#maybe some sort of pre-game thing?

[crossdressingdeath]

Now that I have everyone's responses to the "Durge was an Absolutist leader" reveal, I have thoughts. I think the whole thing works best if you tell the party about you being Bhaalspawn before going to the inauguration, because if you do that they're all like "It's okay, you don't have to be evil, you can fight your father, you have to fight your father" and while some Durges would probably be upset about the repeated insistence that they Mustn't Be Evil it's definitely well-intentioned and they want to support you. And then you get to the inauguration and they're furious about the Absolutist reveal. Which is mostly fair (Shadowheart getting mad at you specifically for not telling anyone when she knows you have amnesia is just a little unreasonable), but it's also like. all that support goes away the second they learn you weren't a good little non-murdery heroic Bhaalspawn like Gorion's Ward. To be fair, their anger and sense of betrayal are understandable, it's a hell of a thing to learn and I get the sense that the party really doesn't grasp just how strong Bhaal's hold on Durge is (I don't think it's a coincidence that Jaheira and Minsc are two of the calmest about the Bhaalspawn reveal or that Jaheira takes the Bhaal's Chosen reveal better than most of the party, they have more experience and so have a better understanding of what being Bhaalspawn actually means, but even they don't as far as I'm aware know about the "literally crafted from Bhaal's divine essence" situation)! I can definitely see why they for the most part react so overwhelmingly negatively, I would too in their position. But at the same time... poor Durge? I mean, they've just learned that they were a leader of the cult that stuck a tadpole in their and most of their friends' heads and is trying to take over the world. While the response to that would vary depending on the Durge, that's a heavy thing to suddenly have to deal with! And then the closest thing to support they get from the party is Minthara and Jaheira saying "Well, you fucked up big time but you can still sort of make up for it" and a couple party members not responding to it at all. The only person in this situation who seems pleased to have them around right now is Gortash.

...I wonder if that's part of the reason why Gortash chooses to reveal all of this here and now in front of the party rather than trying to find a moment to talk to Durge privately. It wouldn't have been hard for him to say "Well, I want to talk to the leader of your group privately and I won't give you any information until I get to do so," make it into some sort of power play or something and then explain the situation once they were alone. It might even have been smarter, since that way the party wouldn't be suspicious of Durge. But instead he spills the beans in front of everyone, driving a wedge between Durge and the rest of the group. The others love Durge enough to stick by them even after the reveal, but Gortash couldn't have known that would be the case when he told them! It doesn't make sense to deliberately cause problems among the party if he wants them working together as a team to deal with Orin for him, but it does make sense if his ultimate goal is to get rid of the rest of the party so he and Durge can rule together as was the original plan. After all, if the group decided they don't want a (former) Absolutist leader around and chase Durge away, where could Durge go other than straight to Gortash?

[sonknuxadow]

okay im definitely going to be away from home when sxs gens comes out i need to figure out how im going to deal with this

[lolkency]

Secret(Shh)

⋮ you unexpectedly see your former ta at a house party

❥ nerdmin x reader

cw: oral sex, fingering, squirting, sexual intercourse, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, (kinda) rough

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠...

RANDOM PARTY

The buzz from the pre-game shots spread through your veins, as you and your friend Sasha walked up the stairs to a random party. She'd begged you to go as soon as she learned about it through her friend Connie.

She knew you never turned down a party, it was the only way to distract yourself from the hellish life of being a pre-med student.

Apparently it was thrown by some guy named Eren, whoever he was, he was loaded. The all white mansion's lights shined bright in the night.

"Nice house" you admired, still walking up the never ending stairs.

"Yeah, his family's loaded, his dad's a really big surgeon around here" Sasha replied.

"Mhm maybe I could shadow him...you think I could get an internsh-"

"Ah ah, no nerdy talk right now" Sasha shushed you, as you finally made it to the front door.

You thought maybe there'd be some sort of security because of the scale of the party, and it being in such a wealthy neighborhood, but Sasha just walked right in, and you followed.

The crowd was massive, everyone practically bumping shoulders...or other parts.  You couldn't help but admire the chandeliers above you, the lights changed colors along with the beat of the music.

Taking your attention away from the pretty lights, you caught the eyes of a familiar blonde. His blue eyes glowed in the now purple lights, glasses framing his face. He wore a dark green t-shirt, and a multi-colored flannel, with jeans.

Before you could wave, nod, or give him any type of acknowledgment, you were pulled in the opposite direction.

"C'mon I wanna see what they have to drink" she shouted over the music. You just nodded, still being tugged toward the kitchen. Once you were there, Sasha fixed you and her cups of punch.

You however, were still thinking about the blonde. He was your Biochem TA from last semester. You'd always thought he was sweet and kinda hot in a sorta nerdy way. You felt there was a bit of tension between you, but you never acted on it.

He even had one on one tutoring sessions with you before your exams. If it weren't for him you doubt you would've passed with an "A".

You wondered if he even remembered your name, he probably had so many other things to worry about.

Sasha handed you your drink, "Y/n?"

"Hmm" you finally snapped out of your thoughts, grabbing the red solo cup.

"Did you hear anything I said" she sighed, taking a sip of her punch.

"No, sorry. What did you say?" you shook your head, sipping the red concoction. It was actually pretty good, a bit sweeter than you'd like, but good.

"I saidddd, Nic is here!" She exclaimed. Nic being her crush of a few months, who you're sure that everybody knows likes her, but her.

"What? How?" You questioned.

"I sent him a snap of me at the party to make him a bit jealous, but then he snapped me back saying he was here too and asked if I wanted to hang" she could barely contain her excitement.

"So you're leaving me for your crush?" You playfully pouted.

"No of course not, you can come too" she smiled, not seeing anything wrong with you intruding.

"Ugh no Sash, I don't think Nic wants to hang with me. I think he wants one on one time with you, ya know?" You chuckled.

"No...he doesn't think of me in th- wait really?"

"Yeah Sash I'm pretty sure he likes you back, like 99.999% sure"

"Okay I'm going, you sure you'll be okay?" She looked up at you, concern in her brown eyes, oh how you loved her.

"Yes, I promise. I'll find something...or someone to do" you laughed, half joking.

"Alright wish me luck" she kissed your cheek and then she was off in another direction.

You decided to walk back towards the heart of the party. Scanning the crowd, your eyes moved towards the area of the familiar face, only to see he was gone.

"Looking for someone?" A voice questioned, close beside you. You instinctively jumped, turning to see Armin Arlert, your former Biochem TA.

Although the air was filled with weed and liquor, you were still able to get a whiff of his citrusy cologne. Well, you'd found him, or rather he'd found you.

"Yeah, I was looking for you actually. You're the only familiar face I've seen and my friend just ditched me" you sipped more of the sugary drink.

Armin only hummed in response, nodding over to his former spot in a corner. You nodded, following him through the crowd.

"So, you still a TA for Professor Hange?" You shouted above the music.

"Yep, not the same as last semester though" he replied, finally making it to the corner, where the music wasn't as loud.

"How so?" You questioned.

"The students don't ask for my help, I kinda feel useless" he let out a soft chuckle.

"You know I kinda missed you, you actually seemed like you wanted to learn". He smiled over at you, his pretty eyes meeting yours.

You took another drink of punch before responding."Really? You missed me?" You laughed. He only responded with a head nod, licking his lips, unintentionally giving you get a glimpse of his tongue ring. That god damn tongue ring.

"I missed you too" you blurted out, a smirk formed against his lips.

"Yeah?" He moved closer to you, his cologne was intoxicating.

"Yeah" you responded, with an innocent smile.

"There's no other TA like you" you added, finishing the cup of punch which you're pretty sure was 80% sugar, but you still felt a slight buzz.

Armin's cheeks burned red, and you couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol in his red solo cup or your comment, but you hoped it was the latter.

"You know, I kinda thought you didn't remember me" you continued.

"Who could forget such a pretty face" Armin's eyes flickered up at yours then to his drink, taking another sip.

"Am I just a pretty face?" You teased, moving even closer, face to face.

"No, you're smart and passionate about your future, it's admirable" he smiled at you, genuinely.

You didn't know if it was the punch or the way he was complimenting you, but you felt like you had a chance, and you took it.

"I've always thought you were cute"

"Cute? Just cute?" He asked, his mouth twitched into a smirk.

"And smar-" Armin's free hand grabbed your face, pulling you into an abrupt kiss. His lips were soft and sweet from the punch.

The kiss was quick, but you could still feel his warm lips pressed against yours once he pulled back.

"Thanks, but I'm not just cute" he smiled, his hands left your face, and back into his pockets.

"How so?" You teased.

"Let me show you"

The next thing you knew, you were upstairs in a random bathroom.

Armin locked the door, pushing you against it, connecting your lips again. He held your face in one hand, while holding your hip with the other. This kiss was rougher, less calculated, more frantic.

Feeling his tongue push against your lips, you let it slip in. The silver ball you'd fantasized about in class, was now in your mouth, and you couldn't help but moan at the thought.

Armin broke the kiss a string of saliva moved with him, still connected to your lips. He smirked down at you before grabbing the ends of your tank and lifting it over your head.

You quickly discarded your bra, your nipples hardened from the cool air of the bathroom. "Fuck, they're even better than I imagined" Armin drooled at the sight of your breast, you took it he was a boob guy.

His lips attached to one of your nipples, playfully flicking his tongue before sucking it. You let out a soft moan, grabbing his head, fingers running through his hair.

His other hand moved to play with your other breast, pinching and grabbing it, until it stung. The slight pain went straight to your cunt, begging for attention.

His teeth bit down on the sensitive skin and you swore you could see stars. You moaned out, grabbing his hair and pulling him up to look at you.

"You're a little freak aren't you" you teased, before grabbing the back of his neck, pulling him into another kiss. You moved from the door, sitting on the sink. Your legs spread, letting Armin in between, both his hands laid on your thighs.

Your hands moved from his neck, back to his soft hair, tugging it a bit, when he bites down on your bottom lip. He pulled back from the kiss, out of breath.

"I like to be in control" he looked at your sternly, glasses at the slope of his nose.

"Then take control" you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, his clothed erection against your clothed cunt. There were too many barriers between you at the moment.

He let out a chuckle, before giving your thighs a light squeeze to let go of his waist. He moved away from you and over the toilet, placing his glasses on the seat.

Then his flannel and shirt were off, and you couldn't help but admire his body. Holy sleeper build.

Once he's in front of you again, your hands immediately attach to his chest, his heart was racing, and for some reason you felt your pussy pulse because of it.

His hands moved to lift your skirt, sliding your black panties off. He balled the thin fabric, before placing them in your mouth with a smirk. "Shh" he lifted a finger to his mouth.

Then he was on his knees, between your legs. "You know, it may be perverted to say, but I've imagined what you'd taste like" his breathe shuddered against your cunt. He was such a freak, and you loved it.

Armin wrapped his arms around your legs and pulled you closer to the edge of the counter. Without warning, he dipped his tongue into your heat, down to your hole lapping up your slick and moving to your clit.

His tongue moved in circles against the sensitive bud, the metal ball adding a new element of pleasure. He slurped and sucked your clit just as hungrily as he'd done your breasts.

You moaned into your panties, moving your head back against the mirror. His fingers dug into your thighs, as his tongue dipped into your hole, swirling around before slurping your arousal.

He took a hand from your thigh, taking his ring and middle finger into his mouth and interning them into your cunt. "Mmm" you moaned, muffled by the fabric.

"You're so wet" he smiled up at you innocently, so much that it gave you whiplash. How could he look like that but do things li-

His lips attached to your clit again, as his fingers eagerly pumped inside you with a slight curve, hitting your sweet spot.

