursts across your taste buds.

“Mmm ...” you hum in pleasure, causing Toto to chuckle affectionately as he watches you enjoy the first reveling sips.

Setting your glass down, you gesture enthusiastically toward it as you address Toto. “This is incredible! You have to try it.”

Without hesitation, the Mercedes team boss dutifully leans across the table to take a long pull from your straw. Max watches with a mixture of disgust and morbid fascination as Toto’s expression morphs into one of surprised enjoyment.

“Wow, that is quite good, isn’t it?” Toto remarks with an indulgent grin, licking a telltale dab of purple syrup from the corner of his mouth.

“I told you!” You crow in delight, eyes sparkling with unrestrained glee.

The pure joy radiating from you in that moment is enough to make Max’s heart clench in his chest. He has seen that look before, so many times — whenever he deigned to let go of his surly demeanor for even a moment and actually indulge whatever fleeting whim or simple pleasure you desired to share with him.

But it was always so short-lived with him, stamped out by his own stubborn refusal to truly embrace anything resembling happiness or frivolity. You deserved so much more than his constant scowling and gruff rebuffs.

As if reading his thoughts, Toto then leans across the table to tenderly capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. The gentle intimacy of it makes Max’s gut churn as a feeling too complicated to fully unpack blossoms in his chest.

When you finally part, both of you are smiling at each other with such open, unguarded adoration that it’s almost obscene to witness. Toto reaches out to cradle your face in his palm as your lips find his once more in another chaste, loving caress.

This time, when you pull away, you let your head loll back with a look of pure bliss. Something deep within Max cracks and splinters at the sight. In a haze, he finds himself drifting back through the churning currents of memory ...

… that last, fateful shouting match in your living room, both of you red-faced and furious as the dam holding back all the anger and resentment and accusations that had been building for months finally burst ...

… you weeping silently as you clutched a meager trash bag containing what little remained of his belongings, not even able to look at him for fear of collapsing completely ...

… “I’m too sweet for you, Max. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

The acid words burn in his mind even now, feeling as fresh and raw as that night they were spat out like venom between you. His chest constricts as his gaze falls guiltily back to the present day scene in front of him.

Toto and you, basking in the warm, rosy glow of new love — careless and unrestrained in your public affection. Delighting in each other’s company and simple pleasures … just as you always desired for Max to do, yet he could never fully surrender to.

The display is like a twisted mirror, taunting him with the vibrant reflection of what he threw away. What he was too foolish, too emotionally stunted and uncaring to fully appreciate at the time.

Stumbling from his chair in a daze, Max barely registers the questioning looks and concerned murmurs from his team as he staggers from the dining room. He hardly makes it to the privacy of the restroom before bending at the waist, hefting the contents of his stomach into the thankfully pristine porcelain basin.

The whiskey burns on the way back up.

Max grips the edges of the counter, face contorted in anguish as a realization washes over him in searing waves.

You were the real prize all along … and now, he’s lost you for good.

My coffee black

The drone of announcements over the PA system and the dull roar of hundreds of people bustling to and fro mingles into an ever-present white noise hum. Max trudges ahead, the brim of his ball cap tugged low as he weaves through the teeming crowds filing through the airports’ terminals.

It’s just after 5 am, the start of another grueling race week. This time the travel will take you from the Middle Eastern leg of the circuit to the other side of the world in Australia. Twenty-plus hours of planes, layovers, and jet lag beckon — a prospect that grows less and less appealing with each passing season.

A warm weight presses against his side as you shuffle along beside him, head lolling adorably as you struggle to keep your eyes open. One slender hand is looped through the crook of his elbow, gripping the strap of your carry-on bag with the other. You let out a jaw-cracking yawn, leaning into Max’s solid bulk.

“I need coffee,” you mumble groggily. “I’m barely conscious.”

He shoots you a sidelong glance, mouth quirking ever-so-slightly at your dramatics. As grating as your tendency for excessive cheerfulness can be at times, he does admire your ability to shake off the fatigue and stress that plagues him more and more these days.

“There’s one of those chains up ahead,” he grunts, nodding toward the familiar logo peeking through from around the corner.

You light up immediately, straightening and quickening your shuffling steps in anticipation of the caffeinated boost soon to come. By the time you reach the counter, there’s a bright spark back in your eyes that makes the exhaustion plaguing Max’s own limbs feel slightly more bearable.

The barista, a pimple-faced youth who can’t be any older than 18, greets you with a too-wide smile. “Welcome to Daily Grind! What can I get started for you?”

You lean in eagerly, surveying the massive display of chalkboard signs advertising the latest sugar bombs and “coffee” concoctions designed to appease the basic palates of everyday people who wouldn’t know a good cup of joe if it slapped them across the face. Max scowls, already anticipating some ridiculously saccharine order.

“I’ll have a large cinnamon honey oat milk latte, please,” you chirp, as expected.

The barista marks down your request with a perky nod. “Excellent! And for you, sir?”

“Black coffee,” Max replies flatly. “Medium.”

Your brow furrows as you shoot him a quizzical look. “Just black coffee? Not even a splash of cream or anything?”

He shakes his head tersely, one hand already rummaging in his pocket for his wallet as the barista rattles off the total. “We’re in a rush as it is, and that sugary nonsense you ordered takes forever to make with all the fussy bullshit they do to it.”

You wince at his blunt assessment, shoulders slumping a bit in a way that makes a pang of guilt flicker through Max’s chest. He doesn’t mean to be so harsh … but sometimes it’s like the more considerate side of his nature has been ground away by years of constant training and calculating every single variable down to the most minute detail.

The poor kid working the register seems to shrink under the intensity of Max’s gruff demeanor. With shaky hands, he quickly processes the payment before stammering out your total. As you shuffle off to the side to wait for your orders, Max can’t help but keep picking.

“Honestly, I don’t know why you insist on ordering those stupid drinks that are 90% milk and trash,” he mutters, shooting you a disapproving look. “Barely any actual coffee at all.”

You frown, immediately hunching into yourself a bit as you cradle a handful of napkins against your chest. “It’s not like that coffee flavor isn’t there at all,” you argue meekly. “And I have to get some kind of caffeine boost to stay awake during all these flights and race weekends. I just … I don’t really like the taste of black coffee.”

Max scoffs loudly at that, shaking his head in open derision. “Sure, because drinking just regular black coffee like an adult would be too difficult. Instead you have to get your ‘caffeine boost’ from some tooth-rottingly sweet concoction that looks like something a child would order.”

The barista shifts uncomfortably behind the counter, clearly flustered by Max’s abrasive tone. Not that he cares — he’s been dealing with people gawking at him in public for years now. What does rub him the wrong way is the wounded look spreading across your delicate features, eyes dropping to stare dejectedly at the floor.

He opens his mouth to continue chiding you, but at that moment the barista appears with your drinks. The sweet, cinnamony aroma of your order hits Max’s nostrils like a slap in the face, making his nose wrinkle on instinct. You accept your oversized paper cup gratefully, hands automatically curling around the comforting warmth.

With visible enthusiasm, you bring the drink to your lips, unable to resist taking a sip despite the scalding temperature. Max tracks the minute changes in your expression — the slight widening of your eyes, the upward quirk of your lips into a smile of unalloyed contentment. Your lashes flutter closed on a quiet hum of blissful appreciation.

“Mmm … heaven,” you practically moan, hunching over your cup as though to better inhale the revitalizing notes of sugar and spice.

It makes Max want to retch, watching you so unashamedly indulging in such vapid, artificial flavors. How can you find such simple-minded pleasure in that, when you could be savoring the bold, robust notes of a proper cup of black coffee? One meant to awaken the senses and caress the taste buds with its smoky aroma and rich, nuanced flavor notes.

“You can’t honestly get any enjoyment from basically drinking hot milk and flavored syrups,” he mutters, sneering at the offensive beverage in your grasp.

