Tumgik
#immediate brain explosion
aroflowey · 8 days
Text
late night anxieties....
5 notes · View notes
albatris · 2 years
Text
rental car book two chapter 14:
Quinn Cooper Threatens a Giant Immortal Vampire Hivemind that Exists Beyond Human Concepts of the Law with Legal Action
rental car book two chapter 15:
Extremely Tired Vampire and Lawyer Alexis Anders is Forced to Deal with the Aftermath of Quinn Cooper Threatening a Giant Immortal Vampire Hivemind that Exists Beyond Human Concepts of the Law with Legal Action
25 notes · View notes
sometimes...... legends canon star wars..... is worse.
#sw#death star novel#i'm most of the way finished with it and dear g-d.#do ya'll seriously like this novel???????#i need to know what the actual ultimate end-all-be-all daala x tarkin book is bc it is not this one surely.#she's barely in it! she is just here to be his yes man and have a few cute moments with him and that's it.#she is meant to be the main investigator for the mysterious ship explosion that happened but then she retained#memory loss of the past six months after some brain trauma caused in a fight. and then she got shipped back off to the maw.#like any agency and importance she had as a character besides being an emotional base to tarkin (who is also barely in it)#was rendered utterly and totally useless. like she doesn't matter at all besides a few hey we totally care about giving tarkin an arc#/lying moments from the authors. like? they don't even actually utilize her as a tool to uplift tarkin's character arc. she's basically#just there for the investigation (which is now a fridged plot point? i'm assuming that's that on that for its importance to#the story bc she was the only one who knew anything about it and her memory got fucked) and they immediately threw that away#bc it wouldn't fit with anh plotwise and her injury was used for like. two or three scenes of tarkin being kinda nervous.#that's it. like the writers obviously don't care about tarkin and it's killing me bc he is objectively one of the most interesting#characters in the death star novel's mile-long cast of boring apolitical straight couples.#also they make tarkin and vader mildly irritated with each other. even when this book came out (mid 00s) vader and tarkin#were still canonically friends. like in anh. the first movie. the movie that the rest of either canon is based upon.#but whatever! i hate when sw authors ignore canon just bc they personally don't like tarkin like shut up!#get somebody who does like him to write him for g-d's sake.#and that's not even really touching on just how misogynistic this book's writing of every single female character is lmaooo#like daala is the best written woman in it imo and i just ranted about how they used her exclusively as a crux to tarkin's emotions.#insane that she didn't have a first name for over 20 years. that says it all right there.
4 notes · View notes
smelling-fishy · 1 year
Text
i am beginning to notice that my posts made in a haze of adhd fueled brain explosions get the most reblogs and escape the mutual circle the most often. iam glad the people (mutual in laws of mutual in laws) like my nonsense ♥️
2 notes · View notes
space-buggy · 8 months
Text
I yearn for tf2 noise in my brain
1 note · View note
samodivaa · 14 days
Text
Tumblr media
Bucky x Reader : He holds you in a metal chokehold while fucking you from behind. (smut, choking)
Tumblr media
He is sick with conflict, possessive emotions fester in him while he molds his front to your back, his cock nudges around your ass cheeks, to your sleek mound until he gasps as he guides his sticky cockhead glides through your delicate folds. He doesn’t say anything as he slips inside you, burying himself to the hilt. There is a certain satisfaction in pounding you from behind as the metal arm tightens around your nape, holding you close to him. Your walls are squelching around as you hear him murmur his voice as sweet and rich as honey. And his lusty grin when he says curses in Russian, it is sinful—and pleasurable, drawing a muffled scream from your throat as he starts to thrust more rapidly, setting a demanding rhythm.
Your sexual attraction to him has been heightened beyond measure, as much as you try to hide it, the lust is getting greater than any other feeling or emotion. Every part of him is heightened to you now...his voice included—you can’t help it as your body reacts to the stimulation, head spinning as you barely get a sip of oxygen despite your gasping.
It’s the closest thing to magic for him—teeth dragging against your neck, living marks, his consciousness vanishing and deforming itself into something primal, there is a delicious animal fire in his gaze which he is glad that you can’t see.
He flexes his human fingers and tries to fight the urge to stop rubbing your clit—but then his fingers slithers over your chest, warm digits immediately finding your breasts and he starts to massage them for his own pleasure. It is a possessive gesture, and he feels a little bit possessive—but he needs to keep his fingers on your clit, rubbing, pinching the sensitive bud between his fingers. So he does. He imagines the sinful sight each time he buries the length of his cock all the way inside you, shaft slick and wet and glistening when he pulls it out, only to slam himself back inside. You grip his metal arm which is gutting your vocal chords, and all you manage is a small gasp. When he loosens his grip, the rush of blood and oxygen to the brain results in an explosion of dopamine, followed by a shamelessly loud moan from your lips. “That’s it, doll—you like this?”  His voice is warm and low. Intimate.
You catch sight of him from your peripheral vision, his eyes closed, his lips are silent, but he chatters with his fingertips, with the way his hand massages your clit, the way he fucks you. And you thought that he chose that position, because he is embarrassed from fulfilling your idea, but he is not—he wants to disguise from you how much he is enjoying himself. His expression is dreamy, floating. Soaked in pleasure—breathless, possessed, lost in the volcanic eruptions of fever, lust and delight. Your pussy cradles around his dick as he pounds into you from behind. It is an igniting feeling to have so much control over your body. “I love you, but I want you all to myself” His hand closes around your neck again, slowly cutting into your skin while cutting off oxygen. It is more painful than lethal, but more erotic than painful. His growls erupt from his chest, the primal noise flooding your senses, making your insides clench around his length. Your back arches as you feel an orgasm approaching, letting out a desperate moan, because you’re powerless…utterly at his mercy and that’s what makes you cum—his voice sends shudders through your body, reacting in all the right ways to the words. “Bucky-”
The moment you say his name, he is lost. Can’t control himself. You are his. Nobody else's. With that thought on his brain he let himself go. Frantically, he slams into you and you meet every thrust head-on, human fingers gripping your hip so tightly that phantom bruises appear. 
1K notes · View notes
daydreamerdrew · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media
The Defenders (1972) #33
1 note · View note
halemerry · 7 months
Text
So there’s understandably a lot out there examining the painful/emotional parts of this season, but I just wanted to take a second to acknowledge something really important that is a bit... maybe not lighter in tone but something worth celebrating.
Because like, even if he seems a bit directionless and frustrated, Crowley actually is pretty happy this season?
He’s making progress. He’s letting himself have things he wouldn’t have ever before - even if it's not exactly the thing he wants the most. He's letting himself be himself. He's not censoring instincts and impulses to nearly the same degree and it's actually pretty remarkable.
Like, okay, yes, Crowley is pretty lost now that he exists outside the toxic structure he has been operating under for millenia. And, yes his safety net with Aziraphale and the structure they operate in has also crumbled a bit because so much of that structure was built around what they were and weren’t allowed to safely do within the toxic structure. But, I actually do think this season does a lot to show that even if this struggle is very real and has consequences that aren’t all objectively good, freeing himself from that structure is a net good.
He smiles more. He laughs more. He sprawls more. He seems generally more physically relaxed and comfortable trusting his instincts without having to check everything he’s doing or saying against Hell. And this state of existence isn’t dependent on Aziraphale being present either. It’s just him being him and becoming comfortable with what that means.
And it wasn't a snap your fingers bam you're better situation either. It takes work and time to break old instincts. I mean, years have passed and we’re still struggling to let anyone say that we are nice. But significantly his instinct isn’t to snarl or physically lash out. It’s to roll his eyes or half heartedly object or maybe throw in a light growl for old times sake. And, sometimes, the instinct is to grin like a self satisfied loon as you contradict the nice human who implied you were nice.
Crowley is now in a place where his impulses to be kind are things he’s allowed to give into now and, even if he’s doing so under a veneer of snark and sneer, he is letting himself do that. He’s making sure the people around him are caring for ducks properly. He’s admitting he was worried about Aziraphale and cooing at his own car. He’s apologizing for accidentally locking people into coffee shops and openly helping them get out without even stopping to think about how maybe doing so might clue them in that he’s not quite what he seems. He's helping Shax learn her way around earth, even when she’s actively working against him and Aziraphale.
