#i don’t know if my mom will be with me the whole time or just drop me off or if she’ll stay for some of it and then leave

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 3: May 2023

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: 

Welcome to 8k of my waffling. Warnings: we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussion of toxic relationships in the past, also discussion of very toxic thoughts about intimacy, and discussion of past dubious consent, Max being a simp for his girl, ...I think that's it? If I missed something, let me know.

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

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: Hey, just a heads-up—it’s Mother’s Day this weekend.

Max: …Okay?

Isabelle: I always remind my brothers, or they forget. Thought I’d do the same for you.

Max: Thanks, I guess? But I ordered flowers and her favorite sweets three weeks ago.

Isabelle: …You what?

Max: Yeah. And a handwritten card.

Isabelle: THREE WEEKS AGO?

Max: Yes?

Isabelle: Do you understand how unfair this is??

Max: What do you mean?

Isabelle: You’re making every other man in my life look terrible.

Max: Maybe they should simply try harder.

Isabelle: You don’t get it. I usually have to remind them, nag them, and buy the gifts myself so they don’t show up empty-handed.

Max: Again. Not my problem.

Isabelle: You’re actually infuriating.

Max: Because I remembered a holiday in advance?

Isabelle: Because you remembered without me having to tell you!

Max: This is a weird thing to be mad about.

Isabelle: I’m not mad, I’m just—adjusting.

Max: To what?

Isabelle: To a boyfriend who actually does things without needing to be reminded?

Max: Well, get used to it.

Isabelle: I might cry.

Max: Please don’t, you’ll make me feel bad.

Isabelle: You should! For setting the bar so high I can never accept bare minimum effort again!

Max: Good. You deserve better.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo) 

Isabelle: Reminder—it’s Mother’s Day. Call Maman.

Charles: …Right.

Arthur: Oh. Yeah.

Lorenzo: Was just about to text about that.

Arthur: Did we get her a gift?

Isabelle: Her favorite flowers and the perfume she’s been wanting.

Charles: …We did?

Isabelle: Yes.

Arthur: Perfume? Again?

Lorenzo: Arthur.

Arthur: I’m just saying, it’s kind of boring.

Charles: Yeah, maybe we should’ve gotten something else?

Lorenzo: Like what?

Arthur: I don’t know. A handbag? A candle? Something a bit more exciting?

***

Instagram Post – @/isabelleleclerc

Comments: 

@/charles_leclerc: Happy Mother’s Day to Maman! 💖

@/arthur_leclerc: Love you Maman! You’re the best 💐✨

@/lorenzo_leclerc: Happy Mother’s Day!

@/f1gossipqueen: Such a beautiful tribute, Isabelle! Happy Mother’s Day to Pascale 💐💖"

@/tifosi_in_monaco: Happy Mother’s Day! You’ve clearly been raised with so much love ❤️

@/trackside_tales: That’s the sweetest! Happy Mother’s Day to your beautiful mom ❤️

@/f1_ultimatefan: Your mom must be so proud of you! Wishing her the best Mother’s Day 💖

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen

Max: Hey Mom, just wanted to make sure the flowers arrived okay and that you liked them.

Sophie: Max, they are beautiful! 💐 Thank you so much for thinking of me. The flowers are stunning, and the sweets were a lovely touch, especially my favorites! The card... well, it made me tear up a bit. ❤️ You really didn’t have to.

Max: Of course I did. It’s Mother’s Day. 😊

Sophie: And I heard you bought something for Victoria too? She texted me already—said you got the exact bag she’d been eyeing for months? How did you even know that?

Max: She mentioned it once during Christmas when I was half asleep on the couch. Guess I wasn’t that asleep.

Max: She’s always there for me, so I thought I’d do something nice for her too.

Sophie: You’re becoming dangerously thoughtful. Should I be worried? 

Max: I’m evolving.

Sophie:  Speaking of evolving… How are things with your girlfriend?

Max:  She’s…

Max: Honestly? She’s kind, and steady, and smart in this quiet way that gets me every time.  She makes everything feel lighter. Even the hard parts.

Sophie: Max.

Max: What.

Sophie: That was almost romantic. Who are you and what have you done with my son?

Max: He’s still here. He’s just tired of being an emotionally constipated Dutchman.

Sophie: Well, I’m proud of you. I’m looking forward to meeting her one day. You deserve someone who makes you happy, Max. Just make sure you don’t wait too long to introduce her to me.

Max: Don’t worry, I’ll bring her home when the time’s right. But seriously, I’m just really happy with her.

Sophie: I can tell. Take care of her, Max. You’re both lucky to have each other.

Max: I will, Mom. Thanks. Love you.

Sophie: Love you too, Maxie.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: He just brought me coffee. Exactly how I like it. Without me even asking.

Emilie: …Okay?

Isabelle: He just knew.

Emilie: Isabelle, you’ve been together for over a month. Of course he knows how you take your coffee.

Isabelle: But I didn’t say anything. He just handed it to me and kissed my forehead like it was normal.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: And now he’s sitting across from me, just existing all content and relaxed, and it’s weird.

Emilie: Oh my god.

Isabelle: Why is he so nice to me? Why does he just do things for me?

Emilie: BECAUSE HE LOVES YOU.

Isabelle: …but??

Emilie: No. No buts. You deserve this. This is what a relationship is supposed to feel like.

Isabelle: I know that logically. It’s just… I’ve never had this before.

Emilie: You mean, you’ve never been with someone who actually pays attention to you and treats you like you matter without you having to remind them?

Isabelle: …Yes.

Emilie: Yeah. I figured.

Isabelle: It just feels like I should be doing more.

Emilie: You don’t have to earn love, Isabelle. It’s not conditional. You don’t have to do something for him to treat you well.

Isabelle: But I want to do something for him too.

Emilie: That’s different. Wanting to give back because you love him, not because you feel like you owe him, is different.

Isabelle: …How do I stop feeling like I owe him?

Emilie: Time. And maybe letting yourself actually believe that you’re worth all of this without needing to repay it.

Isabelle: …I’m trying.

Emilie: I know. And so does he.

Isabelle: He just put my feet in his lap and started rubbing them like it’s nothing.

Emilie: And let me guess, your brain short-circuited again?

Isabelle: Yes.

Emilie: Good. Now shut up and let the man spoil you.

***

Max leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching as Isabelle sat on the floor of his apartment, completely lost in play with the cats. She didn’t even notice him.

Sassy was curled up in her lap, purring so loudly Max could hear it from across the room, while Jimmy was perched on the back of the couch, watching with sharp eyes as Isabelle dangled a feather toy just out of reach. She giggled when Jimmy finally pounced, batting at the toy with his paws, determined to “win.”

Max couldn’t help but smile.

There was something about watching her like this—soft, unguarded, completely comfortable—that made his chest ache in the best way. Isabelle, for all her quiet confidence and composed demeanor, had a way of melting around the cats. She whispered to them, scratched behind their ears just the way they liked, and let them nuzzle into her like they’d been hers all along.

Sassy stretched out in her lap, belly up, a clear sign of trust. Isabelle laughed, running her fingers through his fur. “You’re so spoiled,” she murmured.

“Wonder where they get that from,” Max teased.

Isabelle glanced up, startled, as if she’d forgotten he was even there. Her face warmed slightly, but she didn’t move, just kept stroking Sassy’s fur. “Not my fault they like me better,” she said, grinning.

Max huffed a laugh, pushing off the doorway and walking toward her. He crouched down beside her, reaching out to scratch behind Jimmy’s ears. “I think they just know you’re gonna spoil them rotten”

Isabelle playfully nudged him with her shoulder. “You say that like you’re not just as bad.”

Max didn’t argue—because she wasn’t wrong. He spoiled the cats, and now, without even realizing it, he was doing the same with her. Small things: the flowers he sent her, the extra blanket he made sure was always on his couch because he knew she liked to curl up with one, the way he always stocked her favorite tea.

Jimmy finally lost interest in the feather toy and instead padded over to Isabelle, rubbing his face against her arm. She smiled, scratching under his chin as he flopped dramatically onto her lap.

Max just sat there, watching.

His life had always been fast—races, flights, training, the never-ending cycle of the season. But this? Watching Isabelle on the floor of his apartment, surrounded by his cats, like she belonged there?

This was the kind of moment he wanted to hold on to.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo) 

Charles: Maman’s birthday is next week. What’s the plan?

Arthur: Same as last year?

Lorenzo: Dinner at her place?

Charles: Sounds good.

Arthur: What about a gift?

Lorenzo: Something nice.

Isabelle: I’ll figure it out.

Charles: Perfect.

***

Isabelle: Okay, everything is sorted. Dinner is handled, and I ordered her favorite cake. I also picked out a necklace for the gift.

Charles: Oh, great.

Arthur: Nice.

Charles: This was way easier than I expected.

Arthur: Yeah, that came together fast.

Lorenzo: Good teamwork.

***

Max hadn’t meant to look at her phone. It was just there, sitting on the coffee table, screen lighting up as another message from Lorenzo came in.

“Good teamwork,” it read.

Max frowned. Teamwork, his ass.

Isabelle, curled up at the other end of the couch, didn’t even react. She had a book in her lap, one of the cats purring against her side, completely unbothered.

“You planned the whole thing yourself,” Max said, still staring at her phone.

Isabelle sighed. “Max—”

“No, seriously,” he cut in, looking at her now. “You did all the work, and they don’t even realize it. They just said ‘Good teamwork’ like they did anything.”

She shrugged, turning a page. “That’s how it always is.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “And you’re just okay with that?”

“It’s easier if I do it.”

“That’s not the point.” He sat up, shifting so he was facing her properly. “They should see you, Isabelle. They should appreciate you.”

She didn’t answer. Her fingers absentmindedly scratched behind the cat’s ear.

Max exhaled sharply. “You know that’s not normal, right? They just expect you to handle everything, and you let them.”

She finally glanced up from her book. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Max argued. “You deserve better than being the invisible one in your own family.”

She blinked at him, lips pressing together.

Max softened, reaching over to take the book from her hands and set it aside. Then he tugged her closer until she was against his chest, arms wrapped securely around her.

“I’m going to steal you away,” he murmured into her hair, “and never give you back.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “That’s dramatic.”

She still curled into him, holding on just as tightly.

Max pressed a kiss to the top of her head, resting his chin there for a moment. “I mean it,” he said, voice quieter now. “You don’t have to do everything for them.”

Isabelle sighed, her fingers curling slightly against his shirt. “If I don’t, no one will.”

“That’s not your problem.”

“It is my problem.” She pulled back slightly to look at him. “Because if I don’t, things don’t get done. And then—then it’s just easier if I handle it.”

Max studied her, eyes searching hers. It wasn’t just about their mother’s birthday, and they both knew it.

“How long have you been doing this?” he asked softly.

She hesitated. “Since I was a kid,” she admitted eventually. “Lorenzo was always busy, Arthur was younger, Charles had racing… Someone had to take care of things.”

Max exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “And no one ever thought to take care of you?”

Her expression flickered, something like surprise flashing across her face. She didn’t answer, but that was answer enough.

Max swore under his breath and pulled her back against him, wrapping his arms around her again. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be, schat.”

She didn’t say anything, just buried her face in his shoulder.

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: So. That was… something.

Emilie: Oh no. What happened?

