#and almost died twice this session

[parasite-core]

A vargouille is one of the first monsters I ever fought in pathfinder nearly a decade ago. My ranger Vespa shot it through the mouth and it died before it could do any real damage.

The next time I fought a vargouille, it got smashed into a door like an egg.

Tonight my PC got paralyzed straight out of the door against a vargouille and almost died to its transformative kiss.

Oh how the turn tables.

[starbymoss]

I fucking love DnD

[trashytracktales]

Girl i need. NEED. Lando and reader sneaking out of their own wedding to fuck. i can’t get it out of my head pls pls pls pls.

like imagine himmmm: obsessed with how she looks, can’t stop being handsy and touchy and always looking for kisses and attention that at some point he drags her in some bathroom and gets under her massive bridal skirt AAAASSAASNFHDJS i can’t pls pls make it happen 😭😭

5 minutes. 7, tops | LN⁴

☁️ summary ──── Lando has never been the one to resist her. And on their wedding day, when she looks the most beautiful he’s ever seen her, wrapped in white and glowing just for him, he doesn’t even try.

☁️ pairing ──── Lando Norris x Wife!Reader

☁️ rating ──── explicit

☁️ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, dirty talk, swearing, banter and emotional intimacy, smut, semi-public, brief fingering & oral ─ (f)receiving, teasing, possessiveness, unprotected (bathroom) sex.

☁️ word count ──── 4.2k

☁️ date ──── Jun. 22, 2025

☁️ a/n ──── Based on this ask, this os was highly requested for some reason, so take a slice until I find a way to finish the other 5 I started 🫴🏻🍰

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” a voice cuts through the air, loud and vibrating with excitement. “For the first time ever, I have the honor to present you: Mr. and Mrs. Norris!”

A set of double doors at the back of the hall swing open, and a wave of applause and cheers rolls forward as the newly married couple appears in sight.

Lando is holding her hand tightly, like he has no plans of letting go ever again. He looks like a fairytale, wearing a tailored black suit with clean lines down the legs, the kind of cut that says money but doesn’t scream it. His shirt is a stark white beneath, the collar buttoned all the way up, his tie coordinating perfectly with her dress without being too much. There’s a hidden message in those seemingly small choices that might go unnoticed. But they say more than words ever could. No loosened collar means a man who knows exactly who he belongs to, and the matching tie means that, from now on, every step is made with her in mind.

His smile is blinding, spreading all over his face and lighting his features with happiness. He’s not smiling for the crowd or cameras, but for her. His eyes keep flicking sideways to catch hers like he still can’t believe this is real.

“Let’s go, Landooo!” someone shouts, making the guests laugh, and his smile blooms even further.

They walk in perfect harmony toward the center of the room, surrounded by clapping and whistles, artificial fog and confetti, and her dress molds softly against her legs as they move, his steps steady and sure, despite the fact that on the inside, Lando already fainted three times, received CPR twice, and died once.

They reach the dance floor, and as the first notes of their song begin to play, everything shifts. The noise drops off almost instantly, the crowd falling silent, while the lights dim just a little. The music fills the room with something much heavier than melody just as Lando places a hand on her waist, fingers brushing the fabric of her dress. Her back fits perfectly against his palm, and when she gazes up at him with those eyes that still make his heart skip more than one beat, lips curling into a smile that’s been haunting his thoughts ever since the day he’s met her, Lando is gone.

Her dress glimmers, hugging her curves like it was crafted for the sole purpose of undoing him. And truth is, it was.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, starting to guide her in the steps they’ve been practicing for months now. It became muscle memory, carved into quiet mornings before he left for work or rehearsed in his driver’s room between practice sessions; they’ve been stealing moments whenever they could, and now everything blends together effortlessly, like it was always meant to lead here.

She giggles, blushing a little but enjoying the way his voice drops when he’s being honest. Honest and absolutely in love with her.

“Don’t you have other lines, Mr. Norris?” she teases, eyes sparkling under her curled lashes.

He leans in, lips slightly brushing her ear. “Not unless you want to show everyone in here how you melt if I say something else,” he replies under his breath.

She looks at him again, emboldened by the intimacy in his words. “Like what?” she challenges him.

Lando’s jaw clenches. He spins her slowly, her dress fanning out, revealing just enough leg to make his vision blur. When she lands back in his arms, her chest presses against him, and he hisses softly.

“For starters, your boobs look insane in that corset,” he says, eyes flicking down for the briefest second.

She exhales a soft sigh, half scandalized, half thrilled, her fingers tightening around his shoulder.

“It’s torture,” adds Lando, his mouth hovering dangerously close to hers. “I was hard the second you walked down that aisle.”

The girl finally gasps, eyes darting to his. “Lando.”

“I’m so serious, baby,” he insists, laughing softly. “It hasn’t let up. I don’t know how I’m supposed to wait ‘til we get home,” he punctuates it with a look so intense that her knees nearly give out. She clutches his shoulder firmly, her pulse slowly rising, everything below her waist aching at the thought. “I just want to fuck my wife.”

Well, shit.

The word echoes in her head like church bells, giving her chills all over her body — wife, wife, wife! She loves the way he says it, like it’s something he’s earned. She melts further into his frame, their bodies brushing in a way far too suggestive for the room full of people watching them.

She lifts her chin, brushing her nose against his in the barest tease of affection. “You’re not the only one suffering, you know,” she whispers, her lips grazing his. “I’ve been a mess since I saw you in this tux,” she continues, smoothing the material with her palms sliding down his chest. “My husband looks like sex.”

Lando lets out a high-pitched chuckle. “Shoot me in the balls, it would hurt less.”

“I really appreciate the visuals,” she laughs in return.

He twirls her once more, slower this time, his eyes never leaving her. When she lands back in his arms, her back arches just slightly, pressing her breasts against his chest. It’s easy to feel the shift in him, and how his fingers tighten around every part of her body that he’s touching.

As the song is coming to an end, Lando’s hand slides up to her throat, holding her there. Her breath catches right away, but he doesn’t wait for permission. He already got it the moment she said yes to him in fornt of their families, friends, and the entire world. So he crashes his mouth to hers, putting up a show for everyone, without shame. It’s not the delicate kind of kiss people expect during a first dance. It’s months of tension and restraint, and the thrill of calling her his wife unleashed all at once. Her fingers curl into the lapels of his suit, so dizzy that she can barely hear the music anymore. But she feels it in the way their bodies sway together, the way the room goes still again, before the crowd erupts in wild applause.

Just as the final chord fades out, his lips leave hers, bringing her back to reality.

“Should we dip?” asks Lando, staring at her with a subtle look.

She arches a brow, grinning. “Dip?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs with a slight tilt of his head, completely serious despite the smirk. “Sneak out. Just for a bit.”

Her eyes widen. “We can’t leave our own wedding, Lando. We literally just got here.”

He smiles, leaning in closer, voice laced with enough honey to make her swoon. “Come on,” he insists. “Just a quickie in the bathroom,” his lips touch her cheek gently as he speaks, “We’ll be five minutes. No one’s gonna notice.”

She pulls back to shoot him a questionable look. “Five minutes?”

Lando rolls his eyes. “Alright. Seven, tops,” he says.

Her pulse is jumping wildly as she presses a hand to his chest, half to hold him back, half to steady herself. “Baby, our parents are here.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “As if we didn’t go at it in my childhood bedroom with my mum watching The Crown across the hall,” says Lando in a casual voice, studying her face. “What?”

“You’re such an idiot,” she says, fighting to hide a smile.

In response, Lando lifts his left hand to her eye level. “Your idiot,” he reminds her, pointing at the ring on his finger. “Forever.”

The girl shakes her head. “Your point?” she asks.

Lando grins. “I’ll make it fast, darling,” he assures her, his hand sliding around her waist, fingers pressing into the small of her back. “I’ll be in and out. Like, literally”

“So romantic,” she says sarcastically. “My husband, everybody!”

Just then, the voice of the wedding planner cuts in again, echoing through the mic like a divine intervention, “Now that the dance floor is officially heated up,” she calls cheerfully, “We’d love for all of you to join the lovely couple and let’s get this party started!”

She hesitates. For just a second, and that second is all he needs. He sees the flicker in her eyes, the war between logic and lust and, luckily, he knows her too well to know exactly which one’s winning this time.

With a playful wink, he intertwines his fingers with hers and gives her hand a gentle, insistent tug. “Come on, Mrs. Norris.”

As they weave through the crowd, hands still clasped tightly, guests stop them every few steps, offering hugs and heartfelt congratulations. They smile, nod, thank everyone politely, but there’s a quiet urgency in their movements, a shared look between them like they’re trying not to be swept up in the chaos. If they could melt into the walls unnoticed, they would, but right now, all they want is to be alone.

For just five minutes. Seven, tops.

The second they disappear around the corner, his hand is already on her waist, pressing her back into the wall beside the bathroom door. His mouth finds hers again as hot as earlier, pulling soft whimpers out of her.

The bathroom is nothing short of extravagant, like everything else at this wedding. Soft golden sconces glow against marble, casting a warm light that reflects off the tall mirrors lining on the walls. The sinks are sculpted from polished stone, ivory and veined with gold, with delicate faucets that look more like something made by Michelangelo than plumbing. Plush white hand towels are rolled perfectly beside trays of expensive perfumes and colognes. Everything sparkles, and it smells like luxury: jasmine, sweet vanilla, and a hint of champagne.

They stumble through the door like they’re drunk, her giggles breathless and lips kiss-bitten, while Lando spins her gently and backs her toward the counter. Her body presses to the edge, dress fanning out as she leans back whithout resistence. Then her leg slips out from the slit in her gown, forcing Lando to drop to his knees immediately, as if pulled by gravity.

He shoots her one look, with dark eyes and puffy lips from all the kissing. His hands trail slowly up her thighs, parting them delicately, then pulling her panties down. The white of her dress pools around his shoulders, brushing against his cheeks and collar, framing him in folds of pearlescent fabric.

Her mouth goes dry at the sight of him; he looks angelic between her legs, surrounded by pure white, but when his tongue touches her, there’s nothing holy about it.

Lando groans the second his mouth finds her folds, his hot tongue lapping confident strokes that make her head tip back against the mirror with a dull thud. He said quickie, but doesn’t rush. He tastes her like he’s savoring the first gulp of water after the Singapore Grand Prix, and hearing her silent moans only makes him thirstier.

“Lan…” she whines, fingers tangling in his curls.

He smiles against her skin, already pulling back, lips wet and glistening. “You are a fucking dream,” he tells her. “Such a mess f’me, you don’t even need prepping.”

He’s up in a blink of an eye, lips brushig her jaw so lightly that she’s sure she imagined it, until Lando cups her face gently, thumb brushing her cheek as he tilts her chin up, searching for her eyes. The warmth of his other hand slides back between her legs, fingers sliding through slick heat. All he gives her is just a couple of slow pumps, the kind meant to tease and announce their presence, not satisfy. His eyes stay locked on hers the whole time, reading every shift of her breath like it’s a private language only he understands.

“You like being sneaky so much that you’re dripping already, hm?”

She’s trembling, thighs closing around his wrist. “No,” the girl lies.

Lando hisses. “No?” he shakes his head, laughing softly. “I think you like knowing they’re all out there celebrating us, while you’re in here soaking my fingers.”

He’s well aware of the effect he has on her; always were. He knows all it takes is just a little look, and she’s done for. It’s a power he’s been taking advantage of countless times in the past, but this time, he uses it almost like a gentle reminder. While maintaing that look, he unbuckles his belt with the other hand, the soft clink echoing in her head like choir of angels. Then, he unzips with practiced urgency, pushing his pants and briefs down just enough to free himself.

And she realizes that Lando was nothing but honest, as usual.

His cock is already hard and flushed, the head swollen, leaking slightly at the tip. He wraps his hand around the base with a quiet hiss through his teeth, dragging it once down his length. He keeps his other hand working between her legs in the meantime, coaxing her higher with every stroke.

“See what my wife does to me?” he asks rhetorically, then slows, easing his fingers out with maddening care, watching her with a knowing gaze.

She can barely breathe at this point.

Deftly, Lando’s hands land on her hips, hiking her dress up her waist, until white silk bunches around them, revealing the heated skin beneath. He hooks one of her legs up over his waist, angling her until her core presses right against him. He knows it was the perfect choice, because her back arches in an instant, and breath starts stuttering when she feels the head of his cock sliding through her folds, catching on her clit and dipping back down, spreading her wetness over both of them.

The skin-on-skin contact makes her whimper in anticipation.

“My pretty liar,” she says, making Lando puff out a sigh. She lets out a shaky breath, body already aching, but the longer he lingers, the more her frustration bubbles up. Her fingers grip his jaw, forcing him to look at her. “You said five minutes,” she whispers, eyes narrowed but glittering. “And now you’re playing games?”

His jaw clenches as he pushes forward, just enough for the head to catch against her entrance. Then, continuing to hold her gaze, he thrusts in. All the way.

Lando chokes on a breath. “I said seven, tops,” he defends himself.

He stills inside, eyes closing for a moment, brain gone entirely blank at the feeling of her, as if it’s the first time. Her pussy grips him tight, warm and slick and perfect and his, and for a second, all he can do is focus on his breathing. No coherent thoughts, no words, just the mind-shattering realization that he’s buried inside his wife.

Each breath is punctuated by the slow beginning of his hips rolling, starting to move, dragging his cock against her walls again and again, as if trying to relearn every inch of her from the inside out.

She’s maddening around him, her body molding to his like it was made for him to hold. In his selfishness, Lando actually believes she was. Because it’s not just the physical. It’s everything that bonded them over time. And now, it’s the weight of the ring on her hand as it clutches at his shoulder. The way she gasps his name like it’s the only word she knows. The look in her eyes that says, I’m only yours.

His breath gets shallow and unsteady in a way she’s never heard him before. Like Lando’s unraveling in real time, coming apart at the seams just from being inside her. And she moves with him, meeting every thrust with the same need. Her nails scrape gently down the back of his head, then dig in when he shifts just right, making her entire body shiver in response.

“Mine,” he chokes on the words, thrusts slowing for a heartbeat as if to savor it, while she hums in pleasure. “Feel how wet you are? That’s all me, yeah?”

She nods, but it’s not enough. She turns her head, mouth finding his jaw, his neck, trying to stay anchored in the moment while her body rocks with his. “Always you, my love,” she replies, sounding like she’s on the verge of despair.

His laugh is breathless, like she’s just broken something open inside him. “Fuck, I won’t last. Two minutes,” he informes her. “Dropped to two minutes.”

She laughs, too. But his next thrust is harder, less controlled, making her cry out instead, all needy and high-pitched. She gasps his name, fingers clawing at the lapels of his tuxedo jacket as his hips continue to move in earnest, thrusting into her with a delicious rhythm. She fumbles with the tie and buttons, trying to peel the fabric from his shoulders, craving more of his heat and skin and the way his muscles flex every time he slams forward. But Lando’s pace only increases, and it ruins her effort.

His jacket slips halfway off, one sleeve hanging limp from his arm, the other clinging stubbornly to his shoulder. He can’t stop. The sight of her like this, with her legs spread, dress hitched up, and soft body pulling him in with every thrust has obliterated every ounce of patience he had left.

“Fucking, fuck,” he growls, burying his face in her neck. His mouth presses a small kiss there, but his lips twitch with restraint, the need to mark her thrumming violently through him.

“Don’t,” she warns, knowing every filthy thought that’s ever crossed Lando’s mind.

“Please,” he whines. “Let them know I fucked you in the bathroom at our own wedding.”

Her voice trembles as she moans loudly, her arms locking around his shoulders, pulling him in closer. Her back arches off the counter, hips meeting his, as her body folds to the rhythm.

“You’re already fucking up my wedding dress,” she gasps, breath hot in his ear. “Trust me, baby. They’ll know.”

Lando pulls back to look at her, sweat beading at his temple, a gremlin-like smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s the only time you’re wearing it anyway.”

After that, his hands clamp down on her waist, firm to fuck her harder, burying himself to the hilt with each movement. She cries out, head falling on his shoulder, completely unraveling for him as her slick walls tighten around his cock. Her body clings to him in every possible way, shaking with the promise of release, and all Lando can do is just hold on, driven by the feel of her, the sound of her, the truth of what they are now.

Husband and wife. And so completely owned by each other.

Her body is ready to give up under his force, every inch of her strung tight with need, already teetering on the edge. Her hair’s falling in messy waves around her flushed face, eyes glassy as she encourages him to take her harder.

Fueled by her demand, Lando does exactly as he’s told.

“My wife.”

Thrust.

“Mine.”

Thrust.

“Making me go crazy.”

Thrust-thrust-thrust.

His words slam into her as hard as his hips do, leaving her gasping, dazed, dizzy. And wanting more. She lets out a string of moans, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket still stubbornly clinging to his shoulder. Her entire world feels like it’s collapsing around the rhythm of his body and the ragged devotion in his voice.

“You have no idea,” he grunts, “How fucking excited I am to fuck you like this for the rest of our lives.”

“I might have a few ideas,” she replies. “Especially if this is you before our wedding night. What’re you gonna do when I’m wearing nothing but your last name and asking for more?” she asks, tilting her hips enough to make him feel the shift. “Think you can keep up with me, husband?”

A guttural noise tears from his throat as he slams into her faster, chasing the release like it’s his lifeline. Their bodies slap together with wet sounds, the soft rustle of her dress and the quiet creak of the counter drowned beneath their wild breathing.

“That answers your question, eh?”

“Shit. Yes. Fuck,” she replies. “Lando,” the girl pants, mouth brushing his.

And then she breaks. Her orgasm hits fast and hard, her thighs shaking, body trembling as she cries out, voice echoing off the walls of his skull. But before she can fully scream, Lando covers her mouth with his, swallowing the sound.

Their kiss is messy and soaked in panting breaths and wet lips, and with her convulsing in pleasure beneath him, is too much for Lando to hold back. He thrusts deep once, twice, then groans into her mouth as he spills all his love and lust inside her. The blinding sensation knocks the air from his lungs, their bodies shaking together as they fall apart and hold each other through it.

Trying to catch her breath, her cheek rests against his shoulder, arms wrapped loosely around his back, one of her legs still hooked around his waist. His hands stay firm on her hips, not wanting to let go, still inside her, connected, and in no rush to move, because time doesn’t exist in this little corner of their universe.

But a few moments later, Lando lifts his gaze, catching sight of them in one of the tall mirrors. The reflection hits him hard: his dark curls are pointing in every direction, his jacket hangs crooked from one shoulder, tie just halfway undone. Her dress is wrinkled and bunched around her thighs, and her lipstick is smudged everywhere on his face from all the kisses they never planned to stop. And what truly gets him is the look in his own eyes — he’s glowing. Like he’s just crossed a finish line, but this time it wasn’t just him in the car.