Even when interacting with Jim, who brings out the most of Crowley’s negative reactions and masks, his instincts are just as often to be gentle as they are to be angry. So long as Jim isn’t actively setting off alarm bells in Crowley’s head Crowley is so patient with him. He explains gravity unprompted and proceeds to include Jim in on his planning to get Nina and Maggie together. After his initial explosion at Jim’s presence the next two are immediately followed up by him getting upset and then backing off of Jim. He starts to threaten Jim when he’s reminded Aziraphale is in danger and then nearly immediately backs off of that, acknowledging there’s no point in it. And then, of course, after he nearly talks Jim into jumping out a window and pressures him into extracting more information from his brain he feels guilty enough to then offer Jim an act of care and service. It's such a stark difference from the guy we see even this season needing to put a layer between himself and anything good he does by either denying thanks outright or putting the blame on being under some influence.
And it’s startling how much we see him smile this season and how many different versions of that we get. From the genuine delight on his face when he thinks Operation Lovebird is working to the pleased little smirk he gives Aziraphale through the window when he watches him bring order to the arguing angels and demons in his shop, to the little smile of familiarity when he wonders what happened to Mr Dalrymple - Crowley smiles a lot compared to the first season. And it doesn't matter where he is either. He has a delightful time in Heaven, snickering and grinning to himself nearly the entire time he's prancing around there. And that’s not even getting into his dorky little snort laugh that pops up a few times throughout the season.
And I just. It’s so nice that this show doesn’t want to deny that what Aziraphale and Crowley are doing is hard but also that it doesn’t want to wallow in that struggle either. It never wants to frame that what they earned at the end of season 1 has doomed them but it isn't afraid to show the speed bumps that the system they were in is causing them on their way to happily ever after. They’re allowed to be happy. They're allowed to struggle with getting there. This is allowed to be a good thing for them, even if it sometimes takes work.
1K notes · View notes
multimousenette · 2 years
Text
i was scrolling through my photos to try and find something and rediscovered all the screenshots of bnha i took when i was watching it and live reacting to my friend and wow like. i don’t quite know how to explain it but the way i interact w ml and the way i interact w bnha are both extremely strong but very very different,, i think about ml literally all the time whereas when i see something from bnha i immediately go oh! thing! i love thing! and then don’t think about it any other time lmao
1 note · View note
izurou · 1 year
Text
LOST IN THE FIRE FT. BAKUGOU KATSUKI
Tumblr media
synopsis: katsuki has never thought about children, but today the thought consumes him from the inside out, and so do you.
contains: female reader. adult pro hero bakugou. established relationship. unprotected sex. a creampie. parental themes ie; mentions of pregnancy and children + reader being a mother. kats has a raging breeding kink and is so super in love! 3.1k wc.
note: sounds so dramatic at the beginning but i swear it is not serious like that :c either way i hope you like it < 3
Tumblr media Tumblr media
you drive katsuki insane.
sure, you have your moments—times when you’re unimaginably annoying and butt heads with him over every possible thing, but that’s not what drives him up the wall—it’s the thoughts.
the pesky, never ending thought of you. you’re always there—day or night, rain or shine, like a pretty little parasite living between his ears.
he almost mistook it for a quirk, the way you spread like wildfire through his brain, scorching every inch in the process—but he’s since learned that that was just his way of experiencing love, which, at the time seemed a lot worse.
to this day, you burn hot in his mind—an eternal flame that has no sign of dying out anytime soon.
some days you’re dull, a soft yellow hue flickering in the background as he’s on patrol—too focused on whatever bastard he’s pursuing to ignite the thought of you. some days you’re bright, a fiery orange blaze glowing behind his eyes as you kiss down his torso—intensifying the lower you go.
and every so often, you’ll do or say something that threatens an all out explosion inside his head.
“katsuki!” you gasp, cupping a hand over your mouth as you shuffle into the kitchen, where your boyfriend is tossing spinach into the blender.
“what?!” he whips his head around at light speed, worry woven into his tone as he immediately sifts through a file of the worst-case scenarios. did someone die?
“guess what i just found,” you mumble into your palm, staring down at your phone in the other.
his features soften out upon hearing your words, and who knows, maybe it will be your dramatics that tip him over the edge.
he’s pretty when he’s not wearing a frown—with the morning sun seeping through the window and painting a streak of light onto him, defining the discoloured scar in the middle of his chest, and causing the thin silver chain just above it to glint.
“jesus christ,” he rolls his eyes, turning back to his half assed, thrown together smoothie. last he heard, you were shopping online for groceries the two of you had to pick up later this afternoon—so that tomorrow’s smoothie doesn’t end up like this one, shit. “what?”
“guess!” you grin, clutching your phone near your heart in a display of love for your recent find.
“hell if i know,” he mumbles—the muscles on his back rippling as he slices the tops off of some strawberries. “that damn ice cream you always inhale?”
he’s not wrong in thinking you had been browsing the frozen treats, he knows you well, you’ll give him that—but you placed the order ten minutes ago, and found a new website to entertain you.
“no,” you huff, dragging your slippers against the tile as you inch closer, stopping beside him. “and i shared with you last time, thank you very much.”
“huh?” he wraps an arm behind you, momentarily resting his palm against your ass before pinching at the fat. “one bite isn’t sharing, princess.”
you choose to let that comment fall on deaf ears, quickly spinning the conversation back to where you want it as you hold your phone out.
“look!” you beam, watching his gaze travel over the screen. it’s a picture of a little black onesie with two tiny gauntlets on it, and the words baby dynamight printed in orange and green lettering.
“what about it?” he mutters, not giving anywhere near the amount of excitement as you had hoped.
he thinks he recalls hearing about this—probably had the design shoved in his face the minute he walked into the agency and absentmindedly gave the go ahead because, he didn’t, still doesn’t, and most likely will never give a shit about what other people put on themselves, or their children.
“it’s cute asshole,” you huff, a little disappointed, but not surprised by his reaction in the slightest. you lean your head against his shoulder, looking on as his big, strong hands cut through the fruit with the utmost care. “doesn’t it make you want to have babies?”
“no,” he says, lifting a strawberry halve over his shoulder and holding it for you to bite. “does it make you wanna have ‘em?”
“yeah,” you confess.
“yeah?” he’s in disbelief. to his knowledge, you’ve never expressed the desire to have children, and if he’s honest, katsuki isn’t sure that he even wants them—he’s never given much thought to the idea.
“yeah,” you repeat, biting the fruit out of his hand. you lift your head up and smile—making sure that he knows you really mean it. “a mini us would be so cute, don’t you think? as long as they don’t get your temper, or that resting bitch face of yours.”
how utterly cruel of you to tack on a snarky little comment like that, especially after such a heavy one. he doesn’t know if that’d be cute, he’s never imagined it—until now, that is. he swears he can feel his skin heating up at the mere thought of having a baby with you, and when he thinks about what he’d have to do—no, what he’d get to do to make that a possibility, his mouth goes bone dry.
he doesn’t want you to take his silence the wrong way though, and so he mutters out the one word he think he can manage.
“yeah.”
with that, he slaps the lid onto the blender and presses the power button, hoping to drown out any further thoughts on the matter.
katsuki spends the following hours thinking about you, specifically, about putting a baby in you. no matter what he does—from eating breakfast to sending a few emails, watching a movie with you to running all your errands together—he just can’t stomp out the embers from earlier that morning.
his thoughts carry over well into the late evening, though you’d never know how strong your effect really is—he’s too well versed in the world of fire and explosives to ever give himself away.
then again, he thinks there might be black smoke coming out of his ears when you invite him into the shower with you before bed—a horrible idea if he knows what’s good for him, but he doesn’t, so in he goes.
“katsuki, we should’ve bought it,” you blurt out, eyeing him up as he rinses the suds from his hair. the muscles along his torso stretch and twist with his movements—crashing waves against his skin that only further your cause.
“huh?” he gently shakes his head around, ridding his locks of any excess water before squinting at you through the one eye that didn’t wind up with shampoo residue in it.
“the baby onesie,” you clarify, snaking your arms around his waist and leaning against his chest in search of warmth—seeing as he’s hogging all the hot water. “what if it’s extinct by the time we have kids?”
we, you and him together.
honestly, he doesn’t know how you do it. he of all people should be indifferent to a little heat—but there you go again, burning him from the inside out.
“it’s my shit, can tell ‘em to make more,” he says, shifting your bodies around so that you’re under the stream of hot water—pure bliss for you both.
“a pink version?” you peer up, blinking through the droplets of water that flock to your eyelashes.
you want a little girl, is that it?
there’s a lump in his throat—another thick cloud of smoke, this time threatening to pour from his mouth. you being pressed up against him isn’t helping either, in fact, all you’re doing is sending all that heat south.