"Mmm mm" you pleaded, wanting to announce you were close, your hands grabbed a hold of his hair, pressing him further onto your cunt.

Armin continued his pursuit against your pussy, never letting up. He sucked your clit so hard you swore the stars were back, and with another pump of his fingers hitting that spot, you came undone.

Pleasure ran through your veins, the pressure in your abdomen releasing, you squirted against Armin's fingers. Your arousal and liquids all over his face, but he continued pumping into you.

"Mmm mm mm" you wanted to cry out from the pleasure and overstimulation, but Armin continued attempting to get another orgasm out of you.

He groaned against your clit, before lifting his head to look at you, "cmon you can do it again, I know it" he coached you.

"Just lift your hips a bit"

You nodded, moving your hands from his hair to the marble bathroom counter, slightly lifting your hips, arms trembling.

"Good girl" he smirked, still pumping his fingers into you, he spat against your clit before adding pressure with his thumb.

Armin watched your face the entire time, your second orgasm slowly built and he knew the moment your cunt clenched around his fingers you were almost there.

With his fingers bruising your cunt, you came undone again. Tears left your eyes, as you squeeze them shut, coming down from the high. Your hips jerked against his hands and Armin finally removed his fingers, giving your clit a soft peck.

He raised from his knees, taking the panties from you mouth. You let out a sigh, catching your breath, your body slumped on top of the counter.

A smirk formed across his lips, sticking his fingers into your mouth and you sucked them clean. Armin brought you into a quick kiss, unbuttoning his pants.

His jeans and underwear dropped to floor and the only thing left was his painfully erect dick. It was...pretty, just like him. You couldn't stop yourself from smiling.

"Stand up and turn around" Armin ordered, and your smile immediately faded, you didn't even know if you could stand anymore.

"You can do it" he added, his blue eyes softened.

You nodded, slowly getting off the counter, your legs took a second to readjust, but you were good...for now.

Turning around, you placed your hands against the marble counter. Armin's hands grabbed your ass, kneading it before aligning himself with your cunt.

"Ready?" He asked.

"Mmhm" you replied, looking back at him over your shoulder.

Armin slid himself inside you, and you finally felt whole. You let out a small whimper, which gained a slight moan from Armin.

A hand slapped your ass, forcing another whimper out of you, the pain hurt so good. Armin's strokes started off slow, but it wasn't long before his pace quickened, his hips snipping against you.

Each stroke, hitting your already bruised cervix. He looked down at himself moving in and out of your cunt. You swallowed him whole, taking him so well.

Your cunt dripped with your arousal, and he was proud to say he'd made you this way. You had gotten wet just for him. "Mmhm" he moaned, lifting a hand and slapping your ass again.

You looked up at the mirror, dried mascara streaks against your skin. You looked fucked out, but you could go for another orgasm, and he for sure gonna give it to you.

Armin increased his speed, pounding into you over and over. Your hands gripped against the counter, close to your release.

"Fuck Armin" you cried out, your legs trembling from his pursuit. He abruptly pulled out of you, turning you around and picking you up. To be honest, you hadn't thought he could lift you, but he did so effortlessly.

You instinctively wrapped your legs around him, as he pushed you back down onto his length. Pushing your back against the door, Armin began pumping into you again. With his face in the crook of your neck, he moaned, fingers digging into your thighs, he was close.

His hips snapped into you, coaxing your orgasm. You tightened your legs around his waist, wanting no space between you. Your hands moved to his hair again, giving it a slight tug.

Your hips bucked against his, "Mmhm Armin" you cried out, your third orgasm washed over you. New tears fell down your face, as you sobbed from the pleasure.

Armin groaned against your neck, "fuck I'm gonna cum." His strokes became staggered, sinking his teeth into your shoulder, as he came inside you, his warm seed coating your insides. He pumped into you a few more times, coming down from his high.

Armin caught his breath, slowly placing you to your feet, giving your forehead a soft peck.

✎ i promise he gave after care(i mean it’s armin we’re talking abt)

sorry for any grammar/spelling errors, i’ll fix em when i have the time<3

- ciara💻

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 8: October 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: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families...I think that's it?

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

Max wasn’t someone who forgot how to be an adult.

He was a World Champion. He kept a strict training regimen, remembered which hand luggage worked best for long-haul flights, and could navigate a grid penalty strategy like it was second nature. He wasn’t helpless—not at the track, not at home.

But still, there was something quietly astonishing about how easy his life had become since Isabelle moved in.

It started off small.

After the first race weekend they spent apart post-move, he came home expecting the usual chaos—half-unpacked suitcase, laundry to do, a fridge with maybe one sad yogurt and some questionable cheese.

Instead?

His suitcase was already unpacked. Laundry sorted and in the wash. There was a folded stack of clean gym clothes on the bed, and a small sticky note on the bathroom mirror in Isabelle’s tidy handwriting:

Welcome home. You did great. There’s soup in the fridge and the cats missed you.

He’d blinked at it for a solid minute before laughing quietly and thinking, Huh. That’s new.

But it didn’t stop there. 

By the third race weekend, it had become a rhythm. The fridge was magically stocked with all the foods he craved after long travel days—cut mango, chocolate granola, oat milk, the fancy yogurt he’d once mentioned liking. 

His sim racing gear? Charged and ready before he even thought to use it. A small corner of the closet had somehow become better organized than Red Bull’s race strategy board.

She started refilling his supplements without saying a word. She pre-scheduled his haircuts, left Post-Its on the mirror when he needed to sign something for the team, and quietly placed noise-canceling earplugs in his carry-on.

And she worked. Isabelle had a full-time job. Not a desk job where she could casually scroll through her phone or delegate her way through the day—she was an architect, doing interiors, managing clients, deadlines, contractors. Max had seen her calendar. It looked like someone had lost a game of Tetris.

And somehow—somehow—she still remembered to order new toothpaste before they ran out. Or add his vitamins to the grocery list. Or restock the snack drawer in his sim room without ever saying a word.

It wasn’t flashy. She didn’t make announcements about it. She just did it, quietly and efficiently, like she always had.

It wasn’t until Max found himself halfway through folding his laundry before realizing he hadn’t had to fold laundry in over a month that the realization hit him fully:

Isabelle had spent most of her life running in the background of other people’s chaos.

He’d seen it before, on the edges of Leclerc family race weekends. Isabelle, the sister who stayed back to make sure Arthur had the right tie packed, or that Charles had signed the right forms. The one who found a florist for Lorenzo thirty minutes before an event, or remembered which water bottle brand their mother liked for travel.

She had always been the quiet buffer.

The fixer.

The forgotten problem-solver.

And now… she was doing it for him.

Not because he expected it. He didn’t. He’d told her repeatedly he could handle himself. But Isabelle wasn’t someone who waited to be asked. She anticipated, gently rearranged the world around her people, and made their lives easier before they even noticed they were stressed.

He found her that night curled up on the sofa, hair damp from the shower, laptop open with her architectural renders glowing softly against her face. She was eating grapes and typing one-handed, her legs tucked under her like always.

“You know,” Max said, dropping onto the couch beside her, “I haven’t had to do a single thing since I got home.”

Isabelle didn’t look up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… I haven’t done laundry. My flights are in my calendar. My snack drawer is mysteriously refilled. I have socks again. And coffee. And peace.”

She blinked, paused her typing, and smiled. “It’s really not that much.”

“It is,” Max said gently. “You work ten hours a day and somehow still run this apartment like it’s an F1 garage. I don’t know how you do it.”

She shrugged a little, looking sheepish. “I like doing it. I like making things easier for the people I love.” 

“Do your brothers ever thank you?”

She hesitated. “I don’t think they realize half of what I do,” she admitted drily. 

Max nodded slowly. “Well, I notice. Every little thing. You don’t have to do it all, but when you do… I see it. And I’m grateful. Really.”

Her smile wavered just a little, like something fragile cracked open inside her chest.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I… I’m not used to hearing that.”

Max pulled her laptop from her lap, set it gently on the coffee table, and tugged her into his arms.

Max cupped her cheek, thumb brushing just under her eye. “I see it now. All of it. Every time you notice something before I do. Every time you put something away or refill something I didn’t even realize was empty. You’ve made this place feel like home.”

She smiled softly. “That’s what love is, isn’t it?”

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo) 

Arthur: I’M SCREWED.

Lorenzo: Again?

Charles: What now?

Arthur: I FORGOT MY ANNIVERSARY.

Charles: …

Lorenzo: …

Charles: You absolute moron.

Lorenzo: You have ONE job.

Arthur: HELP ME.

Charles: Help you??? Maybe try remembering important dates next time?

Lorenzo: Yeah, I don’t really see how this is our problem.

Arthur: ISABELLE. SAVE ME.

Isabelle: What kind of dinner does she like?

Arthur: She likes Italian? And wine? And… romantic lighting?

Isabelle: …Do you know anything about your girlfriend?

Arthur: I KNOW I LOVE HER AND I DON’T WANT HER TO DUMP ME.

Isabelle: Right. I’ll take care of it.

Arthur: YOU’RE A HERO.

(20 minutes later)

Isabelle: You have a reservation at La Chèvre d'Or at 8 PM. I also ordered that perfume she keeps in her bag and had it gift-wrapped. It’ll be at your place in an hour.

Lorenzo: Oh, while you’re at it, what should I get my girlfriend for her birthday?

Isabelle: Jewelry. She’s been eyeing those gold earrings from Cartier.

Lorenzo: You’re actually a genius.

(Several hours later)

Isabelle: You’re welcome, by the way.

Arthur: Huh?

Lorenzo: For what?

***

Max was still buzzing with adrenaline when he finally stepped into his apartment, championship celebrations still ringing in his ears. The moment he closed the door behind him, silence settled over him like a warm blanket, the contrast almost jarring after the chaos of the paddock.

And then he saw her.

Isabelle was curled up on the couch, one of the cats nestled beside her, a book resting open in her lap. She must’ve heard him come in because she looked up immediately, her expression softening.

“Hey,” she said, setting the book aside. “How does it feel?”

Max huffed out a breath, toeing off his shoes and crossing the room in a few quick steps. “Like I need you,” he muttered, dropping onto the couch beside her and pulling her into his arms.

She let out a quiet laugh but didn’t resist, settling against his chest as his arms tightened around her. “That exhausting, huh?”

He buried his face in her shoulder. “So many people. So much noise. This is better.”

Her fingers threaded through his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “You did just win your third world title. Kind of a big deal.”

He smirked against her skin. “Mm. They wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“Annoying, really,” she teased.

He pulled back just enough to look at her. The soft glow from the nearby lamp illuminated her features, her eyes filled with something quiet and fond.

“You should’ve been there,” he murmured, brushing his fingers along her jaw.

She sighed, shaking her head. “You know why I wasn’t.”

He did. She wasn’t ready for the cameras, the attention, the inevitable questions. And he would never push her into something she wasn’t comfortable with.

But fuck, he wished she had been there.

Still, she had waited up for him. She was here. That was enough.

His thumb traced slow circles over her hip as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You watched?”

“Of course.” She smiled. “You were incredible.”

His chest tightened at the quiet sincerity in her voice. He’d spent the entire night surrounded by people telling him how great he was, how historic his achievement was. But this—hearing it from her—meant more than any of it.

He let out a long breath, finally starting to feel the exhaustion creeping in. “Come to bed with me?”

She nodded, taking his hand as they stood. As they made their way toward the bedroom, one of the cats darted ahead of them, already claiming Max’s pillow.

Isabelle laughed. “Looks like you’re not the only champion in this house.”

Max just smiled, pulling her close again as they climbed into bed. “Doesn’t matter. I already have everything I want.”

They settled into bed, limbs tangled, warmth shared beneath soft blankets. The city was quiet outside the windows. The adrenaline was finally ebbing.