Isabelle: Max found out how my brothers treat me.

Emilie: Ohhhhhh shit.

Isabelle: Yeah.

Emilie: What did he do??

Isabelle: He got angry. Like, not just annoyed. Not his usual “ugh, Ferrari” face. Like actually angry.

Emilie: …Is it bad that I love that for you?

Isabelle: He kept pacing around, ranting about how they take me for granted, how they never prioritize me.

Isabelle: He was like, “You deserve better than being the invisible one in your own family.”

Emilie: Honestly? Valid.

Isabelle: And then he just—sighed and pulled me into a hug. And said, “That’s not how it’s supposed to be, schat.”

Emilie: Isabelle, I am going to CRY.

Emilie: You realize he’s ready to go to war for you, right?

Isabelle: For the first time in my life, I feel like someone’s actually on my side.

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: Do you ever just want to punch someone?

GP: I work with you. Weekly.

Max: I’m being serious.

GP: …Okay, who do I need to be concerned about?

Max: Isabelle’s brothers.

GP: Charles, Arthur and Lorenzo??

Max: Yes.

GP: What did they do?

Max: More like what they don’t do. They don’t appreciate anything she does for them, and barely acknowledge her unless they need something.

GP: That can’t be right. They seem close?

Max: No. They’re close with each other. Isabelle just gets ignored.

GP: …How bad are we talking?

Max: Bad. Their group chat is a constant barrage of stuff Isabelle does for them without so much as a thanks. Every year, she reminds them about their mother’s birthday, Mother’s Day, everything. Buys the gifts for them. They wouldn’t remember otherwise.

GP: That’s… actually insane.

Max: I know.

GP: Why does she still do all this for them?

Max: Because she loves them. And they don’t even see how much they take her for granted.

GP: …Okay, I get why you want to punch someone.

Max: Thank you.

GP: So what’s the plan? Because I assume you have one.

Max: I take care of her. Since they won’t.

GP: …Yeah, I think that’s a good plan.

Max: I know it is.

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: Be honest. Was I ever a bad brother to you?

Victoria: …What? Where is this coming from?

Max: Just answer the question.

Victoria: No, Max. You were annoying, but you were never bad. Why?

Max: Because I just watched Isabelle’s brothers completely forget she existed. And I needed to know if I ever did that to you.

Victoria: …What did they do?

Max: Only notice her when they need something. She reminds them of every holiday, every important date, and then buys their gifts for them so they don’t look bad.

Victoria: You’re joking.

Max: I wish.

Victoria: That’s—what the hell?

Max: Yeah.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Max: So, again. Was I ever like that with you?

Victoria: No, Max. You and I fought, but you never made me feel like I wasn’t part of the family.

Max: Okay. Good.

Victoria: But seriously—how does she put up with that?

Max: Because she loves them. And she keeps hoping they’ll notice.

Victoria: …That’s heartbreaking.

Max: I know.

Victoria: What are you going to do?

Max: The same thing I’ve been doing since we got together. Make sure she never feels like that again.

Victoria: …You really love her, don’t you?

Max: Of course I do.

Victoria: No, I mean—not just in the way you say it. But in the way you see her when no one else does.

Max: She deserves to be seen.

Victoria: Yeah. She does.

Victoria: So, what’s the plan?

Max: Plan?

Victoria: You’re Max Verstappen. You don’t just sit back and let things happen. You’re already scheming. Spill.

Max: It’s not scheming. It’s just… making sure she gets everything they don’t give her.

Victoria: Which means?

Max: I remember her birthday. I get her gifts she actually likes. I make sure she knows she’s appreciated.

Victoria: That’s the bare minimum, Max.

Max: Yeah, well, they don’t even manage that.

Victoria: True.

Max: I just want her to know she’s not invisible. Not to me.

Victoria: She does. I promise you, she does.

Max: I hope so.

***

Isabelle Leclerc had never been so deeply, shamefully down bad.

She knew it the second she opened Instagram and was met with a carousel of Max’s sweaty, post-race pictures. His fireproofs clinging to his torso, curls damp against his forehead, jaw set in that sharp, focused way that made him look unfairly good. She scrolled further—pictures of him on the podium, champagne dripping down his neck, his Red Bull suit unzipped just enough to make her brain short-circuit.

She dropped her phone onto her chest, staring at the ceiling.

"I’m doomed," she muttered.

Sassy, Max’s cat, meowed from her place curled up on Isabelle’s stomach, completely unimpressed with her crisis. Jimmy was sprawled next to her, purring away, blissfully unaware that his owner’s girlfriend was currently struggling with an epiphany she hadn’t been ready for.

Because it wasn’t just that she found Max attractive. Of course she did—she had eyes. But this was the first time she’d ever felt like this. Like she actually wanted. Like she craved more than just stolen kisses and his hands warm on her waist.

And the worst part? Max wasn’t even here to do anything about it.

She groaned, throwing an arm over her face. "This is your fault," she told the cats. "If he hadn’t given me a key to come play with you, I wouldn’t be stuck here thinking about him."

Sassy let out another meow, clearly judging her.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Where do I buy the best lingerie?

Emilie: …Excuse me???

Emilie: Are you finally planning to jump your ridiculously in love, multi-millionaire, world champion boyfriend??

Isabelle: …

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: I tried, okay?!

Emilie: What do you mean you tried??

Isabelle: I mean I tried but he wanted to take things slow!

Emilie: …You’re telling me that Max Verstappen—the man who drives at 300 km/h for fun—wanted to take things slow?!

Isabelle: YES.

Emilie: Are you sure he’s Dutch and not secretly Victorian??

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: No, because I’m actually stunned. You’re telling me you’ve been together for two months, he’s madly in love with you, bought real estate just to see you more, and still hasn’t—

Isabelle: No.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: He said he didn’t want me to think this was just about that. That he wanted to show me he was serious.

Emilie: That’s actually disgustingly romantic.

Isabelle: I know. But also, Emilie, I am going to combust.

Emilie: Oh, I am absolutely taking you shopping.

Emilie: We’re getting you the best lingerie. The kind that makes a man forget the concept of “taking things slow.”

Isabelle: I don’t want to pressure him.

Emilie: Isabelle, babe, I love you, but you could show up in a paper bag and he’d still be obsessed with you. This is just insurance.

Isabelle: Insurance??

Emilie: Yes. For when you inevitably break him.

Isabelle: …

Isabelle: That’s not how insurance works.

Emilie: It is in this scenario. Now, when are you free? We’re going shopping.

Isabelle: You’re way too excited about this.

Emilie: Because I am emotionally invested!! Do you have any idea how rare it is for a man to be this in love and still have the self-control of a monk??

Isabelle: I don’t know whether to be flattered or frustrated.

Emilie: You can be both! But mostly, you can be prepared. Because trust me, the moment he decides he’s ready, you need to be ready.

Isabelle: … I did buy silk sheets.

Emilie: YES, that’s my girl!! Now tell me, what’s Max’s favorite color on you?

Isabelle: Emerald green.

Emilie: Oh, we are going all out.

***

Instagram Story – @/isabelleleclerc

***

Isabelle hadn’t been this nervous in a long time.

Not during presentations, not in meetings, not even the time she accidentally spilled coffee on a potential client’s Hermès bag (it had been black, mercifully, and Max had made her laugh about it later).

But this? Standing in Max Verstappen’s bedroom, bathed in the soft golden glow of his bedside lamp, wearing lingerie she had stared at for weeks before buying? This made her heart hammer so loud she swore he could hear it.

She had planned this—carefully. She knew he was expecting her. She’d texted earlier, promised takeout and a quiet night. That part wasn’t a lie. But the bag of food now sat forgotten on the kitchen counter, and she stood in front of him wearing forest green lace and every ounce of courage she’d been hoarding since their first kiss.

Max didn’t speak.

He didn’t move.

Just stared at her, wide-eyed, lips parted slightly, like he’d forgotten how to function. And for a single, terrifying moment, she thought she’d misjudged everything.

“Say something,” she whispered, her voice far steadier than she felt, her fingers fiddling with the strap of the lingerie. “I’m starting to think this was a bad idea.”

But then—he moved.

In an instant, he crossed the room, hands warm as they settled on her waist, pulling her gently closer. His eyes met hers, and they were nothing short of reverent.

“Not a bad idea,” he said, low and rough. “A very, very good idea.”

Her breath left her in a shaky laugh, part relief, part giddy disbelief. Her hands found the front of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric like she needed something to anchor her.

“You like it?” she asked, her voice small now, almost teasing.

Max swallowed visibly, eyes roaming over her again like he still couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “Isabelle, I think my brain just stopped working.”

That earned a crooked smile from her, some of the nervousness melting into something bolder, flirtier. “That good, huh?”

Instead of answering, Max let his hands drift lower, tracing the curve of her hips, fingers skimming the sheer lace with maddening care. He looked like he was touching something precious. Something rare.

“You did this for me?” he asked, quieter this time. Like it surprised him.

She nodded, heart thudding. “Wanted to surprise you.”

He exhaled slowly, leaned in. Pressed a kiss to her forehead. Her temple. The edge of her mouth.

“You have no idea what you do to me.”

The words made something flutter and twist deep in her chest. She arched into him without meaning to, breath catching as his grip on her waist tightened just slightly.

“Then show me,” she whispered.

And the look he gave her after that? Wicked. Worshipful. Dangerous in the best possible way.

Max Verstappen had never turned down a challenge in his life. And from the way he kissed her next, Isabelle knew he wasn’t about to start now.

His mouth met hers with quiet intensity—no rush, no urgency, just the kind of kiss that made Isabelle feel like she was being memorised, piece by piece.

Max kissed her like the world had narrowed to her skin and the space between them.

And God, the way he touched her.

His hands were still firm on her waist, thumbs brushing gently along the edge of lace like he didn’t dare go further without permission, like she was something sacred—not because she was wearing lingerie, but because she was Isabelle.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, then lower, over her jaw, down the curve of her neck.

Isabelle let her eyes fall shut, a soft breath escaping her as her hands slid from his shirt to his shoulders, pulling him just a little closer.

“Still thinking this was a bad idea?” he murmured against her skin.

She let out a breathy laugh, fingers threading into the back of his hair. “No. Definitely not.”

Max pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her, his expression shifting from teasing to something quieter—like he was checking in, even without asking.

And it struck her again—how different this was from every other time she’d tried to be brave for someone. This wasn’t performance. This wasn’t her trying to prove she was enough.

With Max, she was.

“You okay?” he asked, quietly, sincerely.

She nodded, and that time, it felt real. “Yeah.”

“Good.” His hands moved to cradle her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks, his eyes never leaving hers. “Because I want to take my time with you.”

That sentence alone nearly undid her.

She didn’t respond with words—just kissed him again, deeper this time, letting herself lean into it, letting herself feel it.

It was slow. Gentle. Everything she’d dreamed of, and somehow… so much more.

Max kissed her like he had all the time in the world, like the moment mattered more than the destination. His hands slid across her skin like a question, never demanding, only asking. Always waiting. Always listening.

And Isabelle—Isabelle gave herself over to it. To him.

For a while.

Because this was different. Because Max made her feel safe. Because she wanted this.

But even as her body responded—arching into his touch, breath catching when his mouth dragged down her collarbone—something inside her began to unravel.