“anything you want, sweetheart,” he responds, pressing a rather short but passionate kiss to your lips—just enough to hold him over.
he’s quick to excuse himself after this, mumbling something about you taking for fucking ever to shave—which, while true, is not why he’s fleeing.
he needs a couple minutes to gather his bearings, to ask himself if he should really do this.
katsuki is responsible, whether it be a condom, or him pulling out the second he feels his cock start to twitch—he’s never finished inside you, but he’s always wanted to.
for him, it’s not the idea of getting you pregnant—that was the one reason he didn’t do it, because he wasn’t ready, nor did he know if a father was something he even wanted to become. instead, he gets off on the thought of him being the only one who gets to cum inside you—you’re his, and that’s one way he’d like to prove it.
however, now that you’ve so easily persuaded him into wanting a mini us—that possibility sounds a lot less like a consequence.
“‘bout damn time,” he scoffs, seeing as how it’s been over twenty minutes and you’re only just shuffling into the room now. “c’mere.”
you watch him sit up and scoot to the edge of the bed, patting his thigh as an invitation for you to come sit. you don’t know what he’s thinking—you’ve barely dried off, still wrapped in your towel and dripping onto the floor every now and then.
“yes?” you ask, holding the fabric tight against your body as you make your way over.
you come to a halt in front of him, seconds away from opening your mouth again to ask what it is he wants—but he pulls you down onto one of his thighs, spreading his legs so that you’re facing towards his vacant one.
“you really wanna have a baby with me?” he’s looking at you with tiny red hearts in his eyes, already sneaking his fingers beneath the fluffy white material sitting loosely on your thighs.
“of course i do,” you smile, how cute of him—like a little puppy begging for a treat. “maybe even two.”
your words set the hearts ablaze, forcing him to see nothing but you—and you might’ve meant of course i do in the future, but all he can see right now, is you.
he kisses you, letting his lips move against yours freely this time—letting his tongue explore your mouth at will. his middle finger dips between your folds, drawing a line from your clit down to the sticky mess waiting below.
you’re excited too.
he breaks the kiss upon feeling how wet you are, drawing his hand back and looking down to catch the little string of arousal that connects his finger to your cunt.
“katsuki!” you gasp, squeezing your legs together out of embarrassment. pressing up against him in the shower didn’t help your case either, clearly.
“want you just as fuckin’ bad,” he assures, gently urging you off his lap—just to tug you back on immediately after, this time to straddle him.
you let the towel pool at your waist, giving katsuki free reign over your tits—to which he swiftly pops one into his mouth, swirling his tongue around your nipple and tugging it between his teeth.
“katsuki please,” you sigh, rutting yourself against the bulge in his sweats as you fist a hand through the shorter hairs at the back of his head. you don’t have time for this.
“huh? please what? gonna need some more from you, baby,” he hums, looking up at you through hooded lids—his gaze a deep shade of crimson you’ve never seen before.
“fuck me,” you whine, tugging at his waistband. “please.”
a proud grin flashes across his face—no matter how many times he hears it, the sound of you asking to be fucked will forever be his favourite tune.
“move this shit,” he mumbles, tossing the excess fabric to the floor and running his hands down your sides, over your hips, and along the curve of your ass. “fuckin’ gorgeous.”
he tugs his sweats down just barely enough to free his cock—tip pink and wet, leaking onto his fingers as he lines himself up with your entrance. he runs the head of his cock between your folds, collecting a bit of you on his shaft before pushing in.
you’re warm, always welcoming him with a hug—a tight squeeze of your walls that makes it almost impossible for him to bottom out. he knows you need to adjust before he does that—the thickness of his cock proving to be too much every time.
“relax,” he orders, resting his hand at the base of your throat and kissing you once more—because he knows, all too well, that this combination will have you sinking down onto his shaft, melting into him completely.
once his cock is fully sheathed, and he has you right where he wants you—flush against him with your tits in his face, he gets ahead of himself, and makes the mistake of thinking about cumming in you a little too early.
“mmm, feels so good katsuki,” you babble as you start to move your hips, up and down over and over again, warm velvet walls dragging against the entire length of his cock.
and it’s as if someone cut off the oxygen to your bedroom, he feels like he can’t breathe—all he can do is stare, tunnel visioned on the spot where you and him connect.
he already wants to cum—wants to fill you to the brim, watch it come gushing out, and fuck it right back into you. the thought alone has the corners of his vision tingeing orange—a telltale sign that you’re taking over.
a couple more minutes of you bouncing on his cock, and he can feel a burn in his lower gut—this one much more familiar than the one inside his head. still, he might as well be pronounced dead on the spot when he glances down and sees the little ring of arousal you’re leaving at the base of his shaft.
“shit,” he breathes through gritted teeth—resting the crown of his head against your chest as he tries to hold it together.
being completely oblivious to just how close he is to turning to ash—you start to rub circles onto your clit, readying yourself to cum with him.
you start to flutter around his cock, mindlessly babbling about how close you are, about how you’re going to cum for him—and you feel so good, so warm and tight—but right as his cock begins to twitch, he lifts your hips up, and off.
“fuck, fuck,” he pants, chest heaving as he stares down, watching his precious cum spurt from his tip and run down the sides of his shaft. what a waste.
“katsuki,” you drawl, soft and sweet as you brush the hairs matted to his forehead back. “what’s wrong? too much?”
if he’s honest, he doesn’t know why he did that—maybe it was instinct, something he did out of pure habit, or maybe it was too much, something he didn’t want you to see up close.
“nothin’ baby,” he mutters, grabbing one of your wrists and pressing a kiss to it. you’re so cute, so thoughtful and sweet. “c’mon, switch with me.”
you’re quick to move, knowing exactly what he wants as you go from his lap to the bed. you get on your knees, lowering your chest until your tits are flush against the mattress and your ass is in the air—consequently putting your messy pussy on display.
“atta fuckin’ girl,” he praises, kicking his sweats away and grabbing onto your hips—pulling you back just a little to define the arch he loves to see so much.
his heartbeat pulses in the tips of his fingers as he slides back into you, and he knows, he’s not going to last—still sensitive from his previous orgasm.
he starts to thrust, and it’s just like before—the unmistakable feeling of being consumed, both physically and mentally.
it starts at his feet, the kind of numbness that can be compared to television static. it travels up his legs, bypasses his cock, continues up his torso, and ceases at his neck.
“please kats, cum in me,” you slur, a mindless plea thrown over your shoulder—but one that almost incinerates katsuki right there.
and he’s glad you can’t see him right now, he’s positive he’s never looked more pathetic—head thrown back, eyes screwed shut, and brows knit together in such a way that it makes him look like he’s about to cry.
in all of this, he knows that the one thing able to ground him is still you—and so he pulls you up, tugs on your arms until your back is flush with his chest. his skin is sticky, hot—save for the cool metal of his necklace pressing between your shoulder blades.
“fuck princess,” he growls—rough, coarse, and right against the shell of your ear.
“‘m close katsuki, ‘m gonna cum,” you gasp, cunt fluttering around him at an even faster rate than earlier.
a strangled moan rips from the back of his throat, uncharacteristic, he knows—but he’s never felt this good, never loved the burn as much as he does right now.
his grip tightens to an almost unbearable level, one hand on your throat, the other splayed across your tummy. his breathing is an absolute mess, a string of breathy little pants against the crook of your neck. his heartbeat is everywhere—blaring in his ears, pounding in his chest, throbbing through his cock—and he cums.
he cums hard, face scrunching up as he feels you pulsing on his length, vision going white as he feels his warmth shoot out—it feels so fucking good.
you fall flat against the mattress, resuming your earlier position and snapping katsuki back to reality as you force him to slip out of you.
his eyes are glossed over as he looks down, and it feels like a lifetime passes as he stares at your cunt, waiting—but it comes, his cum, sticky and white as it leaks onto the sheets.
“fuck,” he’s barely audible, with an incredulous look on his face—bringing his index and middle finger up to spread your lips and coax more of himself out. nothing could be hotter, he’s damn sure of it.
satisfied, he flops down onto his back beside you, and he feels calm—like he’s comfortably walking down the streets of his brain as they continue to go up in flame—like he’s in control.
“well?” you say, curling up into yourself as you look at your big, strong, fucked out boyfriend.
“you’re fuckin’ perfect,” he hums, gaze never leaving the ceiling. “gonna be a perfect mom.”
“fucked you that good, huh?”
he turns his head to the side, what the fuck written all over his furrowed brows and scowl, because no—he fucked you, and you know it.
“shaddup,” he groans, playfully placing his palm over your face and pushing gently.
he sits up, leaning over the edge of the bed to grab that towel from earlier—he knew it’d come in handy later.