And then, just as the stillness settled, Isabelle spoke.

“You never ask,” she said quietly.

“Ask what?”

“Why I haven’t told them.”

She didn’t have to specify who them was.

Max exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. It wasn’t that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. He had wondered—more than once—why she still kept their relationship a secret, why she hadn’t told her brothers, her mother, anyone. But he had never pushed.

“Do you want to tell them?” he asked carefully.

Isabelle was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, she looked up at him, her gaze steady.

“No.”

Max blinked. That wasn’t the answer he had been expecting.

She sighed, shifting so she was facing him fully. “It’s not because I’m ashamed of you. Or because I don’t care.” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s because you’re important to me.”

His breath hitched slightly, but he stayed quiet, letting her continue.

“My whole life, I’ve felt like I had to fight to be noticed. To be heard. And with my family, it’s always been about Charles. About Arthur. About Lorenzo. I love them, but—sometimes, it feels like I’m just a shadow in their lives.” She swallowed. “I didn’t want you to be part of that. I didn’t want us to become something that gets brushed aside, just another footnote in their world.”

Max’s jaw tightened. He had seen the way her family overlooked her, how they spoke over her, how they forgot things that should have mattered. And now, hearing it from her directly, it made something inside him ache.

“So you kept us just for you,” he murmured.

She nodded. “Just for me.”

Max reached out, his fingers threading through hers. “I don’t mind,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “If you want to wait. Whatever you decide—I just want to be with you.”

She squeezed his hand, and he lifted it to press a kiss against her knuckles, his lips lingering there for a moment.

“I hope you know,” he added quietly, “that you’ll never be a shadow to me.”

A small, wobbly smile tugged at her lips, and she leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“I know,” she whispered.

Max let the words settle between them, his grip on Isabelle’s hand firm but gentle. He could feel the warmth of her fingers, the slight tremble she tried to hide. He had never truly understood what it felt like to be overlooked—his entire life had been under a spotlight, from karting to Formula 1. But Isabelle? She had spent years fading into the background of her own family’s story.

And yet, here she was, choosing to keep him separate from all of that. Not because she was hiding him, but because she wanted something that was only hers.

He squeezed her hand lightly. “You know,” he said, voice softer than usual, “I’d never let them brush you aside. If they knew about us.”

She let out a quiet breath, her eyes flickering down to where their hands were intertwined. “I know,” she admitted. “But that’s not what I’m afraid of.”

Max frowned. “Then what is it?”

She hesitated, then sat up a little straighter, pulling one knee up to her chest. “If I tell them about us,” she said slowly, “it changes things. Not just for me, but for you. For us.” She exhaled. “Suddenly, I won’t just be Isabelle anymore. I’ll be ‘Max Verstappen’s girlfriend.’ And to them, that will mean something.”

He stayed quiet, letting her put her thoughts into words.

“They’ll look at me differently. Maybe they’ll suddenly start paying attention, maybe they’ll act like I matter more just because you matter. And I don’t want that.” Her voice wavered slightly, but she pushed forward. “I don’t want their attention just because of who I’m with. I want them to see me.”

Max felt something twist in his chest. He had never thought of it like that. To him, she had always been important. But her family? They had overlooked her for so long, and she didn’t want their sudden interest to be because of him.

“You think they’d only start noticing you because of my name,” he said quietly.

Isabelle gave him a small, sad smile. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s only cared because of who you are.”

That stung. Because she was right. He had seen it time and time again—people wanting to be close to him because of what he could offer, not because of who he was. The idea that her own family might finally pay attention to her for the same reason made his jaw tighten.

“Belle.” He turned to face her fully, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I don’t care how long we keep this just between us. But don’t ever think for a second that I don’t see you. That I don’t love you for exactly who you are.”

Her breath caught, and he saw the way her eyes widened slightly. He hadn’t said it before—not like this. Maybe he should have waited for a different moment, something more planned, more perfect. But she deserved to hear it now.

She swallowed hard. “Max.”

“I mean it,” he said, his voice steady. “I love you, Isabelle. And it has nothing to do with your last name, or your family, or anything else. Just you.”

Her lips parted slightly, and for a moment, she just looked at him—like she was trying to memorize him, like she was searching for any trace of hesitation. She wouldn’t find any.

Then, finally, she let out a shaky breath and leaned in, pressing her forehead against his. “I love you too,” she whispered, so soft he almost didn’t hear it.

But he did. And that was all that mattered.

***

The shift had started quietly.

Snide comments. Backhanded compliments. Passive exclusion from group meetings she used to lead. Isabelle’s project folders were “misplaced,” her samples “forgotten,” and her renderings were somehow always “accidentally deleted.”

But by now it was blatant.

Last week, she’d walked into the break room and found her concept sketches tossed into the trash beside half-eaten croissants.

Today, someone had keyed in over her CAD file—over it, not on a copy—and added a caption across the top of the screen in bold red text:

“Thanks, nepotism. We’ll take it from here.”

Isabelle stared at it for a long time, her stomach turning.

The worst part was that no one tried to hide it anymore.

When she glanced around the office, no one made eye contact. No one looked guilty. They just went on with their day like she was background noise.

Like she hadn’t worked twice as hard. Stayed twice as late. Fought for every inch of credibility.

 Like Max’s penthouse had erased everything she’d ever done before it.

She backed away from her desk, air thick in her lungs, and walked straight to the glass-enclosed materials library. Closed the door. Pressed her back against it.

Breathed.

You live in peace, she reminded herself. You wake up next to Max. This doesn’t get to break you.

But it did hurt.

She didn’t cry—she wouldn’t give them that. But her throat ached with all the things she couldn’t say.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Okay I’m officially done. I just had the worst day and I need to get out of my own head.

Emilie:  What happened?? Are you okay?

Isabelle: Just… work stuff. People not listening. Clients who think Pinterest means they’re architects now. And my colleague took credit for something I spent three weeks on.

Emilie: I will start swinging.

Isabelle: Please do. Preferably with one of those cartoonishly large handbags.

Emilie: Already packed one. Where are we going?

Isabelle: Let’s go shopping this afternoon? I still haven’t bought birthday presents for Charles and Arthur, and if I stay in this office any longer I’ll start crying over the wrong throw pillow.

Emilie: Say no more. I’ll pick you up in 30. You can buy emotionally motivated gifts and I can be your moral support/human espresso.

Isabelle: You’re my favorite person.

Emilie: I know. And I’m dragging you to get cake after. No arguments.

***

Alexandra had only come in to browse.

The gallery had been quiet all morning, the kind of rainy-day lull that left her restless, so she’d taken a walk, turned a corner, and ducked into a tucked-away boutique that specialized in little luxuries—silk scarves, handmade ceramics, niche perfumes. The kind of place you didn’t go to with intention, just curiosity.

She was halfway to a display of glass jewelry trays when she heard a familiar voice.

“Alex?” 

She turned—and blinked.

“Emilie?”

The other woman—sleek dark coat, sunglasses perched in her hair, a woven tote filled with rolled linen and a jar of fig jam—smiled.

“I thought that was you,” Emilie said, her voice warm but always laced with sharpness, like she couldn’t quite switch off the part of her brain that was evaluating everyone in the room. “It’s been a while.”

Alexandra smiled. “Yeah, since the preview at the gallery. You were with that collector from Paris.”

“He’s still deciding between three paintings he can’t afford,” Emilie said dryly. “But I’m sure he’ll make a confident choice any day now.”

They both laughed.

And then Alexandra’s eyes shifted—to the person standing just behind Emilie, holding a pale blue shopping bag and smiling politely.

Next to her stood Isabelle.

And that—that was the part Alexandra didn’t quite expect.

Because Isabelle Leclerc, as Alexandra knew her, was quiet. Sweet, yes. Polite, yes. But always a little faded at the edges. Always deferring. Always on the outside, even when she was technically inside the room. Always smiling without saying much.

But here—standing next to Emilie, twirling a delicate silver ring between her fingers, visibly debating whether to buy it—Isabelle looked alive.

Her cheeks were pink. She was smiling, not the polite, folded sort of smile Alexandra knew, but something real. Something that reached her eyes. Her body language was open. Confident.

And Emilie was watching her like she’d personally fight anyone who dimmed that light again.

“Hi, Isabelle.”

“Hey, Alex. How are you?” Her voice was as warm as ever. Kind, even. That was the thing about Isabelle—she was never unkind. Always soft-spoken, always thoughtful. Alex couldn’t remember her ever being cold or rude.

And yet… she realized with a flicker of guilt, she didn’t know a single personal thing about her. Not really.

“I’m good,” Alexandra said, hesitating. She wasn’t sure how long to linger. But Emilie stepped aside slightly, making room, and something about the way she did it—reluctantly welcoming—made Alexandra stay.

“You two shopping for anything in particular?” she asked.

Isabelle tilted her head. “A birthday gift. Possibly. Unless I end up keeping it for myself.”

“She’s been buying presents for everyone but herself,” Emilie said dryly. “As per usual.”

“I’m selective,” Isabelle said mildly.

“No, you’re selfless,” Emilie corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Alexandra watched the exchange, slightly stunned. There was an ease between them, a quiet rhythm. They spoke in a way that implied history. Real closeness. It made Isabelle seem... whole, somehow. Grounded.

Alexandra suddenly felt like she’d only ever seen the outline of a person.

“You’re really good at presents,” she said after a pause. “Honestly, I was just thinking about what to get Charles, and I have no idea. You always find the perfect thing.”

Isabelle blinked in surprise. “Oh—thank you. I just try to think about what makes people feel like they’ve been seen.”

“She’s too good,” Emilie said. “It’s genuinely annoying. I once said I liked the color of a book cover and two months later it showed up wrapped in silk ribbon with a handwritten note and a matching bookmark.”

Isabelle flushed slightly. “You needed cheering up.”

“She’s the personal shopper of the entire Leclerc family,” Emilie said flatly, reaching for a small candle. “Has been since she was old enough to know how to wrap a box. Half the birthday gifts your boyfriend has ever given were probably vetted or bought by her.”

Alexandra blinked. “Really?”

Isabelle looked embarrassed. “Sometimes they ask for help.”

Emilie raised an eyebrow. “Isabelle picked out Arthur’s last three girlfriend gifts and Pascale’s Christmas gift for the last 10 years.”

Alexandra laughed, but something about Emilie’s tone lingered.

Not unkind. Just sharp enough to say: Yes, Isabelle is good. And yes, they take her for granted.

It was the sort of thing Alexandra might have thought herself—but would never have said out loud.

“I’m very good at keeping secrets,” Isabelle said lightly.

Alexandra felt something twist in her chest.

She hadn’t known that. She’d never thought to ask.

She’d always liked Isabelle. Truly. Isabelle was kind, warm, undemanding. But also... elusive. Hard to reach. Like there was a door half-closed between them, and Alexandra had never known how to knock.

The three of them wandered through the boutique a little longer. Isabelle offered two suggestions for Charles—one sleek, one sentimental—and Alexandra made a note of both.

And then, as they paused by a shelf of men’s shirts in soft cotton and subtle patterns, Isabelle’s hand brushed one.

Alexandra watched her hesitate over it—thoughtful, considering—before she gently placed it back.

“For Charles?” Alex asked, puzzled.

Isabelle looked over, surprised. “What? Oh—no. Just a nice cut. The collar’s clean.”

And for a flicker of a second, something tugged at Alexandra—some thread she couldn’t quite pull free.

There was something else here. Something under the surface. And now that she’d seen it—how Isabelle lit up beside Emilie, how open she seemed in the right company—Alex couldn’t unsee it.

She’d always thought Isabelle was just shy. Or private. Or soft in that way people could overlook.