In response, you simply shift closer to him until you’re pressed alongside his body. Your free hand snakes around his bicep, squeezing gently as you tilt your head back to gaze up at him imploringly. Exhaustion and hurt war openly with the angelic softness of your delicate features.

“Max … can’t you just let me enjoy this?” You plead in a low murmur. “It’s early, and we’ve got a long flight ahead.”

His jaw clenches stubbornly, unwilling to back down so easily. Caffeine and sleep deprivation have eroded his already thin sense of decorum.

“I’m just saying, drinking a syrupy dessert drink loaded with sugar and god knows what else isn’t doing you any favors. You might as well just stick to black coffee like a normal adult if you want to be awake and energized.”

The wounded look in your eyes deepens into something more somber and resigned. Slowly, you pull away from Max’s side until a noticeable distance stretches between your bodies. Something inside him shrivels at the loss of contact. Your slender fingers work feverishly at the cup’s lid until it pops off with a dull thunk.

Max stares blankly as you march over to the nearest trash can and upend the contents of your cup into the receptacle. You don’t even seem to hesitate — simply turn on your heel and hurl the now-empty cup in after the wasted drink. It clatters hollowly against the canister, mocking and empty.

When you turn back to face Max, the sight makes the now-lukewarm coffee sitting neglected in his own cup feels like a lead weight in his gut. Your arms are wrapped protectively around yourself, hunched against some unseen foe. Head bowed, you refuse to meet his gaze as you slowly make your way back over to where he stands rooted to the spot in stunned silence.

It’s only as you draw up beside him that Max notices the twin tear tracks striping your cheeks. Your chin remains stubbornly trembling, but you make no move to wipe at the tears now falling freely. Max’s chest constricts almost painfully at the sight of your misery, the guilt gnawing at him as the reality sets in.

He is the reason for it. His harsh, uncompromising tongue has wounded you in one of the cruelest ways once again. Too strict, too unyielding, too incapable of allowing even the smallest indulgences that bring you simple joy without sneering dismissal.

For several agonizing moments, the two of you stand in silence amid the milling crowds of travelers streaming past. Max can’t bring himself to meet your gaze, knowing he’ll only find the depths of his own callous thoughtlessness reflected back at him in your swimming eyes.

Finally, you release a shuddering sigh that sounds far too weighted for someone of your sweetness and light. When you speak, your voice is little more than a tremulous murmur laced with dejection.

“Let’s just go to the gate, Max.”

You brush past him without another word, leaving him to trail numbly in your wake as shame burns a hole through his gut. He watches as your form disappears into the throngs, shoulders already beginning to hunch inward as that spark of happiness in you gutters and fades.

Lingering behind, Max’s gaze falls to the empty cup lying crumpled and discarded in the trash. A reminder of yet another instance where his unchecked tongue and inability to empathize has spoiled an innocent attempt at simple pleasure.

His coffee suddenly tastes like ash on his tongue.

As he moves to dump the neglected drink into the nearby basin, Max wonders with a sinking feeling just how many more times he’ll be able to snuff out your light before it dwindles to nothing.

***

The late morning sun bears down with oppressive force, causing a mirage-like haze to shimmer over the sweltering asphalt of the paddock. Despite being early summer, the Spanish air is already thick and heavy enough to bathe Max’s skin in a sheen of perspiration as he trudges toward the Red Bull Energy Station.

Ahead, he spots a cluster of people milling aimlessly near the entrance to the Mercedes motorhome. At the center appears to be you, head tilted back in unrestrained laughter at something George Russell is regaling you with. The British driver is equally animated, pale features scrunched up in exaggerated motions as he relays what is no doubt an amusing tale.

Max feels his steps gradually slow of their own accord as he takes you in from a distance. You seem utterly at ease and in your element — cheeky grin splitting your face, one hand toying idly with the ends of your hair as your eyes crinkle with unbridled mirth.

A pure vision of effortless contentment.

His gut clenches unexpectedly, unbidden memories of how he methodically chipped away at that very lightness in you until it was all but extinguished washing over him in a nauseating wave. How quickly he took such simple joys for granted ...

So transfixed is he by the sight of your open, honest amusement that Max barely notices the figure slipping up behind you. Not until Toto Wolff raises a conspiratorial finger to his lips, eyes twinkling impishly as he pantomimes for silence at a sputtering George.

You remain oblivious even as the Mercedes team principal slides flush against your back, looping one arm around your waist to tug you snug against his chest. With his free hand, Toto cups it teasingly over your eyes — to which you release a tinkling peal of laughter.

“Guess who?” The playful lilt of the older man’s Austrian lilt is unmistakable, dripping with honeyed warmth.

“Hmm … I wonder,” you murmur coyly, making a show of tapping your chin in feigned confusion. “Is it a dashing gentleman caller here to sweep me off my feet?”

Toto chuckles deeply in your ear, the sound positively dripping with unguarded affection. “Only if you’ll have me, liebling.”

Craning your head back with a cheeky grin, your arms instinctively wind around his neck as you stretch up on your tiptoes to greet him properly. Toto meets your lips in a lingering, languid kiss that has George hastily clearing his throat and looking resolutely anywhere but at the affectionate display before him.

When you finally part, all radiant smiles and flushed cheeks, it’s like the rest of the world has completely fallen away. Toto gazes down at you with such pure adoration that Max feels his throat constrict as though a belt is suddenly cinched tight around it.

“I have a surprise for you, schnucki,” Toto murmurs huskily, lips brushing your temple as he speaks.

You light up like a kid on Christmas morning, practically vibrating with excitement at his words. “Oh? Do tell!”

With a wink and roguish smile, Toto brandishes his other hand from behind his back — in it, clutched protectively, is a large cup topped with whipped cream and what looks like edible flower petals sprinkled over the top. The light purple hue of the iced contents catches in the bright sun, refracting a prism of soft, delicate colors.

“I had the barista in our hospitality whip this up for you,” Toto explains fondly. “After I mentioned how much you enjoy trying unique coffee flavors. It’s a lavender vanilla iced latte.”

Your mouth drops open in a perfect ‘o’ of delight as you instinctively make grabby motions toward the tantalizing beverage. Max recognizes that earnest enthusiasm all too well. It’s the same look you used to get whenever presented with any unique taste or experience to appreciate.

A look he always met with disdain and scorn.

Toto doesn’t hesitate for a second before depositing the cup into your greedy hands. You immediately cradle it reverently, as though it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held. Ducking your head, you take a long pull through the striped paper straw.

The expression that blossoms across your features as that first taste bursts over your tongue is one of pure, unadulterated bliss. Your eyes flutter closed on a muffled moan of sinful enjoyment, lips pursing as though savoring each individual note of flavor. Max hasn’t seen you look that unguardedly delighted by anything in … well, he can’t actually recall the last time.

“Oh Toto, this is heavenly!” You gush, swiping your tongue across your lower lip to catch a stray drop of condensation. “The lavender is subtle, but gives it such a uniquely fresh and floral twist. And the vanilla adds this creamy sweetness that keeps it from being overwhelming.”

You open your eyes to beam radiantly up at the older man, who returns your luminous smile with equal warmth. “It’s perfect, thank you! You have to try it.”

Without prompting, you eagerly offer the cup up to Toto. He accepts it with an indulgent chuckle, locking eyes with you as he takes a contemplative sip — no doubt eager to share in whatever fleeting moment of bliss the simple drink has brought you.

Unlike Max, who would have turned up his nose and likely received it with derision, Toto seems to savor the complex blend of flavors. Humming thoughtfully, he swipes his tongue across his upper lip as though committing each separate note to memory.

���You’re quite right, liebling,” he agrees readily, “this is delightful. So refreshing for this heat. I may have to acquire a taste for these iced coffees myself.”

You positively glow at his assessment, lighting up from within like a joyful little sun. Max is helpless before the storm of emotions suddenly ripping through him at the sight.