She didn’t notice it at first. Not really.

It started as a quiet overwhelm. The weight of his hands on her waist. The way he whispered her name like it meant something. The softness in his eyes, the care in every kiss.

He touched her like she was precious. Like she was the most important thing in the world.

And it broke her.

Because no one ever had. Not like this. Not without expectation. Not without making her feel like she had to be performative, or perfect, or grateful.

She gasped—not from pleasure, not from panic, but from the sudden ache of being held so gently.

And then the tears came.

At first, she didn’t realise she was crying. Just a strange heat behind her eyes, a tightness in her throat. She blinked hard and tried to breathe through it, tried to hold onto the moment.

But Max noticed. Of course he noticed.

His hands, which had been skimming her skin, froze. His brow creased, worry flickering across his face. “Schatje,” he murmured, voice impossibly soft. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head quickly, pressing her lips together, embarrassed. “Nothing.”

His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, catching the tear that slipped free anyway. “That doesn’t look like nothing.”

She swallowed hard. “I just…” A shaky breath. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

Max went impossibly still. His blue eyes searched hers, something flickering behind them—understanding, frustration, something else entirely. He exhaled slowly, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You deserve this,” he whispered. “All of it.”

Isabelle broke.

She curled into him, burying her face in his neck as his arms tightened around her, grounding her, holding her together.

No one had ever held her like this before. No one had ever made her feel like she wasn’t just something to take from.

But Max wasn’t like anyone else.

Max didn’t rush her. He didn’t push or pry. He just held her, one hand smoothing over her back, the other tangling gently in her hair as she clung to him.

Isabelle took slow, shaky breaths, letting herself settle, letting herself believe—that this wasn’t just desire, that Max didn’t just want her for a fleeting moment, that he was here because of her, all of her.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes were still damp, but the knot in her chest had loosened. She met his gaze hesitantly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Max frowned immediately. “Why?”

She let out a breathy, almost self-conscious laugh. “Because that’s not exactly what you expect when you bring your girlfriend to bed.”

His expression softened. “Isabelle,” he said, tilting her chin up so she had to look at him. “I don’t care how long this takes. I don’t care if we stop now or in ten minutes or in ten weeks.” His thumb brushed over her cheekbone. “I just want you.”

Something deep inside her cracked open.

Isabelle had spent so long being overlooked, taken for granted, expected to give without ever receiving. But Max didn’t expect anything from her. He just wanted her—whether she gave him pieces or the whole damn thing.

She swallowed hard. “I want this,” she said, and she meant it. She really meant it.

Max searched her face, his fingers tightening slightly on her skin. Then, slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers.

This kiss was different. It wasn’t urgent, wasn’t hurried. It was deep and consuming, felt like something more.

Isabelle melted into it, into him, into the warmth of his body and the way he touched her—carefully, reverently, like she was something to cherish.

And for the first time in her life, she let herself believe she was.

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: So.

Emilie: So.

Emilie: I let you run off with a bag full of very expensive and very effective lingerie, and I have received zero updates.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Emilie: I am not a patient woman.

Isabelle: I genuinely don’t know how to process last night.

Emilie: …Good or bad?

Isabelle: I think I need therapy.

Emilie: Therapy???

Isabelle: Emilie, I thought sex was supposed to be uncomfortable. I thought it was normal. To just… grit my teeth and wait for it to be over. To pretend it was fine. To pretend I liked it.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: I’m serious. I thought it was normal for it to be awkward and underwhelming, and that I just had to deal with it.

Emilie: …I suddenly have a burning need to hunt down every single one of your exes.

Isabelle: They didn’t care if I enjoyed it.

Emilie: …What do you mean?

Isabelle: I mean, it was always just about them. Their pleasure. Their satisfaction.

Isabelle: I was just a body.

Emilie: Oh my god.

Isabelle: It wasn’t just bad—it was awful. Sometimes painful. Almost always embarrassing.

Emilie: Belle.

Isabelle: I thought that was normal.

Emilie: You’re joking.

Isabelle: I used to fake it just to get it over with.

Emilie: What the actual fuck?!

Isabelle: Em…

Emilie: No, because I was expecting you to say like, oh, it was awkward. Or boring. But this?!

Isabelle: I just thought that’s how it was.

Emilie: IT’S NOT.

Isabelle: I know that now.

Emilie: Oh my god.

Isabelle: It was so different with Max.

Emilie: …Because he actually cares.

Isabelle: Yes. The first time I just…

Emilie: What happened?

Isabelle: I… broke down.

Emilie: Oh, Belle.

Isabelle: I just—panicked. Everything hit me at once.

Emilie: What did he do?

Isabelle: He stopped immediately. Held me. Told me we didn’t have to do anything, that he just wanted me to feel safe.

Emilie: Oh my god.

Isabelle: And then the next time…

Emilie: He remembered everything.

Isabelle: Every single thing I liked. What made me feel good. What made me feel wanted.

Emilie: Because he pays attention.

Isabelle: Exactly.

Emilie: That’s that racecraft in bed, huh?

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: No, but think about it! The man lives to optimize performance. He knows how to read data, analyze conditions, adjust his approach for maximum efficiency—

Isabelle: STOP.

Emilie: No, because it’s true!

Isabelle: …I mean. You’re not wrong.

Emilie: I KNEW IT.

Isabelle: I hate you.

Emilie: No, you love me. But not as much as you love Max Verstappen blowing your mind every night.

Isabelle: I’M BLOCKING YOU.

Emilie: So tell me everything.

Isabelle: I already told you enough.

Emilie: Isabelle. You literally admitted that every guy before Max made sex feel like a chore, that you had to fake it, and that it was sometimes painful. And then, suddenly, Max comes in?  You owe me details.

Isabelle: It was just… different. From the second he touched me, it was like he was paying attention to every single reaction, every little noise I made. I didn’t even have to say anything—he just knew.

Emilie: Oh my god.

Isabelle: And it wasn’t just physical. It was—I felt safe. I wasn’t just a body, I wasn’t just there to be used. He made me feel like I was the most important thing in the world to him.

Emilie: Belle.

Isabelle: I was so nervous at first. I wanted it to be good, I wanted to enjoy it, but I had all these bad experiences in my head, and I kept waiting for it to go wrong.

Emilie: But it didn’t?

Isabelle: No. Because Max—he’s so patient. Even when I got overwhelmed, he just slowed down and made sure I was okay.

Emilie: And then?

Isabelle: And then it was… mind-blowing.

Emilie: Define mind-blowing.

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: I’m serious. Because I need to understand how we went from you faking it to you losing your mind completely.

Isabelle: …Okay.

Emilie: Yes.

Isabelle: So, you know how Max is in the car, right?

Emilie: Oh my god.

Isabelle: The way he reads conditions, the way he adapts in real time, the way he knows exactly when to push?

Emilie: STOP.

Isabelle: It’s the same.

Emilie: I KNEW IT.

Isabelle: I’m serious. He’s so in tune with everything, like he’s constantly adjusting, constantly making it better.

Emilie: He’s optimizing performance.

Isabelle: YES.

Emilie: Max Verstappen. Two-time World Champion. Fastest driver on track, fastest learner in bed.

Isabelle: I am not dignifying that with a response.

Emilie: But you’re not denying it.

Isabelle: …

Emilie: BELLE.

Isabelle: I didn’t even know it could feel like that.

Emilie: Wow.

Isabelle: Like, I thought those romance novels were lying. I thought all that passion and chemistry and overwhelming pleasure was just fake.

Emilie: But then you met Max Verstappen.

Isabelle: He’s just… so good to me. And not just in bed. He takes care of me, he makes me laugh, he listens to me. He actually sees me.

Emilie: I love that. But also, I need to understand the full scope of the dominance we’re dealing with here.

Isabelle: You sound like an F1 journalist trying to analyze Red Bull’s advantage in the regs.

Emilie: I am an F1 journalist trying to analyze Max Verstappen’s advantage in the bedroom.

Isabelle: …I hate that sentence.

Emilie: Okay, but is he like methodical with it? Like does he go in with a strategy?

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: No, I need to know if he’s a precision driver or a send-it-and-hope-for-the-best kind of guy.

Isabelle: …He’s both.

Emilie: EXCUSE ME???

Isabelle: It’s like he’s calculating everything in real-time, but then when the moment’s right—he just commits. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

Emilie: So what I’m hearing is… late-braking masterclass.

Isabelle: I knew you were going to say that.

Emilie: AND I’M RIGHT.

Isabelle: He literally waits until the last possible second, and then it’s like—boom. You can’t react fast enough.

Emilie: So he takes the racing line and the perfect approach angle.

Emilie: I’m just saying, if he starts looking at data after, I’m going to scream.

Isabelle:

Isabelle: …He does kind of ask for feedback.

Emilie: STOP.

Isabelle: And then he actually remembers everything I like.

Emilie: You’re telling me Max Verstappen actively takes notes on how to ruin your life?

Isabelle: Pretty much.

Emilie: If he ever applies this level of dedication to anything else, we’re all doomed.

Isabelle: He already does. It’s called Formula 1.

Emilie: And now he’s doing it to you.

Emilie: I need a moment.

Isabelle: Take your time.

Emilie: …Actually, no, I don’t, because I need to ask the most important question.

Isabelle: Oh, no.

Emilie: How many times?

Isabelle: EMILIE.

Emilie: I NEED TO KNOW.

Isabelle: …four.

Emilie: FOUR?!?

Isabelle: I told you. Life-altering.

Emilie: Max Verstappen is out here setting lap records and you’re only telling me now??

Isabelle: Well, I wasn’t going to text you midway through.

Emilie: I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU.

Isabelle: Thank you. So am I.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: Max Verstappen ruined you.

Isabelle: He rebuilt me.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/paddocktea: Isabelle Leclerc is my Roman Empire and here’s why: 

@/paddocktea: People know her as Charles Leclerc’s baby sister, born right in the middle between him and Arthur. 

@/paddocktea: But there is so much more to her…She’s the most overlooked yet most intriguing Leclerc sibling. She’s always there, always supporting, but somehow, she remains in the background. 

@/paddocktea: And because it’s her 24th birthday today… Here is everything you need to know about Isabelle Leclerc. 

@/paddocktea: While Arthur’s karting career was put on ice to fund Charles’ career, a lesser known fact is that the family also sold Isabelle’s childhood horse to help fund Charles’ racing. 

@/paddocktea: They SOLD HER HORSE. HER. HORSE. To help fund Charles’ career. Like, imagine being 13, losing both your sport and your horse while your brother gets to keep racing. If I were her, I’d still be holding a grudge.

@/paddocktea: …but instead apparently it’s a throwaway line in the family lore that Charles has only ever mentioned once in an interview, while he has mentioned Arthur’s “sacrifice” multiple times. 

@/paddocktea: Still, instead of causing drama, she put her head down and worked. She studied architecture while also being there for every major moment of her brothers’ careers. It wasn’t just about showing up to races—she was always supporting them.

@/paddocktea: The few times she does give interviews? It’s never about her. She just hypes up her brothers. Every single time. No complaints, no bitterness—just, "They work so hard, I’m really proud of them.” If I sacrificed as much as she did, I’d be insufferable, but she’s just so sweet and adores her brothers more than anything else. 