“hey,” you call out.
he peers over his shoulder at you, and you have definitely, never looked more beautiful.
“maybe even three?”
4K notes · View notes
bluegiragi · 4 months
Note
okay, first of all, absolutely goddamn feral about you, your art, writing, ideas and aus i am chewing on the bars of my cage and foaming at the mouth and screeching incoherent and rolling around on the floor and- ough... anyway
i do have a very self indulgent question, particularly about Monster AU Ghost and Price, but also extending towards the rest of 141 with their involvement
at one point you mentioned that wraiths were rare, and ghost would likely feel pity towards another one
what would happen if they did come across another wraith? especially someone fairly fresh, maybe even young, younger than any of them. is there anything anyone could do to help them? would they help? price seems to know how to handle ghost well enough, and seems like hes been around since ghost's transformation, but how would ghost himself handle seeing someone else go through something like what he did? if he had to, what advice would he give them that he never got?
just been rotting in my brain 😭 ily gira and i hope youre taking care of yourself, thank you so much for the work you put in and share with us 🥺💕
this!! is!! such a good question, anon!!!! I think there's a lot of sides to that kind of situation, especially if it’s a younger person since I hc Ghost as having a massive soft spot for kids.
lots of writing under the cut!!! my braincells were FEASTING.
I think if it was just Ghost and the newly-born wraith, he'd try to mercy-kill it. The circumstances that lead to the creation of a wraith are truly harrowing, and while Simon understands the desire for revenge that burns at the core of every freshly made wraith, he also believes their plight is a kind of torture. In his mind, it would be kind to put one out of their misery. He wouldn't take any pleasure in it - I think overall, it would be a miserable affair for all parties involved.
If Price or any of the others were around, I think they’d try to convince him to take them under his wing so to speak. But while Ghost currently operates decently with his support system, he’s extremely lucky and should be considered the exception to the trend. Price was instrumental in his recovery - years of working under him solidified Price in his subconscious as an authority figure he could trust. When Ghost lost control, he could still rely on instinct - even with his mind fracturing, Price never changed. But not everyone has this kind of person immediately available to them, and it was crucial that Price got to him as soon as he did. What Ghost is now is not what a wraith commonly looks like. Price dragged him back from a brink.
New wraiths are sort of like rabid dogs, with no sense of self preservation. They’d approach every confrontation with the kind of frenzy you’d see in someone fighting for their life. They’d also be basically impossible to immobilize - you’ve seen how Simon goes wispy at times, imagine trying to handcuff a cloud of smoke. If it came down to a situation where any of the 141 were in danger, Ghost wouldn’t hold back. He’d put the other wraith down.
But if Ghost met another wraith who’d survived that first explosion of fury and managed to calm down, AND the 141 were with him, I think he’d try to help. They bring out the best in him.
1K notes · View notes
popponn · 4 months
Text
a boyfriend package. [itoshi rin x reader]
Tumblr media
summary: itoshi rin is good at soccer. itoshi rin is not good at jokes and cheering up, but for you, he tries anyway. (aka, you are stressed and rin is there.)
notes: this fic had so much thought but the main is "if you have itoshi rin on your side you could probably do anything". to everyone at uni and school, good luck. warning: other than minor curses, none. fluff, reader's gender unspecified, post canon au, reader is a student struggling against exams & essays.
Tumblr media
“You are not done yet?”
You, a student who had probably resembled a zombie more at this point, lift your head up from the materials you were supposed to finish within two days. There were certainly other problems you were facing, however, you had no strength to gaze at them at the moment. Instead, you landed your eyes on your boyfriend, leaning against the doorway of your room with two cups of store-bought coffee. Which was hilarious—Itoshi Rin, a solid football career, an aloof reputation which was very true, and no educational deadline because of said football career.
Wait—does Itoshi Rin even drink coffee?
Your brain couldn’t really remember that piece of information.
It could curse out your very lovely and handsome Rin out of envy though. You wished him a very slow internet connection until your freedom next week.
Hearing how the voices in your head had started complete nonsense, you shook your head and returned your focus back to the wall of letters that didn’t seem to have an end in front of you. It would be better for you to save your words and thoughts for this seemingly unending hurdle, instead of using it to say things about the very kind Rin who bought you coffee.
Though, you did remember what one of his friends posted on Finestagram yesterday. A picture of a bunch of guys having fun outside. A hand around his shoulder in an act of friendliness and a very clear time that was spent pleasantly. Without pressure too, on top of that. Fuck—you tried not to cry—you are so jealous of them.
“Hey, did you hear me?”
Oh, right.
You forgot to reply to him.
“Not yet,” you smiled bitterly, “there are still some more left.”
Which was an understatement. Around two thick piles of papers awaited you.
As it was, Rin didn’t even bat an eyelash at your response nor to the faraway look you gave to the tower of books on your desk. He, however, did put a cup of coffee right beside your left hand. On that cup, a smiling mascot with a peanut shape said something about enjoying your time. You didn’t know if the correct choice to that was to bawl or to laugh like a madman.
You were half-asleep after eight hours of cramming and your brain felt like it was burning. In the end, even a tear or a chuckle was a bit beyond your capability at this point.
“…hey,” Rin said again, flatly. A hand awkwardly placed itself on one of your shoulders.
“You sure say a lot of ‘hey’ today,” you noted, leaning your head, slotting it on his stomach. His muscles were hard, but the proximity did comfort you. “…what is it though?”
“…if I drive, and you say ‘stop, deer’,” Rin began awkwardly, out of nowhere with a voice that trembled slightly as if he was under an incredible weight, “I will say ‘yes honey’.”
You stopped breathing at what he just said. No matter how scattered your brain was, you immediately snapped him a bewildered look. You knew you were on the verge of insanity, but Rin—
“What.”
You had been dating him for two years and more and Rin—as much as you love him—is definitely not a joke guy. Did he got possessed? Was it because he drank coffee?
As you ransacked your brain for an answer, you watched an explosion of red on Rin’s face reaching his neck. As that hue stayed on his face, unbudging, Rin’s face turned sour and darkened as he muttered some violating insults that seemed to be directed at Bachira and Otoya.
You raised an eyebrow at that. “Rin. What? Huh?” you repeated, trying to grasp the situation. “Who put you into this?”
You knew you were risking your study in what could end up being a prologue to two murder cases, but that joke was bad enough that it restarted your brain. You would risk a 4-hour delay because honestly what could make Itoshi Rin joke—
Oh.
As the silence between Rin and you stretched, you realized how he seemed to lose the courage to see you in the eye. A red face that was as bashful as it looked like a face belonging to a terrible stomachache patient, yet the comforting pressure Rin gave to your shoulder as he rubbed his thumb—suddenly, it was as clear as day.
This fine dumbass of yours was trying to cheer you up, it seemed.
You laughed out loud at that—perhaps a bit too high-pitched with too much wheezing. However, imagining Rin taking a page from his friends’ books—fuck you hate those words so much still right now but yet—just to cheer you up, it is adorable. And, Rin seemed to accept your ugly chortles as his eyes finally moved to you again.
“Did—” you wheezed again, your whole body still shaking as you pressed your chin to his hip. The smell of Rin’s detergent was your preferred fragrance, widening your smile even more, “—did Bachira and Otoya put you into this? Is that why you cussed them out?”
“Don’t come up with your own conclusion,” Rin scolded with a tone that spelled out relief and fondness.
“Then, what is it? Tell me—you just made a joke. A pun. That’s something,” you teased. In the back of your mind, a heavy static was still present, yet you really couldn’t mind their presence with Rin beside you like this.
Rin grunted and messed up your head, looking down at you with a look that was certainly too soft for his cold & cool guy brand. “Shut up. That’s none of your business.”
“Aw, come on! Tell me!” you protested. Rin shook you off as you started to try and pull his cheeks with your grubby hands. Walking away, he pulled a stool that he had left behind in your room after his tenth visit to your house many months ago.
“No,” Rin said curtly, leaving no room for protest as he tapped your laptop screen lightly. “Now get back to studying.”
At the reminder, it was your turn to wear a sour glum on your face. “Ugh.”
He glared half-heartedly at you. Bumping a knee against your chair slightly. “Don’t fucking say ‘ugh’.”
“But…” you wanted to say that you still wanted to tease him a bit more. You wanted to just do something with him a bit longer. Returning to the passage of curses meant that you couldn’t do that.
Rin looked at you for a moment. You couldn’t fathom what went through in his mind as you glanced at him. However, whatever it was, it pushed Rin to get his face closer to you.