“Oh! That reminds me,” you chirp giddily, bouncing on the balls of your feet, “I was talking to the barista about maybe incorporating some other floral syrups for iced coffees too. Like rose or hibiscus! And maybe we could get her to try making those fun layered drinks with the espresso on the bottom-”

Toto’s deep belly laugh cuts off your stream of eager rambling. Without warning, he snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you flush against him once more. You let out a startled giggle as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, lips brushing the feverish pulse point just beneath your jaw.

“You adorable thing,” he rumbles warmly, words slightly muffled against your skin as he presses a languid line of kisses along the sharp line of your jaw. “So enthusiastic about the simplest pleasures in life ...”

Pulling back, Toto lifts one hand to tenderly cradle the side of your face. You automatically nuzzle into his palm with a look of such smitten devotion that it makes Max’s heart stutter behind his ribcage. When Toto leans in to seal his lips over yours once more, the kiss is deep and thoroughly unhurried — as though the two of you have all the time in the world to savor this intimate little moment.

Max’s hands clench into white-knuckled fists, blunt nails biting crescent moons into his clammy palms. He should turn away, leave you to your blissful display with someone who so clearly appreciates you. Yet he remains rooted in place, unable to tear his eyes from the scene unfolding before him.

It’s like witnessing an alternate universe version of your shared lives play out in vivid, scorching detail.

In this reality, Toto is the one tenderly stroking the pad of his thumb over the elegant arch of your cheekbone as the two of you part, drinking in the sight of your passion-addled features hungrily. He is the one basking in the radiance of your bright and unrestrained joy. Celebrating each of your simple thrills, from the most frivolous of flavored coffees to the sensual graze of skin on skin.

And where does that leave Max? An outsider peering in at paradise with his face smeared against the glass, watching the warmth and affection he could never fully embrace slowly slip through his calloused fingers.

And my bed at three

The mattress shifts, the subtle movement rousing Max from his slumber. He cracks one eye open to find the space next to him empty, the sheets disheveled where you had lain.

A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand tells him it’s not yet 5 am. Where are you going at this hour?

He hears faint rustling from the living area of the hotel suite, followed by the soft click of the door. Groaning, he kicks off the covers and pads out of the bedroom, the plush carpet warm beneath his bare feet.

You’re sitting on the couch, slipping into a pair of flats. “What are you doing up so early?” He asks, his voice still husky from sleep.

You look up, startled. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” A soft smile plays on your lips. “I was going to watch the sunrise.”

Max rakes a hand through his tousled hair. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because it’s beautiful.” Your eyes sparkle with an excitement he can’t comprehend this early in the morning. “The colors, the way the light slowly creeps over the horizon — it’s just magical.”

He snorts. “It happens every day. Nothing magical about it.”

Your face falls ever so slightly, and it tugs at something in his chest. But the feeling is fleeting, replaced by annoyance at having his sleep disturbed for something so trivial. “So you didn’t want to join me, then?” You ask, almost timidly.

“And wake up before the ass-crack of dawn? No thanks.” He flops onto the couch beside you with a huff. “I was up until 3 am sim racing. Not all of us find staring at the sky such riveting entertainment.”

You say nothing, simply nodding as you avert your gaze. The light in your eyes has dimmed, and he feels a pang of guilt. But he shakes it off — it’s far too early for this kind of whimsical nonsense.

“Suit yourself,” he mutters. “I’m going back to bed.”

He doesn’t see the way your shoulders droop as he turns and trudges back towards the bedroom. Doesn’t see the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes before you blink them away and readjust the set of your jaw with determination.

Max burrows under the covers, fully intent on drifting back into oblivion. But sleep evades him, his mind buzzing with a peculiar restlessness. He punches his pillow into a more suitable shape, flips it over to the cool side, but still he lies awake, listening to the silence that fills the suite.

After what feels like an eternity, curiosity gets the better of him. He kicks off the covers once more and pads over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city street below. Sure enough, there you are, a tiny figure perched on a bench across the way, your face tipped up towards the slowly lightening sky.

Max leans his forehead against the cool glass, watching as the inky blackness of night gives way to soft shades of periwinkle and lilac. Slowly, the colors deepen into blazing pinks and vibrant oranges that streak across the heavens. The sky ignites in a brilliant blaze of crimson and gold, the clouds set afire by the rising sun.

And there you sit, bathed in the dawn’s ethereal glow, utterly transfixed. In this light, your features seem softer, more at peace than he’s seen you in a long while. A smile plays on your lips, genuine and unguarded, as you take in the spectacle unfolding before you.

Max finds himself holding his breath, as if the slightest movement might shatter the magic of this moment. He’s never seen you look more beautiful, more alive than in these fleeting minutes as day breaks over the city.

A rare pang of tenderness blooms in his chest, quickly overshadowed by a creeping sense of unease. He isn’t certain how much time has passed before the brilliant hues fade into the pale blue of morning, but eventually you rise from the bench, taking one last, lingering look at the sky before turning and disappearing from view.

Max exhales slowly, his breath fogging up the glass. He isn’t proud of how he dismissed your simple joy, that spark of wonderment at the little things that he so often takes for granted.

An emptiness settles in the pit of his stomach, the guilt heavier than before. How many other moments has he trampled on in his relentless pursuit of success?

He thinks of your radiant smile, how it lit up the pre-dawn gloom more vibrantly than the sunrise itself. With a sigh, Max turns away from the window, already dreading the apology he knows he owes you.

Because in that single, breathtaking moment, he realizes just how lucky he is to have someone like you in his life. Someone who can find magic in the mundane, beauty in the simple things he’s become blind to along the way.

Someone, Max fears, who may be too sweet for him.

***

Max gives up on sleep around 4:30 am, as he has for the past several weeks. Insomnia has become his constant, unwanted companion, leaving him tossing and turning until the first hints of dawn creep through the curtains. On nights like this, slumber remains persistently out of reach no matter how exhausted he feels.

He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling as the brightening sky slowly illuminates the room. It wasn’t always this way — he used to be able to sleep like the dead after a race weekend, knocked out by the physical and mental exertion. But lately, his mind refuses to shut off, thoughts swirling endlessly until his head pounds.

With a groan, Max kicks off the tangled sheets and drags himself out of bed. Maybe going for a run will quiet the racket in his brain, at least for a little while. He dresses quickly, lacing up his trainers and grabbing his earbuds before heading out into the semi-darkness.

The pre-dawn streets are blissfully empty as he starts off at an easy jog. He despises becoming one of those obnoxious morning people, but exhaustion has a way of stripping away one’s self-respect. If pounding the pavement before the rest of the world awakes is what it takes to catch a few hours of sleep, so be it.

His route takes him along the harbor, the gentle lapping of the waves against the seawall providing a soothing soundtrack. The first rays of sunlight glint off the glassy surface, and he finds himself averting his gaze, oddly resentful of the impending sunrise.

It wasn’t so long ago that he scoffed at your eagerness to greet each new day. But ever since you’ve been gone from his life, those brilliant, fleeting moments of beauty have begun to mock him at every turn.

He picks up his pace, as if he can outrun the rising sun and the flood of memories it brings. But there’s no escaping the vivid flashes of you, smiling radiantly as the world awakes in a blaze of fiery hues. Or the hollow ache that twinges somewhere beneath his rib cage whenever he’s reminded of just how little he appreciated you.

So lost is he in his circling thoughts that he nearly runs right into you, appearing abruptly on the path ahead. His trainers skid against the pavement as he grinds to a halt, his heart stammering in his chest.

“Max?” You blink up at him, clearly startled by his sudden presence.

He opens his mouth, an automatic apology rising to his lips — until his eyes zero in on the camera clutched in your hands. Of course. Still chasing sunrises after all these years.