@/paddocktea: Anyway, Isabelle Leclerc is the backbone of the Leclerc family, and I need people to start appreciating her.

↳@/paddockinsider: WAIT. They SOLD her horse to fund Charles’ career?! I did NOT know this. That’s actually insane.

↳@/formulatea: They really said ‘sorry girl, no more childhood joy for you, we gotta get Charles to F1’ 😭

↳@hoofbeatsandcheckeredflags: As a horse girl, I would NEVER forgive them. I would be bringing this up at every family dinner.

↳ @f1drama: No bc imagine your parents sitting you down like ‘hey, your brother needs to go fast so we’re getting rid of your best friend, hope you understand xx’

↳@f1archivist: How did this never make it into Drive to Survive?? Like hello, Netflix, this is PEAK drama.

↳@girlmathf1: They stole her childhood and she still shows up at races supporting them. Isabelle Leclerc is a better person than me fr.

↳@gossipinthepaddock: So you’re telling me Charles got a career and Arthur got a second chance at racing, while Isabelle got… character development???

***

Instagram Post – @/isabelleleclerc

Comments: 

@/charles_leclerc: Happy 24th! 🎂

@/f1fashionista93: Happy birthday, Isabelle! You deserve all the happiness in the world. 💐✨

@/emilie_abadie: Happy birthday to my favorite human! You deserve the best year ahead—can’t wait to see what it has in store for you 💖"

@/leclercsquad_: Happy birthday, Isabelle! I can’t wait to see all the amazing things you do this year! 🎉💐

***

Her phone had buzzed all morning with Leclerc family group chat notifications—heart emojis from Arthur, a single “Joyeux anniversaire x” from Charles, Lorenzo asking if she’d gotten the spa voucher he emailed (“it expires in two months, so use it soon!”), and her mother’s text: “Hope you like the book. And the suit!”

The book was titled “How to Be More Assertive: Owning Your Voice in a Loud World.

The suit was black. Structured. Corporate.

Isabelle had never worn a pantsuit in her life. She barely wore pants, unless she was on a horse or doing pilates.

Arthur’s gift had arrived wrapped in glossy blue paper—inside was a heavy coffee table book about the history of golf. 

Charles had sent an Amazon gift card.

She had smiled. Said thank you in the chat. Told herself they were trying. That they were busy. That this was just how birthdays went for her in her family—slightly impersonal, vaguely thoughtful, and always… a little off.

And it wasn’t like she needed more. Emilie had taken her out the evening before, dinner just the two of them, which had been lovely… and which had ended with a single chocolate cupcake with a lit candle that she had blown out with a huge grin on her face. The two of them had giggled like teenagers and ended up sharing it. 

Emilie had given her a whole basket full of things, like she was always prone to be doing. It was stuffed full with Isabelle’s favourite things, from her favourite bar of chocolate, to her favourite soap, a new bottle of signature perfume (always Miss Dior), new workout clothing, because she had mentioned in an offhand way that the zipper on her favourite jacket kept opening up… filled with the kind of thoughtful little things that Emilie Abadie hoarded like the french dragon with expensive perfume and perfect eyeliner that she was. 

Really, that basket more than made up for anything her family did. 

And now, here she was sitting on the sofa a at Max’s place that evening, sipping her favourite wine in her favourite sweater, legs tucked under her.

She was happy. Completely and utterly content. 

Max came in from the kitchen, a little grin tugging at his lips, something behind his back.

“Okay,” he said, “I know you said you didn’t want anything fancy…”

She narrowed her eyes. “Max.”

“But,” he continued, stepping closer, “you’re turning twenty-four, and that feels like it should come with something a little special.”

He pulled a small velvet box from behind his back.

Isabelle blinked. “Max—”

“Just open it,” he said, sitting beside her. 

She opened the box slowly—and froze.

Inside was a bracelet.

Diamonds and Emeralds connected with delicate gold fixing. The emeralds were a deep, deep green. 

The exact shade of green that lit her eyes when she was excited, or furious, or pretending not to cry during animal rescue commercials.

She didn’t speak.

Max leaned in, his voice softer now. “Emeralds. Because it’s your birthstone. And because every time I see your eyes in the sun, I think—how does that color even exist?”

Her breath caught. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did,” he said. “You’re the easiest person in the world to pay attention to, Belle.”

She bit her lip, suddenly blinking too fast. “It’s beautiful.”

He unclasped it, slid it gently onto her wrist, then lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

“You deserve beautiful things. Not because it’s your birthday. Just because you’re you.”

Isabelle didn’t mean to tear up. She really didn’t.

But here was Max—watching her with that look like she mattered—giving her something not just expensive, but personal. Thoughtful. Kind.

She laughed through the tears, wiping at her face. “Sorry. I’m being ridiculous.”

“You’re not,” he said, pulling her into his chest. “You’re just not used to being seen properly. But I see you.”

“I love it,” she whispered. “It’s perfect.”

And she meant it.

Because it wasn’t about the bracelet.

It was the way he saw her.

The way he always did.

Not as the sister. Not as the quiet one.

Not as someone who needed a personality makeover or to be more “assertive.”

Just as Isabelle.

And for once—just once—that was more than enough.

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Max got me a bracelet.

Emilie: Of course he did.

Isabelle: Emilie. It’s emerald.

Isabelle: He said it’s my birthstone and that it matches my eyes.

Emilie: Isabelle, I need you to breathe.

Isabelle: I AM TRYING.

Emilie: This man is not just spoiling you; he is actively ruining you for anyone else.

Isabelle: Right???

Emilie: Send a picture. Now.

Isabelle: Attachment: photo.jpg

Emilie: Holy. Shit.

Emilie: That is not just a bracelet. That is a statement.

Isabelle: What statement?

Emilie: “You are mine, and I will give you the world.”

Isabelle: …

Emilie: You’re staring at it right now, aren’t you?

Isabelle: I haven’t taken my eyes off it since he clasped it onto my wrist.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: How are you still alive?

Isabelle: Unclear. Might be running purely on shock at this point.

Emilie: I warned you. I told you he was in deep.

Isabelle: I didn’t think this deep.

Emilie: Oh, honey. He is drowning.

Isabelle: What am I supposed to do with this??

Emilie: Love him back. That’s literally all he wants.

Isabelle: …I already do.

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: I thought you were joking.

Emilie: Oh, Max. I wish I was.

Max: Arthur really got her a coffee table book about golf.

Emilie: She doesn’t even like golf.

Max: EXACTLY.

Emilie: I’m convinced he just panic-bought it at the airport.

Max: And Charles… a generic Amazon gift card.

Emilie: Isabelle literally used last year’s gift card to buy presents for other people because she didn’t even want anything from Amazon.

Max: I actually feel secondhand embarrassment.

Emilie: Welcome to my world.

Max: Lorenzo got her a Spa Voucher with only 2 months left on it. I am pretty sure that was a gift he once got. 

Emilie: That’s still better than the self help book her mother bought her “How to be more assertive”. (I mean I guess she tried, she did buy her that new pantsuit…just that Isabelle has never worn a pantsuit in her life. She never wears pants, AT ALL, unless she works out or is at the stables.) 

Max: I— No. I need to sit down.

Emilie: Oh, don’t worry, Max. She’s used to it. That’s what makes it worse.

Max: That’s actually depressing.

Emilie: Right?? I feel like I’m the only one who actually pays attention.

Max: I feel like I need to apologize on their behalf.

Emilie: Oh, you’ve already done enough. You got her a bracelet with emeralds to match her eyes.

Max: That’s just normal? It’s not hard?

Emilie: Max, you put more thought into one gift than her family has in a decade.

Max: Good. She deserves better.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Victoria: So… still in love?

Max: More every day.

Victoria: You’re such a sap.

Max: You asked.

Victoria: I did. Because I knew you’d say something like that.

Max: And yet, here you are, pretending to be surprised.

Victoria: Not surprised, just entertained.

Max: Glad my happiness is amusing to you.

Victoria: Oh, it is. You’re actually just gone.

Max: I know.

Victoria: And you’re fine with that?

Max: More than fine. Best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Victoria: …Wow.

Max: What?

Victoria: Nothing. Just… I’ve never seen you like this.

Max: Me neither. But I don’t want it to stop.

Victoria: Then don’t.

Max: I won’t.

Victoria: Good.

Max: …You’re being suspiciously nice.

Victoria: I can be supportive, you know.

Max: Yeah, but usually there’s teasing first.

Victoria: True. But I don’t think I need to say anything. You’re already completely and utterly done for.

Max: Not wrong.

Victoria: So, when do I get to hear about the inevitable dumb thing you’ll do to impress her?

Max: What makes you think I’ll do something dumb?

Victoria: Max. You bought an entire penthouse just to work with her.

Max: …That’s not dumb. That’s practical.

Victoria: Sure, sure. Practical.

Max: It is! I needed a new place anyway. And I have great taste.

Victoria: She has great taste. You just followed her lead.

Max: …Still counts.

Victoria: Sooo, can I follow your mysterious girlfriend on Instagram yet, or is she still top secret?

Max: …

Victoria: Max. It’s been two months.

Max: And?

Victoria: And I want to know who she is! Give me something. A name? A clue? Anything?

Max: Isabelle.

Victoria: Isabelle what?

Max: …Leclerc.

Victoria:

Victoria:

Victoria: HOLD ON.

Victoria: As in Leclerc-Leclerc?? Like, Charles Leclerc???

Max: Yes.

Victoria: AS IN HIS QUIET LITTLE SISTER FROM KARTING???

Max: Yeah.

Victoria: OH MY GOD.

Victoria: I remember her! She was always at the races! Super quiet, always watching. 

Max: That’s her.

Victoria: AWWWW. MAX.

Max: What?

Victoria: She’s perfect for you! She was always so sweet!

Max: …Thanks?

Victoria: Does Charles know??

Max: No.

Victoria: Max.

Max: Isabelle wants to keep it private.

Victoria: But why??

Max: Her family… it’s complicated.

Victoria: What do you mean? The Leclercs are like, the most wholesome F1 family ever.

Max: Her brothers are close with each other. She just…exists in their periphery and is forgotten 90% of the time. 

Victoria: Max, that’s awful.

Max: I know.

Victoria: And they still don’t know you’re together?

Max: Nope.

Victoria: You haven’t told Charles??

Max: Isabelle doesn’t want them to know.

Victoria: I mean, I get it, but… that’s really sad.

Max: Yeah.

Victoria: But you make her happy?

Max: I try.

Victoria: Good.

Victoria: But just so you know, when this does come out, Charles might actually explode.

Max: I know.

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

hiii i love your posts! can you do reader having massive baby fever and really wanting a baby and rafe/drew ( you decide ) finds her upset about it all and they talk and decide the time is right, lots and lots of fluff!! thank youuu

༄｡° baby fever - rafe cameron

Lately, you couldn’t shake it—the soft, aching pull in your chest every time you saw a stroller roll by or heard a baby’s giggle drift through the salty Outer Banks air. It started small, a quiet hum of longing when you’d scroll through Instagram and stumble on some glowing mom-to-be’s bump pics, but it had snowballed into full-blown baby fever, an all-consuming need that left you restless and teary more often than you’d admit. You’d catch yourself daydreaming—picturing a little version of you and Rafe, all chubby cheeks and ocean-blue eyes, toddling across the hardwood floors of Tanneyhill, Rafe scooping them up with that rare, unguarded laugh you loved so much. The images were so vivid they hurt, lodging a lump in your throat you couldn’t swallow down.