He sees her holding onto him like she always will.

He sees himself holding her like she’s the only safe place he’s ever known.

Suddenly, he realizes he’s a husband now. Her husband. And he’s going to wake up to this woman for the rest of his life. Through every challenge, every joy, and every storm, he has a partner that’s here to stay. Even when life throws everything it can at him, she will be his constant. His only source of peace. His home.

Lando’s throat tightens, emotion rising so violently it nearly drowns him. Gently, he leans in, pressing his lips to the shell of her ear, breathing her in as he closes his eyes.

“I promise to always be yours,” he starts whispering his vows again. “To protect your heart like it’s my own.”

Her breath hitches, her brain just coming out of the haze of pleasure caused by her husband.

“To love you when things are easy,” he continues, “And love you even harder when they’re not.”

With teary eyes, her arms squeeze him tighter. Even if she finds it hard to hold him like that, because her body melts under the weight of his words, she does it because she knows how important it is for Lando to remind her that, at the end of the day, it’s about this: them.

She’s just about to whisper something back after Lando stops talking, but he’s always managed to leave her speechles, one way or another. This time, he reduces her to a soft moan when he slowly pulls out of her. At that, her body clenches involuntarily as the absence of him leaves her sensitive and throbbing. The warm aftermath of their pleasure slips slowly out of her, making her thighs twitch around the sensation.

Lando sighs as he watches it happen, forehead dropping to her shoulder.

“Shit, sorry,” he says, voice raspy as if he just woke up. “Didn’t mean to ruin the moment, but fucking hell. It kills me every time I pull out,” he explains, drawing back to look at her, his hand trailing over her thigh, possessive and adoring all at once.

She exhales a breathy laugh despite herself, her chest still rising and falling from the intensity, cheeks all flushed. “You’re such a boy,” she scolds playfully, giving his shoulder a half-hearted push, still giggling.

“I’m grieving,” he says, faking innocence.

“You’re done,” she cuts him off, the affection in her voice making it sound more like a vow than a complaint.

Still perched on the counter, she leans forward, trying to tame the wild curls now clinging to his forehead. Her fingers thread through his hair with the kind of tender frustration only a woman in love can pull off, pushing it back, smoothing it, even if it’s completely in vain.

Lando closes his eyes and hums like a man being worshipped. “That’s your mess, by the way,” he says satisfied.

“Yeah,” she agrees with a smile. “My beautiful mess.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 15: March 2024

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, Me trying to write therapy sessions.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Gianpiero Lambiase

Isabelle: Hi GP, Um. This is Isabelle. Belle. Max’s Belle. Sorry for texting you out of nowhere. I hope it’s okay.

GP: Hi Belle. It’s okay. Max talks about you enough that it feels overdue, honestly.

Belle: Oh. Good.

GP: He’s very annoying about it. In a way that’s almost endearing.

Belle: Haha. Sorry.

GP: Don’t apologize. What’s up?

Belle: So… I’m in Bahrain. And I want to surprise Max. Like, sneak into his hotel room before he gets back from practice. Very harmless. Very stealthy. Zero crime.

GP: Did your doctor clear you to travel?

Isabelle: Yes. I have a note and everything.

GP: Because if you’re here without medical clearance and something happens, Max will kill me. And then probably reanimate me and kill me again.

Belle: I promise. I’m cleared. I’ll send you the doctor’s note if you need it.

GP: Good. Because if I was going to help sneak you in, it needed to be a guilt-free crime.

Belle: You’ll help?

GP: Belle, if surprising Max with you magically appearing in his hotel room gets him to stop moping around like a man whose soul was ripped out, I will personally carry you upstairs myself if needed.

Belle: You’re very good at emotional blackmail. I respect that.

GP: I learned from the best. (Max.)

Belle: Okay. I’m at the hotel now. Should I just wait nearby?

GP: Yeah. Give me 10 minutes. I’ll text you when the coast is clear.

Belle: Thank you, GP. Really. I know you didn’t have to.

GP: You’re good for him. That’s all I need to know.

***

The hallway was dim and quiet when Max stepped out of the elevator, still half in race mode — muscle memory from practice laps thrumming through his veins, sweat drying at the back of his neck.

He dug for his key card automatically, mind already turning toward data reviews and hydration schedules, as he opened the door of his Hotel room. 

And then he looked up.

And stopped dead.

Because there, lounging on the couch in his Hotel room in Bahrain, wearing a loose fitting dress, her hair damp from a shower she must have just taken - was her. 

Belle.

Waiting for him.

Max blinked once.

Twice.

He genuinely thought, for a heartbeat, that he was hallucinating.

"Hi," she said, smiling — a real smile, tired but so real — like she hadn’t nearly died two weeks ago, like she hadn’t ripped his heart out and stitched it back together in the same breath.

"Hi," Max said hoarsely, voice cracking slightly.

She stood up slowly, careful, and Max could see the faint traces of bruises still painting her collarbone under the neckline of her dress.

He didn’t think.

He crossed the hallway in three long strides and gathered her into his arms, pulling her against his chest so tightly she squeaked.

Belle laughed — a soft, breathless sound — and buried her face against his shoulder.

"You’re here," Max murmured, like he still couldn’t believe it, like he had to say it out loud just to make it real. "You’re actually here."

"I missed you," Belle whispered into his shirt. "I wanted to surprise you."

"You’re going to kill me one day, you know that?" he said, laughing wetly against her hair. "Heart attack at 26."

She pulled back just enough to look up at him, hands still clutching the fabric of his shirt.

"You’re not mad?"

"Mad?" Max shook his head, jaw tight with emotion. "Belle, I’m—" He broke off, swallowing hard. "I’m so fucking glad you’re here, I don’t even have words for it."

Her eyes shone a little too brightly, but her smile was steady.

"I’m cleared to travel," she said quickly, reading the worry still written across his face. "I’m fine. I’m okay."

Max leaned down and kissed her forehead — a soft, reverent brush of lips — before resting his forehead against hers.

"I thought you were at home," he said, voice low and rough. "Resting."

Belle gave a tiny, guilty smile.

"Technically, I am resting," she said. "Just... here."

Max huffed a breathless laugh — half relief, half something too big to name.

"And how exactly," he murmured, pulling back to raise an eyebrow at her, "did you sneak into a fully-booked F1 team hotel?"

Belle bit her bottom lip, eyes sparkling.

"GP might have helped a little."

Max stared at her for a beat — then burst out laughing, pressing a kiss against her forehead.

"Of course he did," he said, voice shaking slightly with laughter and something dangerously close to tears.

Belle beamed up at him, utterly unrepentant.

"He even texted me like it was a spy mission," she added proudly. "I think he had fun."

Max shook his head, still smiling, overwhelmed by how much he loved her.  

"He's going to regret that when I promote him from race engineer to full-time Belle smuggler."

Belle laughed, wrapping her arms tighter around his waist.

"You’re not mad?"

Max kissed the top of her head, breathing her in like he still couldn’t believe she was real.

"Mad?" he echoed. "No. You’re here. You’re safe. That’s all I’ll ever care about."

She tucked her face into his chest, and Max just held her there — steady, grounding her, grounding himself.

***

Arthur spotted her near the Ferrari hospitality entrance, and for a long second, he honestly thought he was seeing things.

Isabelle —

Here?

In Bahrain?

He frowned, confused, slowing his steps.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

No one had said anything.

She hadn’t said anything.

Not in the family chat.

Not in any of the bland, polite “good luck” texts she sent before race weekends.

Arthur crossed the walkway toward her before he could overthink it.

“Isabelle?” he called, blinking against the bright sun.

She turned, smiling when she saw him — but it was a small, careful kind of smile.

Not the bright, easy one he remembered.

“Hey, Arthur,” she said softly.

He stopped in front of her, feeling weirdly awkward.

“You didn’t say you were coming,” he said, trying for teasing but it came out too sharp, too defensive.

“I didn’t know I was coming until a few days ago,” Isabelle said, shrugging one shoulder. “Doctor cleared me. Figured I’d make the trip.”

Arthur’s eyes flicked over her automatically — and caught, despite himself, on the faint bruising still along her temple, the shadows along her collarbone.

He looked away quickly.

Pretended he hadn’t seen it.

“You look fine,” he said too quickly. “You are fine, right?”

Isabelle’s smile faltered.

“I’m… better,” she said after a beat. “Still a little bruised. But yeah. I’m okay.”

Arthur nodded, desperate to believe it.

“Good,” he said, forcing a casual shrug. “We were all worried.”

Were we? a voice whispered in the back of his mind, but he shoved it down.

Isabelle looked at him for a long second, her expression unreadable.

“You didn’t ask,” she said lightly. Not accusatory. Just stating a fact.

Arthur blinked.

“What?”

“After the accident,” she said. “None of you really asked what happened. You just… assumed I was fine.”

Arthur opened his mouth. Closed it.

He didn’t know what to say to that — not without admitting that he hadn’t wanted to ask.

Hadn’t wanted to know.

Because if she wasn’t fine —

If she had been hurt worse than a few bruises and a night in the hospital —

Then what did that say about him? About all of them?

Arthur shifted his weight, uncomfortable.

“You’re here now,” he said finally, as if that proved something.

As if her survival was enough to erase everything else.

Isabelle smiled again — but it was a different kind of smile this time.

Tired. A little sad.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m here.”

And for the first time, Arthur wondered if maybe — just maybe — that wasn’t as simple as it sounded.

***

Lily hadn’t been trying to find anyone in particular — she'd just been wandering the paddock in search of ice cream.

It was so hot, that she really, really needed ice cream before she melted into a puddle of useless girlfriend.

Oscar had pointed her in the vague direction of the food vendors before dashing off for driver obligations, so Lily wandered across the paddock, sunglasses perched precariously on her head, following her nose (and the general vibe of "ice cream is this way").

She was halfway there when she spotted her.

A girl — no, a young woman — perched casually near one of the vendor stands, flipping through her phone with an easy kind of grace, looking completely at home despite the chaos around her.

At first, Lily didn't recognize her. She just noticed the calm. The way people instinctively gave her space without even realizing it. Like the eye of a storm.

Then she realized.

Isabelle Leclerc.

Charles’ sister.

The one who somehow existed on the very edge of all the chaos — always close enough to be there, but never quite tangled up in it.

Belle. The girl who had rescued Oscar from buying “the ugliest couch in existence in Monaco.”

Oscar had mentioned her, in the same tone you'd use for someone you admired without quite knowing how to say it.

Lily hesitated — torn between her mission for ice cream and her deep-rooted manners that said go say hi, you dork.

She picked manners.

"Hi," Lily said, smiling as she approached.

Isabelle looked up, and for a second, Lily thought maybe she'd made a mistake — maybe she was interrupting something.

But then Isabelle smiled back — soft and real — and it was like being wrapped in sunshine.

"Hi," Isabelle said warmly. "You're Oscar's Lily, right?"

Lily laughed, a little breathless with surprise. "I guess so."

"Finally, we meet properly. Belle Leclerc," Belle said, tucking her phone away. "You heading somewhere, or are you just braving the paddock chaos for the experience?"

"Ice cream," Lily admitted. "Desperately."

Belle laughed — a real laugh, the kind that made you want to laugh too. "Good instincts. It's basically a survival tactic in this weather."

Lily grinned, a little more relaxed now. "You wouldn't happen to know where the best vendor is, would you?"

Belle tilted her head thoughtfully, like she was considering the great philosophical question of their time. "There's a stand near the back of the McLaren motorhome," she said. "Less crowded, better flavors. Also, the guy running it doesn’t skimp on sprinkles if you look appropriately pitiful."

Lily beamed. "You’re a lifesaver."

"Come on," Belle said, already falling into step beside her. "I'll show you. It’s basically my civic duty."

Belle tucked a strand of caramel coloured hair behind her ear and Lily suddenly saw the faint bruising still lingering along Belle’s temple and just under her collarbone where her dress dipped at the neck.  

The sight made something twist sharply in Lily’s chest.

"I—" she started, then bit her lip. "I just wanted to say… I’m really glad you’re okay."

Belle blinked, clearly surprised.

"I heard about the crash," Lily said quickly, "Oscar told me it was serious."   She trailed off, feeling weirdly emotional for a person who barely knew her.

Belle’s expression softened even more — touched, a little shy.

"Thank you," she said, voice a little rougher around the edges. "I was really lucky."

Lily smiled, relieved.

"And also," Lily said, remembering, "thank you for helping Oscar with his apartment. He said you saved him from living in chaos forever."

Belle laughed again, covering her mouth. "He’s exaggerating."

"No, he’s really not," Lily said earnestly. "He had one pot and like three mismatched plates before you intervened."

Belle giggled. "I just gave him a list."

"And apparently taught him the existence of rugs and throw pillows," Lily said with a wink. "You’re a hero."

Belle was still laughing, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made her seem even younger, even softer.

Lily found herself smiling so hard her cheeks hurt.

Without really thinking, she said:

"I’m really glad we ran into each other."

"Me too," Belle said, and this time there wasn’t a trace of hesitation.

And just like that — without ceremony or fanfare — Lily was swept up into Belle’s orbit. Adopted. Collected. Claimed.

No big declarations. No awkwardness.

Just a steady, unspoken you’re one of mine now.

Lily understood immediately how it had happened to Oscar.

And why Oscar had looked so quietly smug about it ever since.

As they made their way through the paddock together, Belle offering casual commentary on the chaos around them, Lily thought maybe — just maybe — this whole world felt a little less overwhelming when you had someone like Belle at your side.

Two girls who hadn’t meant to find each other in the chaos of the paddock — but who did anyway.

***

Text Messages: Lily Zneimer & Oscar Piastri

Lily: I just met Belle.

Lily: At the ice cream stand!!

Lily: We both went for survival ice cream.

Lily: It was fate.

Oscar: Oh no. What did you do.

Lily: EXCUSE ME.

Lily: I was adorable.

Lily: SHE was adorable.

Lily: We’re best friends now.

Oscar: That tracks.

Lily: Oscar. OSCAR.

Oscar: What.

Lily: I get it.

Lily: I GET IT.

Lily: Why you’re obsessed with her.

Lily: She’s sunshine wrapped in a cardigan and stubbornness.

Oscar: Yeah. She’s Belle. Everyone’s a little obsessed with her. Max just got there first.

Lily: Also she’s still got bruises from the crash and she was just out here smiling like a total champ.

Lily: I wanted to wrap her in bubble wrap.

Oscar: Trust me. Max is already trying. If he could put her in a Volvo made of titanium, he would.

Lily: Tell him to let me help.

Lily: I’m small but scrappy.

Oscar:  I’ll pass along the message. He’ll appreciate the reinforcements.

Lily: I’m serious. I love her already.

****

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1Overheard: Isabelle Leclerc and Lily Zneimer spotted getting ice cream together in the paddock today. New power duo just dropped???

@/Turn1Drama:  Not to be dramatic but I would lay down my life for Isabelle and Lily within 0.2 seconds of meeting them.

@/F1Receipts: Ok but… zoom in. Look at Isabelle’s collarbone.  There’s… bruising???

photo attached: Belle smiling with Lily, faint purple fading along her neck/collarbone visible above her dress

@GridGirlsUnited: WAIT. WHY DOES ISABELLE HAVE BRUISES.

@/FerrariFeverDreams: Isabelle Leclerc is the blueprint for moving through the world with quiet grace and still kicking life’s ass.

@/F1WAGUpdates:  UMMM??? ISABELLE LECLERC AND LILY (OSCAR'S GIRLFRIEND) SPOTTED GETTING ICE CREAM IN BAHRAIN?? HELLO??? THE POWER DUO I NEVER KNEW I NEEDED????

@/gridgirlconfessions:  not to be dramatic but Isabelle taking lily under her wing is the SOFTEST THING EVER.  I’m literally going to cry in the paddock rn

@turn1meltdown also. not to be That Person but did anyone else notice... Isabelle has bruises?? I am pretty sure she covered one at her forehead with makeup. but you can see one on her shoulder when her dress fell down  as she got ice cream??

@/tinfoiltires: not to start a conspiracy but…do you think she is dating Lando?! I mean she is hanging out with Oscar’s girlfriend. 

@/paddockprotectionagency: There is literally no evidence for that. At all. 

@/F1TeaTime:  ISABELLE LECLERC AND LILY PIASTRI SPOTTED TOGETHER IN BAHRAIN:  GIRL GANG FORMING ALERT.

@PaddockSpy Isabelle "please don't perceive me" Leclerc and Lily "mystery personified" Zneimer together is EXACTLY the energy the paddock needs.

@/McLarenMayhem Oscar spotted hovering around Lily and Isabelle like a guard dog. Lando too???

@/PitLaneDrama:  Theory: Isabelle was hurt recently. Not racing related (obviously). Something serious enough that the whole grid knows but fans are only now noticing.

@/FerrariFanForum: idk what's happening but if someone hurt Isabelle Leclerc I fully believe half the paddock would riot.

@/f1overheard:  also... are we gonna talk about the fact that Belle still has bruises on her arms??? Faded but definitely there??? Is she okay??? Who do I need to fight???

@/chaosinsector1: She’s laughing and walking and eating ice cream but seeing those bruises on Belle actually made me want to fistfight a drunk driver in the middle of Bahrain.

***

Text Messages: Oscar Piastri & Max Verstappen

Oscar: Mate. Did my girlfriend just get adopted by your girlfriend??

Max: Good. Belle needs more allies.

Oscar: They went for ice cream and now Lily’s acting like she’s been knighted into the Order of Belle.

Max: She has. There’s no going back.

Oscar: ...is this what happened to me?

Max: Yes. You just didn’t notice. It’s stealthy like that.

Oscar: Incredible.

Max: Also — Can you tell Lily to keep an eye on her?

Oscar: Belle?

Max: Yeah. Doctor cleared her for travel, but… She’s good at pretending she’s fine when she isn’t.

Oscar: Got it. I’ll tell Lily. (But I think she already clocked that. She’s weirdly good at reading people.)

Max: So is Belle. That’s probably why they found each other. But yeah. Just… make sure she rests. If she starts acting like she’s invincible, let me know.

Oscar: Copy that. Spy network: activated.

Max: Appreciate it. You get one free pass next time I accidentally block you in quali.

Oscar: Noted. I’ll save it for when it hurts the most.

***

Belle had just been laughing at something Lily said — something about Oscar’s catastrophic ability to pick good ice cream flavors — when she felt it.

That snap in the air.

The sudden chill.

She turned — and sure enough, there was Charles, storming across the paddock toward them with thunderclouds practically radiating off him.

Belle stiffened instinctively.

Oscar noticed too — his easy grin faltering. He had had flopped into a seat beside them minutes ago, looking amused but exhausted after media duties. Lando Norris had joined them too, fresh from a sponsor event, stealing a spoonful of Belle’s icecram like a menace. 