A wry grin tugs at the corner of your mouth as you take in his rumpled running attire. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Max says nothing, his gaze flickering briefly towards the brightening horizon before fixing on you once more. You look … well, radiant as ever, lit by the soft morning glow. A small pang of something — longing, maybe — twists in his gut.

“Out enjoying another sunrise, I see,” he says at last, nodding towards the camera.

You glance down at it fondly. “Well, you know how it is. I have to capture them while I can.” A teasing lilt edges into your voice. “Not all of us are night owls.”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “I’ll never understand what’s so fascinating about watching the same thing happen day after day.”

“But that’s just it — each one is different. Unique and fleeting and … breathtaking.” Your eyes spark with that gentle wonderment he remembers so well, the sight sending a tremor through his chest. “Like getting a front row seat to the greatest show on Earth, but it’s one you’ll never see again.”

You trail off with a small shake of your head, seemingly at a loss to put the feeling into words. Max doesn’t need the explanation — he’s seen that look of childlike awe on your face more times than he can count.

An awkward silence stretches between you, laden with the weight of history and unspoken apologies. You shift your stance, mouth opening as if to say something more.

But Max cuts you off before you can get the words out, unable to bear whatever sentiments might cross those sweet lips of yours. “Toto not joining you this time?” He asks gruffly.

Your expression softens into a fond smile, and it’s like a physical blow to Max’s sternum. He knows that look, has been on the receiving end of it more times than he cares to remember. The way your entire being seems to brighten when you so much as think about someone you love.

“Ah, you know Toto — he’s more of a sunset person,” you say with a light laugh. “I’ve never been able to drag his grumpy butt out of bed for a sunrise.”

Even as his insides curdle with jealousy, Max can’t help the quirk of his lips at the mental image. He could all too easily picture Toto swatting irritably at you, burrowing deeper under the covers to escape the blasted sun.

“But we make it work,” you continue, that loving glow refusing to dim from your eyes. “I take photos of the sunrise to share with him later. And he does the same with the sunsets for me. That way, we both get to experience it in a way.”

The gentle sound of your voice washes over Max like a salve, momentarily easing the tangled knot of regret and longing that’s taken up permanent residence inside him. He watches, transfixed, as the early morning light bathes you in ethereal radiance.

In that moment, he sees it so clearly — the depth of give and take in your relationship with Toto. The effort, large and small, that you both put into nurturing one another’s happiness.

Even when your desires don’t perfectly align. Even when compromise is required.

It’s such a simple gesture, capturing those magical moments to share with your loved one. But it’s one Max was never willing to make when you were with him.

A lump forms in his throat as realization washes over him with unforgiving clarity. You weren’t too sweet for him, as he had so arrogantly assumed time and again. No — the truth, much harder to swallow, is that he was simply too sour for you.

Too selfish, too wrapped up in his own ambitions to make even the smallest concession. Too blind to recognize the magic in the simple things that brought you unbridled joy. Too bitter and jaded to embrace and nurture the beautiful nature that made you … well, you.

And now, after all his careless cruelties and wasted chances, he can only stand idly by and watch as someone else basks in the sweetness of your affection. As someone else goes out of their way, day after day, to put that blinding smile on your face and those stars in your eyes.

Something in Max’s chest cracks and crumbles at the injustice of it all. At the agonizing truth that he let the best thing in his life slip through his fingers, all because he couldn’t be bothered to change his sullen ways.

Because you were never too sweet for him … he was too sour for you.

#f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #toto wolff #max verstappen #toto wolff imagine #max verstappen imagine #toto wolff x reader #max verstappen x reader #toto wolff fic #max verstappen fic #toto wolff fluff #toto wolff fanfic #max verstappen fanfic #toto wolff blurb #max verstappen blurb #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #f1 one shot #f1 x y/n #f1 drabble #f1 fandom #f1blr #f1 x female reader #hozier

[solaireverie]

op81 | best he'll ever write

summary: [ author!oscar piastri x f!driver!reader — social media au ] being the partner and muse of a celebrated author means that fans start connecting the dots sooner rather than later

faceclaim: gracie abrams

author’s note: i'm secretly a ya romcom book girlie and i feel like that shows SO MUCH in this fic 🙈 delusional for life!

[ masterlist / guidelines / lola's masterlist / series masterlist ]

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, liakblock and 534,230 others

geotag: melbourne, australia

yourusername short break down under 🐨

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user great race at the australian gp y/n!

↪ user first points of the season let's goooo

↪ yourusername and hopefully many more to come 🙌

logansargeant STRAYAAA 🦘🇦🇺🦘🇦🇺

↪ yourusername VEGEMITE ON TOAST 🤤

↪ user sometimes i forget that logan and y/n are both gen z 😂

user the puppy is so adorable 🥺

↪ user i wonder whose it is 👀 y/n's said that her schedule doesn't allow for pets

oscarpiastri not my birthday cake...

↪ yourusername sorry not sorry 😉

↪ user who the hell is oscar piastri and why is y/n replying to his comment 😭

↪ user don't you talk about my favourite best-selling author like that 🤺

oscarpiastri has added to their story

seen by yourusername, logansargeant, jennyhan and 124,203 others

you replied to oscarpiastri's story

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, landonorris and 3,393,210 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

yourusername can't believe that little kid is now a 3-time nyt best-selling author 🥹 so proud of you oscarpiastri 💗 i haven't been able to put eighty-one seconds down 📖 available in bookstores near you!

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user i love how y/n always supports and promotes oscar's books 🥺

↪ user they're so adorable together my heart can't take it

oscarpiastri Thanks for the encouragement. Couldn't have done it without you 👍

↪ yourusername damn right you couldn't have 😤

user okay but who took the photo of y/n 👀

↪ user i'm betting it was oscar 😜

↪ user hello what 😳😳😳

↪ user oh my sweet summer child...

liked by yourusername, hachetteaus, johngreenwritesbooks and 293,192 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri Thank you to everyone who's been on this journey with me. Eighty-One Seconds is finally yours and we can't be more happy to share it with you. As many of you have guessed, it is my homage to Y/N and all the time we have spent together. My wife, my love, my heart. I'm grateful that you're in my life. Forgive me for re-using my words, but here's to eighty-one more years together.

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user hold on a damn second 🤚 his WIFE??? when was this a thing 🧐

↪ yourusername 🤭

↪ user give us answers please 🙏 i haven't had peace since oscar posted this

yourusername i love you too, oscar jack piastri 🤍

↪ user oh he literally named his mc after himself 😭

↪ user GOODBYE??? JACK AS IN HIS MIDDLE NAME??? oh my god they really weren't subtle

williamsracing signed copy when 😏

↪ hachetteaus already on its way 🫡

user honestly i'm surprised they managed to hide their relationship for this long 💀

↪ user oh they did NOT we were just blind

↪ logansargeant I didn't find out until I got the wedding invitation in the mail 🤝

↪ landonorris i think that's just cause you're oblivious mate 😂

↪ logansargeant what???

↪ landonorris they literally make out all the time in williams hospitality

↪ yourusername lando... 😒

user if your man isn't writing a book professing his love for you, what's he doing with his life?

↪ user oscar's set the standard 😌

likes and reblogs are appreciated!

taglist: @scenesofobx @vellicora @boiohboii @julesbabey @flannelforthetoads @misartymis @c-losur3

#solwriting #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula 1 #f1 #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x you #f1 social media au #f1 imagine #f1 smau #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri fanfic

[vivwritesfics]

Padawan Learner

Mrs Vettel, ex Williams driver, current McLaren driver, can't drive while pregnant. Although she's contracted until 2026, she can't drive while she's with child. But she can't stay away from racing, and can't help but take the Williams rookie under her wing.

Sebastian Vettel x Reader, (Platonic) Logan Sargeant x Reader

Warnings: Brief description of smut

She wasn't supposed to retire at the same time as her husband. He felt as if he was at the end of his career and there was nothing more he could offer to the sport, so he retired. He'd had his glory years in Red Bull, moved to Ferrari, every racers dream, and ended things in Aston Martin, alongside his wife's old teammate.