Then, before you could even react to it, Rin pressed a light kiss on top of your forehead.
It was soundless in the way it was surprising. Your eyes were wide as Rin pulled away and returned to his previous position. This time, the red hue and his inability to look you in the eye returned. Looking towards anywhere but you, Rin perched his chin on top of his palm.
“Hurry up and study,” Rin ordered once again. “I will accompany you today, so stop whining.”
There was a prime chance for you to tease him about not practicing instead. Yet, for a solid 30 seconds, all your brain had become was a mush and an incoherent noise. Rin probably should take some responsibility and you should demand so—
Yet, you could only smile and return to your study. Hooking your ankle with one of Rin’s just so you could feel him close still.
“You owe me a kiss and a treat after this.”
“I bought you coffee already.”
“Oh, Rin—come on, I need motivation—”
“Fucking finish it first.”
Afterward, you pulled out a miracle by finishing everything within 3 hours and the rest was history.
Tumblr media
610 notes · View notes
ghostxraven · 2 years
Text
me at 4 am massposting mcr because i literally thought i would swoon like a victorian gentlewoman if i ventured on here before i stopped trembling like a chihuahua 🤝 all of you guys, also, apparently
1 note · View note
em-dash-press · 6 months
Text
Ways to Skip Time In Your Stories
Finding ways to skip time in stories can feel challenging. Writers often worry it’ll make their work feel too amateur or negatively affect their pacing. 
The truth is that every author includes ways they skip time to maintain their pacing and plot. Check out a few ways to do it with confidence. 
1. Start a New Chapter
Yes, it’s really that simple. Go back to your favorite books and note how each chapter ends. You’ll likely find a few of these tricks that transition the story in ways that match the story’s flow.
Ideas to End a Chapter
The protagonist goes to sleep (likely overused, but practical)
The characters end a conversation
One character informs another of a plot twist
Unexpected action occurs, like a car crash
2. Emphasize the Season
You don’t need to tell the reader exact dates or hours to pass the time. You could mention the season instead.
If a scene or chapter ends in the summer and you need your plot to start in winter, make your protagonist mention something about the leaves changing color and giving way to snow before your action picks up again. It will only take a sentence or two, so it’s also an effective method for short stories.
3. Visualize a Movie Montage
Imagine watching a movie about a character who goes on a summer adventure. They backpack through Europe, but they have to take a flight to get there. 
You likely wouldn’t see them standing in airport security lines, napping in a terminal or watching a full movie on their flight to their destination. Instead, you’d get a montage of them driving to the airport with a shot of their plane cruising over the open ocean.
Writers can do the same thing, minus the soundtrack in the background. Describe how your character got to their destination when a new chapter or scene starts. Your readers will get the general idea and appreciate getting straight to the plot that made them pick up your story in the first place.
Here are a few ideas to do this in just a few sentences:
One delayed flight and a bad airplane dinner later, I was walking out of the Amsterdam-Schiphol Airport with an aching back and excited heart.
My trip began with the perfect flight. I got an entire row of seats to myself, which made napping through the trip much easier. A flight attendant roused me awake when it was time to land. I couldn’t believe how fast I’d arrived in Athens that quickly.
My flight was just long enough to catch up on the movies I’d been missing over the last year. The landing gear bounced along the runway in Rome just as the Barbie credits started flashing across my iPad.
4. Showcase Some Confusion
Sometimes we aren’t aware of what time it is. We only know time has passed. That might be the best way to make time pass in your story if your protagonist gets confused, caught by surprise, or otherwise discombobulated.
These are some examples:
I woke up with a bad taste in my mouth. The sun was already peaking in the clear blue sky. How long had it been since my explosive video call with my ex the night before?
The time machine landed with a thud that knocked me to the ground. The control panel exploded in shimmering sparks. What year was it?
Working a double shift always left my brain spinning. I left work, walking across the parking lot with only the stars watching my back. I could feel the hours aching in my feet, but didn’t care what time it really was. I just needed to sleep.
5. Employ a Phrase
There are many quick phrases you can use to make your time jumps immediately clear. Consider using a few of these when you feel creatively stuck:
Later that morning
A few weeks later
After months of trying
Six hours later
The following week
As the store closed for the night
-----
There are many other ways to make time pass in a story. Starting with these could help you figure out the best way to move your story forward without disrupting its pacing. 
Remember, you’re in control of your story at all times. There’s always a way through creative challenges if you take a deep breath and try something new.
1K notes · View notes
adore-laur · 4 months
Text
MOTHER’S DAY
— a self-explanatory blurb from the dadrry universe 🌷
Tumblr media
——
Toss. Turn. Sigh. Repeat.
Postpartum anxiety kept hitting you in explosive bursts like crash cymbals. Intrusive worries about whether your newborn was breathing or not ruthlessly stormed your brain. Surging heart palpitations that ebbed and flowed like the ocean tide weren't helping your internally erratic state. 
She hadn't wailed those gut-wrenching cries in over an hour. It was a brief slot of time to catch up on your precious slumber, yet your melatonin was overrun by an influx of cortisol. Due to your ruptured sleep schedule, there was also a stinging sensation behind your eyelids. It felt like chlorine or lemon juice had seeped into your sockets ever since day and night swapped places. 
The speckled sky of stars trickled through the linen drapes, painting moonbeams on the bedroom carpet and walls. By the looks of it, you'd undoubtedly be awake to behold the moment they metamorphosed into golden rays of dawn. 
Heart thumping, stomach churning, and chest constricting, you surrendered your chance of a reposeful night of rest and silently slid out of bed. Harry was gently snoring on his side, facing away from you and dead to the world. Lucky him.
You padded over to the bassinet across the room. The moon made it visible enough to see the tiny bundle that was half you and half your husband sleeping there. Your trembling hand reached down and lightly rested on your daughter's belly. It had become a habit lately. Your eyes couldn't help but snap open in the middle of the night, the insomnia-induced anxiety getting you on your feet to check if the human you were responsible for was still alive. 
When you felt her fast breaths, relief immediately flooded your bloodstream. You stayed by her until you were at ease with the steady rise and fall of her chest, then eventually tucked yourself back under the covers and leaned against the headboard. You were wide awake now, and it seemed like it would be another all-nighter. Jealousy festered inside you because of Harry and how he could effortlessly sleep through the night without panic. He'd been so gracious with heaving himself out of bed and calming the baby whenever it was his turn, a true natural when you needed it most. And during those instances, you pretended to be asleep so you didn't worry him. It was hard enough soothing one agitated person, let alone two. 
The clock on the nightstand flicked from 2:36 to 2:37. You bit your fingernails to pass the time. The weight and warmth of Harry beside you pulled you back down to earth, reminding you that you weren't doing this on your own. He was cheering you on, on the same page, and loving you unconditionally. 
Almost as if he could hear your reeling thoughts about him, you heard his snores get cut short by a deep inhale before his hand subconsciously flopped against your thigh. Fatigued fingers felt around until his warm, heavy palm spread on your skin, giving it a tender squeeze. He then rolled onto his stomach with a raspy grunt and turned his head to face you. 
In the faint moonlight, puffy eyes and a drowsy smile said hello. They greeted you with a gentleness that washed away the burdensome stones on your chest. He made you feel calm. Just one glance at him was the only solace you needed. 
He was a tired, tired boy. Technically, he was a grown man, but moments like these revealed that he was just a boy adjusting to the wearing reality of parenthood.
"Sorry for waking you," you whispered, raking your fingers through his disheveled hair. It was still a little damp from his nightly shower. 
"Did I sleep through her cries?" Harry murmured hoarsely, his eyelids drooping until they shut again. 
"No. I just got up to check on her."
He hugged your leg like it was a pillow. "Why? What happened?" 
You could've lied. Or you could've given him what he always asked of you: the whole and honest truth. The latter was the wisest choice, considering he could read you like a family recipe. 
"I had to make sure she was breathing," you admitted. 
Harry was eerily quiet. You thought he might have fallen back asleep, but suddenly, the room illuminated in a yellow glow from the bedside lamp being switched on. It strained your vision for a few seconds, and after blearily blinking through it, you looked at Harry to find him sitting up with the silk sheets bunched around his waist. He yawned loudly, then scooted over to draw you into his body. A trace of citrus aftershave still lingered on his skin. 
"Can't sleep?" he asked, his lips moving against your temple. 
Your cheek melted on his warm, bare shoulder. "Ever since we brought her home, my anxiety has been eating me alive at night. I'm constantly worried about her, even when she's not crying." 
Harry planted chaste kisses on your face. Through slow, sleepy affection, he said, "She's okay. Nothing bad is going to happen." 