Lando now looked like he was considering dropping his spoon and running.

“Isabelle,” Charles barked, sharp enough that it turned a few heads.

Belle straightened, fighting the instinct to brace herself.

“Hi, Charles,” she said evenly. “Good afternoon to you too."

He didn’t bother with greetings.

He didn’t even glance at the others.

His glare locked onto her like a missile.

He pointed dramatically at Lando, who looked like a deer in headlights.

"Are you dating him?!"

Dead silence.

Belle stared at her brother, mouth slightly open, frozen mid-bite.

Before she could even start responding, Lando erupted:

"WHAT?? NO. OH MY GOD, NO."

He flailed so hard he nearly knocked over his chair.

"I would never!" he blurted, panicked.

Oscar looked like he wanted to sink into the ground and disappear.

Lily was visibly biting her lip, fighting back laughter.

Belle closed her eyes very slowly, inhaled through her nose, and set her cup down carefully on the table.

"First of all," she said icily, "even if I were dating someone, that’s absolutely none of your business."

Charles opened his mouth to argue.

Belle held up a hand. "I’m not done."

Charles froze.

"Second," Belle continued, voice sharp, "I am not dating Lando. I was laughing at a joke about Oscar thinking that horseradish is an ice cream flavour that should exist, thank you very much."

Oscar made a helpless noise of protest. Lily patted his arm sympathetically.

"And third," Belle said, her eyes narrowing, "I would like to remind you that last year, you accused me of flirting with GP because we had a five-minute conversation about kitchen backsplashes."

Oscar actually choked on his yogurt.

Lando snorted so loudly he nearly fell out of his chair.

Charles, flushing red, spluttered, "That was — that was different!"

"Was it?" Belle said, crossing her arms. "Was it really, Charles? I am an adult," she said crisply. "I am capable of talking to men without planning a wedding, thank you."

Belle took a slow step forward, closing the space between them — not enough to make a scene, but enough that he had to really look at her.

At the fading bruises on her skin.

At the shadows under her eyes.

At the way she stood — a little too still, a little too tired — but standing all the same.

“I survived a car crash two weeks ago,” Belle said, voice quiet but razor-sharp. “I’m allowed to eat ice cream with my friends without needing your permission, Charles.”

He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue — to scold her somehow, as if she hadn’t earned the right to live her life on her own terms — but for once, no words came out.

Belle didn’t wait for them either.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Daniel Ricciardo, Carlos Sainz Jr. and Lewis Hamilton)

Lando: I’M GOING TO DIE.

Lando: I’M ACTUALLY GOING TO DIE.

Carlos: What happened now?

Lando: CHARLES. CHARLES HAPPENED.

Lando: HE THINKS I’M DATING BELLE.

Lewis: Wait, dating?? What did you do?

Lando: NOTHING. WE TALKED ABOUT ICE CREAM TOPPINGS.

Daniel: …please tell me you’re joking.

Oscar:  He’s not. 

Lando: I SWEAR.

Lando: I WAS TALKING ABOUT OREOS.

Lando: AND SPRINKLES.

Lando: AND NOW I’M A DEAD MAN.

Daniel: This is incredible. Never change.

Carlos: Sprinkles = romantic commitment now. Good to know.

Lando: CHARLES LOOKED AT ME LIKE HE WAS ALREADY DIGGING THE GRAVE.

Lando: I’M INNOCENT.

Oscar: Tell it to the judge. (aka Charles.)

Lando: I NEED WITNESSES.

Lewis: Your Honor, all he did was sprinkle some toppings.

Daniel: GUILTY. Of flirting with ice cream.

Oscar: Death by suspicious glances.

Lando: THIS IS A MISCARRIAGE OF JUSTICE.

Carlos: Charles said guilty. Sprinkle boy must suffer.

Lando: I HATE YOU ALL.

Oscar: Love you too, Sprinkle Boy.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: Update from the chaos front: Charles now thinks I’m dating Lando.

Max: First GP. Now Lando. Who’s next? Helmut?

Isabelle: PLEASE.

Max: Imagine explaining that one to the family.

Isabelle: At this point I think they’d believe anything. I just need to talk to someone and apparently it’s a full-blown scandal.

Max: Good thing you already have a secret boyfriend. ME. 

Isabelle: The only one that matters. (And the only one who would never judge my ice cream topping choices.)

Max: Correct. As your official and only secret boyfriend, I feel like maybe it’s time to make you an honest woman.

Isabelle: Max.

Max: All I’m saying is if you wore a ring, maybe Charles would stop suspecting every man who breathes near you.

Isabelle: You’re lucky you’re cute.

Max: I’m lucky for a lot of reasons. You’re the biggest one.

***

David Coulthard had been around Formula One long enough to notice things.

He noticed when a driver had a new sponsor before anyone said a word.

He noticed when a pit crew moved two tenths faster than last season.

And he noticed — very easily — when something was going on off-track.

It started with Max.

Max was... Different.

Still sharp, still competitive — God help anyone who thought the fire had gone — but... softer around the edges, somehow.

 Less likely to bite a journalist’s head off.

 Laughing more. Smiling — smiling! — during media duties instead of looking like he wanted to physically vanish into the concrete.

David had filed it away, mildly amused.

 Maybe maturity.

 Maybe something else.

But then Bahrain happened.

And David saw her.

He was standing near the Red Bull hospitality tent, making small talk with Christian Horner about the new season, when he caught the sight of her.

Isabelle Leclerc.

Charles' little sister.

 Quiet. Polite. Always seemed to hover just outside the spotlight.

She was walking across the paddock, a small tote bag slung over one shoulder, sunglasses perched on her head — casual, unnoticed by most of the chaos around her.

Except Max noticed.

Max, who’d been standing half-turned, mid-conversation with a Red Bull engineer, stopped mid-sentence when he saw her.

David watched — curious, instinct pricking at the back of his neck — as Max’s entire face softened.

Not just fond — no, no.

Absolutely gone.

Max excused himself a little too quickly. Caught up with her a few paces later, walking just a little too close, talking low and quiet.

David tilted his head, observing like a man watching a slow car crash — except it wasn’t a crash at all. It was... intimate.

Isabelle laughed at something Max said — and David watched Max practically beam like a golden retriever who’d just been handed a steak.

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

Well, well, well.

Later that afternoon, while pretending to be busy near the media center, David caught another moment.

Isabelle was perched on the low wall near the Red Bull motorhome, sipping from a bottle of water, flipping through something on her phone.

Max came out the door — helmet in hand, race suit half unzipped — and immediately bee-lined toward her.

Not toward the engineers.

Not toward the debrief room.

 Her.

And when he thought no one was looking, Max leaned down and pressed a kiss — soft, fast, familiar — to the top of her head.

David raised his eyebrows.

Oh, it wasn’t just a thing.

It wasn’t casual.

It wasn’t nothing.

This was serious.

And judging by how utterly comfortable they were — how instinctively they gravitated toward each other without even thinking — it had been serious for a while.

David smirked to himself, pulling out his phone.

Text to Mark Webber:I bet you a bottle of wine Max Verstappen is dating Isabelle Leclerc. Long term. Dead serious.

Mark:WHATexplain immediately

David chuckled, pocketing his phone.

Oh, he wasn’t going to explain everything yet.

Where was the fun in that?

He was going to sit back, enjoy the slow unfolding chaos, and wait for the paddock to finally catch up to what he already knew:

Max Verstappen was utterly, completely, irrevocably in love.

And her last name was Leclerc.

God, the 2024 season was already looking fantastic.

***

Mark Webber prided himself on keeping his ear to the ground.

Or, at the very least, knowing when David bloody Coulthard was onto something juicy.

He couldn’t stop thinking about that text message.

 I bet you a bottle of wine Max Verstappen is dating Isabelle Leclerc. Long term. Dead serious.

 Dead serious.

 David didn’t throw those words around lightly.

So, naturally, Mark did what any sane, mature, retired driver would do.

He went hunting for information.

It wasn’t like he could just ask Max — not without getting a death stare and possibly a Red Bull can thrown at his head.

 No, he needed someone younger. Someone adjacent. Someone... less likely to suspect an ambush.

He spotted Oscar near the McLaren garage, fiddling with a water bottle, looking far too innocent for a man in the Formula One paddock.

Perfect.

Mark strolled over casually, hands in his pockets, wearing the most nonchalant face he could muster.

Oscar looked up, blinking like a deer in headlights.

"Hey, mate," Mark said smoothly. "Quick one for you."

Oscar looked instantly suspicious — good lad, instincts sharp — but he nodded.

Mark leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Any idea if Max Verstappen’s dating Isabelle Leclerc?"

Oscar choked so hard on absolutely nothing that he physically stumbled back a step.

Mark arched a brow. "That’s a yes?"

"How—" Oscar spluttered, looking around wildly like he expected FIA officials to pop out of the bushes. "How do you know that?!"

Mark laughed, genuinely delighted. "Ohhh, mate, you just confirmed it for me."

Oscar groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I didn’t confirm anything! I just— I mean—" He lowered his voice urgently. "It’s, like, a massive secret."

Mark chuckled, utterly unbothered. "Not that massive if Coulthard noticed it after one afternoon."

Oscar buried his face in his hands. "I’m so dead. Max is going to kill me. I didn’t say anything!"

"You didn’t have to." Mark clapped him on the shoulder, grinning like the cat that got the cream. "Cheers, mate. Appreciate it."

He turned to saunter away — job done, day made — leaving poor Oscar standing there, looking absolutely haunted.

Mark was already pulling out his phone to text David back: Oscar just confirmed it. Owe you a bottle. Also this is incredible.

God, he loved this sport.

***

The restaurant was loud, chaotic in the way all post-race celebrations were, but Max didn’t mind.  

Not tonight.

The Bahrain Grand Prix trophy was already back at the hotel, forgotten for the moment — because the real prize was sitting right next to him, curled into the booth, tucked safely under his arm.

Belle.

Max still hadn't entirely recovered from seeing her waiting for him after free practice a few nights ago — real, alive, breathing.  

Now, with her hair soft around her face, wearing a simple sundress that made her look even more breakable and beautiful under the low lights, he could barely keep his hands off her.

And he didn’t have to.  

Not here.  

Not when everyone thought she was just Isabelle Leclerc, Charles’ sweet little sister, along for the ride.

Max smirked to himself, sliding his hand a little higher on her thigh under the table, tracing small, lazy circles against the fabric of her dress.

Belle looked up at him, cheeks flushing immediately, but her eyes sparkled — delighted, conspiratorial.

God, he loved her.

Lando, unfortunately, was sitting across the table — and he was dying.

Max could feel it.

Every time Max leaned in closer to Belle, murmuring something low in her ear, Lando shifted violently in his seat like he was physically restraining himself from making a scene.

It was beautiful.

"So," Belle said, teasingly soft, tilting her head up toward him, "how does it feel to add another trophy to the collection?"

Max shrugged, smirking, fully aware that Charles — sitting a few seats away — was half-listening while pretending to be absorbed in the menu.

"Don’t care about trophies," Max said easily, keeping his voice just loud enough to carry.

Belle blinked up at him, playing along.  

"Oh no? What do you care about, then?"

Max leaned down, his mouth brushing just over the shell of her ear, and said, so low that it was a miracle only Lando seemed to catch it:

"You’re the only trophy I want."

Belle flushed scarlet, her hand tightening briefly around the napkin in her lap, her breath catching visibly.  

Max smiled against her temple, smug and helplessly in love.

Across the table, Lando made a tiny, strangled noise and buried his face in his hands.

Charles — bless his stupid, oblivious soul — just looked up from the menu and said, casually:

"You’re not even looking at dessert, Max. You’re going to miss the good stuff."

Max didn't even blink.  

"I already have the good stuff," he said without missing a beat, eyes locked firmly on Belle.

Belle made a tiny, helpless noise that she immediately disguised with a cough.  

Lando kicked Max hard under the table, and Max barely resisted kicking him back.

Charles, meanwhile, just shrugged and went back to the menu, completely, fantastically unaware.

Max felt Belle’s hand slide into his under the table, squeezing once — a secret, silent, trembling squeeze — and he squeezed back, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles.

She was his.

And one day soon —  

He wasn’t going to hide it anymore.

But for now?  

He could live like this.  

With Belle flushed and smiling at his side, Lando dying quietly across from him, and the rest of the world too blind to see that Max Verstappen had already won the only race that ever really mattered.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Carlos Sainz, Daniel Ricciardo, Lewis Hamilton)

Lando: I almost DIED at dinner.

Oscar: What happened??

Lando: Max flirted with Belle. In front of Charles. Like, full-on heart eyes and whispered sweet nothings.

Carlos: Please tell me Charles noticed.

Lando: HE DIDN’T. He told Max to look at the dessert menu.

Lando: Max literally said “I already have the good stuff” while STARING AT BELLE.

Lando: And Charles just??? Nodded???

Lewis: Oh my god.

Oscar: I’m losing it. How are you still alive.

Lando: She was BLUSHING. Max was basically devouring her with his eyes.

Lando: I had to physically punch myself in the leg to not start screaming.

Daniel: You deserve an award. Like. An actual trophy.

Carlos: Or a medal. “Bravery in the Face of Complete Dumbassery.”

Oscar: Lando Norris: Survivor of Max-and-Belle Public Flirting™️

Lando: I’m writing my will. If I die because Charles eventually finds out and kills me, tell my mum I love her.

Daniel: Will do. Also, dibs on your gaming chair.

Lewis: We are NOT inheriting his Twitch setup, Daniel.

Daniel: You can’t stop me.

Carlos: Focus. The real question is: How long until Max just proposes and Charles still doesn’t notice?

Oscar: 50 bucks says it happens this season.

Lando: I’m raising you to 100. Because honestly? At this point? I can see it happening.

***

There were a few great constants in Formula One.

 One: There would always be politics.

 Two: Fernando Alonso would always find a way to be fast.

 And three: The old guard — Mark Webber, David Coulthard, and Fernando himself — would probably end up at a hotel bar, drinking expensive whiskey and gossiping like teenagers at a sleepover.

Tonight was no exception.

David leaned back in his chair, looking insufferably smug as he sipped his drink.

"I’m telling you," he said, tapping the side of his glass for emphasis. "It’s serious. Verstappen and the little Leclerc."

Mark, grinning like a fox, said, "Oscar practically shat himself when I asked him."

Fernando’s eyebrows shot up, delighted. "You interrogated Piastri?"

Mark shrugged, completely unapologetic. "Didn’t even need to. Kid panicked so hard I thought he was about to call his mum."

David chuckled darkly. "Told you. Not just a fling. Proper relationship. Long-term."

Fernando leaned forward, elbows on the table, suddenly far more interested. "I have seen them together a few times. Very... comfortable."

David pointed at him triumphantly. "Exactly! No nerves. No posturing. He looks at her like he’s already married her and built her a house in the countryside with five cats."

Mark howled with laughter. "Imagine Max Verstappen in the countryside, bloody hell."

Fernando smirked. "You are both missing the real headline."

Mark and David raised their eyebrows in unison.

Fernando leaned back, satisfied. "When Charles finds out."

There was a beat of silence — then all three of them burst into laughter, loud enough that a few other patrons in the bar turned to look.

David wiped tears from his eyes. "Oh, God, Charles Leclerc’s going to combust."

"Publicly or privately?" Mark asked, grinning.

Fernando considered it seriously. "Privately first. Brooding. Sad playlist. Maybe a little crying in the shower. Then public disapproval."

"Disapproval," David echoed, nodding solemnly. "In that very polite Monegasque way. ‘I am not angry, I am just... disappointed.’"

Mark knocked back the rest of his drink, still chuckling. "Imagine the Christmas dinners. Verstappen sitting across from Leclerc at the table. Isabelle kicking him under it every time he tries to start a fight."

David grinned. "Max pretending to be polite for fifteen minutes before he says something that makes Charles’ eye twitch."

Fernando clapped his hands together, pleased. "This season is already perfect."

Mark waved down the bartender for another round, because frankly, they deserved it.

"We should start a pool," he said. "How long until it goes public?"

David leaned forward eagerly. "Or how long until one of them accidentally soft-launches it on Instagram."

Fernando raised his glass. "Or until Verstappen punches a journalist for asking a stupid question about Isabelle."

They clinked glasses with wicked grins, the unofficial F1 Gossip Club alive and thriving.

Across town, Max Verstappen and Isabelle Leclerc remained blissfully unaware that three of the sport’s greatest troublemakers were placing metaphorical bets on their entire relationship timeline.

***

It wasn’t supposed to be complicated.

It was just a haircut. A simple thing.

Isabelle had asked, gently, over coffee one weekend. "Would you mind coloring my hair again, Maman?"

Her voice light, casual — hoping it would sound like a normal daughterly request, not something heavy.

Pascale had smiled vaguely, barely looking up from her phone. "Of course, cherie. Make an appointment, and we'll sort it out."

Belle had smiled too, automatic and small. "Okay."

She booked it the next week, a Friday afternoon — easy enough to squeeze in around both their schedules. She texted her mother to confirm.

Belle: Appointment for Friday at 2pm. Let me know if that still works for you!

The reply came half a day later.

Pascale: Oh, mon coeur, Friday’s going to be tricky. Charles needs help with a sponsor shoot! We'll find another time, I promise ❤️

Belle told herself it was fine. Of course it was fine.

Charles' career came first. It always had.

She rebooked for the next week.

Wednesday afternoon. Easy. Flexible.

Pascale: Arthur’s looking at apartments. I need to go with him. Next week? ❤️

Another reschedule. Another brushed-off excuse.

Lunch with friends. Last-minute travel plans. A gala that needed organizing.

Each time, Belle rearranged her schedule like a good little daughter. Each time, Pascale’s priorities stayed somewhere else — with someone else.

And Belle — Belle stayed small and polite, pretending like it didn’t sting.

Eventually, after the fourth reschedule in three weeks, Belle stood in front of her bathroom mirror, stared at her roots growing out unevenly, the dull ends of her hair catching awkwardly in the light — and something inside her simply... cracked.

She booked an appointment. With someone else. No fanfare. No texts.

She sat in the warm, bright little salon tucked near the flower market that Emilie had recommended, letting a stranger mix a soft, golden color for her hair, hands sure and kind.

And when it was done — When Belle caught sight of herself in the mirror — she smiled.

Really smiled.

The soft caramel highlights caught the light, framing her face, making her eyes look warmer. She looked — fresh. Hopeful, even.

It was silly.  It was just hair. But it felt like something more.

A line, quietly drawn. A choice for herself, not for anyone else.

She didn’t tell her mother.

Not at first.

But Pascale noticed at a family brunch the following weekend.

The moment Isabelle sat down, Pascale’s eyes sharpened, taking in the subtle change.

"You went to someone else?" she asked, light but pointed, the corners of her mouth tightening almost imperceptibly.