You tried to hide it at first, brushing it off as a phase, but it was everywhere. The grocery store aisle with tiny socks and pastel onesies. The park where kids shrieked and chased each other, their harried parents trailing behind. Even the quiet moments at home, curled up on the couch with Rafe, his arm slung around you as some dumb movie played—your mind would drift, wondering what it’d be like to have a third heartbeat in the room, a little body nestled between you. It was overwhelming, this want, and the more you thought about it, the more it twisted into something heavier—fear that it’d never happen, that the timing would never be right, that Rafe wouldn’t feel the same.

That afternoon, it hit harder than usual. You’d been babysitting a friend’s toddler for a few hours—a gig you’d taken on a whim, thinking it’d scratch the itch. Instead, it broke you open. The kid was perfect—big hazel eyes, sticky hands that tugged at your hair, a gummy smile that melted you every time she giggled. When her mom picked her up, you waved goodbye with a smile, but the second the door clicked shut, you sank onto the couch, knees pulled to your chest, and let the tears come. It wasn’t just the baby fever now—it was the ache of not having it, the quiet panic that maybe you’d wait too long, that life would keep throwing curveballs and you’d miss your chance.

That’s how Rafe found you—curled up in the living room, cheeks streaked and eyes puffy, the TV flickering silently in the background. He’d just gotten back from some errand, keys jingling in his hand, and the second he saw you, his whole demeanor shifted. The cocky smirk he usually wore dropped, replaced by a crease between his brows as he crossed the room in three long strides. “Hey—hey, what’s wrong?” His voice was low, urgent, as he dropped the keys on the coffee table and sank down beside you, his hand already reaching for yours. “You okay? What happened?”

You tried to brush it off, swiping at your face with a shaky laugh. “It’s nothing, Rafe. I’m fine—just being stupid.” But he wasn’t buying it. His fingers tightened around yours, warm and steady, and he shifted closer, his knee brushing yours as he studied your face like he could read every thought behind your red-rimmed eyes.

“Bullshit,” he said softly, not letting go. “You don’t cry over nothing. Talk to me.” His thumb traced slow circles over your knuckles, and there was something so gentle in it—so Rafe in a way most people never got to see—that the dam broke all over again. You buried your face in your hands, a sob hiccupping out before you could stop it.

“It’s so dumb,” you mumbled, voice muffled and thick. “I just—God, I want a baby, Rafe. Like, really want one. And it’s all I can think about lately, and it’s driving me crazy because I don’t even know if you— I mean, we’ve never really talked about it, and I feel like I’m losing my mind sitting here imagining something that might never happen.” The words tumbled out, messy and raw, and when you finally peeked up at him, your heart stuttered at the look on his face.

He wasn’t freaked out. He wasn’t pulling away. He just watched you, quiet for a beat, those blue eyes soft and searching. Then he exhaled, a slow, shaky breath, and ran a hand through his hair—nervous, almost, but not in a bad way. “Shit,” he murmured, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve been carrying that around all by yourself?” He reached out, cupping your face with both hands, thumbs brushing away the tears clinging to your lashes. “Why didn’t you say anything, huh? You’ve got me over here thinking you’re hurt or something, and you’re just—baby fever’s got you all twisted up?”

You laughed despite yourself, a watery little sound, and he grinned wider, pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you, solid and warm, and you buried your face in his shirt, breathing in the familiar scent of him—salt and cologne and something uniquely Rafe. “I didn’t want to freak you out,” you admitted, voice small against his collarbone. “It’s a big thing, you know? And we’re still figuring stuff out, and I didn’t know if you’d think I was nuts.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands settling on your shoulders, his expression so earnest it made your chest ache. “Freak me out? Babe, I’ve been waiting for you to bring this up. I mean—yeah, I didn’t think it’d be today, but…” He paused, swallowing, and you could see the wheels turning, the way he was choosing his words. “I want that too. With you. A kid, a family, all of it. I just didn’t know if you were ready, you know? You’re the one who keeps me grounded—I follow your lead.”

Your breath caught, hope blooming so fast it almost hurt. “You mean that?” you whispered, searching his face. “You’re not just saying it because I’m a mess right now?”

He laughed—a real, deep laugh that rumbled through him—and shook his head. “No, I’m not just saying it. I’ve thought about it, okay? More than you probably think. Picturing you with a little mini-us, running around, driving me up the wall—it’s been in my head for a while. I just didn’t want to push you into something you weren’t sure about.” His voice softened, and he leaned in, forehead resting against yours. “But if you’re ready, then yeah. I’m in. Let’s do it.”

The relief hit you like a wave, washing away the weight you’d been carrying, and you threw your arms around his neck, laughing through the tears still clinging to your lashes. “Really?” you asked, pulling back to beam at him, and he nodded, grinning like a kid himself.

“Really,” he said, then tugged you closer, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that started soft and sweet but lingered, deepening as his hands slid up your back. “You’re gonna be the best mom, you know that? Already crying over it—I’m screwed when we’ve got a real one.” He was teasing now, but his eyes were bright, crinkled with that rare, unguarded happiness you loved so much.

You swatted his chest, giggling. “Shut up. You’re gonna be the one spoiling them rotten, I can already see it—little Ralph Lauren polo shirts and golf clubs before they can even walk.”

“Damn right,” he shot back, pulling you onto his lap so you were straddling him, his hands settling on your hips. “Gotta start ‘em young. Teach ‘em how to rule the island like their old man.” His tone was playful, but the way he looked at you—soft, steady, sure—made your heart skip.

For a while, you just sat there, wrapped up in each other, trading quiet dreams about what it’d be like. You talked about names—Rafe vetoed anything “too Pogue-y” with a dramatic shudder, making you roll your eyes—and argued over whether they’d have his eyes or yours. He insisted on a boy first, “to carry on the Cameron legacy,” but melted when you said you’d want a girl who’d have him wrapped around her finger. The conversation stretched on, lazy and warm, until the sun dipped low outside, painting the room in soft pinks and golds.

Eventually, he pulled you down to lie against him on the couch, your head tucked under his chin, his fingers tracing slow patterns on your arm. “We’re really doing this, huh?” he murmured, voice quiet now, almost reverent. “Making a little us.”

“Yeah,” you whispered back, smiling against his chest. “We are.”

He kissed the top of your head, lingering there, and you felt the steady thump of his heartbeat under your cheek. “Guess we should get started then,” he added, a playful edge creeping back into his tone, and you laughed, swatting him again as he hugged you tighter. It was perfect—messy, real, and so full of love you could hardly stand it. Baby fever had brought you here, but Rafe? He was going to carry you the rest of the way.

©RAFESGREASYCURTAINBANGS ⋆˙⟡ est. 2025

[gabriella-arareyes]

Reasons why I absofuckinglutely loved First Frost:

Okay, it's 1 a.m., and I just finished First Frost. I need to unload all my emotions, thoughts, reviews—everything—because there’s a LOT.

First of all, it has been a hot minute since I’ve enjoyed a Chinese drama this much. But First Frost reminded me why I love East Asian dramas in the first place. It pulled me in, chewed me up, and spat me out in the best way possible.

And since I’m now a full-fledged adult (ugh), I no longer have my childhood bestie to call on our landline at 2 a.m. to scream about a new drama. So here I am, dumping my thoughts onto the internet instead.

Reasons why I absofuckinglutely loved First Frost:

1. Wen Yifan is NOT your average female lead. She’s layered, mysterious, and in my opinion, the series's hero. Sang Yan, while being the main male lead, honestly felt more like her love interest. We see everything through her lens, and unlike many dramas where the male lead gets all the depth, First Frost had its focus on our complex female lead.

Sang Yan? We know a little bit about his character—but we don’t really get to know him beyond his role in Wen Yifan’s life. And honestly? I find that dynamic super refreshing.

2. People say Wen Yifan is "boring"— IMO: she’s real. Some might say she’s too quiet or reserved, but that’s what makes her character so compelling. She had died so many times in her lifetime through numerous heartbreaks at such a young age, so I don't think it's very fitting to see a typical bubbly female lead.

If there’s a sun in this drama, it’s Sang Yan (don't let his cold demeanor fool you, he is actually very warm).

3. Wen Yifan standing up to her mother was everything. As a Filipino, I understand how deep family ties run. But I also know that family is more than just blood—it’s about who actually shows up for you. So when Wen Yifan didn’t just blindly forgive her mother for being her mother, that was one of the most satisfying moments in the entire series.

<<SPOILER ALERT>> Wen Yifan cutting off her mom? BADASS. And completely justified. Asian culture often pushes the narrative of the ever-filial child, but this drama made an important statement: Parents have a duty to their children, too.

4. The plot is THICC. It’s not just romance. Not only do we get the layered, slow-burn romance between Wen Yifan and Sang Yan (which, by the way, is the epitome of first love-to-mature love evolution), but this drama also tackles:

Family issues (Wen Yifan’s mom, Su Haoan’s family struggles)

Sexual harassment (Subplot of a crime, can you believe it?)

The reality of enduring love is not all butterflies and roses. It goes through pain, patience, and healing before it can stand the test of time.

It’s a deep, emotionally rich story with multiple subplots that actually get proper resolution (a rarity in dramas, let’s be real).

5. Their time apart was NECESSARY Yes, it hurts that they didn’t date for six years. But let’s be honest—if they had, they wouldn’t have grown into the people they needed to be for each other. Their separation made their reunion even stronger, and it set them up for a long and enduring love with lots of understanding and deep connection.

6. Su Haoan & Zhong Siqiao? Adorable!!! Their relationship added just the right amount of fluff when things got too emotionally heavy. There are times when I look forward to watching these two, because I can't wait to see how their love story unfolds.

7. The intimacy was perfectly done. Not over the top, not underwhelming—just right. Through their long embrace and sweet (and hot) kisses, you can feel their yearning for each other after being apart for 6 years. ALSOO DARE I SAY, by East Asian drama standards? Those make-out scenes were intense. Bless.

8. I was on my toes the whole timeee!! The ending tied up every loose thread beautifully. No plot holes, no random forgotten side stories (we are fully aware that other dramas introduce subplots just to ghost them).

9. The acting? EXQUISITE. Bai Jing Ting and Zhang Ruo Nan understood the assignment. Bai Jing Ting’s micro-expressions are on point! Specifically, I love how his eyebrows are very expressive. While our girl Zhang Ruo Nan’s ability to embody Wen Yifan's quiet, reserved, shy, but also assertive demeanor is just chef's kiss!

10. The OST? Absolute banger.

----------------------------------------

The story does not end yet:

I just found out that First Frost is a spin-off of Hidden Love! Which makes SO much sense because I knew there was something familiar about Sang Zhi and Duan Jiaxu. And now? I need to:

✔ Read the First Frost and Hidden Love novels ✔ Watch Hidden Love ✔ Read the First Frost manhua (Eternal Love)

So yeah. I am deep in this rabbit hole now, and I have no regrets.

10/10. Would spiral into obsession again.

Wen Shuangjiang, don't you get it? After all these years, I still only like you.