She still had more race left in her. She'd been with Williams for years, racing alongside Valteri Bottas, Lance Stroll, George Russell, and, later, Alex Albon. But then she moved to McLaren, a team she felt would help her fight for wins.

Her husband very thoroughly celebrated the beginning of his retirement. She found herself stuffed full of cum almost every day of winter break.

It shouldn't have been a surprise when they got pregnant. But she wanted to murder Sebastian. For all of five seconds she wanted to drown him in their pool. But, after that five seconds passed, she was overjoyed, wrapping her arms around Sebastians neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

She told McLaren and they pulled Oscar Piastri in for the year. That was how he got his first drive in F1. All because Sebastian Vettel was incredibly horny, but he didn't need to know this.

She might not have been able to drive, but she still wanted to be trackside whenever she could. Her old team gave her this opportunity. She didn't hang around the McLaren garage, as she had half expected.

No, it was Williams and the new team Principle, James Vowles, who gave her somewhere to be during the season. Even in preseason testing, she was there, watching the Williams.

It was great to be in the garage with Lily again. She'd always liked Lily, thought she was great for Alex when they first met. After her move to McLaren she rarely got to see Lily, and as much as she hated sitting in the garage, it was nice to be sat in the garage with her.

Alex was a great driver. Any advice a veteran like her could have offered him, he already knew.

But then there was his teammate.

She watched Logan from his very first race weekend. She had known about the rookie for a couple of years now and had watched him succeed in Formula Two.

But now, in the Williams tractor, he was struggling. Week after week after week he was finishing outside of the points, or he wasn't finishing at all. She really felt for him.

"Hey," she said after the Hungarian Grand Prix.

Logan hadn't spoken to anybody since he got out of the car and did all that he needed to do. Clearly he was struggling. He didn't say anything, just looked up.

She stood beside him. At her stage of pregnancy she could have gotten down to the floor to sit with him, but she wouldn't have been able to get up without help. Her hand rested on her bump as she looked down at him.

"I still remember my first season in Formula One," she said as she looked at the retired car. "It was 2013 and Seb was set to win the championship. I was in my first year in Williams and I think I only finished maybe ten races," she said with a laugh.

"Wait, seriously?" Asked Logan as he looked up.

She nodded her head. "I crashed out of most, or the car fell apart on me. Most people wondered why I had a seat for the next year, but Williams saw potential in me. I know they see it in you, too."

Every time Logan didn't finish a race, every time he came dead last, she was there. Nobody could comfort her like she did. Sometimes Seb joked that they might as well adopt him, and Logan agreed. Most up and down paddock called Logan her padawan learner, which was very fitting.

Logan began being the person she spent the most time with when Sebastian wasn't there. He'd looked up to her for many years and having her support meant the world to him. He was there for her too, making sure she had somewhere to sit and something to drink whenever she needed it.

In September, a month before her due date, Sebastian begged her to stop travelling. Just in case he wanted her home with him, where he could take care of her. They still watched every race together and she made sure to send Logan a good luck text before every practice session, qualifying, and race.

When Logan got his first points, nobody celebrated more than Sebastian Vettels wife. She was so proud of him, even if those points were because of two disqualifications. She posted a picture of him and her from a previous race on Instagram like a proud mum. Funnily enough, Logan comments 'thanks mom' on the post.

Just two weeks after this, her water broke. Sebastian got her to the hospital. He stayed by her side, holding her hand through the hours of excruciating labour.

Leon Vettel didn't cry when he was born. He was so quiet, that it actually scared his mother. But the doctors and nurses assured the new parents that he was perfectly healthy.

He was their perfect little man.

She insisted on asking Logan to be Leons godfather. They had grown so close over the last few months that it seemed fitting.

Logan accepted. As soon as the Vettels could, they were taking Leon to races. Or, Sebastian took Leon to races, to watch his mother race. Of course he was wearing a Williams hat and McLaren shirt.

"Papa," Leon said at four years old after watching the Australian Grand Prix qualifying session.

"What is it, my little man?" Asked Sebastian as he sat Leon on his lap.

"I wanna be like mama and Uncle Logan," he said, and Sebastian couldn't stop himself from grinning.

#sebastian vettel #sebastian vettel imagine #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel fluff #sebastian vettel smut #sebastian vettel x you #sebastian vettel x reader smut #f1 #formula one #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #logan sargeant #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant x reader #sv5 imagine #sv5 x reader #sv5

[theyluvkarolina]

𝐏𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑ ` ` he saved my goldfish from a burning house. trust. ` ` ⊹ ‧₊˚

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ୨୧ Sometimes love makes you act stupid. luckily, the f1 community has Logan’s back to help him with his crush.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ୨୧ Logan Sargent x Supermodel!Reader

𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌 ୨୧ some photos are of the beautiful madison beer!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ୨୧ none!

INSTAGRAM

therealyn_ln

therealyn_ln I’m so honored to be a part of Williams this race! Looking forward to more in the future! 🫶🩵

1,234 comments

username1 wtf bro she's stunning 😭

username2 they could have picked someone actually important but noooo they chose some model 🙄

username3 I came be the only one that saw how mesmerized Logan was looking at her...

williamsracing So happy to have you! You're welcoming anytime!

*liked by therealyn_ln!*

logansargeant happy to have you join us! come back anytime, I'll be happy to show you around Miami! 🙂

→ username4 LOGAN SHOOTING HIS SHOT??? → username5 bro sounds too proper 💀 → username6 I know he was shaking while typing that → therealyn_ln is that an offer or a promise? → logansargeant why not both?

IMESSAGES

**correction: “IT’S HARD ENOUGH WITH HER BEING SO PRETTY, BUT HER BEING SWEET TOO? I WAS SO NERVOUS

TWITTER

IMESSAGES

INSTGRAM

therealyn_ln has added a new story!

therealyn_ln

📍 miami, florida, usa

therealyn_ln It’s fun having your personal tour guide :)

2,143 comments

username7 WHO IS THAT MAN???

username8 we lost her guys 😔😔

username9 logan and y/n collaboration????

logansargeant should have used sunscreen

→ therealy/n_ln hey, it’s not my fault the nyc weather got to me :((

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

therealyn_ln

therealyn_ln back to the paddock! 🏁 as logan promised, I was in fact shown around the miami track! (ps. I took his sunscreen advice!)

tagged ; logansargeant

1,783 comments

username10 they are so sweet :((

username11 pls tell me they will date

logansargeant glad you learned from the original florida man

→ therealyn_ln correction, florida BOY → logansargeant rude 🤕

logansargeant

logansargeant Not the result we wanted.. but we will bounce back! 👊 Thank you to all the fans for the constant support!

tagged ; therealyn_ln

1,694 comments

username12 “fans” it’s just y/n lol

therealyn_ln i thought we talked about using these kinds of photos bestie logan…

→ logansargeant never call me that again… → therealyn_ln can’t make any guarentees 🙃

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

therealyn_ln

therealyn_ln pasta night was a flop… so we got chick-fil-a!

tagged ; logansargeant

1,853 comments

landonorris @therealyn_ln logan let Max win the season, trust 🙏🙏

→ logansargeant i did??

username13 @therealyn_ln he saved my goldfish from a burning house. trust. 🙏

username14 @therealyn_ln logan saved my family from an airplane crash, trust me fr 🙏

oscarpiastri @therealyn_ln logan gave america it’s first f1 points in 30 years, he’s that good 🙏

→ logansargeant not you too oscar pastry 😞 → oscarpiastri i take that back, you killed my koala 👎 → username15 HELLO????

therealyn_ln

therealyn_ln guys, logan stole my heart and still hasn’t given it back 😞

tagged ; logansargeant

1,990 comments

username15 OML FINALLY A FIRST DATE

username16 OUR PRAYERS WERE ANSWERED 🙏

oscarpiastri thank god, i had enough of logan’s fan girling every day

AUTHORS NOTE : first post ✔️ thank you sm for reading! Definitely not my best, but not bad for my first post! always hoping to improve :)

also, sorry about all the spelling mistakes! i really need to improve on them 😅

have a wonderful day lovelies 🩶

#f1 x reader #logan sargeant #formula 1 #☆ﾟ smau ↳ theyluvkarolina ◝ #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #oscar piastri #f1 smau #f1 social media au #logan sargent x reader #formula one x reader #formula one x y/n #formula one x you #f1 x female reader #f1 x #☆ﾟ user ↳ theyluvkarolina ◝

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I know we're all focused on Satyr/Faun König but that bull comment... I'm quite partial to minotaur's and whats better than a darling who isn't from the area. Oh yes she's innocent of the crimes against König because she was not raised there.