Isabelle sipped her coffee calmly. "You were busy."

Pascale laughed, waving it off. "Still, cherie, you should have waited. It’s not quite... what we would have done."

Belle smiled, soft and polite — the kind of smile she'd perfected years ago. Maybe not what you would have done, she thought. Maybe that's the point.

"It’s just hair, Maman," she said lightly.  She didn’t offer to rebook. Didn’t apologize.

And for once, she didn’t feel guilty about it.

***

The chair in Simone’s office was comfortable — too comfortable, sometimes.

It made it harder to keep her walls up. But maybe that was the point.

Belle picked at the seam of her sleeve, her legs curled under her, staring at the little woven rug on the floor as she spoke.

"It sounds stupid," she said after a long pause. "About the hair, I mean."

Simone — patient, kind Simone — just shook her head gently. "I don't think it sounds stupid at all."

Belle exhaled, staring at her hands."I just... I asked her to help. My mother. And she said yes, but then kept rescheduling. Again and again. For Charles. For Arthur. For everyone else."

Simone nodded, quiet encouragement in the simple gesture.

"And it wasn't the first time," Belle added, voice thinner now. "It’s never the first time. I know that."

"And how did it feel?" Simone asked, voice low, careful.

Belle hesitated.

How did it feel? It felt — small. It felt like being fourteen again, forgotten in the corner while her brothers got all the attention, all the applause.

"It felt like..." she trailed off, fumbling for words. "Like I wasn't important enough to remember."

Simone’s gaze was steady. "And what did you do with that feeling?"

Belle smiled tightly. "I told myself it didn't matter. Booked another appointment. Let someone else do it."

"And how did that feel?"

Belle surprised herself by laughing — a soft, broken sound. "Good," she admitted. And then, more quietly: "Really good."

Simone smiled. "You made a choice for yourself."

Belle nodded, the weight of it sinking in.

"I didn’t wait around this time," she said. "I didn’t hope she'd find time for me if I was just... patient enough."

"That’s not a small thing," Simone said. "That’s reclaiming something you were taught not to expect."

Belle blinked, throat tightening unexpectedly.

"You were taught," Simone continued gently, "that your needs came second. Or third. Or fourth. Or not at all. And now — even in something as small as a haircut — you're learning that you don't have to keep living by those old rules."

Belle swallowed hard.

"I guess I always thought... if I was just easier, or more useful, then maybe they'd—"

She broke off, voice catching.

Simone leaned forward slightly, her voice warm and firm.

"You don't have to earn love, Isabelle."

Belle squeezed her hands into fists, feeling the sting of tears she refused to let fall.

"You were already enough," Simone said. "You always have been."

Belle left the session feeling raw — scraped open — but lighter too.

Because maybe, just maybe, she was allowed to take up space. Allowed to choose herself. Allowed to stop waiting for permission that was never going to come.

Maybe love didn’t look like waiting on the sidelines. Maybe it looked like laughing under new sunlight, caramel highlights catching in the breeze, walking into the world without asking first.

And maybe — just maybe — she could be proud of that.

***

Text Messages: Victoria Verstappen & Isabelle Leclerc

Victoria: Hey Belle 💛 Random question — do you have some time in the next few weeks?

Isabelle: Hi! I should, yes! What’s up?

Victoria: I need help. With the nursery.

Isabelle: 🥺🥺🥺 You want me to help?

Victoria: Of course. You have the best taste. And honestly? I trust you. I want the nursery to feel safe and warm — not like something out of a catalog.

Isabelle: 😭 Vic.

Victoria: I'm serious!! Also I’m too emotional and tired to pick out wallpapers without crying 😂

Isabelle: Say no more. I’m honored. When were you thinking of starting?

Victoria: Whenever you’re free! No pressure. (But preferably before I get too big to waddle up the stairs without a forklift.)

Isabelle: 😂 You’re glowing, not waddling. But yes, I’m free next weekend if you want?

Victoria: Perfect. We can have snacks and mood boards and a no-crying policy.

Isabelle: (That rule is for you.)

Victoria: 100%.

Victoria: Thank you, Belle. Really. It means a lot to me. It means a lot to us.

Isabelle: I can’t wait 🩵 Already have about 12 ideas brewing.

Victoria: I knew I asked the right person 🥹

****

Team Redline Stream – Transcript

(Stream already in progress. Max is mid-race, casually chatting with the team and chat.)

Chris Lulham: So, Max, what’s your girlfriend up to these days? Did she get a new job, or is she just vibing?

Max: (Laughs.) She’s freelancing now."

Luke Crane: "Oh, so technically working, but with way less stress?"

Max: "Exactly. No more crazy hours, no more annoying bosses. Now she actually gets to have a life."

Chat:

FREELANCE ERA LET’S GOOOO

Max won the battle against corporate life

Work-life balance king fighting for his queen

"She actually gets to have a life" he has been PRAYING for this

Bro was so against that job, he’s probably happier than she is 💀

Chris: "So what does she do with all her free time now?"

Max: "More time for the cats. More time for horse riding, instead of just talking about how much she misses it. She’s already been out riding a few times."

Chat:

THE HORSE GIRL ERA RETURNS

"Instead of just talking about it" I know that used to break his heart

He is so smug about this, I can hear it in his voice

The cats and horses are winning rn

Imagine quitting your job and getting more time for your pets and hobbies… she’s living the dream

Chris: "And I’m guessing the cats are thrilled?"

Max: (Grinning.) "Of course. She bought them a ridiculous amount of toys, so they’ve been playing non-stop. They love her more than me anyway."

Aalberts: "I feel like you’ve just accepted that."

Max: (Shrugs.) "It’s the truth."

Chat:

MAX IS A SECONDARY PARENT IN HIS OWN HOUSEHOLD

The cats chose their favorite and it’s NOT him 💀

"They love her more than me" bro just casually taking Ls on stream

Imagine being Max Verstappen and losing to your girlfriend for affection

The way he’s not even mad about it

Luke: "Wait, how many cats is it now? Still Sassy and Jimmy?"

Max: (Smirks) "Three."

Chris: "THREE???"

Chat: HE DROPPED THAT SO CASUALLY HELLO??? NEW CAT REVEAL LET’S GOOOOO

Gianni Vecchio: "When did you get a third cat, mate?!"

Max: "Christmas. She surprised me."

Luke: "Bro your girlfriend got you a whole CAT for Christmas and you’re just mentioning this NOW???"

Chat: WHAT A FLEX A WHOLE CAT Forget watches or cars. Max got a BABY TIGER for Christmas Proposal energy tbh

Chris: "What’s the new cat’s name?"

Max: "Lilly."

Chat: LILLY!!! Sassy, Jimmy, and Lilly — squad complete MAX IS OFFICIALLY A CAT DAD OF THREE

Chris: "Okay but real talk — she got you a cat, bro. That’s basically marriage. So does this mean she’ll be at a race soon?"

Max: (Casually.) "She already was."

Luke: "Wait—WHAT?"

Chat:

HELLO???

EXCUSE ME???

SHE WAS THERE AND WE DIDN’T KNOW???

MAX YOU CAN’T JUST DROP THAT AND MOVE ON

We have failed as detectives

Chris: "Bro. You have people trying to figure out if she even exists, and you’re telling me she was at a race and nobody noticed?"

Max: (Laughing.) "Apparently not."

Luke: "This is insane. What do you mean 'apparently not'?"

Max: (Shrugs.) "She was just walking around, watching, same as always."

Chat:

This man’s girlfriend is a stealth legend

MAX JUST CASUALLY DROPPING BOMBSHELLS ON US

She was among us and we were blind

I feel like he enjoys watching us suffer

WE NEED TO FIND FOOTAGE, THIS IS A MISSION

Chris: "Alright, new game. Next race, we’re all scanning every background shot for your girlfriend."

Max: (Grinning.) "Good luck."

Chat:

Bro knows we will NEVER find her

He’s enjoying this way too much

This is now our new conspiracy theory

Max Verstappen’s girlfriend is the Where’s Waldo of F1

WE WILL NOT REST UNTIL WE FIND HER

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@F1Detective: MAX JUST CASUALLY DROPPED THAT HIS GIRLFRIEND WAS AT A RACE AND WE ALL MISSED IT????

@TireDegEnjoyer:: Max: "Oh yeah, she was at a race." Us: "SIR??? AND YOU DIDN’T THINK TO MENTION THIS EARLIER???"

@softmaxgirl: I refuse to believe we all collectively failed at spotting her. This is a cover-up. She’s in a Red Bull hoodie somewhere in the background. We need to check every race weekend.

@pitlanechaos: Max: "She was just walking around, watching, same as always." SAME AS ALWAYS???? SIR??? DO YOU MEAN TO TELL ME SHE’S BEEN TO MULTIPLE RACES?????

@LandoStoleMyLunch: Max’s girlfriend has officially become the Where’s Waldo of the paddock. She’s there, but she’s a ghost.

@DR3sMullet: ANOTHER CAT?!? I DEMAND PICTURES. WHAT DO YOU MEAN SASSY AND JIMMY HAVE A NEW SIBLING?!!?

@PaddockTea: This woman is so committed to her privacy. Most WAGs get papped once and boom, we know their whole life story. Max’s gf? We don’t even have crumbs.

@SuperMaxStan: The fact that she quit her job and instead of immediately becoming a full-time WAG, she just started freelancing??? She really does not care about his money at ALL.

@F1Shitposter: What do you bet Max has tried to convince her to become his trophy wife at least once and she just refused LMAO

↳@UndercutKing: The way half of us would’ve immediately quit their job the second Max suggested it and she just… didn’t. Iconic.

@FrontWingDamage: Max is just so casual about everything. Like, sir. You do realize we’ve been trying to figure this out for months.

↳@RedBullConspiracy:WE HAVE TO GO BACK. CHECK THE FOOTAGE. FIND HER.

↳@F1Sherlock: He said it so casually. Like he didn’t just confirm that she’s been right there and we all missed it. EMBARRASSING FOR US.

@GridReporter:The fact that people are now scrubbing through paddock footage frame by frame trying to find a glimpse of her… I love F1 fans.

↳@McLarenMemeLord:Max: “She was at a race.” F1 Twitter: ACTIVATE FBI MODE

@SuperMaxUltraFan:At this point, I don’t even care who she is. I’m just impressed by the commitment to staying invisible.

↳@Horseriding4Life:"More time for horse riding"—girl is really just living her dream life, huh?

↳@SidepodDisaster:The fact that she chose freelancing instead of living the soft WAG life… Respect.

@RedBullChaos:She really doesn’t care about his money and I think that’s what drives people insane the most.

***

Alex Albon was halfway through his coffee when Max dropped into the chair across from him like the world had personally wronged him.

“Lilly’s sneezing,” Max said, without preamble.

Alex blinked. “Okay… hi?”

“My kitten,” Max clarified, as if that explained everything.

Alex raised a brow. “Right. Is she okay?”

“She started sneezing two days ago,” Max said, frowning. “Little sneezes. Like tchu-tchu. Not constant. But today it’s more.”

Alex set his cup down. “Vet?”

“Took her yesterday. No fever, no infection. Not her food. They tested for everything. Nothing.” Max looked personally offended by the mystery. “So it has to be something in the apartment.”

Alex squinted. “New plants? Cleaning products?”

Max pulled out his phone and swiped with purpose. “Switched laundry detergent last week. Isabelle lit a new candle. It smells like cedarwood and… I don’t know, something sweet.”

“Floral?” Alex offered.

Max nodded like he was on a crime show. “Possibly rose. Or jasmine. Something aggressive. I think it’s the candle.”

“Could be,” Alex agreed. “Some scents mess with cats’ systems. Especially essential oils.”

Max turned his phone toward him. “Here. This is her on the couch—right next to where the candle’s usually lit.”

Alex looked.

It was a picture of Lilly. Big blue eyes. Tiny paws. Mid-sneeze. The picture was blurry, chaotic, adorable.

But behind the kitten, sitting casually on the couch in one of Max’s oversized hoodies, was Isabelle Leclerc.

Hair pulled into a messy bun. Mug in hand. Bare legs tucked under her like she belonged there. Looking at the kitten with this soft, utterly unguarded smile that said: this is home.

Alex stared.

Max didn’t notice. “See, she only sneezes in the living room. Nowhere else. So I think it’s—”

“Back up,” Alex said, voice sharp.

Max paused. “What?”

Alex pointed at the photo, eyes wide. “Is that Isabelle Leclerc in your living room?”

Max glanced at the phone like it was obvious. “Yeah.”

“Max,” Alex said slowly. “That’s Charles Leclerc’s sister.”

“Correct.”

“She’s wearing your hoodie.”

Then said, without any trace of shame: “Yeah.”

Alex stared. “Yeah?! That’s all I get?!”

Max squinted. “What do you want? A timeline?”

“Uh, YES?” Alex exclaimed, leaning forward. “That’s Charles’ sister. And she’s sitting on your couch in your hoodie with your kitten like she LIVES THERE.”

Max shrugged. “She does.”

Alex’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “You’re dating Charles Leclerc’s sister?”

Max took a sip of his water. “We’ve been together for a while. Over a year.”

Alex made an unholy sound. “And Charles doesn’t know?!”

“Nope.”

Alex blinked rapidly. “Does anyone know?!”

“GP, Lando, Daniel, Oscar…Lewis, my family...Oh, wait, Nico Rosberg. Now you.”

“Do you want to die?!”

Max gave him a mildly amused look. 

Alex dropped his head into his hands. “You’re actually insane.”

Max waited a beat, then tapped his phone. “So. Candle, yes or no?”

Alex groaned. “Yes, Max. It could absolutely be the candle. But also, WHAT IS HAPPENING WITH YOUR LIFE.”

Max tilted his head. “Are you going to tell Charles?”

Alex gave him a look. “Do I look like I want to be collateral damage in that explosion?”

Max nodded approvingly. “Good. So... lavender and cedar — dangerous?”

Alex sighed. “For the kitten, yes. For you? I think you’ve already walked off a cliff.”

Max smirked. “Worth it.”

Alex groaned again. “I need a drink. And maybe a therapist.”

***

Group Chat: 2019 Rookies

(Members: Lando Norris, George Russel and Alex Albon)

Alex: boys. Alex: BOYS. Alex: you’re not going to believe what just happened

George: oh no George:  what did you do?

Alex: not meAlex: MAX

George: even worse George:  what happened?

Alex: so max came to me for ADVICE Alex: about his KITTEN Alex: because she’s sneezing

George:  what???

Alex: wait Alex: it gets worse Alex: he shows me a picture of the kitten Alex: and who’s in the background??

George: WHO?

Alex: ISABELLE. Alex: LECLERC. Alex: on his couch Alex: in his hoodie Alex: drinking out of his red bull mug Alex: LOOKING DOMESTIC AS HELL

George: YOU’RE JOKING

Lando: he’s not

George: EXCUSE ME???? George:  SINCE WHEN????

Alex: over. a. YEAR. Alex: he said that with his whole chest like it was normal

George: A YEAR???? George:  A YEAR?????

Lando: welcome to hell 😌

George: CHARLES DOESN’T KNOW???

Alex: he does not

George: ARE THEY TRYING TO DIE

Lando: hang on hang on Lando: adding you both

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Daniel Ricciardo, Carlos Sainz Jr., Lewis Hamilton, George Russell and Alex Albon)

Lando Norris has added George Russell and Alex Albon

Lando: new additions have arrived

Daniel: Alex!! Daniel:  G-MONEY!!! welcome to the worst-kept secret in f1

Carlos: it is not a secret. it’s a ticking time bomb.

Oscar: Charles will find out and take us all down with him

Lewis: has anyone built a bunker yet?

Alex: I feel like i need to lie down

George: I feel like I need a legal team

Daniel: guys we’re fineDaniel:  just don’t say anything to charles and don’t look max in the eye for too long

George: what happens if you look max in the eye???

Oscar: you see your life flash before your eyes

Lando: and also possibly belle in a hoodie making pancakes

Alex: ...she cooks for him????

Carlos: they cook together

George: that’s worse.  THEY HAVE A ROUTINE

Lando: they have matching coffee mugs Lando:  and the kitten has a name that matches the other cats.  it's over

George: i am distressed George: deeply, emotionally distressed

Lewis: You’ll get used to it. eventually

Oscar: No, you won’t.  We’re all dying inside… but she’s happy so we keep quiet

Daniel: And max is terrifyingly in love so we don’t poke the bear

George: this is insane

Alex: they are insane

Lando: but also, like… kind of cute right?

***

Max had faced down championship-deciding races, international media frenzies, and Monaco traffic. None of it — none of it — had prepared him for being frog-marched into a luxury jewelry boutique by Emilie Abadie at ten in the morning.

"Stand up straight," Emilie hissed under her breath, fixing the collar of his jacket like he was a misbehaving toddler.

Max glared at her. "I am standing straight."

"You’re standing like you’re about to be arrested," Emilie muttered. "Look less guilty."

"I am guilty," Max grumbled. "Guilty of letting you hijack my life."

Emilie grinned wickedly, grabbing his wrist and hauling him inside.

The boutique was elegant and understated — all cream walls, glass cases, and staff so polished they practically floated across the floor. A woman behind the nearest counter looked up, smiling warmly.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Verstappen. Mademoiselle Abadie. Welcome back."

Max blinked. "Back?"

Emilie shot him a look. "I told you I started scouting months ago. We have an appointment."

"You booked an appointment without asking me?"

"You needed help," Emilie said breezily. "You should be thanking me."

Max grumbled something unflattering under his breath but let her lead him deeper into the store. A private consultation table was already set up — soft lighting, velvet ring trays, glasses of still water, and a discreet little sign that read: “Reserved for Mr. Verstappen.”

Max sat down stiffly. Emilie plopped into the chair next to him like she owned the place.

The saleswoman joined them, setting out a leather-bound book filled with sketches. "You mentioned you were interested in a custom design. Yellow gold, emerald centerpiece, classic but with modern detailing?"

"Exactly," Emilie said crisply, before Max could even open his mouth.

Max raised an eyebrow. "Are you proposing or am I?"

"You're the wallet," Emilie said sweetly. "I’m the brains."

The saleswoman laughed quietly and turned the book toward Max. Beautiful sketches of rings — thick yellow gold bands, stunning emeralds set flush into intricate settings, delicate hidden details like tiny horseshoes, floral engraving, or Celtic knots.

Max stared at them, overwhelmed for a second by how serious it felt.

This wasn’t just a ring.

It was Belle’s future wrapped around her finger.

It was a promise he intended to keep for the rest of his life.

Emilie nudged him gently with her knee under the table. "You’re okay," she said quietly. "You’ve already made the most important decision. This is just picking the outfit for it."

Max exhaled slowly and leaned in, studying the designs.