The First Frost 难哄 (2025) dir. by Chu Yu Ning [upcoming]

[xoxorory]

Vows, Vows, and a Wedding Plans with Percy Jackson

Pairing: Percy Jackson x Daughter of Aphrodite!Reader Genre: Humor | Fluff | Word Count: ~1.8K Warning: English si not my 1st lenguage lol Requested by: @simpingmyassoff

It had been a long time since Percy and I started our relationship. Four years together, almost five. Sometimes it felt like everything was a dream, as if the world was brighter when we were together. Him, with his carefree attitude, and me, always lost in my thoughts, but with one certainty: Percy Jackson would be my future. And no, I wasn't exaggerating.

"Babe, what are you doing?" Percy asked, looking at me from the door of the cabin.

"Nothing," I quickly replied, covering the notebook where I had been planning every detail of our wedding. I knew he would never take me seriously if he saw it.

"Sure," he responded, knowing something was up. He came closer and sat down beside me. "Can I see what you're writing?"

I sighed. There was no turning back now. We had already talked about getting married young, and of course, we had so many ideas in mind. It wasn't crazy considering what we were: demigods, with such uncertain lives that we thought the best thing was not to waste time.

"The thing is..." I started, looking at the notebook I had already started filling with drawings, colors, and details. "I've got the whole wedding planned."

Percy looked at me curiously, narrowing his eyes.

"Everything?"

"Yes, everything. What I want is for it to be on the beach," I said, getting excited. "It's perfect, don't you think? A small wooden bridge, like those that go over the water, so the dress doesn't touch the sand. In light blue and white. And a wedding cake with those colors, light blue and white, with pink details."

Percy stared at me in silence for a moment, then let out a low laugh, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Are you serious?" he asked, smiling as always.

"Yes," I replied without hesitation. "The vows, Percy. The ceremony. And the speech... well, I want your mom and my mom to give it."

Percy looked at me a little confused, and I saw his eyebrow raise. Sometimes I forgot how inexperienced he was with these things.

"Sally and... and my mom?" Percy seemed even more puzzled.

"Of course," I said, rolling my eyes. "Aphrodite has her... ways. And Sally has to be part of this, she's your mom! Besides, who better to talk about love than the two of them?"

Percy leaned back, propping his arms on the sand. "You surprise me, you know? I didn’t imagine you had all this in mind."

"Oh, Percy," I said, looking at the sea. "It’s just that it’s something I can’t get out of my head. I’ve been thinking about this since we were fourteen. I always knew we’d be something bigger than anything else in this camp."

Percy looked at me with tenderness, as if all of this made more sense than I realized.

"You know... I don’t care about the cake’s color or what the dress is like," he said, standing up to come closer. "All I want is for you to be my wife. I don’t care if it’s on the beach, in the activity room, or even underwater."

I laughed, feeling my heart race. He always said things with such confidence that sometimes it scared me. It was so natural for him, like there was no challenge in our relationship.

"You’re a mess," I said, touching his cheek.

"I know. That’s why I fell in love with you."

Percy grinned from ear to ear. Then he leaned toward me, taking my face in his hands with that intensity that left me breathless.

"I love you," he whispered, his eyes reflecting a promise that was deeper than any words.

I felt a little embarrassed by how sudden the moment was, but I didn’t pull away. I leaned in to kiss him softly.

"And I love you," I replied, never breaking eye contact.

We were ready to face whatever came our way. We knew what we wanted, and although the demigod life made it difficult, we would face it together.

Percy laughed between kisses and pulled back a little to look at me.

"What I want is for all of this to be real. And if that beach wedding with the pink cake becomes a reality, I don’t care."

I gave him a little shove, laughing.

"Wait, and you haven’t thought about your vows? What would you say, Percy Jackson?"

His face lit up with a conspiratorial expression.

"I’ve got it figured out," he said, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. "I promise I’ll always be with you, even when the sea is about to swallow us. And I promise nothing will separate us, not even the roughest waters."

"That’s not a very romantic vow, huh?" I said, laughing.

"It’s what I’ve got," he said, winking. "Does it work for you?"

I just nodded, feeling that my future with him would be everything I had dreamed of and more.

And even though our life was chaotic and dangerous, we knew that anywhere, under any sky or by the sea, the only place we really wanted to be was together.

And with that, the future became a lot brighter.

[fearlessreid]

not a lot, just forever

dad!eddie munson x mom!reader

summary: domestic mornings with eddie and your two daughters

warnings: eddies a fucking simp and needs to get a grip. tooth rotting fluff you’ll die from (also i’m ovulating so this is the result of that)

word count: 1k

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

It’s one of those mornings where the sun filters through the kitchen window just right, and everything feels perfectly in sync. I stand at the stove, flipping pancakes as the sweet smell fills the air. The quiet hum of the house, punctuated only by the sound of tiny feet pattering on the hardwood floor, settles me into a peaceful rhythm.

I hear Eddie before I see him, his voice a low murmur as he whispers to our daughters. “Come on, Elvira, Lilah, let’s go see Mommy!”

The girls’ giggles make my heart swell, and I can’t help but smile. Their little voices always manage to fill the house with a warmth I never thought possible. Elvira, or Ellie as we call her, is the older of the two at age 3 with her dad’s unruly curls and a wild spirit to match. Delilah, or Lilah, our 1 and a half year old, on the other hand, is the quieter one, her eyes a little more thoughtful, always watching, always listening.

Eddie walks into the kitchen, a grin stretching across his face. He’s holding both girls, one on each hip, and they’re clinging to him like little koalas. His eyes are locked on me, the affection in them so strong it’s almost overwhelming. “Morning, beautiful,” he says, his voice dripping with adoration as if he hasn’t seen me in years instead of just a few hours.

I chuckle, flipping the pancakes one more time before setting them on a plate. “Morning, rockstar. Got the girls up early again?”

He shrugs, but it’s the playful kind of shrug—the one he knows drives me crazy. “What can I say? They wanted to see their favorite person in the whole world.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

But even as I say it, I know it’s true. He’s always been this way, always putting me on a pedestal, treating me like I’m the most important person in his world. It’s something I never expected, but something I’ve come to cherish deeply. Eddie worships me in a way that makes my chest ache with love, and the way he looks at me now—like I’m his whole universe—just reinforces everything I’ve ever known about him.

Lilah squints at me, her small hands still gripping Eddie’s shirt as she lets out a soft whimper. “Mama?”

I bend down to meet her at eye level, smiling warmly. “Hey, sweet girl. What’s wrong?”

She just stares at me for a moment before reaching for me with a pout. “Want mama” she says simply.

I don’t hesitate. I reach out and pull her into my arms, kissing her head as she snuggles into me. “I’ve got you, sweet girl. Don’t worry.”

Ellie, always the confident one, giggles and wiggles out of Eddie’s hold, running to the table where the pancakes are piled high. “Pancakes!” she exclaims, her voice full of excitement as she grabs the syrup. Eddie and I exchange a glance, and both of us can’t help but smile at the sight of her already so independent, so full of energy.

“You’re a good dad,” I say softly, my eyes lingering on him as he watches our girls.

He looks back at me, that same look of utter devotion on his face. “You make it easy,” he murmurs, walking over to wrap his arms around me from behind. “You’re the glue that holds this whole family together. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I rest my head against his chest, taking a deep breath of the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the faint trace of coffee. “You say that every day, Eddie.”

“I mean it every day, sweetheart.”

His words settle in my chest like a warm blanket, making everything feel right in the world. He’s right. I am the glue. But it’s not because I’m perfect. It’s because we’re perfect together, each of us complementing the other in ways we never would have imagined.

I glance down at Lilah, who’s now happily munching on a pancake in my arms, and then at Ellie, who’s happily drowning her stack in syrup. Eddie squeezes me tighter, his lips grazing my ear.

“I still can’t believe you’re mine,” he says softly, his breath warm against my skin. “I look at you, and I swear I fall in love with you all over again every single day. You’re so… you’re everything to me.”

“I’m everything to you?” I tease, turning slightly to meet his gaze.

He grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, you and the girls. But mostly you.” he jokes

I roll my eyes, but there’s no hiding the affection in my smile. “You’re a dork.”

He leans down to press a soft kiss to my cheek, then whispers, “Your dork.”

It’s not just the words; it’s the way he says them. The tenderness, the raw love that pours through his every movement. I don’t think he’ll ever stop worshipping me the way he does. And frankly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I love you,” I say, my voice low, full of sincerity.

Eddie’s smile widens, and he leans down to kiss me—gentle, lingering, full of everything I can’t quite put into words.

“I love you more,” he replies, pulling away just enough to glance at our girls. “And I love them, too. Every single part of this is… perfect.”

As I look at the family we’ve built together, I can’t help but agree. It’s not just perfect. It’s everything I ever wanted and more. And it’s all because of Eddie. The man who worships me. The man who is my everything.

And as the girls continue to giggle and clamor for more pancakes, I know that no matter how crazy or chaotic life gets, we’ll always be this: a little family, full of love, laughter, and a father who can’t help but adore the ground I walk on. little does he know, little munson number 3 was about to be known.

[holyblonded]

Hiya could we have some Estrella mother’s day hcs please?

— estrella is obnoxiously excited about mother’s day. she claims she “doesn’t care about silly holidays,” but everyone knows she’s been planning for weeks.

— she wakes up early, sneaks out of bed (which is impressive because olga is a light sleeper), and starts setting up.

— the kitchen is a disaster zone. there’s flour on her face, chocolate smudged on her cheek, and half the counter is covered in poorly wrapped gifts and scribbled cards.

— alexia walks in, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. “are you trying to burn the house down?”

— estrella grins, flour in her hair. “it’s mother’s day. you can’t yell at me.”

— “i don’t think that’s how it works.”

— olga wakes up to the smell of pancakes and estrella yelling at the coffee machine because “why is this thing so slow today? i’m on a schedule!”

— the gifts aren’t fancy this time. handmade bracelets, polaroids of the three of them taped into a messy collage, a playlist estrella spent hours curating called “for my moms (you’re stuck with me forever).”

— she makes them each a card. alexia’s says, “thanks for raising me into the chaotic menace i am today. wouldn’t be possible without your scary mom look.” olga’s says, “thanks for loving me even when i’m unbearable.”

— halfway through breakfast, estrella casually slides a folded piece of paper across the table. it’s a note that just says, “i know i make it hard sometimes, but i’m really lucky to have you both. i love you.”

— she tries to play it cool, but olga pulls her into a hug anyway, and alexia ruffles her hair until she whines.

— later in the day, estrella insists on taking them out. she planned a whole stupidly extra picnic in a quiet park.

— “we’re doing family bonding whether you like it or not,” estrella says, stuffing snacks into a basket.

— olga and alexia roll their eyes, but they both show up, sunglasses on, pretending they’re not secretly soft about it.

— estrella lies on the picnic blanket, head in olga’s lap, legs tossed over alexia’s. “you’re stuck with me forever,” she mumbles, half-asleep.

— “we know,” alexia says, pretending to sound annoyed.

— but olga’s hand is already running through estrella’s curls, and alexia’s thumb is tracing idle patterns on estrella’s knee.

— by the end of the day, estrella’s phone is full of selfies she forced them to take. every single one has her grinning like she’s got the whole world in her arms. because she does.