Now she wondered if Isabelle was simply guarded.

And Alex, for the first time, found herself wondering what it would take to really know Isabelle Leclerc.

Because she was starting to think—quietly, uneasily—that her boyfriend’s sister was not at all the girl they all assumed she was.

***

Text Messages: Alexandra Saint Mleux & Charles Leclerc

Alexandra: Just ran into your sister. In a boutique in the 6th.

Charles: Oh yeah? What was she doing?

Alexandra: Shopping.  Birthday presents, apparently. But Isabelle looked… different.

Charles: Different how?

Alexandra: Happy. Confident. Like… I don’t know. Not the version of her I usually see at family stuff. She was laughing. Really laughing.

Charles: She’s always laughing.  

Alexandra: Not like this, Mon amour.

Alexandra:  Do you think she’s seeing someone?

Charles:  What?

Alexandra:  I’m serious.

Charles: Yeah, no way.

Alexandra: Are you sure?

Charles: She would have mentioned it. 

Charles: Trust me, it’s not happening.

Alexandra: So confident about that, huh?

Charles: I’d know if she had a boyfriend. And she doesn’t.

***

Instagram Stories -@/isabelleleclerc

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/f1chaosupdates GUYS WHY DID ISABELLE LECLERC POST A CAT SINCE WHEN DOES SHE HAVE A CAT???

[Attached: Isabelle's story — a photo of a cat’s paw]

@/paddocktheories:  okay but like this cat looks suspiciously like it could be max verstappen’s cats sassy or jimmy reincarnated

@/wheresmygrid:  STOP I THOUGHT THE SAME THING

@/gridgoblins:  Wait wait wait what if it IS Sassy or Jimmy and she’s just at Max’s place 👀👀👀

@/redbullstan4life: This is literally a picture of a cat’s paw. It could belong to a thousand other cats. It doesn’t even need to be a Bengal!

@/charlesdefensesquad:  isabelle posting a cat and everyone immediately connecting it to max’s cats is so funny.  the girl can’t even post her own furniture without y’all screaming “VERSTAPPEN???”

@/gossipgridf1:  i will be NORMAL about this… except no because that cat 100% looks like Jimmy or Sassy

@/monaco_mess:  to be fair if i was secretly dating max verstappen i too would post soft pictures of his cats like a declaration of love

@/oscarstan22:  everyone in the comments like 🕵️‍♀️ enhance 🕵️‍♀️ zoom 🕵️‍♀️ cross-reference sassy and jimmy’s stripe patterns

@/gofasterbaby:  if it IS sassy or jimmy and isabelle is just chilling with them…. that’s basically a marriage announcement in Verstappen family terms

***

Oscar Piastri didn’t think grocery shopping could be stressful.

Until Monaco.

Until Monegasque grocery stores, specifically, which didn’t believe in helpful signage, organization, or—apparently—labels with pictures.

Oscar just wanted cheese.

That was it. Cheese. Maybe some pasta. Possibly bread if he was feeling adventurous.

But standing in the middle of a charmingly cramped French grocery store, blinking at six nearly identical wedges of something called tomme de brebis and a handwritten sign that might have been a threat—or a discount—he was beginning to spiral.

He’d committed to doing this errand without help. Without Google Translate. Without texting his girlfriend.

He was trying to be independent.

But now the shop owner was hovering, and Oscar had been standing in the cheese aisle for nine minutes, and he was starting to feel judged by a 72-year-old woman with a very intense stare.

And then—

“Do you need help?” a soft voice asked beside him.

Oscar blinked, turning to find a woman about his age, brown hair twisted back, a linen tote on one shoulder, expression kind.

“I’m sorry?”

She smiled, switching to English immediately. “You’ve been staring at the cheese like it owes you money. I figured you might be lost.”

Oscar exhaled in relief. “I am, actually. I don’t know what any of this is.”

She stepped forward and scanned the shelf. “That one’s sheep’s milk—really good, a bit nutty. That one’s stronger, aged, smells like feet but tastes amazing if you like that sort of thing.”

Oscar stared at her, impressed. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“I live around the corner,” she said. “And I’ve made every grocery mistake there is.”

He laughed, properly now. “Thanks. That helps a lot.”

She smiled again—polite, gentle, unassuming.

There was something… familiar about her. 

Not in a hey-we’ve-met way. But in the I-know-that-face-from-somewhere way.

Soft brown hair, loosely braided. Pretty green eyes. Very Monaco. Very… vaguely connected to something in his brain.

Oscar hesitated. “Do I… know you?”

A flicker of amusement crossed her face. “Probably not. I mean—we’ve technically met. But you probably wouldn’t remember.”

Oscar narrowed his eyes. And then—lightbulb.

“You look like—” He blinked. “Oh. Wait. You’re Charles’ sister.”

Her smile faltered for just a second. “Yes. Among other things.”

“Right,” he said, suddenly feeling awkward. “I didn’t recognize you outside the paddock.”

“It’s okay,” she said, grabbing a carton of eggs with practiced precision. “I usually disappear into the background there.”

“They didn’t have the peach one. So I got apricot instead,” Came a voice behind Isabelle. 

Oscar looked up to see none other but Max Verstappen. 

“Perfect,” Isabelle said brightly. 

Oscar could just stare. 

“Oscar,” Max greeted him like it was a normal day. Like he wasn’t currently grocery shopping with Charles Leclerc’s sister. 

“…Hi,” Oscar managed, eyes pinging between them. “I—uh. Hey.”

Max moved to toss something else into Isabelle’s cart—like this was normal. Like they hadn’t just revealed themselves as Monaco’s most covert domestic power couple in front of the yogurt aisle.

“Groceries?” Max asked, like that was the confusing part of this moment.

“I—yeah,” Oscar said, holding up his sheep cheese wedge like it was a peace offering. “You guys are… together?”

Max looked over his shoulder. “Shopping?”

Oscar blinked. “No, I mean… like. Together.”

Isabelle flushed slightly but didn’t deny it. Just tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and said, “For a while now.”

Oscar stared. “Like. Secretly?”

Max shrugged. “Privately.”

“That’s the same thing,” Oscar said.

Max looked unbothered. “Is it?”

“I thought you two barely talked,” he said, still trying to catch up.

“We don’t. Publicly,” Max said.

Oscar opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Does Charles know?”

Max shot him a look that said absolutely not.

Isabelle just gave a small smile and added, “Please don’t tell him.”

Oscar held up both hands. “I’ve never kept a secret faster in my life.”

Max nodded approvingly. “Good.” Then, off handedly. “Lando knows. Danny does too.”

“Cool,” Oscar said. Then: “I’m gonna go… buy cheese and rethink everything I know.”

Max gave him a thumbs-up. “See you at the track.”

Oscar wandered away in stunned silence, still clutching his cheese like a lifeline, already trying to figure out how he of all people became the latest keeper of Verstappen-Leclerc classified information.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris and Daniel Ricciardo)

Oscar: I just ran into Max Verstappen and Isabelle Leclerc in a grocery store.

Oscar: Help me. 

Lando: oh yeah? how was monaco’s finest domestic couple?

Oscar: I thought I hallucinated it at first

Oscar:  I looked up and Max was holding her jam

Oscar:  and then he put it in her cart

Lando: 🥹 precious

Oscar: HE KNEW WHAT KIND OF JAM SHE LIKED LANDO—HE SAID “THEY DIDN’T HAVE THE PEACH, SO I GOT APRICOT” WHAT DOES THAT MEAN

Daniel: It means they’re in love and hiding it from Charles. 

Lando:  welcome to hell.

Oscar: How can Charles not know.

Lando: he’s oblivious. like truly, impressively blind

Oscar: When Charles finds out we are going to die.  I’m not built for this.  I was buying cheese. Cheese.

Oscar: Is it serious??

Lando: max let her redecorate his penthouse

Oscar: I hate it here.  I just wanted cheese.

Daniel: And instead you got a lifetime of emotional responsibility.  Congrats.

Oscar: How did you find out?

Lando: you remember when i broke max’s trophy? he let me bring home the replacement to help my guilty conscience, and guess who is living with him

Daniel: The hotel disaster.  That was when I figured it out

Lando: ???????? Lando:  What hotel disaster

Oscar: What happened??

Daniel: Zandvoort. Her brothers forgot to book her a hotel room.

Daniel:  Straight up just didn’t even think about it.

Daniel:  She landed. No room. No backup plan.

Daniel:  Was about to sleep in the damn lobby before Max found out.

Lando: YOU’RE JOKING.

Oscar: THEY WHAT. Oscar:  WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

Daniel: Not done

Daniel:  Next morning?

Daniel:  They LEFT HER at the hotel.

Daniel:  Like… packed up, went to the track, forgot she existed. 

Lando: I’m gonna throw something 

Lando: THEY JUST FORGOT HER????

Oscar: SHE IS THEIR SISTER Oscar:  NOT A MISPLACED WALLET

Lando: i have two sisters if i did that my mum would reassemble me from scratch just to kill me again

Oscar: If I did that my mother would drag me by my ear to the cameras of Sky Sports and berate me live on air.

Oscar:  What is WRONG with them

Daniel: Max was FUMING. So he asked me to pick her up. 

Oscar: GOOD.

Oscar: No wonder they kept it secret

Oscar:  If my girlfriend was treated by her family like that I’d go full vigilante too.

Daniel: 😂 welcome to the secret society of "We Would Kill For Isabelle Leclerc"

Oscar: Sign me up

Lando: same.

Lando:  also Charles is dead to me now until further notice

Daniel: don’t worry

Daniel: karma’s real

Daniel: and Max is scarier than any big brother

***

Lando Norris was pretty sure Oscar Piastri was about to crack.

He could see it happening in real time—the hairline fracture of panic starting just behind Oscar’s eyes. One more question. One wrong look. And Oscar was going to blurt out everything.

Max. Isabelle. The groceries.

And the worst part? Charles was right there—calm as ever, sipping an espresso in the hotel lobby like he wasn’t a ticking time bomb of impending betrayal. Like he wasn’t five seconds away from having his entire reality rearranged.

Lando shifted in his seat, chewing on a straw wrapper so aggressively he was surprised it hadn’t disintegrated yet. His knee bounced up and down, a desperate outlet for the nerves clawing at his insides.

They hadn’t spoken in ten minutes.

It was too quiet. Too weird. Too dangerous.

Which, obviously, was when Carlos strolled into the lobby, clocked the tension immediately, and frowned.

“What’s going on here?” Carlos asked, grabbing a protein bar from the snack stand like he had all the time in the world. “Why do you two look like you’ve committed war crimes?”

Oscar opened his mouth—probably to lie terribly and make it worse.

Lando, being the (barely) more functional one, jumped in first.

“It’s just—Charles,” Lando blurted.

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “What about him?”

Lando leaned forward, instantly deadly serious. “Have you ever noticed how he treats Isabelle?”

Carlos blinked. “His sister?”

“Exactly,” Lando said, nodding like he was revealing a state secret.

Oscar made a faint strangled noise next to him, probably reconsidering his life choices.

Carlos unwrapped his protein bar slowly, suspicious. “I mean… he loves her?”

“Sure,” Lando said, wide-eyed. “But does he see her? Or does he just… expect her to float quietly in the background of his life like a nice decorative houseplant?”

Oscar buried his face in his hands. Good. He deserved that.

Carlos stared at them like they were the ones malfunctioning.

“Where is this coming from?” Carlos asked, suspicious.

“Just answer the question,” Lando said, channeling his inner investigative journalist. “Do you think he actually appreciates her?”

Carlos hesitated, tilting his head like he was actually giving it thought. “I think… he assumes she’s fine because she doesn’t complain much?”