"You don't know that." 
"I know she's safe and sound, all snug in the bassinet six feet away from us." When you didn't respond, he added, "If you want, we can move it next to your side of the bed." 
You clutched his hand, loving the smoothness of his palm and how large it was compared to yours. "Can we? Please? I want her close just in case." 
Nodding, Harry brought your joined hands up to his mouth and kissed your knuckles. "Let's do it tomorrow so we don't wake her, yeah? We all need sleep right now." 
"Okay. Can you scratch my back? And talk to me?" 
"Of course, sweetheart. Turn around." 
You did, and it didn't take long for him to lift your shirt so his delicate fingers could stroke along the expanse of your back. Goosebumps spread everywhere as you sank deeper into the mattress. The way his touch could envelop you in a blanket of comfort was miraculous. 
"Your postpartum checkup is in a couple of weeks," Harry mentioned, his mellow voice quickly putting a sleep spell on you. "We'll talk to the doctor about everything that's been going on, okay?" He shifted on the bed. "Listen, I get scared too. All I want is to protect her. When she cries, I feel helpless. But we're learning, aren't we? We'll be professionals by the time we're four kids in." 
You couldn't squash the craziness of his last statement because distant dream waves finally carried you away and let you drift in calm waters for the first time in a long time. 
—— 
A serenade of songbirds awoke you the following morning. Then, it was a slight breeze coming from somewhere. You soon realized there was no familiar dip in the mattress next to you, no blazing hot skin glued to you, and no soft puffs of air against your neck. You firmly decided that you loathed the feeling of a cold and empty bed in the morning. 
Stretching until your joints cracked, you squinted from the blinding sunlight gloriously casting over the side of the bed you lay on. The clock displayed 9:04, which was the latest time you had slept in since your third trimester of pregnancy. On top of the clock was a piece of paper you didn't recall seeing yesterday, the type of paper on which you and Harry wrote grocery items on. The familiar handwriting of your husband, which was a tad illegible but endearing nonetheless, had you reaching out and plucking the note from its place. 
Happy Mother's Day. 
Meet me on the beach when you wake up. Baby has already been changed, fed, and everything in between. Sunday breakfast on the shore, made by yours truly, awaits you. 
I love you so much. Thank you for completing me. 
~ Harry 
It entirely slipped your mind that it was Mother's Day — your first one. You'd been too caught up in a whirlwind of emotions, trying to capture a peaceful moment. Needless to say, you didn't even know what day of the week it was sometimes. Apparently, today was worth celebrating. 
After freshening up and tying a robe around yourself, you trod down the staircase. The late spring weather engulfed your senses as the kitchen came into view. The shutters were swung open, letting in gleaming sunshine and a gentle wind that felt like a welcoming embrace. It lifted your spirits instantly and caused you to temporarily forget about last night's troubles. 
You ventured to the beach area, the sand under your uncovered feet enlivening your drained state. Once the ocean became visible, you quickly stumbled upon an unexpected surprise. Harry, the human epitome of sunshine, stood there holding a tray with a vase of blooming flowers, a cup of steaming tea, and breakfast foods such as a peeled clementine, poached eggs, and a golden-brown waffle drizzled with maple syrup. He was in his pinstriped pajamas with sunglasses covering his eyes. Behind him, your daughter lay in a portable baby dome that shielded her from the sunny sky. She was sleeping on her back, her limbs bent adorably. You didn't recall hearing her cry after you finally managed to doze off last night. 
Barefoot with a radiant smile dimpling his sun-kissed face, Harry met you halfway, setting the tray down on a nearby blanket spread out. His arms opened in invitation. You would have jumped in them if you had the energy, merely because his spontaneous thoughtfulness made you want to tackle him and never let him go—lovingly, of course. 
"Make way for the goddess," he said, taking his sunglasses off and eyeing you up and down. 
Makeup-less, half asleep, and moving at the sluggish speed of a sloth, you felt—and probably looked—far from a goddess. But when your husband looked at you like he wanted to eat you for breakfast instead, the tiniest flicker of confidence sparked inside of you. 
"Good morning," you greeted, smiling softly. 
Harry's hands instinctively splayed on your waist, his fingers digging into the cotton fabric of your robe. He was sporting a dopey expression, and you wondered if he got as little sleep as you did. 
Enduring delirious mornings with him had slowly become your favorite domestic kryptonite. When he'd crack ridiculous jokes amidst a quick, lazy round of sex before the baby interrupted, or when he would shuffle around the kitchen making an insufficient meal while accidentally putting the milk jug in the pantry out of pure exhaustion. 
"Let me guess," he said with an exhale, "you forgot it was Mother's Day?" 
You squeezed him tight and breathed in the faint smell of lavender fabric softener on his pajamas. "Can you blame me? I'm practically a zombie most days." You kissed him slowly, tasting the sweet and sticky syrup residue on his lips. "Mm, but thank you for everything. You take such good care of me." 
"Someone's gotta do it," he told you, earnestness lacing his words. 
"I'm trying, I really am. Motherhood is... very grueling." 
"I know, darling. Whatever you need, let me know, and I'll help as best I can." 
You touched his cheeks, absorbing the sun's heat that graced them. "I want to take care of you too. I notice how tired you are." 
He fell into deep thought, and after staring at you for a moment with his eyes dancing over your entire face, he said, "Let's bring back date nights. When was the last time we went out, just the two of us? We can get someone to babysit, then go out on the town like we used to." 
"Can part of our date night involve taking a nap?" you asked, propping your chin on his chest. 
Harry glanced down at you, his green irises clear and happy. "Absolutely." 
"Sounds like a plan." You laughed at its absurdity. How did we go from 'I can't wait to marry you' to 'I can't wait to nap with you'? What has parenting done to us?" 
He tilted his head with a lopsided grin. "It's made me fall in love with you all over again." 
"Even when there's spit-up on my clothes?" 
"Uh-huh," he said, locking you in his hold. "And when you're burping a cranky baby while eating your first meal of the day well past noon. And when you're breastfeeding while sending work emails, your hair unbrushed, and my shirt hanging off your body. There's nothing sexier." 
Truthfully, he wasn't joking around. And you knew that one day, you'd find simplistic beauty in those things as well. 
"I'm a real sight for sore eyes." 
Harry kissed your forehead, swaying you to the sound of the waves meeting the shore and then receding. "You have no idea." 
——
470 notes · View notes
lightsoutletsgo · 12 hours
Text
flowers are a language of their own — mv.1
pairing: max verstappen x reader word count: 4.2k warnings:  slight angst
four times max gives you flowers and the first time you reciprocate, a childhood friends to lovers oneshot this is basically inspired by gwen and for gwen 😭 @verstappen-cult once again thanking you for my max brain rot bc these conversations are just DOING something to me skskksjsj but MWAH! I hope you like it my love 🤍 happy reading! mimi
Tumblr media
i. daisies; new beginnings, innocence, cheerfulness (age 6) You hadn’t been at your new school very long, having moved to the town recently. You’d struggled with making new friends, the new language making things even more difficult. But this had really ruined your day. Your bottom lip jutted out and began to wobble as you looked at your drawing you’d spent the whole morning perfecting before tidy-up time. What had once been a beautiful explosion of scribbled crayon colours across one page now lay in two halves. It was more than your poor six year old brain could handle and so you immediately burst into tears. Wailing and sobbing, your teacher hurried over to see what the issue was. Between gasping inhales and snotty sobs you pointed to your crumpled torn drawing. She picked it up and turned to address the class of wild six year olds, “Alright class, does anybody know what happened to Y/N’s picture?” Your teacher’s voice was gentle, “You won’t be in trouble but our friend is very sad so we need to apologise and make it right okay?” Your bottom lip wobbled as your sniffles quietened a little and a small voice could be heard from the back of the classroom, “I didn’t mean to!” A small boy stepped forwards, bright blonde hair with blue eyes and you glared at him. He looked down at the floor as he awkwardly scuffed his shoe against the carpet. The teacher approached him and crouched down, “Thank you for being honest Max… Can you come and say sorry?” He nodded and took the teacher’s hand as she lead him over to you, “I’m sorry…” His apology was accented by a slight lisp and you frowned, arms crossing in front of your chest. “Thank you Max, Y/N? Max said it was an accident and that he’s sorry okay?” You let out a slight ‘hmmph’ as the teacher straightened up at the sound of the lunch bell. Max was quick to run out of the classroom with his friends but you plodded behind the group, still sad about your artwork. 