[noctiva]

Toby being really insecure reader will leave him gives me so many angst ideas like Toby seeing reader being hit on and when she comes home she doesn’t mention anything about it causing Toby to worry that reader is cheating on him and will leave him soon so he totally starts spiraling and takes it out on reader- 🪽

oh no you don’t get it my brain is filled with angst about this man.

he doesn’t mean to be the way he is, but literally everyone else in his life (except for his mom) either belittled him or left him (or both), so his abandonment issues are badddd and his self-esteem is rocky at best. I think his self-esteem got a little bit better after becoming a proxy because of the whole now getting to be the one in charge thing, but after meeting the reader it would unfortunately take a turn for the worst again.

It’s just hard for him to wrap his head around you actually wanting to be with him. Like for real. And not as some sort of sick joke. As time goes on he’ll get… better? But his jealousy and possessiveness won’t really ever fade. And when they’re triggered? …Yikes for you.

It might seem counterintuitive to tell him about someone hitting on you, but it’s actually the best route with him. It’ll gain trust, and if you don’t tell him you do not want him finding out about that shit on his own.

Let’s say he does witness it for himself, but you don’t notice, and you decide not to tell him.

He won’t bring it up at first. He’ll wait to see if you do. Even if it’s just a little ‘some idiot hit on me today’, that’s all he needs to be comforted a little. But, when that doesn’t come, ohhhhhhh boy.

there won’t be a moment where he isn’t thinking about it. isn’t recalling every little detail of the interaction he witnessed. how close they got to you. how you just let them (even if you were just being nice, he doesn’t know that nor cares). he’ll be replaying it in his mind every second that he’s awake, and as time goes on, he starts to convince himself that there must be more to it.

you must know that person. maybe you know them well. too well. have you really been going to work? or have you been leaving to go spend time with them? is there something about them that’s better than him? is it because there a normal member of society? someone you could be seen out with in public without worrying for your safety?

do they make you feel safer than him? do they make you happier than him? is it nice for you, to live a normal life? one he could never give you?

you’ll notice his deterioration. he’ll get more snide with you. making offhand comments that he’ll brush under the rug when you ask about them. he’ll get more nosy. more accusatory.

‘I’m sorry baby, but I’ve got to go to work.’

‘y-yeah. sure you do.’

his trust in you will hit an all time low. to the point where you can’t even use your phone without him being convinced you must be texting someone else.

and one day, he’ll just snap.

it’ll come out of nowhere, when you least expect it. and he will come at you like a fucking freight train. just word vomit of every horrid thought he’s had over the past week or so. scoffing at you when you try to protest, eyes manic as he calls you every name in the book. the mere idea of someone else touching you makes him feel nauseous, and letting those thoughts fester will make him an absolute wreck.

he would come this close to tracking the person down and lobbing their head clean off. but there’s still the hope - the prayer - that maybe he’s wrong.

which he is, of course.

it will take you ages to calm him down. and once you do, he’s even more of a wreck. profusely apologizing with his head shoved into the crook of your neck - telling you that he’s just so scared because he knows he’s not enough for you. he knows he can’t give you the life you deserve. that he wouldn’t even blame you if you ran off with someone else.

so now you’ve got to calm him down from that too. you’ll need a lot of patience, I think that’s a given, and a lot of compassion too. because at the end of the day, he’s still just a scared little boy on the inside.

[wherearedagrapes]

I saw this youtube post about Maddie’s silent look at Sonic, Knuckles, and Tails after Tom is hurt in movie 3, and I just wanna throw my two cents in real quick.

Personally, while I think it’s an interesting interpretation (though kind of crazy work after she’s willing to die for Sonic in the second movie), Maddie doesn’t seem “resentful” to me. Maddie’s a medical doctor — a doctor to animals, yes, but she still handles the lives of living creatures. Emotional control and a level of personal detachment are required to do her job successfully. (And she actually displays this in the first movie after Sonic is KO’d by an explosion. While Tom’s freaking out, Maddie’s totally calm, ignoring Tom to examine and treat Sonic.)

Maddie’s stoic after Tom is hurt in the third movie, and I think that stoicism is doubled because it’s her husband that’s in critical condition. Throughout the whole ordeal, she never breaks, never cries, not that we see, not in front of the boys. I think Maddie the Mom is replaced by Dr. Maddie Wachowski, DVM. Calm. Controlled. Focused on the problem at hand. There’s no time to panic or grieve, nor comfort or hold hands. She’s got a dying patient, a super weapon on its way to space, and a high-clearance government HQ that wants her entire family detained. She has work to do.

It’s easy to see how Sonic or anyone sympathizing with the kids could mistake Maddie’s lack of warmth here as blame, resentment, anger, etc. But I really don’t think that’s her intention. She checks on the boys as the paramedics are wheeling Tom to the ambulance.

When she climbs inside with Tom, she looks back, like she’s conflicted about leaving them and wants to say something but isn’t sure what. The silent stare she specifically gives Sonic feels like she’s thinking, “I can’t tell you it’s going to be okay because I’m not sure it will be. But I don’t want to tell you that, either.”

Sonic’s looking for reassurance that she can’t give him, not without lying. Knuckles’ gaze drops to the ground; he knows it doesn’t look good for Tom. Tails glances between Maddie and Sonic. He notices the unspoken exchange they’re having and Sonic’s uncharacteristic silence, and he seems to realize then how bad the situation is, what everybody’s thinking but nobody wants to say: There’s a good chance that Tom is not going to make it.

Doctors don’t make promises they can’t keep, and Maddie cannot promise that Tom will survive.

Now, you may be thinking, “But parents are supposed to provide comfort regardless of the facts. They’re supposed to smile and say, ‘It’s okay. Everything will be fine, I promise,’ even if they don’t believe it. Sonic, Knuckles, and Tails face much harsher situations than the average kid, but they are still children.” To which I’d say, yeah. Ultimately, whether this is a parenting misstep on Maddie’s part is subjective… But even if we choose to interpret it as such, I like that. I like that Maddie messes up.

Maddie’s human, and (most interestingly imo) she is still a new parent. Tom and Maddie did not have kids before Sonic. Judging by Sonic’s “bearthday” party, it’s only been like a little over a year in-universe since they took Sonic in, and it’s been far less than that since Knuckles and Tails joined the family. Maddie is still learning how to be a good mom, just like Tom is still learning how to be a good dad, and Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles are still learning how to be good sons and friends/brothers.

Maddie’s going to make mistakes just like they are. Letting her doctor persona override her desire to be a warm, caring parent in a devastating, high-stress situation like this feels like a believable mistake for her to make, and I think it’s better than if she were to always say and do the right thing.

[lygma-nygma]

Being a batfam fan is funny because people will make a post like “here’s my headcanon-“ and it’s just something that’s directly canon to the story then post about major canon events and get everything wrong.

[damthosefandoms]

well @haljordangreenjedi reminded me there was more to this, so here’s a part 2!

bob sheldon is dead in the parking lot of the gas station soda works at. their fingerprints are everywhere. there is no getting out of this.

they go to dally, ‘cause he’s the only one who will know what to do, and because soda can’t tell johnny to stop ‘cause he wants to go home. he wants darry. he wants his mom and dad. but they go to dally. ‘cause according to johnny, he’s been through it before.

soda’s heard a lot of dally’s new york stories—they all give him the chills—but he’s never heard that particular one before.

they get to buck’s and don’t bother knocking, simply walking through the door and up the stairs to dally’s room. soda can’t really talk at the moment anyway—he can still feel the hose wrapped around his neck—so instead he lets johnny explain for once and stares anxiously out the window towards the stables. he daydreams about running out there, locking himself in with the horses and pretending the last hour of his life never happened. his throat hurts. his whole neck hurts, actually, and his head too. he knows it’s going to bruise.

soda’s attention isn’t pulled back to the conversation until he sees dally pull a gun out of the dresser drawer. he forces out a “wait!” that gets him coughing so hard he gags a little, and dally and johnny share a worried look but they say nothing.

“no gun!” soda demands, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as weak as he feels. “darry will—kill me. lose us.”

“…that ain’t gonna happen, sodapop,” dally says, a little unsure where this even came from, but he gets the picture when soda shakes his head, pushing on: “we’re already gone.”

because in soda’s mind, they are. it’s over. no judge in their right (or wrong) mind would let an already-struggling twenty year old with no money keep his brothers after one of them was an accessory to murder. the state has been giving darry a hard time since day one, but then soda dropped out of school, and all he had to show for it was a job at a gas station. soda was the one who got all those speeding tickets. whether or not sandy’s baby isn’t his—once the state catches wind of that? even if he WASN’T in this mess right now, that might’ve been the last straw.

so what if pony wanders off, gets jumped. the only one putting darry’s custody of them in danger is soda, and he knows it. it was always going to be his fault darry lost them. this just seals the deal.

johnny looks over at dally, almost begging for him to say something, and to his credit, dally does have a response.

“alright, let me rephrase,” dally says. “they take you from your brothers over my dead body. cross my heart, sodapop. they ain’t separating you.”

it’s probably the nicest thing he’s ever said. too bad it means nothing in the long run. dally can’t stop the state anymore than soda and johnny can undo killing bob sheldon.

dally turns back to johnny. “repeat what I told you.” “take the 3:15 freighter to windrixville. jump off before it stops. hike up jay mountain to the old church. buy food in the morning before the papers’s out.” “and don’t do much as stick your heads out again until I get there. I swear I’ll come up with something as soon as it’s safe to leave town.”

“dal—” “quit talking, soda. it’s gonna make you feel worse.” but soda has to. he coughs, then forces out: “no, please, please—” he coughs again, “dally, promise. tell my brothers I love them.”

dally promises.

when he comes up to the church almost a week later, dally hands johnny a bag of coins, and soda a letter.