He pointed to one — simple, stunning, an oval emerald cradled in a four-prong yellow gold setting, surrounded by diamonds, the inside of the band left smooth for an inscription.

"This one," he said roughly. "But I want the stone a little lower. So it doesn’t snag."

The saleswoman smiled approvingly. "Excellent eye, sir."

They finalized the adjustments, confirmed timelines (discreetly expedited, of course), and signed the paperwork.

 Max handed over the deposit without blinking.

When it was done, he stood awkwardly in the middle of the boutique, feeling somehow lighter and heavier all at once.

Emilie looped her arm through his, squeezing. "You did good, Verstappen."

"Yeah?" he asked, voice low.

She looked up at him, eyes suddenly bright. "You’re giving her something no one else ever did," Emilie said softly. "You’re choosing her first."

Max swallowed hard. "She deserves it," he said simply.

And he meant it with everything he had.

***

Instagram Story: @/victoriaverstappen

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/f1gossipgirl: hold on. HOLD ON. isabelle leclerc... hanging wallpaper... with JOS VERSTAPPEN???

@/casualf1fan:  jos verstappen? the jos verstappen? the one who doesn’t like anyone???

@/raceweekgirlie: victoria verstappen posting belle and jos working together calmly has actually sent me into a spiral i was not prepared for today

@/slowpitstop:  isabelle organizing the nursery i get isabelle being friends with victoria i get but isabelle and JOS VERSTAPPEN collaborating on a wallpaper project????

@/softdrs the fact that jos looks??? like he’s enjoying himself???? someone explain. fast.

@/piastrisleftshoe:  NO BECAUSE THINK ABOUT IT. isabelle has always been quiet, polite, organized. jos: respects competence above all else it’s making sense but also???? why does this feel WEIRDLY IMPORTANT

@/f1socialspy:  the verstappens are either adopting isabelle or she’s secretly engaged to max there’s no third option

@/leclercslens: every time i think about isabelle being on a ladder next to jos verstappen holding a roll of wallpaper like it’s normal i lose 3 years off my life

@/f1girliesunite: wait hold on. why is jos verstappen installing wallpaper with isabelle leclerc. what is happening.

@/chaoticf1fan: THE CROSSOVER I DID NOT EXPECT jos verstappen and isabelle leclerc hanging wallpaper like they’re on some home renovation show???

@/leclercbrainrot: belle leclerc being chill with victoria verstappen i get. belle leclerc hanging out with jos verstappen?????? PLS EXPLAIN

@/maxiecatlover33: I’m sorry but if you had told me in 2019 that JOS VERSTAPPEN would be calmly putting up wallpaper with a LECLERC I would have called you insane.

@/dutchgrandprixfan: the way jos looks like he’s genuinely concentrating and belle is just THERE like it’s totally normal?? I HAVE QUESTIONS

@/landochaosnorris: isabelle leclerc and jos verstappen hanging wallpaper together" is my roman empire now

@/chaosformula1: You’re telling me Max Verstappen’s dad and Charles Leclerc’s sister are casually hanging out???? Installing WALLPAPER together??? Am I on drugs or

@gridgirlenergy Not to be dramatic but if you had told me a year ago that Jos Verstappen and Isabelle Leclerc would be collaborating on INTERIOR DESIGN I would’ve called you clinically insane. What’s next? Toto Wolff and Christian Horner hugging it out?!

@/maxfosi:  the way jos and belle were concentrating on that wallpaper like they were on a two-man pit crew… i have QUESTIONS

@/slowpitstop:  someone please explain how belle leclerc is closer to the verstappens than literally any other paddock girlfriend when SHE’S NOT EVEN A PUBLIC GIRLFRIEND (or is she...?)

@/verstappenfiles: there’s just no way she’s not with max right??? you don’t just rope in your extremely grumpy father to do nursery wallpaper with your brother’s "friend" unless it’s SERIOUS

@/mclarenchaos:  the verstappen family adopting belle like a lost kitten while the internet loses its mind is my favorite off-track drama right now

@/redbullstan89: petition to get a documentary crew in there IMMEDIATELY because whatever this is, i want to see it unfold in real time

@/f1girlies:  petition to make “isabelle leclerc hanging wallpaper with jos verstappen” the new unit of measurement for how confusing the f1 world is

@/pitlaneconfessions: still can’t believe victoria posted that and acted like it was NORMAL like “here’s belle and jos, wallpapering together” no context no explanation iconic behavior honestly

@/charlespills: charles leclerc obliviously posting selfies from golf while his sister is bonding with jos verstappen is soooooo on brand

[chocolilies]

─── SWEAT. ꒱

( ୨ৎ. fushiguro toji x fem!teacher!reader. . .ᐟ

toji comes to pick megumi up from his training, expecting to be met with his white-haired asshole of a teacher, only to meet gojo's newer, cuter replacement.

◟ꪆ୧ slight nsfw (toji stares at reader's tits, reader imagines getting groped by him), au where toji is alive + takes care of megumi, bold yet sneaky flirting, megumi's in middle school. wrote this on a whim bc i need toji BAD.

w.c: 1.6k

also on ao3 + jjk masterlist !

“that’s your dad?”

you’d heard mention of fushiguro toji before, whether it be from his son or from gojo as he had explained how he’d let the “sorcerer killer” live under the promise of taking care of the boy that was now standing at your side. 

“don’t you dare.”

megumi gritted his teeth as he watched you goggle at the man you were approaching, hand wrapped around your wrist as if he was pulling back a dog on a leash, and by the way you were staring at toji, he might as well have been. 

“what!?” you let out an offended gasp, turning to look at your glaring student, tiny face scrunched up in disgust at the mere thought of what was going through your brain. 

“i know what you're like.”

you froze in your place, horrified expression framing your sweaty face as the cicadas roared around you, framing the silence after that comment in an almost comedic manner. 

you watched as megumi continued to walk ahead, a bored look on his face once he turned around to wait for you to catch up at the edge of the tiny wasteland you’d both been training in, letting you wonder as you caught up to him just what gojo had told him before he’d first introduced the both of you.

you started spluttering out a mix of words in disbelief once you reached his side, but whatever you’d tried to say immediately got stuck in your throat as soon as you finally caught a better look at the man that had sparked the short lived argument.  

oh, fuck.

“who’s this?” you watched attentively as the muscles in toji’s arms bulged beneath his tight shirt at the tiniest movement, feeling your mouth water at the mere sight of them. 

god, you felt dirty just staring at him.

“my teacher.” megumi grunted, shoving his backpack off and flinging it into his dad’s chest, walking towards the bus stop further ahead without bothering to say goodbye, knowing he’d see you around sooner or later. 

“I thought that white-haired brat was his teacher,” toji grunted out, flinging the backpack over his shoulder as he turned to look down at you, quirking up a brow as he immediately noticed your nervous demeanour, a drop of sweat dripping down your temple before rolling down your neck and towards your exposed cleavage, green eyes following it’s whole journey and lingering on the spot where it disappeared.  

it’d been a while since toji had stared at someone this way. he hadn't looked twice at anyone, regardless of their attractiveness or willingness, ever since his wife died and tsumiki’s mom left. 

but that amount of time without anyone to touch or kiss or feel would have its toll on anyone, and toji was no exception. 

which is why he initially blamed it on that. 

neediness.

he doesn't feel anything for megumi’s teacher, you’re just too pretty and exposed and worked up to ignore, right? it’s not like he’d actually think of pursuing something with you. 

he snapped out of it once you spoke, expecting to meet an angered expression and an insult about his perversion once he raised his gaze, only to find you straight up ogling his arms and chest. 

the way he stares at your pretty, scrunched up face when you aren't looking, proves him wrong.

initially, you might've been able to attribute your clammy palms and sweaty skin to the blasting summer heat, or to the fact you’d just finished a four hour training session with the tiny grade two sorcerer who gojo had been training for the past few years. 

“I'm his co-worker,” you stuttered out, forcing yourself to look away from the veins that swelled in his arms and up to his green eyes, not wanting the man to see just how much he was affecting you. “satoru’s on a mission, so I'll be taking care of ‘gumi ‘till then.”

toji hummed, taking your gawking as an invitation to do his own, allowing his eyes to trail over your flustered expression and sweaty skin, lingering on the more exposed parts of your outfit, thanking whatever god was up there for the stupid heatwave that had hit their country as of late. 

“mission, huh?” toji snickered, turning his head to look at the boy who was sitting at the bus stop with one of the divine dogs at his side, resting his tired body against its black fur. “how long will y’be around?”

“well, until ‘toru comes back, I guess…” you trailed off, mouth going dry as you watched the man take a tiny step towards you, raising one of those big hands you’d been ogling before to brush against your cheek, a shiver wracking through your whole body at the light contact, his skin burning against yours, making you just how a man that ran as hot as that was able to survive in this weather, especially when he dressed like it was winter.

“y’had some dirt on y’cheek,” toji almost purred out, flicking his fingers to get rid of the grime that had probably stuck to you during the many times megumi’s divine dogs had flung you around. 

“oh, I'm probably covered in dirt,” you laughed out nervously, taking a step back to put the same distance as before between you two, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand while trying to ignore how electrifying his touch had felt. “I always seem to find myself taking an everything-shower after training with ‘gumi, he’s ruthless.”

toji fell silent, watching you as you shook your arms and head, probably trying to get rid of whatever debri that was still stuck to your body, grin pulling at the scar in the corner of his lips. “need me t’clean you up, that what you're saying?”

huh? 

you blinked stupidly as your mind attempted to process what he had just said. were you misunderstanding his words or his tone? or was he really suggesting what your mind had immediately jumped to?

that was not what you were saying, but you certainly would not be complaining if he did. 

you felt your cheeks warm as you imagined what that might look like: big, warm, calloused hands on your skin as you stood under the steady stream of the shower, hot water pouring over the both of you as he dragged a sponge over your skin, free hand resting on your tummy right above where you needed him most, groping and caressing the plus skin, body pressed tightly against his in such a way that you could just feel his growing cock pressing against your ba-

oh, what the fuck.

you imagined punching yourself in the face, snapping you out of the downright filth you were acting out in your mind with a man you had just met, not to mention, the father of your student. 

“jeez, pick your jaw up, ‘m messing with ya.” you grunted as two of his fingers landed under your chin, shoving your mouth shut with a shit-eating grin, clearly enjoying the fact that he had gotten such a reaction out of you with a mere joke. “‘s not appropriate f’me to flirt with ‘gumi’s teacher.”

“s-sorry.” you struggled to even push out that simple word, trying to figure out just what the hell had gotten into you to make you act like this, not even processing the fact that he had just admitted to flirting with you. 

were you ovulating? was it that time of the month already? or was toji’s overwhelming presence truly just enough to get you acting like a bitch in heat?

“old man,” you snapped out of it as you heard megumi shout out for his father from behind you both, “bus is coming.”

toji chuckled, raising a thumbs up to the boy in response before turning back to look at you, taking in your shaky figure with a smirk.

“which means I'll just hafta wait ‘till that blue-eyed brat comes back and you're not his teacher anymore.”

you blinked owlishly up at him, and toji could just see the cogs whirring and moving around in your mind, trying to make sense of what he'd just said. 

“give me y’number once he does. hope that offer to clean you up will still be available by then.” 

god, he was a big fat liar. if he had been telling the truth before, he would not be asking that, he would not be (for once) looking forward to seeing that white haired bastard, as it would mean he would be free to pursue you. 

toji walked away after dropping that bombshell, not having to turn to look at you to know that you were staring at him walk away, ignoring the way his son was glaring at him while he held a hand out to stop the bus. 

“what?” he grinned, pulling their transport passes out as the bus opened its doors, megumi’s divine dog curling around the boy protectively like it usually did. “your teacher's hot,”

“you disgust me,” megumi deadpanned, snatching the pass out of his father’s hand before boarding the bus, dog quickly following up the step with a wag of its tail, phone already out and ready to message tsumiki to complain about their father, leaving toji to do the same. well, not before he turned to sneak a final look at you. 

you had walked away from the field, heading towards a black car nearby he assumed had been sent by the school, phone in hand as you talked into the speakerphone, shaky voice ringing out in such a way even he could hear it. 

“ieiri, how wrong would it be for me to hook up with a future student’s father?”

[spacegyaru]

DON'T LOOK AT IT!

your phone got lost for some reasons. the following day, the sex tape you made with your boyfriend (shidou, kaiser, sae, and bachira) was all around the internet. how would they react?

cw: r18+, mdni! mentions of sex tape and implied sex. humiliation. somewhat angst and comfort. a little bit toxic, esp shidou and kaiser's.

a/n: i'm going to start this with characters who are most likely to have sex tapes first then i'll add other characters!!

masterlist | part 2 (reo, nagi, hiyori, otoya, yukimiya) | part 3 (rin, isagi, chigiri)

shidou ryusei

this guy is a fucking freak. in your relationship with him, every intimate and lovemaking session must be recorded. he would watch it from time to time, and he may have even threatened you a lot of times that if you decided to cheat or leave him, he's going to post those videos online. that guy is 100% shameless.

if your sex tape with him goes viral, shidou would absolutely give zero fucks about it. he would be even smug and confident. even if you feel sad and humiliated, he's just going to make fun of you but would try to comfort you with hugs and kisses… and another lovemaking session together. this time, no cameras on. only for a while, until the issue dies down.

“awww, don't you want people to see how much of a dirty girl you are? you're even moaning my name loudly while i drill you from behind. or are you ashamed of you belong to?”

michael kaiser

another freak who won't give a a fuck about it. like shidou, he would act smug and proud about it.

his management told him that he could lose potential sponsors with that video alone. but he know that he's one of the best players so they couldn't just drop him like that. and apparently, he's actually right. he almost fired his secretary for telling him what to do.

if you feel humiliated, kaiser would try to comfort you. but his way to comfort you is not by words, not even by affection. he would shower you with gifts and designer bags, even with the management telling you to stay apart first until the issue dies down. he honestly don't get it. why do you feel ashamed with letting the whole world know who you belong to?

“what do you mean you feel ashamed? you were fucking me, michael kaiser. i'm no nobody. come on, let me just take you on a shopping spree and get this off your mind.”

bachira meguru

another freak, but also a sweetheart. not all, but MOST of your lovemaking sessions and intimate encounters are recorded using your phone. whenever he's away or on tour, he would watch it and touch himself at the thought of you. when you told him that your phone got lost, you were the only one panicking. he told you that he could just buy you a new one, but that's not what you're concerned about. the videos. THE FUCKING VIDEOS. LITERALLY. FUCKING.

then days later, one of your videos with him went viral. you've never felt so humiliated your whole life. but bachira was just like “huh? what's wrong with that? people already know we're together, right?” you smacked his shoulder with that insensitive comment of his.

hours later, bachira apologized to you, bought you flowers, and ice cream to comfort you. he realized that he did something wrong when you avoided him for being so clueless and insensitive about the issue. he also posted an apology to the social media, after his management and his own mother scolded him. he got extra scolding from his mom when he told her how you responded to it.

“y/n baby, i'm really sorry about it. i thought it would be alright because the whole world already knew how much we love each other. would you forgive me, please?”

itoshi sae

not that much of a freak, but you were the one who brought up the idea of making a video together so he could watch it while he's away. he’s not that much of a fun but would do it just once or twice during your relationship.

when the video went viral, sae mostly scolded you for it. he didn't outwardly ‘scold scold’ you, but he gave you cold shoulder. apparently, his management told him that you guys shouldn't be seen together in public for a while. he knew he couldn't resist if ever he talked to you even nicely.

you started crying because he really acted coldly around you. he sighed and felt guilty about it. so while the issue hasn't died down yet, he took you out for a shopping spree. he bought you some cartier jewelry and new designer shoes.

“jeez, stop being dramatic. we're going out tonight and i'll take you to buy that designer shoes you've been eyeing. but we're never recording any of our sex again, okay?”

a/n: comment down which character should i do next!! i'm thinking of hiori but idk, suggest more pls!!!

[yaut-jaknowit]

A masseuse who specializes in non-human species? A male yautja (possible bad blood) keeps coming back to her shop. Smitten with the masseuse, he keeps all suitors away.

I absolutely adore your works!

Aches and Pains

Pairing: Mai'tuiudh (Male Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2858

Summary: You're a masseuse for nonhuman patients. Mai'tuiudh becomes a patient and pays handsomely. Even as your clientele starts to dwindle, he pays more. Until he's the only one left. He kinda kidnaps you/persuade you to join him.

Author Note: Thank you so much!

Masterlist

Ao3

Out of everyone and everything you’ve seen, him was one you had never expected. A species so reclusive that even he asks to be seen after hours. The complaint died on your tongue at the amount he was willing to pay. Twice what you ask for. Double time for a short nightshift. So, you decided to agree to his terms for exchange of the money. Money talks.

Tonight would be the first session. As a person devoid of anything about his kind, you poured yourself into researching to learn more about him. Only to come up empty handed with nothing to aid you. You didn’t know what else to expect. There was a reason only their name is heard and strikes fear into everyone. Including yourself.

He, on the other hand, was charming and polite. Not the ferocious, bloodlust creatures people paint them as. He didn’t threaten to kill you in exchange of receiving a massage in return. No, he offered a lumpsum, more than you ask for, in exchange and to do it at nights only. Irt shocked you but you did your best not to show it. Yet, that fear in your eyes couldn’t be wiped away completely.

The giant royal blue Yautja stepped into your workshop with silent feet. His orange eyes scanned over his surroundings like a practiced warrior. It was his presence alone that sent your heart into overdrive. The only way you were able to press through was thinking about the money. That much every week? It was hard to say no.

His towering frame turned towards you. What you believed to be a smirk quirked a mandible up. Then, he bent at the waist and leaned in close one of his mandibles’ fangs grazed along the shell of your ear. “I can hear your heart racing, sweetie,” he rumbled, voice vibrating and tickling the inside of your eardrum. You shuddered and felt goosebumps spring to life along your forearms. Heat bloomed to dust your cheeks.

You forcefully cleared your throat and took a step back away from him. The cool night air of the still open door brushed across any bare skin. You snapped free from your thoughts and bowed your head in submission. “I-I’m sorry. Can’t help it,” you muttered and closed the door. It took all the cool air away with it. You took a deep breath and gestured towards a room already prepared with a table able to fit his size.

Mai’tuiudh regarded you with eye alit with mirth before finally pulling away to allow you to breath fully again. A deep rumbling sounded from his chest. Almost like a purr. Do yautjas purr? But, the sound was done before you could completely acknowledge it. You wondered if you had heard it at all. He followed to where you wanted him to go. While you shadowed after him. You stopped just inside the room.

“You’ll need to strip down all the way. The towel right th-what are you doing?!” you screeched as Mai began to peel off his armor and clothing in a causal manner. One of your hands claps over your eyes, back turning to him in haste. “Not right now! Wait until I leave the room to give you privacy.” You couldn’t believe what he was doing. Another thing to ass to your mental list about yautjas. Privacy and decency were nonexistent in his weirdly shaped dome head.