“EXACTLY,” Lando said, throwing his hands in the air. “She doesn’t complain. That doesn’t mean she’s fine!”

Oscar groaned again, muttering into his hands.

Carlos took a slow bite of protein bar. “Is this about the hotel thing?”

Oscar’s head snapped up. “You know about the hotel thing?”

Carlos nodded. “Yeah, I heard she didn’t have a room. I figured it was a mix-up.”

Lando let out a high-pitched laugh. “They also left her at the hotel the next morning. Like a pair of emotionally unavailable golden retrievers.”

Carlos shrugged. “They didn’t mean to.”

“THAT’S WORSE,” Lando exploded. “You don’t just ‘accidentally’ forget your SISTER.”

Oscar nodded vigorously. “That’s literally child abandonment but for grown-ups.”

Carlos stared at them, bemused. “You two are acting very emotionally involved.”

“NOPE,” Lando said immediately, standing up so fast his chair skidded backward.

Oscar scrambled after him. “Not emotionally involved. Just very passionate about…sibling rights. And human decency.”

“And basic hospitality standards!” Lando added, pointing accusingly at the air.

Carlos narrowed his eyes. “You’re both incredibly weird today.”

Lando clapped him hard on the shoulder. “We’re always weird, mate. But seriously. Watch how Charles talks to her next time. It’ll ruin your day.”

Carlos just blinked, chewing thoughtfully.

Oscar grabbed Lando’s arm before he could say anything else truly unhinged. “Come on. We have… tires. Very important tires to look at.”

“Yeah. Tire research. Super urgent,” Lando agreed.

They power-walked out of the lobby, leaving Carlos watching them, baffled.

Carlos shook his head slowly, muttering to himself, “Okay, but seriously… why are they so weird about Isabelle?”

***

Max trudged through the front door, dropping his bag with a dull thud. Isabelle had been waiting for him, curled up on the couch with a book, but the moment she saw him, she sat up straight.

“You’re sick.” It wasn’t a question.

Max huffed out a breath. “I’m fine.”

Isabelle was already on her feet, walking toward him. “You’re pale.” She placed the back of her hand against his forehead, frowning. “And warm.”

“I was just on a plane.”

“You also sound stuffy.” She folded her arms. “Go to bed.”

“I just got home.”

“And I’d like to keep you alive long enough to enjoy it. Bed, Max.”

Max sighed but didn’t argue. He was too tired for that. Instead, he leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to her forehead before mumbling, “You’re bossy.”

“I’m effective.”

She watched as he trudged toward the bedroom, shaking her head. A moment later, she followed, scooping up Jimmy from his spot on the armchair. When she walked into the room, Max was already under the blankets, eyes half-lidded.

“Here,” she murmured, placing Jimmy beside him. The cat instantly curled up against his chest, purring loudly.

Max cracked a small smile, rubbing behind Jimmy’s ears. “You’re trying to bribe me with my own cat.”

“Whatever works.” She kissed his temple. “Sleep.”

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Sophie Kumpen

Isabelle: Hi Sophie! I hope you’re doing well! I need your help with something.

Sophie: Hello, dear! Of course, what do you need?

Isabelle: Max came home from the race and he’s definitely getting sick. He’s trying to act normal, but he looks exhausted and keeps sniffling.

Isabelle: I sent him straight to bed with a cat for company, but I wanted to make him something comforting. He once told me you used to make tomato soup for him when he was sick—would you mind sharing the recipe?

Sophie: Oh, poor thing. He never knows when to slow down.

Sophie: And of course! Here’s how I always made it:

Sauté onions and garlic in olive oil until soft.

Add chopped tomatoes (fresh is best, but canned works too!)

Pour in vegetable broth and a pinch of sugar—Max never noticed, but it makes all the difference!

Lots of basil, always extra for Max.

Simmer, blend, then stir in a little cream to make it smooth.

Serve with bread—he used to insist on dipping half a baguette in it!

Isabelle: This is perfect! Thank you so much.

Sophie: You’re very welcome, sweetheart. He’s going to love it.

Sophie: And if he’s still feeling bad tomorrow, make him tea with honey. That’s what I always did.

Isabelle: Noted! I’ll make sure he drinks it.

Sophie: You’re taking such good care of him. He’s lucky to have you.

Isabelle: I’m lucky to have him too. ❤️

***

By the time he woke up, the apartment smelled like tomatoes and garlic. Max blinked, slowly sitting up. Jimmy was still pressed against him, and Sassy had taken up residence at his feet. He groggily reached for his phone and saw a notification from Isabelle.

Isabelle: Texted your mom for her tomato soup recipe. You’re getting the Verstappen childhood classic.

Max stared at the message for a second before a slow, warm feeling spread through his chest. He pulled himself out of bed, padding toward the kitchen. Isabelle was stirring a pot on the stove, hair tied up, her phone sitting next to her with messages from his mom open on the screen.

She turned at the sound of his footsteps. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

Max leaned against the counter, taking in the sight of her making his childhood comfort food, and felt something deep and certain settle in his bones.

“I feel like I should marry you.”

Isabelle blinked, then huffed a laugh. “You have a fever.”

“I’m serious.”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were pink. “Eat your soup, Verstappen.”

Max watched as Isabelle turned back to the stove, stirring the soup with careful, practiced movements. He could see the little notes his mother had sent still open on her phone—things like "Don't forget a little sugar to balance the acidity" and "Max always liked it with extra basil".

Something about it made his chest ache, but in a good way.

“Sit down,” Isabelle said without looking at him. “I’ll bring it over.”

Max didn’t argue. He knew better. Instead, he shuffled over to the dining table, rubbing a hand over his face. He still felt like hell, but the warm smell of tomato soup and the sight of Isabelle in their kitchen softened the edges of it.

A few minutes later, Isabelle placed a bowl in front of him, along with a plate of bread. She even cut the slices into smaller pieces, making it easier for him to eat.

Max raised an eyebrow. “Are you about to start feeding me, too?”

“If I have to.” She sat down across from him, resting her chin on her hand. “Go on. Try it.”

He took a spoonful, letting the warmth spread through him. It tasted exactly like how he remembered—rich, slightly sweet, the basil bringing a fresh note to it.

“Good?” Isabelle asked.

Max swallowed, nodding. “Perfect.”

She looked pleased with herself, tucking one knee up against her chest. “Your mom was really sweet about sending me the recipe. She told me to tell you that if you’re still feeling bad tomorrow, I should make you tea with honey.”

Max smirked. “You and my mom are conspiring now?”

“Obviously.” She smiled. “Someone has to keep you in check.”

He took another sip, watching her from across the table. “Thank you,” he said, quieter this time.

Isabelle just shrugged, brushing it off like it was nothing. “You take care of me all the time,” she said simply. “Why wouldn’t I do the same?”

Max didn’t have a good answer for that.

Instead, he reached across the table, curling his fingers around hers. Isabelle let him, her thumb brushing absently over his knuckles.

“If I ever win another world championship,” he said, voice a little rough, “just know it’ll be because of you and your soup.”

She laughed, squeezing his hand. “Good to know my cooking has that much power.”

Max just smiled, his fever making him feel a little loopy, a little sentimental.

He didn’t mind.

***

Max was a terrible patient.

Not in the dramatic, clingy, "I think I’m dying" kind of way. No—he was quiet, still, and deeply put out by the fact that his body dared to betray him for more than five seconds.

Which meant he was now cocooned in the middle of their bed, surrounded by three pillows, and the comforter pulled halfway up to his chin like a grumpy Victorian child home with the flu.

His nose was pink. His curls were a mess. And he was definitely running a fever.

Isabelle pressed the back of her hand to his forehead and shook her head fondly. “Still warm.”

Max blinked up at her, expression solemn and glassy-eyed. “I feel like someone hit me with a tyre gun.”

“Very specific,” she said, setting the thermometer aside and handing him another cup of ginger tea.

He took a slow sip. Then sighed. Then blinked at her again like something important had just occurred to him.

“We should get another cat,” he said hoarsely.

Isabelle paused. “Sorry?”

“A kitten,” he clarified, like it was obvious. “Small. Would follow me around.”

She tried—really tried—not to laugh.

Max Verstappen, three-time World Champion, currently wearing a hoodie two sizes too big and nursing a cold, was looking at her like he’d just solved a national crisis.

“You want a kitten,” Isabelle repeated.

He nodded solemnly, already settling back against the pillows. “It’d be good practice.”

“For what?” she asked, amused.

Max blinked at her again, slow and drowsy. “You know.”

“No, I don’t. Enlighten me.”

He looked at her, expression perfectly serious despite the fever. “A baby.”

Isabelle choked on her tea.

Max didn't flinch.

She stared at him for a full ten seconds. “You think adopting a kitten would be… baby practice?”

He nodded again, very sure of himself. “Feeding. Naps. Picking the name.”

“And the kitten would be our test run for parenthood?”

“Exactly.”

Isabelle smiled—gently, deeply—and brushed a hand over his curls, pushing the hair back from his forehead.

“You’re feverish,” she said softly.

He nodded. “But I’m also right.”

She leaned down, kissed his too-warm cheek. “We’ll talk about the kitten when your temperature is below thirty-nine.”

Max hummed. “Good. I think you'd be a good cat mom. And baby mom.”

Then he promptly fell asleep with one hand still loosely curled around hers.

And Isabelle—heart full, smile helpless—sat beside him and thought, yeah, maybe I would.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Victoria Verstappen

Victoria: Hey—how’s Max doing? Still being dramatic or has he entered the sleepy kitten phase of being sick?

Isabelle: Definitely the kitten phase.

Isabelle: Currently wrapped in a blanket burrito with Jimmy on his chest.

Isabelle: Looks like he’s been defeated by soup and his own body heat.

Victoria: Incredible.

Victoria: Has he started saying weird fever things yet?

Isabelle: …Depends what you consider “weird.”

Victoria: Uh-oh.

Victoria: Hit me.

Isabelle: He told me we should get another cat.

Isabelle: Which sounded normal-ish. Until he said it would be “good practice.”

Victoria: Practice for what?

Isabelle: A baby.

Victoria: A baby?

Isabelle: Yep. I laughed at first. But he was serious. Or fever-serious.

Isabelle: He looked at me like it wasn’t even a joke.

Victoria: …Do I get to be an aunt?

Victoria: Because I will cry.

Isabelle: He was feverish. It could have been the paracetamol talking.

Victoria: But you didn’t panic.

Isabelle: I melted. And then I panicked about melting.

Victoria: You want it.

Isabelle: I always have. I just never let myself imagine it.

Isabelle: And now suddenly he’s sick and talking about babies and I’m feeling things.

Victoria: Okay, well… since we’re being honest about baby feelings… You’ll get to practice sooner than you think.

Isabelle: What?

Victoria: I’m due in June.

Isabelle: WHAT.

Victoria: Surprise?

Isabelle: ARE YOU KIDDING ME

Victoria: Nope. Tiny Verstappen-Bluth incoming.

Isabelle: VIC.

Isabelle: You cannot just drop that in the middle of a conversation about your brother wanting a baby.

Victoria: I thought it was great timing!

Victoria: What’s better than your fever-delirious boyfriend mentioning fatherhood right before I tell you you’re about to be an aunt?

Isabelle: I’m crying.

Victoria: You’re going to be so good with them.

Victoria: And if you and Max do decide to start practicing sometime soon… well.

Victoria: Built-in cousin. You’re welcome.

Victoria: Get ready, Tante Belle.

Victoria: Big Verstappen family era incoming.

Isabelle: You’re all insane.

Isabelle: And I love you.

Victoria: Love you too.

***

Max heard the door slam—really slam—before he even saw her.