“the kid broke open his piggy bank for you two. he was real serious that you read that thing, man.”

soda opens the letter. can’t help but tear up when he sees pony’s perfect handwriting, telling him darry won’t admit he’s scared, but he hasn’t slept in days. how pony wants soda back to keep the nightmares away.

but he can’t stop the sob he lets out when he reads the part where pony says he can’t sleep without him there to keep away the nightmares. that darry is so scared he cried out loud and everything. that he’s their family’s heart and soul.

pony’s ten years old and yet somehow the wisest of them all.

au where soda and johnny killed bob instead of pony and johnny but like you gotta hear me out for a minute (or more, this is a long one) cause it’s also an au where pony’s a little younger, he’s like ten or something and he’s out here thinking he’s oh so cool and big and tough now that he’s finally hit double digits, but like he’s ten and not even a quarter. he’s still not allowed to walk home from school alone, not when his parents were still alive and not now—two-bit always walks his little sister home and pony’s just included in that now.

and so when he sneaks into the movie theaters he’s really gotta sneak. he tells molly mathews to go ahead and leave at dismissal, he’s staying after for… chess club, or something she’d have no idea about, to tell her brother he’s gonna call for a ride later. and he’ll get to see whatever he wants to see because he’s small and quiet and nobody notices, and when he doesn’t call home for a ride later, he’ll get jumped by the socs and they’ll scare him but it never really gets out of hand. not usually. they oughta be more careful, he’s just a kid, and maybe when he got his neck cut up that one afternoon he should’ve known it was a sign.

he tries not to cry ‘cause he’s scared and only gets a little embarrassed when darry puts a bandaid on the cut, and he tries to steal a cigarette off dally but is caught like usual—“you gotta be at least thirteen for that, kid.”—and he only stops to listen in for a minute when soda mentions they’re going to the game tonight.

but steve says no kids allowed and pony whines and johnny says “aw, pony, you’ll find something to do.” and then dally brings up the drive-in, and pony’s eyes light up and he looks over to darry and practically begs his brother to let him go, and darry says alright. cause pony’s still a little kid and his fourth grade teacher doesn’t give homework on fridays, and as long as he stays with johnny and dally, and as long as the movies that are playing aren’t too grown-up, and as long as he’s home before his curfew and so on. pony and darry get along just a little better here because that bigger age gap—ten and a half years!—really puts darry into always having been more of an authority figure in pony’s life. and if you can’t tell, this story isn’t supposed to be about them anyway, so it’s fine.

the drive-in is fun. they sit behind a couple of girls and when johnny convinces dally to leave her alone, one of them asks if he’s soda’s little brother and lets him talk and talk about whatever he wants, and her name is cherry valance and offers to buy pony a pepsi so of COURSE he takes her up on it. there’s a couple of socs milling around the concession stand and one of them calls cherry out asking why she bothers babysitting the little grease stain and she rolls her eyes and grabs his hand and pulls him into line with her and he’s still yammering on about whatever’s on his mind thinking “wow this cool teenager is listening to me!” because none of his friends—his brothers’ friends, really—are like that. well, they listen, johnny and soda specifically, but there’s something so different about when you’re a kid and somebody who you don’t see as being obligated to listen to you, does. like he’s seeing there’s people out there like him, people who are older and wiser, and that’s just—it’s nice. especially for a lonely kid like him.

anyway. so there’s a lot of whispering that night. dallas winston hitting on cherry valance, she’s hanging around with sodapop curtis’ little brother, and two-bit mathews and that kid johnny cade they beat up last spring, and you know, it’s gossip, it’s like playing telephone. by the time it gets around to guys like bob and his friends, the story’s been twisted. and they’re drunk. and angry, because cherry and marcia ditched them, and well. that confrontation during the walk home still happens. except maybe when cherry refuses to get in the car, she dumps bob then and there. they don’t even bother fighting. cherry tells bob he’s insane. what does he think she’s doing, cheating on him? pony’s a little kid! she remembered hearing how his parents died. she had gone to school with his brother, you know? ponyboy seemed quiet. kinda sad. she was just being nice.

but that’s not really what bob’s all worried about. ‘cause when cherry ditched him at the drive-in he and randy got wasted and headed to the football game and word on the street there was that as of that night, sodapop curtis is single again. bob’s sober enough to remember the way girls talk about that kid and drunk enough to jump to conclusions ‘cause he knows even cherry isn’t immune to that charm. especially not later that night when one of his buddies who stuck around at the drive-in tells him they overheard cherry call soda a “doll.” and that she was hanging around his little brother.

and then. bob and the socs leave, with a threat or two thrown in the direction of the greasers, and two-bit and johnny walk the girls to a payphone to call for a ride, and then they walk pony home. they make sure he gets in the house all good, in the door before darry can even be worried. he’ll tuck the kid in and pony will ask him to stay because soda’s not home yet, but he’s older and as far as darry’s concerned soda uses his head. he probably just went over to sandy’s for the night. no big deal. two-bit goes home. johnny heads home but decides to wander the neighborhood for a bit because his parents are nuts and he’s still spooked from the socs and all. and it’s cold, you know, the gang will get on him about sleeping in the lot and soda and steve told him where the key is to the garage at the dx where they work on the cars, and their boss is nice, he turns a blind eye sometimes to johnny finding shelter for the night there every once in a blue moon. so he starts walking.

meanwhile, soda’s having the worst night of his life (well. second worst. his parents are dead.), he’s a heartbroken fucking mess, walking home from the football game alone because steve and evie ditched basically right after the four of them got there and. you know. sandy is leaving for florida. leaving him. whether she wants to or not. whether he loves her or not. he’s taking the long way home, walking all alone in the dark despite his better judgment because he knows darry will be mad at him but doesn’t really care. darry just worries, soda knows that. and honestly he thinks if he had to sit now—in a car, or just go straight home, whatever—he would go insane. so he’s walking. and he’s thinking about sandy, and how he can get her to stay. he could marry her. his kid or not, whether she asked to be in this situation or not, he loves her, and he thinks hopes dreams that she loves him too. and he’s been hiding his mom’s engagement ring in one of the toolboxes because darry wanted to sell it when their parents died and pony wanted to bury it with them and soda was being selfish and never wanted to part with it. he was gonna use it one day. maybe that day is coming sooner than he thought. maybe things will be okay. so he keeps walking.

they meet in the parking lot. johnny fills soda in on the night he’s had, mostly cause johnny jumped a mile when soda called his name, and nearly pulled his switchblade on him. “can’t be any worse than mine,” soda mutters, and then he’s rooting around in his pocket to see if he’s got any spare change ‘cause he figures johnny’s probably hungry and soda doesn’t like to take things from the dx conscience store without paying—he works there, he’d be stealing from his own paycheck—and that’s when the color drains from johnny’s face and soda follows his eyes to the road. a blue mustang pulls into the parking lot. it’s packed with kids soda hasn’t seen since he dropped out of school last june. socs. and one of them’s got three big, clunky rings made of probably pure gold. worth more than his mama’s engagement ring, that’s for damn sure.

and in the end soda doesn’t even know what they were fighting over. something about stealing bob sheldon’s girl? trying to? soda doesn’t even know who the guy is dating. he hasn’t really spoken to any girls except sandy since they started dating, not like that—other girls have tried talking to him, sure but they just aren’t her and even if they were like sandy, who cares? he’s in love—and he’s a little lacking in the gossip department. that’s what happens when you drop out of high school and work full time at a gas station. again, at the present moment, the only girl he cares about is sandy. he wonders just how drunk bob is—he can smell the alcohol on his breath a mile away. man, this is why soda doesn’t drink. he gets stuck in his emotions enough as it is; he doesn’t need help feeling. he doesn’t need help acting on it either.

and johnny’s there. his buddy, his friend, who started shaking in fear four months ago and hasn’t stopped since. there’s a cold look in johnny’s eyes and soda feels that familiar rush in his veins. soda’s a good fighter, you know. he’s never lost, not really. not when it counted. but he can’t help but wonder if it’s because he’s never fought for his life before. it kinda feels like it now, but then again, everything’s tinged red, this feels normal. to him anyway. this is how he’s always felt in a fight. adrenaline coursing through his veins like it’s all he was meant for. like it’s all he’s good for. sometimes it feels like it is.

next thing soda knows, bob’s foot is slamming into his bad knee—the one he permanently messed up years ago at the rodeo, because of course he did, everything he loves leaves him eventually—and it buckles. he crumples to the ground. something smells like gas. well, they’re at a gas station, makes sense. the hose from the gas pump is being wrapped around his neck and he can’t breathe and people are laughing, and for some reason he thinks to himself in the moment, “man, i hope nobody lights a cigarette. that would suck.”

he only blacks out for a few seconds but when reality washes over him, the socs are gone. all but one, in the ground. there’s blood and gasoline pooling around where soda’s kneeling next to the body.

body. oh god. soda wants to be sick but he thinks he’ll choke again if he throws up. his neck and throat hurt real bad. come to think of it so do his knee and his head. johnny looks green and his hands are covered in blood. so’s his knife. so’s bob sheldon.

johnny grabs him and yanks him up and soda tries to scream but it hurts too much to even whisper. johnny says something about going to dally’s. they just run, or do the best they can ‘cause soda’s knee is killing him, until they get out towards buck’s and soda wants to ask “what’re we gonna do, steal a horse and ride off into the unknown? you killed a guy, johnny!” but he doesn’t because it’s not gonna help at this point and soda knows that. he also knows johnny saved his life. he oughta be grateful.

dally agrees to get them the hell out of town, but not before soda demands some paper and a pen. he’s gotta tell his brothers something—especially cause now he doesn’t know if he’ll ever see them again.

he doesn’t know anything. except that somebody died because of him and maybe also that there’s no way he’ll ever get to marry sandy now. and maybe just maybe he can never go home again. and for a guy like soda, a person who stays—that’s the worst feeling in the world.

soda just wants his brothers. and for all he understands everybody, right now he’s got no idea what to do with poor johnny cade.

seven hours later ponyboy is sitting on the living room couch with two-bit, eating cereal and chocolate cake (he’s a growing boy!) and watching saturday morning cartoons while darry swears at the leaky faucet in the kitchen, and then steve crashes through the front door.

“thought you were working this morning?” darry asks, not that interested, but more to make conversation and because he’s tired of that stupid kitchen sink. and steve goes “where’s soda?” and darry’s like, “sandy’s, I’ll bet. he never came home last night.”

except steve shakes his head. “he’s definitely not at sandy’s.” “why not?” “they broke up—” everyone looks over, but steve barrels on. “you’re sure you don’t know where he is?” darry nods. he forgets about the sink. “what’s going on?”

“got to work this morning, and the boss was standing out there, pissed as all hell. entire place was taped off. cops everywhere. i heard one of ‘em talking. somebody found a body last night—”

pony spills his cereal bowl. darry doesn’t even notice. pony doesn’t either. neither of them breathe until:

“—said it was that soc kid. same one who cut up johnny’s face. bob sheldon.”

and what the hell are these boys supposed to do now?

[raddest-laddest]

ok. someone’s gonna have to come get my dad or i’m gonna tweak.

[whoblewboobear]

Staring down that weird feeling of feeling like too much or out of place or annoying if I say too much or say things too loud or too off-putting to be like- WANTED in any given social situation. To try so hard to socialize just to- idk. I’d very much like to stop defaulting to that scared kid that was pushed away or talked over until I got old enough and desperate enough to say any and every rapid fire thought that comes to mind. Like filling space when there’s dead air then wondering if maybe I did the Too Much™️ thing again and A. Scared everyone away or B. Pushed everyone away so it would hurt less when they leave BC of A.

Of feeling like I need to be useful or smart or talented or pretty or SOMETHING worthwhile so people want me around. I can just be but then it’s like just being has never been enough for anyone to like- stay. Or care. Running is always a mistake bc it’s like riiiight.. no one noticed you ran, babe. You’re not even at the top of their list people to want around. And just feel so low about it that I talk myself into feeling miserable again.

I’m happy, ive been so much happier lately and i dont take it for granted bc it’s so rare that things go okay or that there’s a sense of peace for a moment. I’m creating again and im less hard on myself about it. I have hobbies again, I’m making friends. And still I’m like seeing the other foot start to drop in real time bc it’s like. You’re in, but are you? That constant nagging voice that sounds so much like my own going “lonely again? Good you deserve it”

[godblooded]

the way i have no one to grieve with and it’s fucking killing me slowly.

[zippityzap]

Vampire lady that appeared in my dream last night

[hsslilly-blog]

hollywood u never specified what addison’s mother is sick with, or if it’s terminal; just that she’s really sick, right? rather, that she has been really sick (for a while). personally, i’ve always read it as if it were terminal. lmao not surprising. anyway you know what that means *hits her with dead parent beam*

[e77y]

Glad I’m starting therapy so soon after moving out ☝️ I am already feeling the helplessness and loneliness