“I’m going to be naked on the cot anyhow,” he snorted back at you. You could hear the faint rustling of him shedding everything off of him. Oh how you wanted to throttle him for his very logically answer. But, you liked to offer privacy even if it was mock in a way. You sighed noisily and dragged that hand down your face, eyes closed and back still to him. “You can turn around now. I ain’t gonna bite you for even taking a peek.” It almost sounded like he encouraged it.

Neves threatened to make your heart leap free. You timidly turned around to face the hunter, eyes sliding open. Mai stood there, butt naked, with his hands on his hips. A like-smirk playing on his mandibles. There was no towel covering him. You shrieked again, hands slapping over your eyes.

Anger was the first thing you felt until your mind had finally noticed something. Well, something missing.

Your head snapped back over towards him, hands following back to your sides. Your gaze couldn’t look away at the lack of male genitalia. Confused, you took a step forward and noticed only a slit in place. “You don’t…” you trailed off. One brow furrowed, head titled. Until you realized what you were ding and stumbled back, hands thrown up. “I’m so sorry!”

A deep chuckle vibrated through his chest. “You don’t need to apologize. You are more than welcome to explore. I don’t mind.” Cheeky bastard had a smirk on his face. You scowled at him with a deep breath to calm yourself. Clearly, he wasn’t bothered at the fact that you were ogling at his nakedness. Not because he was well defined as a prime hunter, but for the difference between your two species. Nothing more.

“Lay down,” you demanded and kept your gaze locked to his fiery one. “Drap the towel over your waist. I’ll be back.” Hopefully, he would listen to you. You stepped out of the room. The door closing with a click behind you. Heat flushed your cheeks at the entire situation that just occurred.

Quickly, you rushed to the backroom and splashed cold water on your face. It did nothing to quell the fire that was burning. You took another deep breath, filling your lungs, then releasing it. You only felt slightly better.

Before you wanted to, you returned back to his assigned room. Relief flooded you at the sight before you. Mai had followed your instructions by lying down, belly to the cot, with the small towel draped over his waist, covering up everything important. A content sigh left your lungs.

Though his head and facial features are unique, you were able to find a head rest that would work for him. His tress were splayed over his back or hanging off the sides of his face. You snorted walked to the edge of he waist high cot. “I’m glad you can listen,” you retorted in mostly friendly manner. It wants to play jokes on you, you’ll give him the same energy back.

Mai clicks in response, muscles rippling along his back. You couldn’t help but watching as they do. No wonder he was here, begging practically for your magic hands to work on him. He looks incredibly tense. And you didn’t even need to touch him. You make a small noise of amusement than swept his tresses out of the way.

A gasp threatened to tear our of your throat both at the strange feeling of the dreads and the noise he made. It wasn’t a threatening growl he made but it still made you tense up nevertheless, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Did I…” you trailed off.

“No,” he grunted before you could start again. “No. Just… need a warning next time. My tresses are sensitive.” Sensitive? Like he could feel when you touched them? They were warm, as if alive beneath your fingertips. The more you learned about his physic, the more you craved the knowledge. Yeah, his body near the same as a human. But, his entire head, hair, and… other things were remarkably different.

Despite him not being able to see you, you dumbly nodded your head. “Okay, sorry.” You couldn’t help it. Disrespecting his culture or consent to touch was a no-go for you. A boundary you weren’t going to cross. An apology was needed in your eyes.

“Am I okay to touch?” you asked in respect after that small misunderstanding. He grunts with his head nodding.

To ease your heart, you take another deep breath. A constant thing now. You grabbed a bottle of lightly scented oil and drizzled it over his back. Mai tense at first. The oil cool from the room temperature and his blazing skin. You first settled your hands between his shoulder blades then dragged the oil up to his shoulders.

The heat skin produce was unlike anything you’ve felt before. You’ve dealt with plenty of other creatures during your career but nothing such as this.

Once, his muscles tense up under the now feeling. As you slide your palms towards his tense neck, he was instantly going lax. You smiled at the notion before kneading at the muscles that corded his shoulders. They were so knotted your own hands cramped while working those knots out until it was plushy under your finger tips.

Mai was good at staying still under your despite you knowing it had to be painful to a degree. He was holding back his grunts and groans. You saw the way his chest would hitch when you would work on a specific spot that seemed to be troubling him.

By the time you had reach his feet, you swore the yautja had passed out. The male was still and softly breathing. Was that snore you were hearing?

For a species known to be the deadliest out there, to see him lying there, asleep from getting a massage was adorable. You smiled to yourself and decided against waking him up. Instead, you began to clean up around him, adding a few noises here and there. Not wholeheartedly trying to wake him. Just enough to possibly rouse him from sleep.

It took until nearing the last stuff for him to finally raise his head and blink his eyes open. An airily snort left your nose at the groan he produces. Despite the fact he does make you slightly uneasy, you felt calm for the first time. Well… until he rose to his feet, towel slipping free to the group. You shrieked and slapped a hand over your eyes for the second time that night.

Mai chuckled at your desperate attempt of modesty for himself. Though blinded, you hear him move about the cleaned room. A shuffle of fabric before the male grunted. You slowly split your fingers and peered at his newly dressed form. A sigh of relief passed your lips. He’s lucky he pays well.

.

Like clockwork, the male comes and goes once a week. He doesn’t change his attitude about modesty of himself. It soon grows to a point where you ignore it since he wasn’t change. A cultural difference. Your curiosity didn’t wane though. To see a yautja, to touch a yautja was unheard of. But, here you were, giving one a massage weekly. It didn’t make sense but you never shard this secret. Not because he put that into the agreement, but because you felt a want to keep it to yourself. In a way, it made you feel important.

With his constant appearance came a down fall you didn’t expect… clients dropping you. A small ache bloomed in your chest when another client declines to set up the next appointment. For the life of you, you can’t figure out why.

Why were all these clients leaving? Even ones you’ve had since you first opened up five years ago. What you also noticed that there wasn’t a drop in revenue. Not with the way Mai keeps increasing his payment. Just telling you to keep the change. Youd didn’t suspect him at first until you looked at the money. It was the same amount you would’ve lost that time.

Yautjas are known to be possessive. Your eyes narrowed on his back as he strolled to the room he has practically claimed at this point. No one wants to step into that room anymore. The only answer you get out of someone was ‘scent’. As a human, you didn’t known what that meant entirely. You just thought the room stank but you couldn’t smell anything wrong.

Today was the least straw. Your last, longest client had declined setting up his next appointment. There was fear evident in his eyes as they wildly looked around. As if the walls would come alive and eat him whole. He scampered out of the building like his tail was on fire. Then, out appeared as if he was there the entire time. You were too angry, too saddened to jolt as his sudden appearance.

The navy blue yautja goes to his room, only throwing a smirk in your direction. There was a smugness that made you want to throttle him but you follow after with a crestfallen expression to sour your features. One he notices and lets his purr to fill the air of the small room. On instinct, your muscles relaxed. It felt so strange as these feelings slipped threw your fingers and melted to your feet.

He lays down on the cot and covers himself with the towel, still purring away. “Ugh, I… I hated when you do that,” you snapped at him with no heat to your words. Mai doesn’t stop. You gather the oil and drizzle it along his back before getting to work in almost a trance.

Like always, it takes about an hour to work through his body and finished up with his feet. He had stopped purring halfway through and relaxed fully into the cut. You pulled your oil covered hands away form his and silently stood there. Mai rolled onto his back then slipped off of the cot faster than ever before. Clearly he hadn’t fallen asleep this time. You meet his gaze. Shock apparent in your gaze at his sudden move.

Instantly, he crowding into your spawn. Surprised, you stumble backwards until your back hits the nearest wall. A small ‘oof’ leaving your lips. You tilt your head back to gaze up at the blue yautja, eyes wide at the near would look in his own gaze. He has one large palm to the middle of your chest, pinning you to the wall.

His musky scent washes over you. One you’ve grown used to but this seemed to seep into your pores.

“You’re sad,” he states rather than askes. You flinched at the hard truth thrown directly into your face, about to duck down. Then, Mai grabs your chin and forces all of the attention on you.

“What about it?” you snapped back at him, not wanting to discuss your suspicions to the very one causing all your issues. Not that you had hard evidence but enough to point a finger at him.

“What trouble you, little one?” he coos but there’s real concern in his voice.

Your anger sputters enough to kill the flame but the embers still hot. “My clients.” A pregnant pause to read his face. Yet, he reveals nothing. “They have all… left. You are all that remains.” That was the sad truth.

His touches softened. His thumb caresses your check bone, the claw dangerously close to your eye. But… you how he wouldn’t hurt you. “I’m sorry to hear that. That does make my offer easier to ask.” This caused you to tilted your head, his hand following. “For you to join me. I’ve shown I can care for you. Credits are no issues. I can show you my trophy collection, show you how much I can provide for you.”

That… that wasn’t what you were expecting. Your jaw dropped. “Like go into spawn… live with you?” Mai nodded your head with a grin playing his features. “But-but-“ you tried but Mai shook his head and held one of your hands close to his chest. You felt the heat rising off of his blistering scales.

“No. No buts. Just think about it. You won’t have to lift a finger besides to give me massages. That’s all you will have to do. I’ll spoil you,” he promises with a purr to seal the deal. Spoil you. A wish come true. Any person wants to be spoiled and living their best life. “I’ll take care of you. You know I can.”

The money. Plenty of it to spill into your business with the declining clients.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and rubbed your fingers against the scales on his chest. Smoother than the ones on his shoulders. “Okay.” Your head nodded. “Okay, I’ll go with you. I’ll be your personal masseuse.” You knew he would take care of you. Plus, all of your clients left. You suspected it to be him as the root cause.

Mai fiercely grinned at your acceptance and tug you close. His arm wrapped around your torso and pressed your gith to his frame. You gasped softly, head titled back to look at him. A deep purr poured from his chest as he held you. He leaned down and bury his face into your neck, inhaling your scent.

“You won’t regret this. I’ll keep you safe, protect you, care for you. You’ll want for nothing,” he promised. He would keep till the end of time. You relaxed against him, molding yourself into his arms. Maybe this wasn’t so bad.

[achromatophoric]

At Jericho General Hospital, a siren visits her recovering rival after their close brush with death.

Wednesday: *pale from blood loss and heavily bandaged around her neck, left shoulder, and upper torso*

Bianca: Christ, Addams. You look like shit.

Wednesday: Christ Addams is my cousin. A plausible mistake, seeing as she was similarly hospitalized after a particularly intense session of competitive crucifixion.

Bianca:

Bianca: Right. As fascinating as your family tree is, I’m more concerned about how you almost fucking died THIS time.

Wednesday: Ah. The answer is simple.

Bianca: *arches eyebrow* And that answer is?

Wednesday: Enid.

Bianca:

Bianca: I guess that explains why she’s been bawling non-stop in the waiting area, but it doesn’t explain what actually happened.

Wednesday: I finally convinced my beloved to bestow her mark upon my undeserving flesh.

Bianca: *incredulous stare*

Bianca: Bitch, if that’s all, then why does it look like a drunk vampire hunter staked you. TWICE.

Wednesday: I did have her shift first.

Bianca:

Bianca: Are you fucking INSANE? Her canines are as long as your goddamn forearms!

Wednesday: *wistful* Indeed. They were glorious.

Bianca: They punctured your fucking LUNG!

Wednesday: Enid does possess a singular talent for leaving me breathless.

Bianca: 😐

Bianca: 🤬

[justchillgurl]

Chapter 2: Smoking Mirrors.

Summary: Geum Seong-je isn’t one to care about school politics, but something about her—the girl with the chessboard smile and debt-tracked hands—gets under his skin. From hallway glimpses to quiet observation, he begins to unthread her method. Not to expose her. Just to see if she ever slips.

He doesn’t think she will. That’s what makes it interesting.

Warnings: none (not yet at least.) just seongje smoking.

Author's note: I'm not really confident about those chapters, feel free to give your feedback. English is not my first language, please don't hesitate to point out any mistakes. Thank you🫶🏼

Check this out!@

The lighter clicked once. Twice. Flame hissed, flickered, and died against the afternoon wind.

Seong-je exhaled through his teeth, dug the lighter deeper into his palm, and tried again. On the third attempt, it caught. The tip of the cigarette burned soft orange as he leaned back against the cracked brick wall outside the east stairwell, smoke curling lazily around his face.

He wasn’t supposed to be out here. Not technically.

But that was the whole point.

Classes were still in session. The school felt hollow in this part of the building—too far from the teachers’ offices, too quiet for anyone to bother checking. A graveyard for rusted lockers and long-forgotten announcements. Seong-je liked it here. It was predictable in its neglect.

His phone buzzed.

Seong-Mok: u gonna show up today or what?

He locked the screen without answering.

Seong-je didn’t skip class because he had better things to do. He skipped because nothing in that building made him feel awake. He’d already figured out which teachers didn’t bother calling names, which students kept their heads down, and which staff gave up trying to correct him.

He existed at the edge of Kanghak High’s awareness. Not low enough to worry about. Not loud enough to deal with.

Except now there was her.

He’d been watching her longer than he liked to admit.

It started in the convenience store. The way she measured every action, every word, like she was scoring a game only she understood. She didn’t seek attention, but it followed her anyway—hovering around her sharp shoulders and immovable stare.

He didn’t care about rumors, but even he’d heard things.

She was the one with the notes. The blog. The connections. She never raised her voice. Never smiled for no reason. And never helped without a trade.

A few days after their non-meeting, he saw her again.

She was sitting in the back corner of the library, laptop open, typing fast and without pause. Her phone buzzed three times—she ignored it. Her bag sat on the floor, half unzipped, with a folder of printed sheets sticking out like pressed wings.

He didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt.

He just watched.

The next day, she was walking across the courtyard, head tilted as someone tried desperately to gain her approval. Seong-je could tell. The body language was all there—hands fidgeting, voice too eager, laugh a little too loud. She listened with that same neutral expression, nodding only once before slipping a folded note into the person’s hand.

Transaction complete.

He lit another cigarette.

He didn’t want to interact. Not yet. That wasn’t how you watched people like her. You didn’t start by talking. You started by observing—finding the cracks. The inconsistencies. The rules she followed and when she bent them.

He already knew some of them.

She refused requests that weren’t worth her time. She wore earbuds in crowded spaces—not because she liked music, but because it gave her an excuse not to engage.

She smiled differently depending on who was talking.

To teachers: soft, respectful.

To classmates: polite, measured.

To those beneath her ranking system: almost invisible.

There was a system. He was sure of it.

And it intrigued the hell out of him.

One afternoon, he caught a sliver of her voice near the back staircase. Someone was begging—literally—for help on a scholarship essay. She didn’t yell. She didn’t even sound annoyed.

“Do you really think my notes are free?” she said calmly.

“No, no—I’ll pay. I’ll do anything, I swear.”

“I don’t want desperation. I want results. I want return.”

There was a long pause. Then:

“Make me a deal that makes sense. Otherwise, don’t waste my time.”

She walked off. Her steps echoed sharp and fast.

She didn’t glance at Seong-je as she passed.

But he noticed her thumb flick across her phone screen the moment she turned the corner. Probably logging the encounter. Updating a name. Moving pieces.

He tossed the cigarette butt into a gutter and kicked the edge of a bench.

The weird thing was, he didn’t want anything from her. Not really. He wasn’t looking for help, or notes, or connections. He wasn’t even looking for a fight.

He just wanted to know if she ever messed up.

If the game she was playing was as perfect as she made it look.

Because people like her didn’t run without cracks. No matter how polished. No matter how precise.

And Geum Seong-je had time. He had silence. And he had an unsettling talent for noticing what others ignored.

He could wait.

This is gonna be fucking fun.

So I decided to drop the chapter tonight, felt like it.

Hope you enjoy reading it🫂.

[slutoru1207]

Invincible!Dad x reader part 9

Uncle-William freak out

You and Mark were sitting in your room, mentally preparing for what was about to happen.

William had been texting Mark nonstop for days, complaining that he was never around anymore. (Uh, hello? Superhero life??) But today? Today was different.

Because today, you were telling William that you were two months pregnant.

Mark groaned, flopping onto your bed. “This is gonna be worse than telling the Guardians.”

You snorted, rolling onto your side to face him. “Oh, definitely.”

“I should’ve just texted him,” Mark muttered.

You smacked his arm. “Mark!”

“Okay, okay! I get it.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But just so you know, he’s probably gonna freak out.”

You grinned. “That’s half the fun.”

William showed up exactly on time, as always.

“Dude, finally,” he said the second Mark opened the door. “I was starting to think you got abducted or something.”

Mark chuckled nervously. “Yeah, uh, come inside.”

William stepped in, immediately flopping onto the couch. “So, what’s up? You finally here to explain why you’ve been MIA for weeks?” His gaze flickered between you two, eyes narrowing. “Wait. This is serious, isn’t it?”

Mark inhaled sharply. “Yeah.”

William sat up straighter. “Oh my God. Are you breaking up with me?”

You choked on your laugh while Mark smacked a hand over his face.

“No, William,” Mark groaned.

William pointed at you. “Then what? You guys eloping? You joined a cult?”

You bit your lip, barely holding it together. “Okay, okay—so, um… I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

William blinked. Once. Twice.

Then—

“I’M SORRY, YOU’RE WHAT?!?!”

You lost it.

Mark winced. “Dude—”

William grabbed Mark’s shoulders, shaking him like he was trying to restart a Wi-Fi router. “MARK. MARK. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS???”

Mark sighed. “Yeah, William. I do.”

��NO, YOU DON’T!” William shrieked. “YOU—YOU’RE A SUPERHERO! YOUR DAD WAS OMNI-MAN! AND YOU—” He turned to you, eyes wild. “AND YOU—OH MY GOD, YOU’RE—HOW—WHEN—WHAT THE—”

“William, breathe!” you laughed.

He dramatically sucked in air, hands still on Mark’s shoulders. “Okay. Okay. I’m fine. I’m good.”

Mark gave him a look. “Are you?”

“No, absolutely not, but continue.”

Mark exhaled slowly. “It’s been two months. We found out recently, and we’re figuring things out. But this is happening. I’m gonna be a dad.”

William stared at him. Then at you. Then at Mark again.

And then—

“Oh my God.” His hands flew to his face. “I’m gonna be the cool uncle.”

Mark groaned.

You grinned. “That’s your takeaway from all this?”

“Yes,” William said, nodding furiously. “Because clearly, one of us needs to focus on the positives, and it’s not gonna be this idiot—” He gestured wildly at Mark, “—who literally almost DIED last week.”

Mark threw up his hands. “Okay, that was one time!”