Some foreign little creature just running blind in a maze trying to see where there might be a way out. It's been days after all and the screaming has gotten quieter and she wonders if she's the last one left alive. He takes his time eating his meals... this can be stretched out for such a long time as she hides herself in a dead end just a short rest... the darling is so tired unaware of the horrifyingly silent steps moving closer to her little haven. It's just her left now.

@kit-williams I've wanted to write for Minotaur!König for ages!

Minotaur!König x Ariadne!Reader Word count: 5 k oneshot Tags/warnings: Sexual tension, threats of violence and rape, implied cannibalism, power imbalance, moral ambiguity. Predator/prey dynamic, Beauty and the Beast elements, Ancient Greek religion & lore. 18+ MDNI A/N: The Minotaur in this story is not an actual hybrid. Reader is Hecate’s initiate. Merry Christmas y'all! <3

EDIT: PART 2 HERE

The screams are the worst part.

They echo through the Labyrinth while you wait and wait and wait.

Even the very stones seem to cry and wail as you place your hope on Theseus who descended to this hell along with you and the human cattle. Seven young men and seven unwed women, meant to satisfy a beast...

And judging by the screams alone, it sounds like the monster is satisfied. It sounds like it's having a ball.

Fourteen lives have been lost, their blood swallowed by the earth as if Hades himself is drinking the crimson of Athenian youth in His feast. The flesh is the beast’s to devour: an underworld demon born of tainted lust.

Half bull, half man, you always thought the stories were only tales told by the fire to scare children. Turns out that the stories, for once, are true. There's something even worse in this maze, something cursed and foul... Hecate herself would shiver if She were here, in the womb of the earth, witnessing what you’re witnessing now.

You don’t actually see the Bull of Crete cut or hack or slash anyone, and you can only imagine what the monster does to the bloody, gutted corpses of the young. The only thing you see are the hollow, dark walls carved out of soil, sand, and clay, the intestine-like route dug deep into the earth. And you don't have to see the massacre: the screams tell you enough. The silence that follows betrays even more.

Your only light is flickering, waning: the candle will hardly last an hour. If the hero from Athens won’t arrive soon, you will have to leave this place. 

And oh, how you want to leave… You were a fool to follow him here. Blinded by love and hope, you thought Theseus of Athens would be your way out of Crete, but it’s clear that the only thing the young hero is capable of loving is fame. The only time his eyes turned to yours was when you said you might be able to help him with a small bundle of yarn.

Red as the setting sun or spilling blood, the thin woollen string is your only way out now. It’s ironic how a heap of twine is the only thing that can help you out of this hellhole, but the Fates always did possess a cruel sense of humour. Your silly daydreams might’ve cost your life, and even if you’re sworn to the dark goddess, you would rather die anywhere but here. In the darkness, all alone, with nothing but eyeless worms to keep company to your decaying bones.

The sudden draft from the outside world is warm but threatens to blow out your candle. It’s a sign from Apollo: if you don’t leave now, you’re dead. Theseus has to manage without you because you’re not dying in this underworld prison because of some man’s stupid lust for fame.

There's only deafening silence in the maze as you scurry up, taking support from the wall as your sight darkens for a moment. You rose too soon: you can’t even remember the last time you ate. And it appears that even the sun god has abandoned you because there's a faint echo of steps in the tunnel, and they don’t belong to a man. They’re too thick, unduly heavy, and it’s not a pair of sandals that are thumping against the soil.

So, Theseus is dead...

So much for the legend, the myth, the demigod.

Heart thumping in your chest and in the hollow of your throat, it threatens to drown the sound of approaching footsteps. They’re all dead, the people who descended here with you. The only thing you are right now is prey. You're being hunted; whether the Minotaur knows you're here or not, you know you're being hunted. You can feel it in your gut.

You cover the candle with one hand, hoping that the flickering light doesn’t reach around the bend. The falling thump of the footsteps stops, and you still your breath, hoping that the beast would turn around and search the other way.

You hear it sniffing behind the wall. It's trying to catch your scent in the air, the smell of dread and terror, sweat so thick it must reach his nostrils and make them flare with lust. Your heart is thundering in your chest, and the tunnel is so quiet that that you’re certain the creature will hear that, too. (Your heart always betrays you.)

And your luck is cursed.

The beast shifts. 

You can’t see him yet, but you can hear it: the scraping sound underneath his feet as he aligns himself anew, choosing the path that leads straight down to you.

“Hecate save me,” you whisper into the air that seems to grow denser as he approaches, loud thumps of feet now accompanied by metal grating against clay. 

“Hear me, flame-bearing guide... Darkness, protect me…”

He’s dragging bronze against the wall, announcing that he’s carrying a weapon with him, the strength of a bull apparently not satisfying enough if he wants to break your bones with metal.

Don’t blow out the candle... 

If you blow it out, you’ll die.

It’s a clear message, a knowing voice in your head that says it. It’s not young, it’s not old: just knowing. Alert. Wise beyond ages. 

So you still your breath and wait.

Shadows fill the curve of the tunnel just before he emerges: thick like thunder, a darkness so deep that even the name of the twilight goddess escapes your tongue. 

And he’s big. Bigger than the bulls you used to dance with, bigger than kings, or heroes, bigger than even Theseus, the man you thought was a myth walking. His head is enormous, bigger than the rest of him, awkward and rough like it’s not quite part of him even though he’s supposed to be half ox. 

The gigantic, horned figure stops when it sees you. Vast shoulders tense; the fat, double-edged sword falls to his side when he settles to loom between you and your only way to escape this place. You’re oddly thankful that the horrible screeching stopped, but then you notice that his blade is drenched in blood: actually, his torso, thighs, even the buckskin loincloth – the only garment this monster has chosen to wear – is spattered with red dots. 

The bronze tip drips with crimson, and the earth drinks it all. Hades is never satisfied: this beast is never full. Everyone who was sent down here is dead: everyone else has met their doom except you. You wonder if your mother would cry if she heard her only daughter died because she fell in love with a fool.

“I killed your hero,” the walls of hell boom. 

His voice is thick like tar, dark and foul like it’s the God of Earth himself speaking.

The flame in your hand quivers from fear, and you slowly remove your palm, the tiny candle illuminating the beast with warm homely yellow, making the prominent muscles of his chest even bigger. 

He’s carved like the statues in Athens, only, this giant is far hairier than the painted marble heroes of the city. The hair on his chest is thick and wild; it shoots down his abdomen and disappears underneath the loincloth, spreads over his inner thighs, even covers his shins in dark mats. He looks like a wild man, a beast indeed: sweaty, filthy and thick. But you never knew a beast like him could talk…

“A coward, that one,” he snarls, the voice reverberating oddly like it’s a human man speaking from under a wooden mask or inside a clay jug.

And you believe every word he says.

Theseus was strong and able-bodied, but he had built his strength just to show it off. This man’s body speaks of pure, ripe survival.