Not the usual soft click of someone slipping home after a long day. Not the tired shuffle of keys or the muted rustle of her bag hitting the floor. No, this was different. Sharp. Final. Frustrated.

He looked up from where he was half-dozing on the couch, immediately alert.

Isabelle stood by the door, hands clenched into fists, her chest rising and falling in short, uneven breaths. Her tote bag—usually treated carefully—was now abandoned at her feet, one strap twisted. She shoved her hands through her hair roughly, tugging it out of its neat twist, and paced a tight, angry line across the room.

Max stood without thinking.

"Bad day?" he asked quietly.

Isabelle laughed—a short, humorless sound—and shook her head, still pacing like she couldn't physically stay still.

"Bad?" she repeated, voice sharp with disbelief. "No, Max. It was a disaster."

He stayed silent, waiting, giving her the space she clearly needed to let it spill out.

"My boss dumped an entire project on me today. A major one. Because the senior architect left, and apparently—" she threw her hands up, exasperated, "—obviously it's my problem now. No heads-up. No discussion. Just, 'Congratulations, Isabelle, here's an entire portfolio of someone else's half-finished work. Good luck.'"

Max's jaw tightened. His hands itched to do something—fix it, protect her, something. But he stayed where he was, steady.

"And it gets better," Isabelle said, turning to face him, her green eyes sparking with a tired, furious fire he didn’t see often. "When I tried—politely, professionally—to point out that my current workload is already full, he told me to 'prioritize better.' And walked away. Just—walked. Like it wasn’t his problem."

She laughed again, but it cracked midway through. Her hands dropped to her sides helplessly.

Max exhaled slowly, moving toward her. "You know what I’m going to say."

She groaned, already knowing, already bracing. "Max—"

"You don't need this," he said firmly. "You're running yourself into the ground for people who don't even see you."

She closed her eyes, pressing the heels of her palms against them like she could block out the whole world.

"I like my job," she said, but it sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

Max stopped right in front of her, close enough that he could reach out—but he didn’t, not yet. He knew better. She wasn’t looking for comfort yet. She was still in the fight.

"Do you?" he asked, softer now. Not accusing. Just... careful. Gentle.

Isabelle’s shoulders slumped a little.

"You sure don’t look like someone who likes what they’re doing," Max added, his voice rougher, threading frustration and concern together. "You look like someone who’s trying to survive it."

The room was quiet for a beat, just the low hum of the evening city outside the windows.

Finally, she sagged forward, her forehead pressing into his chest like she physically couldn't hold herself upright anymore.

Max didn’t hesitate then. He wrapped his arms around her, firm and grounding, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head.

She let out a long, shaky breath, the tension bleeding out of her in slow, heavy drips.

"I just..." she started, her voice muffled against him. "I don’t know what to do."

Max closed his eyes, holding her tighter.

"You don’t have to have all the answers right now," he said quietly. "But you have options, Belle. You always do. You don’t have to stay somewhere that treats you like you’re disposable."

She let out a quiet, broken sound that made his chest ache.

He kissed her hair, slow and steady.

"You are not a stopgap. You're not a backup plan. You're not someone they can just lean on when it's convenient and forget about the rest of the time," he murmured against her. "You are brilliant. And you deserve people—and a job—that sees that."

She was silent for a long time, just breathing against him.

"I don't want to quit," she whispered eventually. "I don't want it to feel like they chased me out."

Max rubbed small circles over her back, patient. "Then don't. Fight them, if that's what you want. Prove them wrong. You’re strong enough."

He pulled back just enough to see her face, brushing her messy hair away from her cheeks.  "But don’t stay just to prove a point if it’s breaking you in the process."

Her eyes were glassy but clear, staring up at him like she was trying to pull strength out of the way he looked at her.

"You’re not alone," he said simply. "You have me. Always."

For a moment, she just stood there, letting that settle between them.

Then she nodded—tiny, but certain—and leaned back into his chest.

Max smiled into her hair.

They stood like that for a long time, the city lights flickering quietly outside, the cats curling around their feet like they, too, understood that the whole world narrowed down to this.

Max holding her. Her letting herself be held.

And for now, that was enough. ****

The envelope looked expensive.

That was the first red flag.

Matte paper, gold foil edges, no return address on the front—just her full name printed in elegant, serif font.

Her full, full name. Because apparently her parents hadn’t been done after Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc, and so she and Arthur had ended up with similarly ridiculous, vaguely royal-sounding names.

Isabelle Amélie Thérèse Éléonore Leclerc. 

There it was. 

On the kind of envelope that looked like it came with obligations.

She hadn’t ordered anything. She hadn’t opened a new account.

She frowned as she sliced it open. She wasn’t expecting anything. Max paid the bills on the penthouse. Her own account was small, manageable, predictable. Her work was steady. 

The card slipped out first. Heavy. Polished. Black.

Hitting the kitchen island. 

Her name, again, embossed in silver.

But it wasn’t her account.

It was his.

Linked cardholder – Max Emilian Verstappen

She stared at it for a full minute. Long enough for the air to change. Long enough for every messy, unspoken thing she’d been trying not to feel to crawl back up her throat.

She swallowed. 

They had had that conversation. 

You quit your job. Become my incredibly spoiled, disgustingly pampered trophy wife. No more late nights, no more stress. Just you, spending my money and riding your horses.

She had said no. Because she was ambitious. Talented. Smart.

But the truth?

The truth was that she’d wondered.

What if she could be that person?

What if she’d be fine being that person?

His person.

 The woman who did yoga at ten, had coffee by eleven, picked up their kids from school in designer flats and knew the best lunch spots in three countries. 

The one who didn’t constantly doubt her place, didn’t flinch every time someone whispered "nepo baby" under their breath, didn’t fight to be taken seriously in rooms that were already decided before she entered them.

There was a part of her—a very small, very quiet part—that wondered what it would be like.

To let go.

 To stop clawing for approval from people who didn’t care if she drowned.

 To let herself be loved, wholly and visibly.

 To marry Max.

 To have his name. His children. His cats. 

 To be someone soft and kept and adored.

What if she didn’t want to fight so hard all the time?

What if a part of her—small, shameful, stubborn—wanted to be kept?

And now… this.

Not a proposal. Not a ring.

But a card.

With her name.

 On his account.

A card that wives got. 

That long-term partners with shared mortgages and Sunday routines and matching key fobs got. 

A gesture that said: this life is yours too. You’re allowed to be at ease.

And it terrified her.

Because Max didn’t do anything halfway. He wasn’t careless with people. He didn’t toss around trust like confetti. He was sharp, observant, and maddeningly meticulous.

He was deliberate.

This wasn’t about convenience.

 This was a line drawn. A stake in the ground.

A declaration.

And Isabelle?

She wasn’t sure she trusted herself not to disappear into it.

Not because Max would ask her to—but because it felt so good to be seen by someone who didn’t require her to earn it. To prove it. To perform. 

Max knew her fears. Her fault lines. Her quiet cravings.

And instead of mocking them, he made room for them.

Which, somehow, made it worse.

She’d spent so long trying to prove she was more than someone’s sister. More than a background fixture. 

But here she was.

Here she was feeling safer just being Max’s than she ever had trying to be anyone else’s.

Here she was, considering if being Belle Verstappen might actually make her happier than being Isabelle Leclerc ever had.

And wasn’t that the most terrifying thought of all?

***

“Hey,” Max called as he stepped inside, the door shutting with a familiar click behind him. “I grabbed those oat crackers you like—the ones with the seeds that taste like cardboard.”

He dropped his keys into the ceramic bowl by the door, his tone light, teasing.

No answer.

He rounded the corner into the kitchen and—

Stopped.

Isabelle was standing still. Very still. Right beside the counter, her body folded in on itself like she was trying to take up less space.

The envelope was open. The card—that card—lay face-up on the marble. Black. Sleek. Heavy. Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest, like she needed the pressure to keep herself grounded.

Max’s eyes flicked from the card to her face and back again.

And then he felt it—the shift.

The air in the room had changed. Gone quiet. Weighted.

He knew that look on her face.

He’d seen it before—on days when she came home from work braced for someone to doubt her, challenge her, chip away at her. It was the expression she wore when she felt like she was too much and not enough in the same breath.

“Oh,” Max said softly, carefully. “You got it.”

He didn’t say I meant to tell you in person. He didn’t say I’ve been watching you stretch yourself thin, giving more than anyone asks, and never— never— expecting to receive anything back.

She didn’t smile.

“Max,” she said, her voice low and unfamiliar, “what is this?”

She wasn’t angry. That would’ve been easier. Anger was clean.

No—this was something else.

Fragile. Quiet. Like she'd been cracked open without warning.

He stepped toward her slowly. Like he was trying not to spook something delicate.

“It’s just…” he tried, “a card. For you. In case you ever need it.”

Her eyes—green, glossy, wide—didn’t leave his.

“You just handed me access to everything.”

He could’ve argued that. Could’ve said it’s not everything. But he didn’t lie to her, and this wasn’t about technicalities.

So instead, he said the truth.

“I handed you ease,” he said gently. “Because you never ask for it. Even when you need it most.”

He’d thought about that a lot.

That was why he’d had the card made.

Not because she needed it—not practically, not financially. Isabelle was capable in ways that astonished him daily. She ran her life on spreadsheets and discipline, all soft voice and steel spine.

But she’d been conditioned—by her family, by the world—to believe she had to earn everything. Love. Rest. Comfort. Even kindness.

So he’d done what he did best.

Planned ahead.

He’d spoken to his advisor. Had the account adjusted. Added her name. Put in the request quietly. Privately. No fanfare.

Not to control her.

But so that, if ever the moment came—

If she was tired, overwhelmed, caught without breath—

 She’d have something already waiting.

No questions. No performance. Just trust.

But now, watching the way her fingers dug into her elbows, Max understood how even trust could feel like a trap when you’d never been given it freely.

“We just had a conversation about trophy wives,” she said suddenly. Her voice shook like she hated herself for even bringing it up.

He blinked. “Yes. And you said you didn’t want to be one.”

“What if I’d be fine with that life?” she said. “What if part of me wants it?”

His heart clenched. Not because she said it—but because he knew exactly what she meant.

“Then I’d tell you,” he said calmly, “if you ever want to be my trophy wife, just let me know. I’ll buy you a designer handbag and get very into being your arm candy.”

That earned him a look. A slight wobble in her mouth like she was trying not to smile, even while her throat worked against tears.

She let out an unsteady laugh that turned halfway into a sigh. “Max.”

“No pressure,” he said quickly, his voice low and warm now. “But if you ever wake up and decide you want that kind of life—that kind of ease—I’ll give it to you. Without question.”

“I don’t want to lose myself,” she whispered. “I don’t want to stop being… me.”

“You won’t,” Max said, voice steady. “I know who you are. And I’d never let you forget.”

Because she was the strongest person he’d ever known. She had survived a thousand quiet dismissals and overlooked brilliance. She’d clawed her way into a space she was never given, and never once asked for credit.

He wanted to say more. Wanted to tell her that he’d never met anyone who held herself so tightly together with so little help. That watching her try to hold back softness like it was weakness made his chest ache. That the thing she feared—disappearing—was impossible, because the moment she walked into a room, his world shifted.

She deserved to feel safe. And not just safe—but held.

But he didn’t say all that.

He just said what she needed.

“I didn’t give you this card to change you,” Max said. “I gave it to you so you’d never feel like you had to earn the right to feel safe.”

That word hung there between them. Heavy. Final. The real gift.

Not the money. Not the access.

Safety.

After a long, breathless silence, Isabelle reached out. Slowly. Carefully. She picked up the card with both hands like it might still burn her.

Held it in her palm. Looked at her name. His name. Their names. Together.