William looked back at you, his expression softening slightly. “Hey, real talk—how are you feeling? Do you need anything? Pickles? Ice cream? A one-way ticket to somewhere Mark can’t stress you out?”

You laughed. “I’m okay. Just tired all the time.”

William’s brows furrowed. “No nausea?”

“Not much. Mostly just weird cravings and exhaustion.”

“Huh.” He rubbed his chin, looking oddly serious for once. “Okay, well, if that changes, let me know. I will personally make sure you get whatever you need.”

Mark scoffed. “Yeah, because you’ll definitely be more responsible than me.”

William shot him a look. “Please. I’ve been more responsible than you since the day we met.”

Mark rolled his eyes.

William ignored him and turned back to you. “For real, though. You guys are my best friends, and I know things are gonna get crazy, but I’m here. Always. Whether you need a babysitter, a rant session, or someone to tell Mark he’s being dumb—which, let’s be real, will be often—I got you.”

Your heart warmed. You reached out and squeezed his hand. “Thanks, William.”

“Of course.” He squeezed back. Then he pulled away, dramatically wiping a fake tear from his eye. “Wow. I never thought I’d live to see the day where Mark freaking Grayson is about to be someone’s dad. The world is doomed.”

Mark groaned again. “Okay, you can leave now.”

William cackled. “Nah, I’m staying. I need to start bonding with my future niece or nephew.” He leaned down toward your stomach. “Hey, baby. It’s Uncle William. Your dad’s a disaster, but don’t worry—I’ll make sure you grow up cool.”

You burst into laughter.

Mark, arms crossed, glared at him. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

William smirked. “I know.”

[bella-goths-wife]

What would have happened if Vs pet made a deal with a different overlord

So basically we know what would happen if Vs pet made a deal with alastor and obviously vox, but what would happen if they sold their soul to Velvette, Valentino, Rosie or Carmilla instead

Warnings: obsessive behaviour, SA mentions, abuse mentions, forced affection, forced cannibalism, reader is uncomfortable, violence mentions

Velvette:

Now we know that even though you’d still belong to all the Vs collectively, if you made the deal with Velvette instead of Vox there would be a large power dynamic shift in terms of your care

Let’s say that Velvette found you first and was the one to make a deal with you, you wouldn’t be working for vox as his assistant in this scenario and would instead be a model or assistant to velvette

In the usual au where vox owns your soul, he is the one who creates your rules and enforces them

He’s the one who decides whether the other two can see you

But if velvette owned your soul instead then that entire dynamic is turned upside down, she’s the one who makes your rules and she’s the one who decides whether or not she’ll let vox spend time with you

This would absolutely infuriate him, and velvette can’t help but smile at that

Your rules would be much less restrictive if velvette was the one who owned your soul

Unlike vox who sees you as a surrogate daughter figure most of the time, velvette only sees you as a delightful little pet and occasional friend

And she understands that sometimes pets need a walk or a new toy to keep them occupied until she’s ready to play with them again

So you’d be able to leave the tower by yourself more often and you’d be able to hookup with people, but there is still a strict ban on forming intimate connections or starting relationships

Velvette requires your attention almost all of the time, and you can’t give her that if your chasing after some romantic partner

She should be enough of a connection for you!

You don’t need anyone else

You’d still be shared with the other Vs unfortunately as they share everything, so you’ll still have to deal with Valentino and voxs antics

But at least velvette will draw the line if she thinks they take up to much of your time

Your her pet after all, you sold your soul to her

A downside to velvette being your souls holder is that you’d be the weakest with velvette when it comes to your abilities and fighting skills

She doesn’t want you to improve so you don’t, you only use your power for frivolous purposes and for velvettes entertainment rather than actually using like a weapon like you would with vox or alastor

She doesn’t push you to get better, so you don’t get better

You’d have twice the attitude with half the power because of how velvette taught you and how she spoils you with materialistic things

Rosie:

Rosie would absolutely adore you

She has a soft spot for strays, and she’d heard quite a bit about you from alastor before he disappeared

And she once she met you she thought one thought, what a good friend she’d be if she took your soul in exchange for care and shelter before offering the contract to alastor when he gets back from his extremely long break

So she’d give you a job in cannibal town and she’d give you an entire makeover so you’d fit in more

She’d actually spend time to get to know you and what your life was like before you died

She can’t help but miss alastor when your around, you just remind her so much of him

She’d use your ability to create background music for her gossip sessions and for her party’s, but she’d also encourage you to use it as a weapon and practice with it in your own time

So you’d be more powerful than you would be with velvette but less powerful then you’d be with Vox or alastor

A downside to being in her care is that she wouldn’t be as protective as the others

She’s a busy woman who can’t be with you at all times, so there is a slight chance you may end up hurt while being in her care

She’d do her best to prepare you in case that happens, and you like that she offers you enough freedom to come and go freely enough

Another downside to being in Rosie’s care is that you’d have to adapt to her appetite unfortunately, it’s not like you can find a non cannibal place to eat in a cannibal town

So you’d be practically forced into cannibalism

But Rosie absolutely adores you, so she’ll look the other way sometimes if you want to eat something less gorey

She calls it a nice treat :)

Rosie would consider you a companion more than anything, maybe a goddaughter but she certainly doesn’t see you as a pet or a toy

So you’d be pretty happy with Rosie

But she gets so attached to you that when alastor does return, she refuses to give him your soul no matter what he offers

But it’s okay, because she says he can visit you any time in your home in cannibal town

He hates it but oh well, your her little darling fawn now

Valentino:

Oh god

He’d be the absolute worst choice on the list

If you sold him your soul, your guaranteed a situation similar to angel dusts

Maybe less abusive, but wayyyy more obsessive

You’d be a simple actress in a few of his videos until he becomes obsessed with you, and then you become his personal assistant

And when I say personal, I mean extremely personal

As in the ‘sleeps in his bed every night because he’s afraid you’ll run away’ personal

He wouldn’t see you in a romantic light, more of just a ‘your my possession’ light

You’d be absolutely miserable and constantly in his presence while also dealing with the other Vs

He’d force you to do videos for him and instead of your rules he’d use a ‘reward’ system

Rewards like ‘hold me for a few minutes and I’ll let you be on your own for an hour’

He’d be unbearably clingy and can sometimes get abusive with you, the same way he can be abusive with angel dust

You’d also be extremely weak because he won’t let you practice or explore your abilities at all

If he’s there to protect you at all times, then why would you need to be able to use your silly abilities?

He’d at least allow you to have your friendship with angel dust, but that’s only because he’s using you both to manipulate each other

He’d definitely get you hooked on something so you’ll be relying on him at all times

This would be the worst possible situation for you

Carmilla:

Carmilla would be interested in you because of your ability and how she could use it

She’d find you living on the streets and using your ability to get by and she’d wonder if she could incorporate your skills into making a new weapon designed for people with animal like ears which would be more sensitive

So she’d exchange your soul for her giving you shelter and a job in return

You would stay with her and her daughters and you’d spend most of the day with carmilla helping her design new weapons

It would be during this time that carmilla would become more obsessive with you and start to view you as a daughter

You were so young and so vulnerable, it reminded her of her two young girls and how she’d hate it if it was them

So she’d start acting more motherly with you, but she’d do it slowly so you could get accustomed to it

So she wouldn’t go straight to giving you rules and demanding you call her mom, instead she’d just make it more obvious that she views you as one of her family and that she’d appreciate it if you felt the same for her

But once you do accept her in some form, those rules are coming fast

And you know carmilla will not tolerate back talk or breaking rules

You’d have typical teenage girl rules, stuff like a curfew and drinking rules

But she’s still take the time to respect your boundaries and acknowledge that your an adult in your own way so she can’t act too overbearing

Which is more than you can say for the Vs

You’d also be quite powerful in this scenario because she’d give you training sessions to help with your personal abilities and your fighting skills

So I’d say she’s one of the better options

[dead-boys-club]

†  kisses : shigaraki.

❥ scenario: kissing tomura. ❥ no triggers; not rated. ❥ i don't have any beta readers - you get what you get. ❥ requested! it is a whole mess.

❥ series: tomura - izuku

✧*̥˚ some stuff *̥˚✧

tomura comes off as a rather aloof person; someone with many walls and deep rooted trust issues. so, if you're kissing me, we can already assume your relationship to him is one build over a good amount of time. it would be a very, very intensely personal experience for him. he's not used to physical touch by any means, so it would put him in an almost awkward mindset. he probably wouldn't fully know how to process being so.. ( god, i use this word a lot, i'm sorry ) vulnerable and close.

kissing him would be soft and slow. he would be hesitant, like you were something fragile, also trying not to fuck something up. he's navigating something new, so it would take time for him to get the hang of it. and, it would make him smile - which is a feat all in it's own. he would show you this small, gentle smile; a genuine expression of warmth and adoration that's incredibly rare.

i can't even put into words how soft this man would be over kisses. and, he's not going to be picky once he gets the hang of it. he would really, really enjoy:

moth kisses

forehead kisses

jaw kisses

slow make out sessions

in the beginning, he would ( idk, is this surprising? ) not be in control of shit. he would actually hand the reigns over to you and enjoy the ride.

the thing is, he's a really good kisser???? because any time he kisses you, he's kissing you like it's the very last time. he's got a hand on the back of your neck, fingers settled against when your hair stops, just.. drowning in the intimacy of the moment. his other hand gripping onto your shirt at your side - he'd have hell letting go.

he's obsessed. and, honestly, unless he's in a foul mood, it's the best way to distract or help him feel better. though, i should add, i feel as though he'd become just a tad bit clingy towards you once you made it to this level of intimacy.

if i keep going, i'm going to go down a rabbit hole of trapping him on the couch and kissing him til neither of you can breathe, SO - i'm going to slide down into a scenario.

✧*̥˚ tiny things *̥˚✧

❥ moth kisses: ( so, do you remember the last time we actually saw him play a game? no? me either but- ) moth kisses are mostly to attempt to annoy him, which.. may only actually work once or twice. the type of kisses you give when interrupting him. when you just cup his face and kiss all over, quickly, not giving him a chance to do anything about it.

❥ forehead kisses: god, please, give him forehead kisses. he really appreciates them in the morning or before bed, the way you brush his hair aside and linger for a moment. i feel like this is a gesture that really makes him understand that you're there for a reason. and you're genuine.

❥ jaw kisses: when he's working on things, you generally know better than to fuck with him too much. so, as you're tucked up beside him, that's when you nose and press little kisses to his jaw. you try not to jostle him too much.

❥ temple kisses +: this is more of something he does for you. because it starts as temple kisses, his eyes closed as he layers kisses over the spot for a few seconds. he'll slowly move down until he's nosing at the spot behind your earlobe, either humming or whispering little things. very much a private moment that no one else sees.

❥ the aforementioned slow make outs: usually when this happens, he's either tired or it started because he was in a shit mood. he likes how it starts as just small kisses and then turns into closing his eyes, lungs clenching, need building but it's still going so slowly, it's nearly killing him.

❥ the one time you almost died: because it was in the middle of a fight. it wasn't your fault that when you caught his gaze, you both seemed to stop. however, when you plant an unexpected kiss on his lips before disappearing into the fray once more, he's briefly distracted and a little agitated. you were being reckless but fuck if he didn't continue on with wanting more of you.

✧*̥˚ first kiss *̥˚✧

withdrawn.

that was somewhat normal but he seemed even further gone than usual. his responsibilities and the pressure on his shoulders, it was starting to wear on him and you could see it. the way he sank into the arm chair, picking at the hem and staring off into space. it wasn't something you enjoyed seeing.

you shift from your spot by the doorway, approaching to settle on the armrest of his chair, lifting his hand into your hold. a few minutes past in silence, neither of you feeling the need to say anything. you could see some sense of helplessness behind his eyes, making you frown and squeeze his hand. he didn't pull away despite how he flinched, fingers curling into the touch.

'tomura..' you said softly, not really know what could be said in the moment, considering he'd never done too well with encouraging talk. 'i'm here, you know?'

it took him a second before his head turned, guarded expression briefly flickering to give way to something softer. he didn't say anything, gratitude seen in his gaze. it wasn't hard to identify the conflict going on behind his eyes, something you knew you couldn't do much to fix or aid in. the most you could do was attempt to distract.

you didn't think about it too much, or at all, when you began to lean closer, the distance between you shrinking quicker than your mind could keep up. you were really leaning far too close into the personal space of one of the most dangerous men you knew and couldn't really stop. your heart felt like it was in your throat the moment your lips pressed against his own. the kiss was tender and hesitant, lasting only for a moment.

when you pulled back, you weren't sure how to act. his eyes were slightly wide with bewilderment, frozen and free hand anchoring him to reality with it's grip to the armchair. 'why...?' he began, barely above a whisper, not trusting his voice. you could hear the confusion, clear as day, but beneath it - there was something else. the smallest note of longing.

his voice completely erased the mild panic that had grown and you just smiled, light and careful. 'because you matter to me? because i adore you. and, i want to be there for you.. in any way that i can be.'

you weren't expecting to make a confession and he surely wasn't expecting to receive one. thankfully, he didn't respond to that. 'thank you,' was all he managed to get out, taking in the words and warmth that spread through him at the kiss.

the room fell quiet once more, though the atmosphere shifted into something new. there was a newfound understanding created from the simple, yet profound, moment of intimacy.

and, it would only grow from that moment on.

[leonkennedybreedingkink]

NEUTRON STAR

real dad!leon kennedy x reader

tags: dddne. discussion of incest and noncon, implied child abuse (one line), spit, vomit discussion, hallucinations, victim blaming, discussion of ptsd and anxious behaviors (from personal experience). reference to my dark vanessa btw.

Session transcript, October twenty-first, 2018. [15:03]

Patient: Kennedy

”Ms. Kennedy, would you tell me why you’re here?” Your therapist asks after five minutes of silence, her pen writing the date and time on the right corner of her legal pad.

[Silence.]

A steadying inhale. “The court ordered me to.”

More scratching. ”And why is that?”

“They say I’m traumatized.” You answer, audible clicking noises as you pick at your cuticles.

“Why is that?” Your therapist asks, eternally patient and blank.

“‘Cause my dad and I had sex.”

The pen stops scratching, then scratches again briefly. “Would you elaborate?”

You scoff audibly.

[Silence.]

“My dad and I had sex. That’s it.”

More scratching. “What led to that event?”

A long sigh through one’s nose. “Um, I came home from college for the weekend. I was hanging out with my dad and doing nothing when I… felt weird. My, my wine tasted salty, I almost spat it out.”

Scratching. Patient’s wine was drugged by father.

“My head… felt fuzzy. Couldn’t move my arms or legs, they felt so heavy. I thought I was gonna throw up and choke on it, like Jane.”

”Jane? Is this a friend of yours?”

”No, um. Breaking Bad. She was Jesse’s girlfriend. She did a speedball with him and Walter rolled her onto her back on accident. When she puked, she choked on it and died.” More clicking. “That’s what I mean.”

”I see.” Scratching as she writes down the events in order. “You may continue.”

”Anyway, uh,” Your voice wobbles slightly. “I was in and out of it. Dad, um.” You clear your throat.

[Silence.]

”He… pulled down my pants, my sweatpants. He… fingered me, and it hurt, cause I was dry. Despite the wine.” Your voice lowers ashamedly. “I came.”

Patient focusing on smaller details outside of rape by her father.

“Then he pulled down his pants and got on top of me.” Sniff, sniff. Rustling as your therapist hands you a tissue box. “Thank you.”

”You’re welcome.”

You clear your throat. “Then we had sex. He drooled in my mouth. I was… I was drooling a lot, there was a wet spot on the couch the day after. I threw up the entire day afterward.”

The scratching stops. Insistence on ‘sex’ instead of rape. ”Was this… a pattern?”

A loud sniffle. “Pattern?”

”Did he violate other women?”

”I don’t fucking know.” You blow your nose and toss the tissue out. “How do I know they didn’t want it, if he did?”

Patient blames other hypothetical victims.

”Did he violate you any more after this initial encounter?”

A derisive laugh from you. “It wasn’t a violation, it was sex. With him. The law says a lot of things are wrong without taking nuance into account.”

A scratch as your therapist underlines insistence on ‘sex’ instead of rape. “How often did your encounters with your father occur?”

Your voice lowers. ”At least twice a week.”

Violations from father at least twice a week.

“All the specifics.” You snort, blowing your nose again and throwing out the tissue. A soft squelching noise as you squirt some hand sanitizer into your hand and the wet sound of you rubbing your irritated and chafed hands together.

Patient compulsively washes hands.

“Is this the point where you diagnose me?”

“No, that comes after a few more sessions of getting to know you.”

Another derisive laugh.

”Are there any encounters with your father that stick out in your mind?”

”Chickenshit.”

[Silence.]

”I’m sorry?”

“You’re a chickenshit.”

”Why is that?”

“You won't call it what it really is. It’s just sex, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Patient is in denial.

A deep inhale from your therapist. “What you just described to me sounds like no consensual sexual encounter I’d ever heard of. Are there any encounters with your father that stick out in your mind?”

Clicking. Clicking. Clicking. “We went hunting over Thanksgiving break. Mom died close to Thanksgiving. We, uh, went up to the cabin and got settled in before we had sex again. He made me promise not to tell anyone, afterward.” Pause, dead air. “And I didn’t.”

First encounter: Patient was home for the weekend from college and was drinking. Father drugged her wine and raped her on the couch. Patient threw up all day and the day after.

Second encounter: brought patient up to a cabin to go hunting, raped her, and made her promise never to tell anyone. Patient followed instructions.

”We went hunting in the morning and brought home a doe. I thought—“ Your voice breaks and you clear your throat. “When dad slung her over her shoulder, I saw myself. And when he showed me how to butcher a deer and when I was butchering it, I saw myself again.”

Patient hallucinated herself as the deer her father killed and brought home for meat.

“I threw up outside.”

“That must’ve been distressing.”

A snort. “You think?”

Scratching. Patient extremely defensive as a response to long-term trauma—uses sarcasm and humor to deflect.

”Is there anything about your relationship that sticks out in your mind? Did he manipulate you?”

A haughty scoff. “Him sharing his feelings isn’t manipulation. That’s what’s wrong with psychiatry, it pathologizes normal human behavior.”

Patient exhibiting protective behaviors over her father, herself, and their relationship. Cognitive dissonance to distance herself from what happened as a protective measure.

“What feelings did he share with you?”

[Silence.]

”That he was lonely.” Your voice quiets down. “He’s my only family, and I’m his only family. We’ve only got one another, since mom died. He didn’t wanna lose me. That’s why we got so close.”

Use of present tense when describing her and her father’s relationship. Father employed emotional manipulation to groom patient into accepting a sexual relationship after the second rape.

“So your father intentionally isolated you from everyone else and made you feel as though you were the only one who could save him.” Your therapist says patiently.