You grabbed your lunchbox from your locker and looked for a chair in the lunch hall. Spotting your favourite yellow chair you couldn’t help but gasp as your little legs headed over as fast as they could carry you. You sat down and opened your lunchbox, legs swinging under the table. You’d barely taken two bites of your sandwich before a boy approached the table. You looked up and saw Max standing there, his hands behind his back. “I’m sorry I broke your drawing.” Max did his best to speak so you’d understand.  “‘S fine.” You grumbled, annoyed he was talking to you. Six year old you could really hold a grudge… His cheeks tinted pink as he removed his hands from behind his back to hold out a small bunch of daisies he’d clearly picked from the playing field. Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped open. “Here, for you…” He took a step closer and you held your hand out for him to gently place the flowers in your palm. Your eyes looked at him and you noticed how his knees were slightly muddy and there was a streak of dirt on his cheek. You giggled and he beamed back at you, you suddenly felt very shy,
“D-do you want to sit here?” You patted the seat next to you, “We can eat lunch together?” Max nodded, racing off to grab his lunchbox. He dashed back and sat next to you, unzipping his lunchbag to compare the contents with yours. “Are we going to be friends Max?” He nodded enthusiastically, taking your hand in his, “Mhmm! Best friends Y/N! So you can call me Maxie!” 
ii. yellow amaryllis; pride, happiness, strength, determination (age 18) “Smile!” You stood with your friends, taking pictures in your graduation gowns and giggling together. But your heart panged, something - or rather someone - was missing from your day. Your eyes scanned the hall, desperately looking for a familiar blonde head. Despite knowing he was currently halfway round the world at a Grand Prix, “Boo!” A hand covered your eyes and a grin spread across your face at the familiar voice, “Maxie!” Turning around, you jumped into his arms and he laughed out loud, “Easy there bug!” You could hear your friends and family laughing and taking pictures of the two of you behind you but you still didn’t pull away, too embarrassed to let anyone see that you had tears welling up in your eyes. “I didn’t think you’d be able to make it…” Max squeezed you a little tighter, “I left as soon as the race was over, there was no way I was missing this!” You pulled back and he wiped the tear that had slipped down your cheek. He let go of you and extended his arm towards you, holding out a beautiful bouquet of yellow amaryllis flowers, complete with yellow and white ribbons. 
“Max,” you gasped “they’re so beautiful!” he nudged your shoulder with his, “Hey, you deserve it. They stand for pride, strength, happiness and determination.” “Determination” You spoke at the same time, finishing the sentence together. His eyes stared at you so adoringly, you felt like you couldn’t catch your breath. The moment was broken by your parents urging you to stand together for a picture. “What a beautiful couple!” You heard a teacher say as they walked past, “Oh no we’re not-” “Me and him? No way-” Both you and Max spoke over each other, completely missing the knowing looks your friends and family all gave each other. You couldn’t help the fresh wave of giggles that overtook you as Max pulled you into his side. You could have sworn that for the briefest of seconds, butterflies took flight in your stomach but you quickly brushed it off, blaming it on the excitement of the day. 
iii. - yellow roses; friendship | bluebells; comfort (age 22) Max couldn’t deny the way that panic flashed through his entire body when he answered your call and heard nothing but your sobs on the other end. “Maxie!” You hiccuped, “Y/N? What happened? Are you okay?” He stood up, not caring that he was interrupting an important team meeting. His alarm grew even more when your only response was to cry even harder. He looked back at the group of people sat around the conference table, “I’m sorry but it’s a family emergency, I have to go.” He raced down the corridor and poked the elevator button far more times than was necessary. “Talk to me bug… I can’t help if you don’t explain what’s going on.” “He cheated Max! I went to his place and he was in bed with my roommate.” Max felt a weird combination of calm and anger wash over him at the same time. Calm because he knew you were safe and anger because who the fuck did your boyfriend, well ex-boyfriend, think he was? Fuck the elevator, Max headed for the stairs, wanting to get to his car and book a flight to you as soon as possible. “Oh Y/N…” “Said he only did it because he knew that I’d been cheating on him with you.” You heard Max scoff, “God he’s so fucking dumb Y/N… I never really liked him, you know that right? You’ve always been too good for him…” You heard Max sigh on the other end of the line and you curled up into an even smaller ball in your bed, pulling Max’s hoodie up even more as your nose inhaled the comforting scent of him, 
“Can we move to facetime? Just wanna see you.” You choked out and he obliged, quickly filling your request. Max felt his heart breaking as he looked at you in your bed. “Hey! Is that my hoodie, bug?” You nodded with a sniffle as he did his best to cheer you up even just a little, “Traitor! You told me you didn’t know where it had gone…” A watery smile spread across your face. “Look, I’m gonna come see you okay?” You sat upright and stared at him hard, “Max Emilian Verstappen, you cannot do that! You have important meetings this week.” “Ooo full name?” He hissed through his teeth, “I am in trouble.” You shook your head at him, “You’re incorrigible.” “Big words we’re using today hmm?” You flipped him off and he laughed, “I’ll be there soon, bug okay?” You nodded and he smiled at you once more, “Just hang in there for a little longer.” He ended the call and immediately your smile dropped. In those brief few seconds you’d forgotten why you’d even called him in the first place. But now in the quiet of your apartment, the sad feelings crept up once more, smothering you and dragging you down. 
You weren’t sure when you’d fallen asleep the night before, but the combination of the doorbell ringing and the knocking on the door jolted you awake. Rushing to the front door, you threw it open, still slightly disorientated from your rude awakening, “Hey bug.” “Maxie!” You felt wide awake staring at Max who now stood on your doorstep, a warm smile across his face. You immediately felt like bursting into tears once more and Max was quick to see that, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you as he rested his head on top of yours. “It’s okay bug,” you felt him press a kiss to the top of your head, “I got you.” He waddled with you in his arms, through your doorway and into the hallway to close the door and give you some privacy. As he held you, he felt his heart race a little, thinking how he would never make you or let you cry like that if you were his girl - wait what? Now was not the time to be thinking about those kinds of things! Max held you until your sobbing had quietened down again, “Sorry,” you sniffed all snotty and he just poked your nose and laughed gently, “It’s okay Y/N.” His hand gently rubbed your arm as he watched you take a few deep breaths to compose yourself, “Here.” He pulled a somewhat squished bouquet of flowers out of what seemed like nowhere, “Sorry, they got a little uhhh… too involved in the hug?” You let out a breath of laughter and took them from him, a finger gently tracing the petals, “Yellow roses? For friendship right?” Max nodded with a smile, “Yellow roses, because I’m always gonna be your best friend who has your back and bluebells because they��re comforting.” You couldn’t help the way your heart clenched hearing his words. It seemed that Max not only bought you flowers often but he even thought of the meaning of what he was buying. For some reason, the thought had those pesky flutters appearing in your stomach but you quickly reprimanded yourself and shook them off. You hadn’t even broken up with your ex for more than 24 hours yet, but here you were thinking about Max romantically? You shook your head, that was a line you could never think of crossing, no matter how much it seemed to be crossing your mind more and more the older you got. 
iv. pink tulips; perfect love, affection (now) Now that you were living in Monaco, not too far from Max, movie nights were a common occurrence, with evenings being split between your apartment and his. Food would be ordered and wine would be drunk, movies would be played but barely watched as the two of you would end up talking into the night and continue long after the credits had finished rolling. If there was one thing you could count on Max for, it was his promptness and so when the clock read seven o’clock exactly, you knew it would only be a matter of seconds before you heard his footsteps down the hallway to your apartment. You were proven correct as Max let himself into your apartment, calling out as he did so, “Hey bug! It’s just me!” “In the living room!” You called back, smiling as he appeared in the doorway, holding something behind his back, “What have you got there hmm?” Max’s smile wavered for a second and you frowned, sitting up on the couch, “Max?” He exhaled and bit his lip nervously, “Maxie?” You tried again much more softly, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, “I’m about to say something and…” He sighed, “I just want you to let me finish okay?” You nodded confused as he came to sit next to you, holding out a bouquet of pink tulips as he did so. You felt yourself gasp as you stared at the flowers, admiring the pretty wrapping and how the ribbon matched the flowers. You wracked your brain as you stared, desperately trying to recall the meaning, Max always gave flowers with meaning. Appreciation? No, apology? Nope not that... No. It couldn’t be? Could it? “Affection?” You didn’t even realise you’d spoken the word out loud but a sharp inhale from Max was enough to tell you he’d heard you. Your eyes shot up to his face and noticed he wouldn’t even look at you, instead choosing to gently trace over the bouquet ribbon, “Yes.” His cheeks were pink and you could have sworn you stopped breathing. It was silent in your apartment. The only noise coming from the traffic outside and the thump of your neighbour as their work boots clunked over the floor before their door slammed. The noise pulled you out of your silence as you stared at Max, “What did you just say?” Max finally dared to look up as he gazed into your eyes, “Pink tulips, affection, perfect l…” “Perfect what?” There was no way he was going to say what you thought he was going to say… “Perfect love.” You stood up from the couch, immediately pacing back and forth as your hands started to fumble together, “Max…” You breathed, finally stopping to look at him sat staring at you. “Okay so this is the part where I need you to listen…” You let out a laugh of disbelief but said nothing as he swallowed, hands nervously rubbing the legs of his jeans. “I like you.” You froze as he continued, “I like you and I think I honestly have for a while… I know that this might not be the best time to tell you but I just can’t keep kidding myself anymore. The feelings I have for you? They’re not things I would be feeling if you were just a best friend to me Y/N. God I think I always knew it was you… From the day I ruined your drawing and then when I surprised you at your graduation… And then that horrific breakup,” You both winced, “I swore then that I would never let you cry over another man like that again. Because I wanted to be the only man that you had from then on.” Your lips parted as a nervous exhale left you. He stopped his rambling, panting slightly as he looked at you, “If you have anything to say, now would be a good time to say it…” You looked at him. Max, your Max. The boy that had been there for you through everything, your best friend.