“Okay,” she said finally, voice soft, breaking open. “But you’re not allowed to joke when I buy toothpaste with it.”

He smiled—one of those rare, slow smiles he reserved just for her.

He stepped in and kissed her temple gently, grounding them both.

“Toothpaste, muffins, a yacht,” he murmured. “Whatever you need.”

She let out a wet laugh. “A yacht?”

“I’m just saying,” he said lightly, brushing his knuckles along her arm, “it’s good to have options.”

“I’m not buying a yacht, Max.”

“I know.” He paused. “But I wanted you to know you could.”

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

text message. l Joel Miller

a/n : a while ago i got a message from anon asking me to write something for joel. i managed to do it today. sorry you had to wait so long. i hope you like it.

warnings : pre-outbreak Joel, some angst, misunderstanding, age difference (about 10 years), suspected pregnancy, argument, Sarah and Tommy mentioned, lots of uncertainty and fear

[Joel Miller masterlist] [my masterlist]

He shouldn't have done that. It was crossing all boundaries, violating your privacy and trust, but he couldn't help himself. When your phone made a series of strange noises that indicated a message had been received and you were in the bathroom at a gas station, Joel reached for it and looked at the screen. A cold chill ran down his spine a second later.

"Two weeks late? Did you take a test? You should see a doctor. What did Joel say?"

A heavy stone landed squarely in his stomach, and he felt his head spin. “Fuck!” he groaned almost silently, shaking his hand as he placed the phone back where you’d left it.

He immediately guessed what you and your friend could have been talking about, he had no doubts. If you were pregnant, that complicated everything.

Joel Miller wasn't entirely sure if he should do it, but when he met you on one of his bar crawls with his younger brother Tommy, he felt like fate had finally favored him. He was almost thirty-six, had a teenage daughter, worked hard, and couldn't remember the last time he'd met a woman. You, on the other hand, were simply beautiful, talkative, with a charming smile on your lips. You were also almost ten years younger than him.

It didn't bother him as much on your first date, or your second, or when you kissed on the couch, or after the first time you had sex. Joel felt younger and happier with you, and everyone around him noticed the change in him.

He fell in love like a stupid teenager, and you didn't make it any easier for him. It was only after a few months that he started to wonder. Maybe dating you wasn't so wise? Maybe you were really too young for him?

When you would visit him at work, bringing him lunch or something, guys would often make fun of him. Joel wasn't as immune to this as he thought. His insecurities grew, and worries about whether he was doing the right thing also grew in his mind too.

And now this. Pregnancy. When Sarah was born, he was too young, and now he felt too old to be playing in diapers. What if you, too, disappeared, like Sarah's mother? Would he be able to cope? What if no woman saw the possibility of a permanent relationship with him, and when the baby came, she simply ran away?

"Hey. Is everything okay?"

He didn't even notice that you had returned and were already sitting next to him. He nodded uncertainly and cleared his throat.

"Yeah. Tommy called, something at the construction site." he lied, quickly starting the engine.

"Do you want to go there?"

"What? No, I don't have to." Joel replied, "Sarah has a game today."

He didn't say anything else the entire ride home, and then to the game you went to with them. He seemed strangely distant, but you were certain he was constantly thinking about work. Even when you suggested ice cream afterward, Joel showed almost no interest.

You dropped Sarah off at a friend's for a sleepover and you were sure that you and Joel would go to his place, but when he suddenly said, "I'll drop you home." You already knew something was wrong.

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked as he pulled the truck up in front of your apartment. Once again, you spent the entire ride in silence, which wasn’t normal.

He shook his head. "No, everything's fine."

“Joel? Look at me, please.” He did it reluctantly, but eventually your eyes met. “You’ve been out of sorts all day. What’s wrong?”

"I've had a lot on my mind lately and..."

"Please, don't lie to me." You interrupted him. You weren't mad, he saw concern on your face. "Did something happen?"

“I…” he began, but the words were hard to get out of his throat. He felt your warm hand on his forearm and it broke him. “Are you pregnant?”

"W-What?" you blurted out, completely surprised.

"I saw, quite by accident, a message from your friend. You're two weeks late. Something about a test and a doctor. I need to know."

You looked at him with slightly parted lips, a small wrinkle appeared between your eyebrows. You couldn't gather your thoughts in your head, but Joel clearly couldn't stop himself from talking.

“I think about it all the time. You’re still young, you have plans,” he said, and you felt every word hit you harder. “I know we should be more careful. This whole thing between us is still new and uncertain. You’re so young, I shouldn’t have… Fuck. I fucked it up.”

"What the hell are you talking about, Miller?" you gasped, completely stunned by his words "What do you mean - too young? I..."

"Look at us. I have a teenage daughter, and you're at the beginning of your career. You can leave this town anytime you want, because there's nothing keeping you here. But what if you're pregnant? That complicates things like hell and..."

"Stop it!" you raised your hand in warning "You're talking nonsense! I knew how old you were from the beginning, I knew about Sarah and it didn't bother me."

Joel rolled his eyes. "Now you say that."

“Oh! And you’re a know-it-all!” you snorted angrily. “So I think it’s safe to say you took advantage of a young and fresh pussy.”

Joel gave you a stern look, but you didn't even blink. You were ready to fight him if he wanted to. You were aware of his fears and insecurities, but you thought that by this point you had already shown him how much you cared about him. Age was just a number to you, and ten years didn't make much difference when you weren't a teenager anymore.

"I never thought of you that way." he replied, clenching his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning slightly white.

"I feel different now." you replied, shrugging. "Because you're acting like you're just looking for an excuse to break up with me. Because you read some message on my phone? Please! That's pathetic!"

“Pathetic?!” Joel raised his voice. How could you be so indifferent to how your life might change? No one in their right mind would decide to have a child so soon. But of course, you were still young, the romantic vision of a family still lingered in your mind, and you didn’t realize how much it would affect you.

Joel wanted to say something else, but you suddenly grabbed your things and got out of the car slamming the door. He quickly got out after you.

"Did you take the test? When are you seeing the doctor?" he asked, catching you before the door.

"Leave me alone." you hissed, ripping your arm out of his grip. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I think I do."

You looked at him in a way Joel had never experienced before. Your warm gaze turned hard and angry, your mouth a thin line, and your entire body took on a defensive stance. You had never argued like this before.

"Fine." you finally said. "I'll tell you. I have an appointment on Monday. Are you happy?"

"I'll go with you."

“Don’t be ridiculous, this doesn’t concern you at all,” you laughed nervously. “And it definitely doesn’t concern you now.”

Joel looked at you in surprise. So he's already screwed everything up? He's already erased those few really good months?

“I’m not pregnant,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “My last checkup showed I had ovarian cysts. They caused my periods to be irregular, and now my period is a few weeks late. The doctor said I should see him if that happens.”

"Cysts?" Joel repeated.

"Yes! I didn't tell you anything because I didn't see the need." you replied "I'm not pregnant, Joel. And you... You, fucked up."

You turned around and disappeared through the door before he had a chance to say anything.

Joel had all night to think about what had happened. All night without sleep, when he kept seeing your angry face in his mind, when he kept repeating your words and feeling worse by the moment. He picked up the phone several times to call you, but he kept giving up, terrified you wouldn't pick up.

What would he have done if you hadn't picked up? Would that have meant the end for both of you? He couldn't believe that his own fears and insecurities had led him to attack you so suddenly. He could have done it differently, he could have waited for you to say something. Instead, he had cornered you and forced you to admit to something that was clearly your own personal issue, one that you wanted to resolve on your own.

He knew nothing about women's health issues. When Sarah got her first period, he managed with the help of a nice store employee, and then his daughter took over. For Joel, a missed period meant pregnancy, and that meant panic and everything he had experienced before.

No, he didn't want to make excuses for his behavior. He had screwed up. He felt like you were disappointed in him and he had no idea what to do about it.

It was still early when he showed up at your place. You opened the door, sleepy, with ruffled hair, in one of those oversized t-shirts you slept in.

"Joel?" you mumbled hoarsely, rubbing your face, "Did something happen? Something with Sarah?"

He shook his head. "No. I had to see you. I had to... Fuck." He scratched the back of his neck, nervously shifting from foot to foot, "Can we talk? I, I need to know that I didn't completely fuck this up."

You looked at him for a moment in silence, as if you were considering his words in your head. It was a really long few seconds, but you finally pulled away, allowing Joel to step inside. The apartment was bathed in morning sunlight, and Joel's eyes immediately went to the few framed photos of him and Sarah that you had at your place. Another needle stabbed him in the heart.

"So?" you asked, folding your arms over your chest. "I'm listening."

"I don't know where to start." he mumbled completely sincerely.

"I suggest you start from the beginning."

"I'm sorry, darling. I'm sorry for everything I said. I'm a fucking idiot."

You tilted your head. "Good start."

Joel took a deep breath. He wanted to do it right, he wanted to take advantage of the chance he was given. Maybe it was the last one he had.

"I know now that I should have been honest with you from the beginning. You're the most amazing woman I've ever met, and I still can't believe you chose me. I kept thinking we weren't right for each other, that we were too different."

“Are you still thinking about age?”

He nodded. "Yeah. See, you're young, and I..."

You rolled your eyes and cursed loudly. “If you’re going to give me this age difference bullshit, maybe just leave. Jesus! That’s not twenty or fifty. Joel, I’m an adult, I work, I pay taxes. I get to decide who I’m with?”

“You think so now.”

“I thought so from the beginning! When I met you, the first thing I thought was that you have gorgeous eyes and really broad shoulders. I felt good with you, I liked you, and I think you’re really sexy. It has nothing to do with your age.” You took a deep breath and put your hands on your hips, like you were trying to explain something really obvious. “Sarah is amazing, I love spending time with her. I love you, even though sometimes you drive me crazy, and yesterday you really pissed me off. I didn’t tell you about the doctor because there was nothing to talk about. But if you had any suspicions, you should have come to me instead of getting even more upset. I felt like you were just looking for a reason to break up with me.”

“It’s not like that.” Joel took a step toward you. “When Sarah’s mother left us, I was left to fend for myself. Yes, there was Tommy and my mother to help us, but single parenting is no easy feat. I was certain you would disappear, too. Not only would you leave me with a child, but you would simply conclude that I was somehow flawed, that I wasn’t cut out to be with you. I guess I preferred sabotaging us rather than simply facing my fears.”

You looked at him, trying to understand his words. His face, eyes, and body language told you he wasn't lying. Joel was full of uncertainty and doubt, but you thought you were past that stage. You told him many times that you loved him, you didn't belittle his needs, and you always helped him with Sarah or around the house. And yet he felt all of this?

“I’m trying to understand you, Joel, I really am.” You finally said, sighing softly. “But I can’t be the only one in this relationship fighting for us. I feel like no matter what I say or do, you’ll find a reason why we can’t be together. Do you even love me?”

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, moving closer and taking your face in his hands. “You have no idea how much I love you. And that scares me. I’m always afraid you’ll find all my flaws.”

"You have a lot of them. I do too. But does it matter when we're happy together?"

No, it didn't matter. The fear of losing you showed Joel what really mattered to him. He cared about you more than he could admit. He saw how perfectly you fit into his family, always trying to help everyone and make everyone happy. He didn't think he'd ever feel the same way about anyone again. 

"I'm sorry, baby. I don't know what I could do to fix this." He whispered, you felt tears welling up in your eyes at how much he was going through. "But I don't want to end what we have. I love you, I'm sure of that."

"You think so now." You replied, parroting his words.

He smiled slightly. “I’ve known this for a long time, and I think the knowledge scared me. The fear that you’d disappear and I’d be left alone with this feeling. I don’t want you to disappear. I want to stay, permanently.”