”No, he didn’t.” You say stonily. “I still had friends and people I could talk to. He never took my keys or anything like that.”

”I mean emotional isolation. Your father very carefully whittled you away from your friends and made you feel as though you only could be understood by him.”

”Well, he didn’t, no matter what the DSM or ABC or whatever the fuck says. He’s my dad, he’d never hurt me.”

Stomping, and a door slamming shut.

Patient has hit a wall when it comes to recovery: cannot fathom her father raping her willfully and has mental walls in place to avoid reality of incestuous sexual abuse.

Session three transcript, November fourth, 2018. [29:58]

Patient: Kennedy

“Before we get started, I’d like to thank you for coming in for another session with me.”

”The lawyers are paying for it, figured I wouldn’t waste their money.” Click, click.

“Right, I see.” Patient is not coming of her own volition. “Actually, I’d wanted to ask you a question before we continue from last time, if that’s alright with you.”

”Uh, okay. Shoot.” Rustling as you adjust yourself.

”Since your father’s incarceration, how have you been sleeping?”

[Silence.]

“Not well.” You don’t speak very loudly, it’s hard to hear over the recording. “I have to down a bunch of nyquil every night just to go to sleep. And even then, um… I don’t sleep well. I have a bunch of waking interruptions and nightmares.”

“Would you be willing to tell me what the nightmares entail?”

Rustling as you shift again. ”It’s dad. Always him.” You clear your throat. “It’s almost always the first time we had sex, too. I… can always taste the wine. And… my tears.” Your voice wobbles. “And… the pain. Like he was gouging at me from the inside. Even after I came.”

A sniffle and rustle as you take the tissue box. “Thank you.”

”What happens after you wake up?”

”I can’t sleep. I don’t. I get up and watch TV or play on my phone, since there’s—“ You cut yourself off, blowing your nose.

Scratching of a pen. Patient has nightmares and acute stress response to said nightmares. Patient afflicted by insomnia.

“Since what?”

”Since there’s nobody else for me to wake up. I slept better when we slept in the same bed.” You murmur, almost inaudible. “My dad and I, I mean. He… it was like having an octopus in the bed. I’d always wake up sweating because he runs so hot and he’d be clinging to me. I didn’t sleep in his bed until after our second time.” Your words muffle as you put your face in your hands.

More scratching. Patient and father codependent, typical of familial abuse survivors.

“Is there anything else you’re experiencing since your father’s incarceration?”

Cracking as you pop your knuckles nervously. “I can’t see police lights anymore. I… they make me hyperventilate. I feel like I can’t breathe. I can’t watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer anymore.”

Scratching: trauma responses to related stimuli (e.g., police lights).

”How come?”

”I got to season six in my rewatch. And… Buffy’s almost raped by her boyfriend in an episode. Onscreen, violently.”

[Uncomfortable silence.]

“I couldn’t see, and I was back on the couch with him on top of me. I felt… phantom pain. And I was crying. I couldn’t stop.” Your voice breaks and you pull a tissue from the box, blowing your nose and throwing it out. Wet squelching as you sanitize your irritated hands.

Your therapist adds, patient exhibits trauma response to sexual abuse related stimuli. Beneath your name, she writes Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder with anxious facets.

“And all—“ your voice breaks, soft sniffles leaving you as you try to keep it together, “all I can think is that I wanted it. I must’ve told him, shown him, something. I must have.”

Rustling as your therapist stands up, pouring a glass of water from a pitcher.

“Thank you.” Your voice is wet and raw as you take the cup, soft swallows echoing through the recording.

Brief silence as your therapist waits for you to compose yourself. “I think we should have a discussion about personal responsibility.”

A mirthless chuckle. “I’m sure. Isn’t this the part where you coddle me and tell me that I didn’t do anything wrong?”

”It is, because you didn’t. Let’s unpack this.”

A groan under your breath. “Goodie.”

”So, what makes you think you did something to tell him you wanted him to have sex with you?” Patience, must meet the patient where they’re at.

”I… I don’t know.” Your voice quiets like your head dips forward. “Maybe it was unconscious.”

”I see. You wanted your father to have sex with you. But you saying that you wanted it and broadcasted it to him unconsciously doesn’t answer why he had to drug you.”

Footsteps and muffled sniffles and sobs, a door opening and shutting.

Your therapist lets her last client out for the day, locking the practices’ doors behind her and walking out to her car in the lot, heels clicking on the pavement and sidewalk. Her phone rings in her bag and she pauses, pulling open her bag and fishing through the mess in her bag to pull her phone out.

It’s you.

You’d reluctantly accepted her phone number after session eight, for use during emergencies.

She picks up, putting her bag back over her shoulder and walking to her car. She unlocks it and tosses her bag in the passenger seat.

“Ms. Kennedy?” She asks after a period of quiet sobbing on your end of the line.

”He—“ You clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle a loud sob. “He said he didn’t want to see me. Ever. And I’m no daughter of his. He—He thinks I sold him out and left him to rot.” The last word trails off into sob into your palm, wet and ragged inhales almost painful to listen to.

Oh. You’d gone to visit him today, you’d made a remark about that after the last session.

“I didn’t, I told him I kept the promise, I swore to him.” You’re nearly incomprehensible through your tears. “It was those other bitches who’d made that complaint and got him locked up, it wasn’t me.”

Your therapist listens silently, heart breaking with every sob.

”And he’d—“ A dry sob. “He’d told me that he loved me so much, that what we did was a natural extension of his love for me as his daughter, that he didn’t want to lose me, he needed me like air. Did he lie? Was it all a lie? He’s my only family, he’s all I’ve got.”

You sob between your words. “He’s all I’ve got and he’s cut me off. I have nobody. And I—I felt so small, like I was nine and he was having a fit again, breaking glasses and all that shit.”

A pause as you keep sobbing, making no effort to muffle yourself. “I wish my mom was here. I wish he was here. I just want—“ A pained inhale.

Your therapist cries with you.

“I just want a hug. He’s my dad, and I love him, and I just want one last hug.”

She sits in silence with you, intermittent sniffing coming through the receiver. Eventually, you blow your nose and sanitize your hands.

“If it’s not a love story, what is it?” Your voice comes through, heartbreakingly small and raw.

You know the answer: rape, incest, abuse of power, emotional manipulation and abuse.

“I… I need it to be a love story. It has to be, because I have nothing left if it isn’t.”

[blog-of-agony-and-despair]

How can we go- back to being friends?

Gally with another member of the right arm.

Warnings: swearing, y/n used, you call him Gal and Z (zombie, since he was brought back to life), jealousy, breathing exercises, helping a worked up Gally calm down, fluff, kissing.

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you grew up in your own maze. One that was said to be harder than any other maze WCKD ever came up with. You were said to be the leader of the people in that maze and the reason the ones who are alive are..alive. You were sent there when you were 9, the youngest person to ever be sent in.

you joined the right arm long before Gally and you were the one to show him how to be apart of the group- and how to control his anger and impulses- being the “therapist friend” of the right arm. You became someone he relied on and over time, you began to rely on him too.

3 months into his joining and you were extremely close..but not “friends.”

No, what you have was more than that..but neither of you would ever say anything about it. It’s too risky, especially in this day and age. You both know, of course..but you’re keeping it to yourselves. You always will, it feels.

You’d kissed once or twice..whilst drunk, after a supply run you thought the other would have surely died on..but it never went past that. He never asked you on a date or asked you for anything more than that sense of comfort the kids brought to him- knowing your okay and there.

He loves you..and you know it. And you love him..and he knows it. It’s almost as if you’re in a silent, unspoken about, relationship…

..until you started kissing daily..and sleeping together..but still- no “relationship.”

You don’t miss the looks he gives you and the way he only really talks and listens to you..the way he’s actually been doing what he’s asked of him because your the one asking him to do that thing..

everyone gets their own, tiny, rooms at the right arm. He always finds himself at your door to talk and “chill.” you’d always get lunch together and train together, go on runs together…

but it’s different this time. He saw you talking to..a new guy. At lunch. You got close to him and you were laughing at his jokes and nudging his arm- it made his jealousy spike quickly. He went to get you for your training session but you were already there..with that same guy- what was next?! You go on a supply run with the fucker too?

And he tried, REALLY tried to do the breathing exercises you taught him, the counting to ten bullshit, the 4-7-8 crap- even the fucking five senses..but it didn’t work- he ran to his room and had a cold shower, desperately trying to calm himself down. He’s never felt this way..with anyone- so why you?!

So after his shower, he grabbed his uniform- shoved it on, lacing his boots sloppily before he ran out of his door.

he knocks quickly and rather loudly on your door, not stopping this time between each knock. He’s praying to himself that you’re here and not with..him. God- the thought of the guy makes him wanna punch something.

You open the door after a couple of seconds- “Jesus Christ- Z-?” You narrow your eyes at him and scoff as he walks into your room, uninvited. “Y/n-”

“That’s me.” You say sarcastically and close the door and turn to him as he grabs the small chair in front of your desk, turning it so the back of it faces your bed and he sits on it, straddling it rather than sitting on it normally..you look at him for a couple of moments- realising how worked up he seems.

“What’s up?”..he scoffs- “what isn’t up?! You’ve hardly spoken to me all day.” You raise an eyebrow. “What?” You’re more confused than anything. You got breakfast together- walked around the base together..what does he mean?

“Oh- don’t act coy. You’ve been with that guy.” You raise an eyebrow, thinking over who he could be talking about..“huh?” He groans. “The brunette? 6’1? You can’t seem to stay away from him.” He grumbles and leans back in the chair, staring at you.

You suddenly gasp- he saw you with Adam!

Adam was one of your best friends in the maze. He came up the month after you and you practically grew up with eachover. You ended up officiating his marriage to his wife, Jessie. You didnt know Adam was even alive- nevermind with the red arm..so you kinda stuck around him.

“Adam?” You snicker and he can only scoff. “I don’t care what his name is, I wanna know why you’re suddenly attached by the hip. He’s been here what? A day?”

It doesn’t take a genius to see that Gally is obviously extremely jealous. “Z, you think I like him or something?” You smirk and raise your eyebrows up in suprise.

Gally rolls his eyes- “why else would you be all over him today?” He glares…

…“Maybe..because we grew up in the same maze together?” You sit down on the bed, right in front of where the seat is facing..he’s slightly panting- obviously worked up-

His face drops..oh…“right..” he mutters and looks to the floor, slightly embarrassment and shame on his face. “That makes sense..” he nods slowly. “Yeah, it does, huh?” You say playfully, moving your hand to his knee- his hand goes on top of yours, his hand shaking very slightly.

“But still!” He whips his head up- making you jump- “you’ve ditched me all day for that asshole. You missed lunch, training- our run-”

“Hey, calm down!..okay? You’re gonna get yourself upset, gal..” he scoffs- “I-” you press slightly harder against his knee. “C’mon..five things you can see?” He scoffs- but you give him an unamused look..he sighs..but looks around the room quietly.

“You..your book, your gun, your alarm clock..that stupid rug.” You smile. “I’m gonna ignore that insult to my beautiful rug.” He smiles very slightly. “Four things you can touch?” He presses harder against the chair.

“The chair..your hand, my boots and my jumper.” He says quietly. “Good..now what can you hear?”

He goes quiet for a second, listening intently. “Your breathing..the people downstairs walking in the hall and my voice.” You smile and nod. “Your own breathing? Abit dark..” you whisper playfully- making him snicker.

You can see he’s slowly, but surely, calming down.

“I can smell your crappy perfume..and that Mac’n’cheese on your breath-” he jokes and you hit his other leg with your other hand. “Shut up and keep going.” You say teasingly, looking over his face..

“I can taste saliva.” He shrugs and you smirk. “Feel better now?” You look into his eyes as he looks down to you..and he nods.

“Adam’s just an old friend, Gally..in fact- I was the one who married him to his wife.” You snicker as he leans forward to put his head on the top of the chair, you stare at him, smiling to yourself..Gally suddenly feels silly now. “M’sorry.” You shake your head slowly and tap his head gently, making him look up and at you, his chin now on the chair instead of his head. “S’okay..” you smile and tilt your head slightly. “I know what your like when your jealous.”

He scoffs at that..but he makes no effort to move away or stand up..“I’m not jealous..”

you obviously don’t believe him and it’s obvious by the look on your face. “Is that why you came to my room at one at night to ask me about my friend?” You grin teasingly, flicking his head.

He snickers and rubs the spot you flicked- “shut up..so what I was jealous? He was a new guy, you looked like you were flirting..” he shrugs and tried to play it off..but deep down he’s happy you’re not into ‘adam’..

You smile and move closer to him, your faces are inches apart now. “You’re an idiot.” He nods slowly..sighing to himself. “Yeah..I am, aren’t I?” You giggle and lean in and kiss him gently, he responds quickly, his hand coming to cup your face as he kisses you back desperately..

After a couple of seconds, you lean back and look into his eyes- panting softly. “I’m sorry if I’ve been ditching you. I just- I haven’t seen him in..awhile. I was gonna introduce the two of you tomorrow- I’ve basically been talking about you to him all day to be honest..”

He nods slowly- slightly blanked out after that kiss- “I’m sorry for barging in- dick move.” You nod slowly. “We’ve both been..slight dicks today. Is that fair?” He nods back and leans in and kisses you again. You smile and kiss him back..he leans back this time- just enough to put his head against yours..“I should go to bed..” he whispers.

..“I have an..averaged sized bed we could share? Save you going all that way?”

Your asking him to stay?! He leans back and looks into your eyes..“you want me to stay?..” he whispers..

“I do..” you whisper back..but you have to be quiet- he grins and nods quickly, leaning in and kissing you again quickly- making you giggle into it.

You both woke up the next day- naked, happy and in eachovers arms..you’d die happy if you just stay like this forever.

[cloudycori]

Small Jimmy rant:

Ok so, I NEED Jimmy to have a villain arc in the life series. Like y'know how Pearl had a villain arc? Well I need that for Jimmy. He is always just so wronged and it breaks my heart.

3rd Life? Just wanted to protect Scott and got dragged into a war, died, and was barely given a second thought afterwards (except for Scott obv).

Last Life? Got the lowest amount of hearts possible, died the LEAST amount of times as anybody else, but still got made fun of for getting out first.

Double Life? His soulmate lost them a life almost immediately, making Jimmy lose all his gear and supplies, yet Jimmy is blamed for getting them out first (which wouldn't have happened if they still had that life).

Limited Life? Had his base burned in the first session (even if it was restored), lost time to his own teammate like twice, had his frog killed, and his base was just always being destroyed and targeted by others.

Secret Life? Ok I really can't think of much for this one, BUT when he was Grian's guardian angel and had Grian ask Etho if he missed any of the dead, he was hardly an afterthought.

Wild Life? Was blessed with the most supportive teammates ever and made it to the finale for the first time only to accidentally take out one of his teammates with him (which y'know, guilt gotta sting) and was mocked with the Canary Curse.

Jimmy is literally the most tragic character in the life series, no matter how you wanna look at it. And while I know Jimmy hasn't really done lore for the life series, I would love it if Jimmy decided to go along with the lore a bit and turn the Canary, the one left behind and dead in the coalmine, into the one destroying the mine. It would just be so cool.

(ok rant over, also sorry for any spelling mistakes I'm really sick and tired)

[lesbiankimdahyun]

Summer Session II

700 words

CW: N/A

A/N: um, guys Y/N is a lewser and Sana knows it

[Sana x F!Reader] 

Requested: Yes

You texted with Sana sparsely throughout the week. It was a delicate dance for you and your growing anxiety. You didn’t let yourself reply to her more than twice a day, desperate to appear cool and aloof. After enough pain-staking back and forth over a couple days, you had plans to meet her for a drink on Friday night. On the train ride back downtown, your phone buzzed. You nearly dropped your phone trying to pull it out of your pocket to see who had messaged you. 

Chae 🍓: are u ready for your (friend) date, superstar!!! 

You: hi! no! why am i THIS nervous 

Chae 🍓: oooh you liiiike her now 😏

You: say that again and i wont tell you how it goes tn 

Chae 🍓: OKAY okay sorry 

Chae 🍓: but if she becomes your new bestie over me i’m fighting her 

You: NEVER i promise

You tried not to gulp cartoonishly when you arrived at the bar Sana had suggested meeting at. It was a three dollar sign type of bar, and your meager internship wages told you you’d only be drinking a single drink tonight. 

As if reading your mind, Sana insisted the first round of drinks was on her. The two of you sat up at the bar sipping drinks that used ingredients you’d have never found at any of the cheaper college bars closer to campus. Stupidly expensive, but the gold leaf that swirled in your glass was pretty, at least. The conversation between the two of you started out with safe topics like school and internships, but Sana, you found, was fun to talk to. Your conversation with her continued to flow naturally into other topics like music and shows. You were just about to ask her what her availability looked like for next week in hopes of meeting up again, when she turned to face you. 

“So, Tinder, huh?” she asked, a playful smile on her face. 

You felt your face burn. Sana signaled for two more drinks, giving you a millisecond to try and compose yourself before you died of embarrassment right there in the dark, moody bar. 

“Uh, yeah. It– it was mostly to try and make friends,” you stammered. Sana nodded slowly. 

“Mostly, sure,” Sana said. “Have you had any luck? Or– are you seeing someone?” she flipped her long brown hair over her shoulder casually, and the crisp, fresh scent of her hair products felt intoxicating suddenly. “I can never remember who in our cohort does and doesn’t have a significant other.” 

“I haven’t,” you said, maybe a little too quickly. “And no. I got stood up for the first time ever like right after moving here…” you paused to take a sip of the fresh drink in front of you. “Kinda took the fun out of wanting to find someone,” you said. 

Sana frowned. “You’re way too cute to be stood up,” she said. 

You blushed. “Oh, well–” 

“Forgive me,” Sana cut you off. “If this is like, entirely too forward…” she nearly drained her glass as she raised it to her lips to drink. “I know you said you’re using the app for friends and that’s cute, but I think I saw your profile say you’re a…” her gaze found yours. “...service top?”

“Oh god,” you cringed, mentally kicking yourself for putting that on there in the first place. “You saw that?” 

“Yes,” Sana said, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Personally, I’d love to see for myself sometime.”  

“You– what?” You almost laughed, thinking she was joking at first. But then Sana gave you a once over and you nearly fell over. She wasn’t kidding. 

Wordlessly, Sana flagged down the bartender. She paid for both rounds for both of you. As she signed her name on the receipt, she looked at you again. “Are you free tomorrow night?” 

You nodded dumbly, moving to stand when she did. She hugged you. Had her perfume always smelled that good? You couldn’t remember now. When you pulled away, you must have had a deer-in-the-headlights expression on your face, because Sana giggled. 

“See you tomorrow,” she said, brushing your arm lightly. “I’m free after seven. Wear something cute.”