“No…” You whispered out, your own heart breaking at your words, “I can’t…” Max looked absolutely crushed, “No?” His voice was quiet, “Why?” You shrugged, bottom lip trembling, “I can’t risk losing you.” Max scoffed, “Losing me?” “What if we break up hmm? You’re telling me we would be able to go back to being best friends like nothing ever happened? What if it doesn’t work hmm?” Max shook his head as your spoke, “You think I would say this to you if I didn’t think it would work?” “I-I… I don’t know!” You exclaimed as Max stood up, “You won’t even try?” “I’m too scared to Max…” He nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets as you stared at him, “I’m so sorry.” You whispered, “Me too.” he said before turning and walking out. The door hadn’t even closed behind him before you’d collapsed to the floor, your legs giving out. You’d never cried so hard because of him before. Not when he’d ripped your drawing, not when he'd surprised you at graduation, not even when he’d held you after your breakup. 
You stared at the pink tulips as they lay on your couch, their bright happy hopeful colour taunting you. You stalked over to them and picked them up, heading straight to the trash, pulling your arm back to throw them away but you found yourself physically unable to do it. 
i. flowers are a language of their own You weren’t sure whether it was convenient or not that Max had a double header after that conversation. Usually you would spam him while he was away and he would pick things up when he could. Often late at night in his hotel bed, a goofy grin plastered across his face as he opened your fit pics and food diary pics of the day, reading through your spam about work, friends and cute cats you’d spotted on the street.
But this time there had been nothing. From either of you. It had been strange and hurtful. You sighed as you checked your phone again for the millionth time that day, already knowing there would be no new notifications from him. Why would there be? The guy you liked had confessed to you and you’d broken his heart because you were too scared he’d break yours. Groaning you dropped your head to the kitchen counter, thumping your forehead against it a few times in the hope of gaining some sense of clarity. It didn’t work. You sighed and stood up straight. You were still kicking yourself for shutting him down so quickly. Yes, he was your Maxie, your best friend, but wasn’t that the point? He knew you so well, he cared for you and loved you, in whatever capacity. He would never intentionally hurt you. You couldn’t lie to yourself, there had been a continuous pull in your stomach and a slight ache in your chest the longer you went without talking to him. You knew if you could do the situation over again you would give a completely different answer. You didn’t want him to break your heart but now you had lost him completely. 
Your head shot up as a plan began to form in your head. Grabbing your phone you looked up plane tickets for the country you knew Max was in at the moment. You knew things would be tricky without his help and you didn’t even know if it would work out, but for him you had to try. Selecting your seat you rushed to pack a bag, noticing how the now dry and dead tulips still lay on your bedroom vanity, the pink now much less vibrant and tinged with brown. Your stomach flipped and you hoped to god it would all work out. You knew which hotel the team usually stayed at when they were racing in that specific country and so after making a quick stop you headed straight there, planning to just wait until you were spotted by someone from the team who recognised you and took pity on you. You didn’t have to wait long as one of Max’s race engineers was exiting the building just as your taxi pulled up. Clambering out of the vehicle as you spotted him, he smiled and waved, “Hey! Didn’t know you were coming this weekend? Max usually says something.” “Ah,” you shuffled awkwardly, not wanting to give anything away about your strained relationship, “it’s a surprise!” His eyes widened and he grinned at you knowingly, especially when he spotted what you carried in your arms. “Well… Seeing as it’s you, I’ll give you his room number.” After obtaining the information you needed you thanked him and headed inside, getting on the elevator and pressing the button for his floor as you thanked whatever higher powers there were that so far the plan was working. As the bell dinged for your floor you gulped, a whole new wave of nerves and anxiety washing over you. What if he didn’t want to see you? What if he got angry with you and sent you away? But what if he heard you out? Oh crap, what were you gonna say? 
Through your internal rambling, you had somehow managed to walk to his door and now you stood frozen. Unable to knock and unable to move. Swallowing the lump in your throat you knocked the door gently. You heard a crash and then a curse in Dutch came from inside and you winced. Oh god, if he was already in a bad mood… This wouldn’t help. The door swung open and a tired looking Max stood there. Dressed in cosy sweatpants and navy hoodie, no logos in sight but still fitting his team colours. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of you in front of him.  “Y/N?” You gave the softest of smiles nervously, “Hi Maxie.”
You weren’t sure what you’d expected when you saw him. You’d thought about how he might yell or cry or get mad or slam the door in your face but you certainly hadn’t expected him to grab your arms and pull you into a hug, burying his face in your neck, “Fuck, I missed you so much I’m so sorry…” You sniffled, pulling back and looking at him, “Why are you sorry?! I’m sorry! I never should have doubted you-” “I never should have pressured you-” “You didn’t! I never should have jumped to conclusions about how things would end. God. It’s been so miserable without you…” You noticed his eyes growing tearful. “Here, come in.” He gently pulled you into the room and closed the door behind you. Your eyes swept the room and zeroed in on an object on his bed, “Is that my t-shirt?” You asked incredulously, mouth gaping at him slightly as he rushed to shove it in his suitcase, “N-no!” “Max Emilian…” Your voice was low, “M-maybe…” You gave him a pointed stare and he relented, “Okay yes fine it is.” He sighed, “I found it at my apartment that night when I got back and… I just… I didn’t have you and it was the closest thing…” He trailed off, sitting on the bed. You padded across the room to take a seat next to him, one hand gently rubbing his back, “I know Maxie… Me too.” His head rested on your shoulder and you inhaled shakily, it was now or never. 
You looked back across the room at where your things lay in the entrance. You stood up and made your way over, picking up what you needed before turning back to him with your arms behind your back. “I’m about to say something…” His head shot up to look at you, “and I need you to let me finish.” You gave him a tearful smile and he swore he felt his breathing quicken as you practically echoed his words from a few weeks ago. You approached him and offered him the bouquet from behind your back. He stared at it for a moment before his eyes flicked up to look at yours.
“Red roses?” You nodded, unable to keep looking at him - partly shy and partly terrified of his answer, until he gently held your chin and tilted your head up to meet his gaze once more, “Red roses.” “You know what they mean don’t you?” “I picked them for a reason.” He stood up and gently took them from you, one hand sliding round your waist to pull you into him, “Baby’s breath?” “Baby’s breath.” You looked down, breathing your answer as his face got closer to yours. “Is this your speech then?” You let out a breath, “I figured I would let the flowers speak for themselves, god knows you’ve been doing it long enough.”
His lips were practically on yours and it took everything in you to keep standing as his next words were brushed against your lips, “Is this your answer then?” You nodded, “No schat, please… Let me hear you say it…” His eyes closed as he felt your shuddering breath, “Yes, Max. Yes, I want to try with you, I love you and that’s enough to tell me we should try-” Any further words you had were cut off by Max’s lips meeting yours. His grip around your waist tightened, the flowers sliding from his other hand to the floor as he gently cupped your face, thumb rubbing back and forth across your cheek. You couldn’t help the way you smiled against his lips and he laughed at the feeling, the two of you giggling and grinning between kisses like the lovesick idiots you were. 
Red roses; declaration of love, Baby’s breath; eternal love.   
367 notes · View notes