A hulking shadow with shoulders that barely fit the tunnels of the Labyrinth, with palms nearly twice the size of yours, he’s the myth walking instead of the hero whose blood now adorns that dull bronze blade. The Minotaur who survived his father’s wrath, his mother’s absence, these bleak surroundings, and all the heroes sent down to get his head… His weapon isn’t even sharp anymore, and still, he managed to cut through the sacrificial humans like butter. And what a horrific death it must’ve been to be hacked to pieces by a dull blade.

Is it evil of you to hope that the death of your “hero” wasn’t a quick one…?

Theseus was a fool and a coward, rotten to the core, but you saw all of that too late. He never cared about the human sacrifices or the king’s wrath; he never cared about digging into Pasiphae’s sorrow. He only cared about getting his face depicted on a pot or having his deeds played out in amphitheatres, his name uttered in song, accompanied by harp and flute.

“I know.”  

Your voice gets sucked into the earth: it doesn’t echo from the walls like his. It’s thin, damp, and frail, just like everything else meant to walk under the sun instead of stand buried under the earth.

But the beast before you tilts its head a little. It’s curious. 

Why would you say that? 

Why don’t you cry from hearing the news...? Why don’t you howl out your hero’s name and beg the gods to heed your grief? Why don’t you run away from a monster?

The candlelight is puny and weak, but it’s bright enough to bring out the eyes of an animal. You draw breath in the dampness of the earth when you finally see it: the bull’s head is devoid of eyes, and yet, the beast still has them. Blue as the summer sky, stern as the death grip of winter just before spring.

There’s nothing but ripped shreds of skin where the eyes should be, and instead of looking at you from the sides, they’re greeting you from the front. The horns are sturdy, but otherwise, the colossal head is a bit skewed... Thick patches of fur sticking out as if it was years and years old, and then – you realize it’s not his head; it’s only an illusion. 

There’s a man under there. A full, grown man who’s made himself a terrible helmet out of a bull’s carcass. 

“You’re a man,” you say out loud, earning yourself another shift of the colossal head.

“...What?”

The muffled echo confirms it: he’s speaking from inside the bull, moving only slightly to get a better look at you. 

“You’re not a monster. You’re just a man.”

His eyes are wild but intelligent; they pierce you from inside the inanimate shield. The large chest heaves, his ribs flare like sails as he draws air through what must be the foul stench of a long-dead animal.

He takes a step, and you shrink, almost dropping your candle and the roll of red yarn.

“You think talking will save you, female?”

He speaks like a man, walks like a man, but his moves are an animal’s. Shoulders slightly hunched like he’s a bull about to attack, you recognize the way his muscles quiver from the times when you used to do bull leaping. You don’t dance with Rhea’s oxen anymore: your tasks at Hecate’s temple are more suitable and less wild for a maiden your age. Back when you were younger and more agile, you used to jump from the back of one bull to the next, clouds of dust swirling around you as you showed your prowess to the priests.

But you can’t charm this ox by dancing. This one can’t be tricked or fooled: he will pierce you with those horns or his brazen sword if you take even a step.

“I can get you out of here,” you wet your lips, noticing that the blue eyes shoot straight to your mouth when you do that. “I know the way out.”

“What makes you think I want out,” he says, so tight and tense that you fear he’s either about to leap at your throat or plunge his sword into your chest.

And you should be concerned about your own safety, not about his sensibilities – if he even has such things – but hearing this beast man’s reply is like drinking bile. 

Why would anyone want to stay here?

You don’t know if he eats human flesh; you don’t know if he had to in order to survive. Everyone knows why his father threw him down here, but no one knows he’s not half the things the people above say he is. And if half of it isn’t true, what other lies have been told about the Minotaur? 

Even most prisoners see the sun, yet this man has been deprived of that, too. He’s been robbed of mother’s love, of father’s mercy, of friends and foes, of mentors and guides. He’s been robbed of life, of stars, of fires and summer skies, of women’s giggles, of fistfights with fellow men. Of songs and plays, of festivals and games, of bull dances, and maidens that leap…

“Have you ever been up there…? On the surface?”

You turn your voice into soft water on pebbles, a soothing pour of persuasion and goodwill. His pecs contract, strong abs under thin hair and body fat bunch like you’re about to hit him there. You take a step, and now it’s his turn to shun away. It’s only half an inch, but he actually moves away from you. 

“I can take you there,” you offer gently. “Have you ever seen the sun…?”

It’s like talking to a starved predator, trying to entice them to follow you with a fresh steak in hand, hoping that the fanged mouth won’t take more than was promised if it decides to accept the offering.

And the beast accepts. 

“As a boy,” he grunts, a tad more softly. 

Those eyes are fixed on you, reminding you of horses when they’re slightly afraid. The glint of white and blue behind the carcass is fiercely alive, quite unlike the hollow, disinterested stare of the Athenian hero who was only interested in himself.

But this beast is interested. Oh, the Bull Man of Crete is wildly, fiercely curious about you. 

“You’ll take me to the sun,” he repeats, an affirmation rather than a question.

“Yes. To the surface. I promise.”

He moves. Like an animal who learned long ago to drive others into the corner so that he wouldn’t get forced there himself, he’s primal, sensual in the way that oracles in a trance are sensual.

Approaching you in silence that’s almost eerie, the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end by the time he’s only an arm’s length away. Why announce his coming earlier if he can move so quietly?

“You’ll lead me to my father.” 

His gaze bores into you, and not even the warm draft from the tunnels can prevent you from shivering. He’s distrustful, and it’s no wonder. It must be odd that some girl with a candle and a bundle of yarn is suddenly waiting for him around the bend, and doesn’t even flee. He’s a behemoth, but he’s not stupid. A stupid man would not have been able to survive, let alone thrive in this place.

And why should he trust you? Who is he supposed to trust in this maze when every person he has seen has either run away from him or tried to kill him? His father will slaughter him if he ever escapes the Labyrinth, so what else is a priestess in his kingdom but a squealing mouse, trying to feed him lies and then guide him to the surface and into a forest of spears? 

“No,” you shake your head slowly. “No, I promise I know the way. There will be no soldiers–”

You shut your mouth just before a huge palm closes around your throat. 

Gods, but he moves fast when he wants to… 

The candle and the yarn drop the instant his hand seizes your neck, strong fingers nearly meeting at the back as he squeezes your windpipe ever so slowly.

And he’s so close now. The carcass reeks of death, but the man underneath stinks of plain human sweat. His musk is a peculiar mix of blood, earth and soil, something both stale and invigorating, the thin sheen of sweat and dirt covering his muscles making him look like a common builder. It’s strange that the bull’s head hasn’t yet decayed in this place, that the man doesn’t reek of bodies and bones that must be scattered around like debris further down the tunnels. 

Another thing that’s strange is that he doesn’t seem to want to simply silence you.

He also wants to touch you.

A wide thumb strokes the underside of your jaw as he studies you. It slides down the column of your throat, the blue eyes gleaming with fascination when you swallow against him.

He drinks in the sight of you: the lips that part with fear, the frail collarbones that breathe against the side of his palm. The promising crevice between your breasts, the enticing softness of your teats. 

You can hear his breath grow heavy under ox skin and bone, the rugged, vicious helmet he has chosen to wear. What lies under, you can only imagine, wherein he has little left to the imagination when taking in the curve of your breasts, your nipples rising to peaks under the thin white linen only temple virgins use. 

Seeing your reaction to his touch makes him growl -- he actually growls like an animal, a deep, low rumble of approval rising up his throat when he sees how different your body is from his. How supple and cushy it is, soft and plump like a peach, covered only barely as if to tease a best like him. You wonder if he ever took pleasure in the maidens sent here by the king… If he ever thrust the sword between his legs into their weak bodies before giving them the mercy of his actual blade. Would he even know what to do with a woman, having lived here for so long?

“Please,” you whisper, bringing his eyes back to yours, the ice in them now liquid sapphire of pure want. 

Gods… You need to bring his attention back to your offer of help before he sees it more compelling to just stay here and play with his new, plump little mouse. Virgin or not, you wouldn’t survive a mating with this man. 

“I swear on Hecate’s torch that it’s not a trap. You have my word: I’m a priestess soon to be.”

He’s entranced. Hypnotized by your lips. You lick them to confirm your fears true: the man grunts with pleasure, out of instinct, absentmindedly like an animal who reacts to the sight of a fat, meaty bone. 

Oh, he might not know what to do with a woman… But he would try his best to find out. 

“Priestess…?” He rasps.

“It’s a holy woman,” you explain. “I serve the Goddess of the Crossroads.”

He snorts, either because he’s not impressed or because he’s downright amused by your vocation. The eyes, warmer, more demanding now, are far from the eyes of a bewildered beast.

“Little female of the crossroads... You will take me to the king. And then, I will kill him.”

He puts weight into his words, tries to make you understand. 

He wants you to guide him to his father. 

To the King who claims his son is half bull, to the husband who claims his wife was adulterous with an ox. To the King who demands tribute as virgins so that he can send them down to hell. The dark goddess screams justice, but you're at a horrible stalemate.

The gods will curse you for this… They will smite you with a bolt of lightning or drown you next time you cross the great sea if they see you’ve helped this half-beast escape. If you guide him to Minos, you’re a participant in kingslaying, and the gods never forget things like that.

“He’s your father and the king of Crete,” you whisper in fear. “The gods will strike you down–”

“Gods?” He spits. “I piss on the gods. I fuck their corpses and leave them to rot.”

You almost choke on the blasphemy levelled at you. The shadows creep closer, the stare behind the black fur is dark and amused, burning with the crooked wrath of a thousand years. 

“Perhaps I’ll fuck you too.”

It’s unnerving that you don’t find the threat wholly unappealing.

If anything, your eyes drift down to the hairs of his chest, to the two big muscles that resemble the work of the best sculptors in Athens. 

“Are you a virgin, female of the crossroads?”

His eyes search for your response: they want to see your fear and disgust. You swallow again, arduously against his hand, both caressing and testing you. 

The beast leans forward, as if weighing if he could somehow insult the gods by pillaging you. The rough hair of his chest meets the white cloth, it brushes against your nipples as he bends down to have a good sniff of you.

“You smell like a virgin,” he growls.

The hand leaves your throat, only to travel down your sternum. He grabs your breast nonchalantly, a little too roughly, the hot palm closing around the teat and squeezing it like it’s a toy. When you don’t react, he squeezes it again, this time hard enough to coax a whimper out of you.

“Sound like a virgin…”

Without warning, the hand dives straight between your legs next, palm forcing its way through your thighs and curving to cup your sex, moulding around it with barbaric thirst.

“Feel like a virgin, too.”

It’s thick, hot, and heavy, how he simply tries you through your dress. Fingers testing your folds, he’s clearly enjoying the subtle wetness he finds down there. You can hear another hitched grunt pushing up his throat, rugged and whiny this time, a broken groan that dissipates because of how dry his throat is. 

No man has ever dared to lay his hands on you... Many have wanted, but none have tried. Even drunkards and fools respect women who belong to the dark goddess.

But he doesn’t care about the wrath of Hecate. He doesn’t give a shit about the gods. He simply takes what he wants, what falls into his lap. The fifteenth offering, but he doesn’t seem to be interested in devouring your flesh. 

How easily he could simply yank that loincloth aside and drag your dress up. Force his cock into your tight, wet heat without uttering a word. You doubt that he would even take the trouble of laying you down on the ground for taking... Beasts rut when they want to: this man could fuck you against this wall if his loins demanded so, guttural groans being the last thing you hear before the candle goes out. 

You don’t know if you have to spread your legs for him before this is over, but you reckon you will do even that if it means you’ll see the sun again. You’ll endure every thick thrust, and gods be cursed, you wouldn’t even be solely disgusted if this half-animal chose to breed you... As shameful as it is, you would somewhat enjoy having him rut you like an animal in heat.

And you’ve gone mad, surely. 

You want to touch him too, just to test another theory. 

Deciding that it's a good idea to stick your hand into the maw of hell, your fingers lift. They meet his bicep, and the lewd panting stops.

He’s not even breathing… He’s just drowsy and drunk, looking at you with a mixture of soft sleepiness and awe in his stare. Like a dog who has never been petted, even his eyes drift half closed when he forgets to threaten you, now focusing solely on your hand. 

And you start to caress him, slowly, so slowly… Tracing the muscle all the way up where it meets the shoulder, you stroke even the thick cord that leads to his neck. The rest of him disappears under the bull, but the man behind it already shivers under your touch. He even bends his head a little in hopes that you would go under the mask and touch him there, and the gesture reminds you of an animal exposing its vulnerable areas, baring its very throat in submission. 

Braving a quick peek down, you notice that the buckskin cloth is stretched high and wide. His whole body is tense and immobile: you could cup him through the soft animal skin and he would probably shoot his seed from a single stroke of your palm. 

If this is not a virgin, you don’t know what is...

In a way, it would perhaps be wise to shove your hand down and disarm this man. That way, you would be safe for a few more minutes. Instead, you lay your palm over his chest, right over where his heart should be. 

“So do you, Bull of Crete...”

His gaze flickers.

The darkness hesitates, widens, nearly swallows the azure pools whole. But he doesn’t look irate or wild... Only shocked.

It’s an impasse. A thicket. His hand on you, your hand on him.

He surrenders first: the underworld budges before the utterly pure. You bless him with grace the instant he withdraws his hand from between your legs – slowly, reluctantly, like leaving a place that belongs to him. Or to which he belongs…

“I promise I’ll help you, Minos Tauros. But I need you to give me something in return.”

You remove your hand too. Softly, slowly, like a horse master who trains and tames wild things. All words seem to have escaped his tongue: he only grunts, unsure of what a beast like him could give you in return for your help.

“You must promise to be kind to me.”

“Kind...?”

“I need you to behave,” you explain. “No bad things on the way up... No fucking.”

Everything else, he seems to accept, but during the last sentence the Minotaur blinks at you, utterly confused.

“But... You smell like you want to fuck.” 

Your jaw drops open a tiny bit. Then you remember that a priestess of Hecate doesn’t gawk.

“I don’t–How would you know that…?”

The beast only shrugs. Then he leans forward and takes another sniff as if to prove it’s true that you want his cock inside you.

“You smell good,” he grunts. “Different... Female, not afraid.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to…”

He even raises his hand to inspect the slight wetness there. Fascinated by the thin film on his fingers, he rubs his thumb in it, probably thinking about bringing it under his mask to get a good sniff of your juices too.

You grab his wrist without thinking, mortified to your core by the prospect of him getting high on your slick. 

“Look. We need to leave before the candle burns out.”

The obsessive stare threatens to swallow you once more, so you let go of his wrist and steel your resolve. Scooting down to grab your things, you try to ignore the violent erection still pointing straight at you.

Hecate keep you from offering yourself to this man out of your own free will...

And you don’t have a torch, only a candle and a skein of blood-red yarn, but you know the way out, so there’s hope. There’s always hope.

“I need you to promise me,” you turn at the mouth of the tunnel, seeing that he’s still standing there, in the place where he almost took you like his first whore. As if waking up from a thrall, he straightens to his full height, picks up his sword and looks like a half-human, half-bull once more.

“I promise,” comes a booming voice from under the animal skull. “No fucking… I’ll behave.” 

You nod. There's a sense of trust in the air. A promise of hope... It's mutual, invigorating -- life-giving, like the sun and blood in your hands.

You don't know if the son of Minos has ever smiled in here, but from the quick glint in his eyes, you suspect that he's smiling right now, the man under that animal mask. Somehow, it reminds you of the stars in the sky.

“Lead the way, maiden.”

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