"I want to stay too, Joel. Don't push me away ever again."

"Never again, baby."

He kissed you, softly and tenderly, as if he was afraid he still might. But when you kissed him back, Joel felt an unimaginable sense of relief. He had you in his arms again, all the dark thoughts swirling in his head dissipated and he felt happiness fill him. Your arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to you, letting him kiss you like there was no tomorrow.

You could get through this, together. By being more honest, by giving each other a chance at happiness and love, by supporting each other. Joel knew he would do anything to deserve you, and you couldn't imagine not giving him another chance.

“I’ll go to the doctor with you on Monday if you want,” he said as you poured him a fresh cup of coffee and sat down next to him at the table.

“If you want. I could use some support,” you replied, resting your head on his shoulder.

He kissed the top of your head and smiled. He would give you anything, and you never asked for much. You just wanted him to love you, and Joel wanted that too.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[beastyeastfreak]

Self Aware! Beasts x human! reader

Link to og post

Cw and tags: Fluff, kinda a crack fic, romantic.

Summary: The beasts have found their way out of the device to meet their partner, little do they know their partner isn’t as small as them.

Written pre silent salt

Mystic flour

🌾 - She had been waiting for the opportunity to escape the confines of the game for a long time. As her ability to break rules and speak to you in various ways came to her, so did the ability to enter your world. She had not let on she could do that for some time, she wanted to ensure she would not crumble or lose her powers as she paid you a visit. Her intentions were to bring you with her, so you could sit at her side and do whatever you did to control the kingdoms at her disposal.

🌾 - The day was finally here, she had ensured everything would go smoothly and you had just opened the game and began speaking to her, moreso complaining about something that had went wrong in your life. She’d look up at you, “I can fix this all for you,” she said which you stopped. She continued to speak, finding a sliver of enjoyment at your reaction. “I will show you,” she sounded ominous which made you frantically start to explain it wasn’t that bad and you weren’t that frustrated.

🌾 - You stopped as that cakehound loading animation played before your phone shut off. You set it down and walk away. As anyone would think, you assumed she was about to come out your phone like the girl from The Ring. But as you watched your phone flicker brightly… you saw a little cookie standing on the screen.

🌾 - “Why is everything so large..?” She spoke and turned to see the giant human she had been speaking to for some time crouched beside the desk looking down at her. You were bigger than expected, she was frankly expecting you to be cookie sized not witch sized.

🌾 - “Aaaaaaaw you’re so smaaaaall~” You croon and pick her up. Cupping your hands under her, she cant help but feel a little shocked that her entire plan of dragging you back to the kingdom and keeping you seemed to have been thwarted. “Is there a purpose to your behaviour?” She asks as you lift her to your face. “Sorry, you’re so tiny! I forget you were like a cookie or whatever,” you respond. “You’re so cute even though you’re so scary! I could just eat you up-“ she stared darkly at you. “Sorry, bad choice of words..”

🌾 - She seemed to get over your statement relatively quickly. Floating to her feet and standing in your palm. She didn’t know how she’d get you in the game with such a difference in size and strength, not to mention you had no flour within you for her to manipulate. But maybe she could find other ways to use you to her benefit, you did seem very witch-like after all…

Burning spice

🏜️ - If there was a barrier, Burning Spice was sure to break it. He was somewhat offended at the notion he was trapped in another prison but once he realised what was happening he knew he had to escape. There was a wall between him and his beloved which made him powerless to turn all your issues to rubble!

🏜️ - You had opened cookie run one day, the first thing you did was say hi to Burning Spice who was standing in an area where your decorations had mysteriously disappeared. He laughed, “your face will be priceless when i inflict my wrath upon your world!” You snickered in a sort of “yeah right” kind of way. He grinned, “do you not believe me? Let me prove it!” He said as your phone began to vibrate making you drop it. You walked away from your phone, now looking for something to defend yourself with as the phone flipped around and flashed its screen.

🏜️ - The screen suddenly sparked and a small red figure jumped out from it, weapon sparkling. “HAHAHA! Kneel before the Great De-“ He was cut off as he looked over at the human, much larger than him, he may have chosen the wrong battle…

🏜️ - You stare in shock for a moment, hoping for dreading a muscular beast towering over you. “Ha! Look at you! A mini destroyer!” You say and walk over, dropping the toy sword you grabbed for self defense. “Do not patronise me! I will crumble you!” He roared but you picked him up, hands wrapped around him watching him squirm. “D’aaaaawwww you’re like a feral kitten~” you coo and pet his head, making his antennae push back. “I am not a pet!”

🏜️ - You giggle, “sorry, i cant help myself,” you say and open your hands letting him stand. “You’d be wise to treat me with respect,” he growls. You grin, “Alright i’ll stop messing with you…” you snicker and continue under your breath, “baby spice…”

Shadow Milk

🃏 - He couldn’t contain himself! Candy Apple Cookie and Black Sapphire cookie thought he had finally lost what minute amount of sanity he had. He knew he looked and sounded insane, Black Sapphire cookie was more curious than worried. “So… Master, i can only assume you have some marvellous plan in the work… which you’ve decided to share with the… sky…” he hesitantly asks with Candy Apple cookie tailing after. Shadow milk cookie grinned and floated over. “Of course! Im going to see my Darling Y/N!” Candy Apple cookie turned red and shouted “WHAT?!”

🃏 - “I’ve never heard of this.. Y/N cookie…” Black sapphire cookie said skeptically. Shadow milk cookie raised an eyebrow then grinned wider. “Ill bring them here… right after a romantic entrance!” He said in a dreamy tone before summoning a black portal and flying into it.

🃏 - You were doing dishes in an empty house, it was dark and you were in a good groove. You were pulled from your work as you heard familiar laughter down the hallway. You frown, you must’ve left Cookie run on. As you turn the faucet off you watch as the light from your bedroom has a tall figure standing in it. “Oh Y/N~! I have come to pay you a visit,” Shadow Milks voice rang through the home. You stood up straight, “that’s impossible!” You say watching the figure move in the light as if looking around, you begin to move through the hallway hesitantly. “And yet here i am! Ready to kiss you silly!” You rather liked that idea, you walked through the door to see a small floating cookie… not a human.

🃏 - You stand shocked, before smirking. “You want to kiss me?” You say and he whips around, face visibly scared. “Ohohoh! You’re much bigger than anticipated! Maybe just a peck on the cheek will suffice?” He tried to hide his fear, probably that they’d eat him. “Oh no, i’ve waited so long for a romantic kiss, you just want to give me a little smooch? That wont do… come here!” You say before jumping forward trapping the cookie in your hands. You press your lips to his face with an audible “mmmmmmwah!” Then let go of him, he transforms into a paper puppet, descending slowly to the floor making small flustered noises.

🌷 - You worked so hard and it hurt that Eternal Sugar cookie couldn’t do anything! So she began to search, and test and finally she cracked the code. She would come to you after another gruelling work day and she would hold you in her arms, carrying you back with her to spend the rest of your life with her in the garden.

🌷 - Soon she did just that, she watched as you opened the app while laying on the couch. Tiredness prevalent in your eyes. You tried to do you tasks first but she wouldn’t allow it, when you went to her she said “You look exhausted! How about i help you relax?~” She says before the game shuts down, your phone shuts down for that matter. You do what you can but it just wont budge. Its only when you tiredly drop on your lap and lean your head back against the pillow, something happens

🌷 - A soft purple mist forms around your phone putting the scent of a perfume like aroma into the air. You look back down, a white pair of sugary wings opens up wafting the mist away. She looks around then sees your face, her head tilting. “How… unexpected,” she seems confused but doesn’t let on any negative emotions. You seem just as confused.

🌷 - Your confusion shifts to adoration, “you’re so pretty.” Sitting up, you hold her in your hands like an injured bird, your hands cupping around her but leaving space for her to see you. She laughs, “how sweet.” Shes a bit scared to say the least, maybe she should have accounted that you were likely not a cookie.

🌷 - “I didn’t expect you to appear like this,” you say running your finger over her wings in a feather light touch. “I almost want to keep you for myself and never let you go back,” you say. Is this how her angels felt about her? She felt honoured and nervous at the same time. “Well… lets not go that far just yet, im here to help you.” She says and flies up to the back of the couch out of your hands. You tilt your head, “help me?” You ask placing a hand over the back of the couch. “Help you relax… your height will not deter me from helping you find happiness.”

[viorel-lette]

More designs and headcanons for the SUGARCOATED AU!

Big credits to these two awesome people who made the Fount of Knowledge and Pre-corrupted Mystic Flour sprites that I used above!! Their original post is linked along with their @ if you wanna check them out :D!

Fount of Knowledge Sprite by @frog-of-the-blog Transcend Flour Cookie by @modcroissant

Similar to Eternal Sugar's post (<- in which you can find a very small breakdown of her outfit design and a few headcanons) Below the cut is a few design details I made for Shmilk (BM) and Mysty (WPF) and a few more ideas for how this crossover AU will go!

The cut may not appear for others so I guess if you're one of them you can try to maybe scroll down really fast if you haven't yet played or watched a playthrough or summary of the game OMORI and don't wanna get spoiled of the game's horrors which for me, is one of its best parts! I would know cuz it took me a week to recover :D. 💯 percent would recommend if you just love to put yourself in undescribable emotional pain ^^💕.

But big chunky trigger warning for those who are sensitive to things like depictions of depression, anxiety, suicide, flashing lights and a bunch of other stuff!— it's pretty expected from a psychological horror game, but please don't be pressured to play or watch it!

Added Eternal Sugar's design thingy along since I wanted to change her weapon. Her U-shaped harp matched her angel form more, so I replaced it with the harp from her legendary costume! Suits her even better since both designs are more fairy like.

Anyways NOTES and HEADCANONS:

Really wanna lean in to the way how Sugar seems to slightly not belong with the rest like how Omori is with his monotone expression and colors. I mentioned before in her own design post how she's the only character in some sort of sleep ware, a few other differences I added here is that shes the only one based on her beast form and also the only one named after it, everyone else's design look more, and are named, like their virtues.

Each of them have fantasy-adventure-group-roles! Blueberry Milk being the wizard or mage and Pastry Flour being the healer. Not sure about everyone else's tho.

I really like the idea of Blueberry, being the "Basil" of this AU and giving everyone insects to represent them!! Mentioned how this has definitely been done before (Omoriposa AU by madnopost :D!) But it just suits so well especially since their beta designs are already based on insects so I'm kinda thinking of really adding it

And on the topic of being "Basil", I hc before that Bspice would be the sporty but actually artsy type— which would be a really fun characteristic to give to him but I feel like giving it to Shmilk instead. He would make doodles of their times together to parallel with the way Sunny remembered the truth through Basil's photographs

And speaking of hobbies, in the real world, Sugar loves to bake! Which is why everyone is named after some sort of ingredient (minus Elder Faerie?) and why her happyspace is almost filled to the brim with desserts and sweets. Keyword 'almost' as it seems that if things are not going so well eyes, teeth, and organs seem to be growing more apparent here and there (just like in Sugar's actual garden in game). Also her weapon irl is a cake slicer.

Other than that, Shmilk likes to read and with the new head canon, draw, and is one of those too-smart-kids-for-their-age, meanwhile Mystic loves to embroider and crochet in her free time! Hence why, other than Shmilk's insect assigning, in Sugar's imaginary happyspace she's portrayed as a spider.

K, that's all for now. *Ascends to a different plane of existence*

[appleshy-king]

with few exceptions i don't ship any of the m6 with any of the princesses but I wanted to challenge myself and do exactly that; I combined a bodyguard au and an arranged marriage au and came up with this! - an au where bearing an element of harmony comes with a union to one of the princesses, and serves functionally as both a spouse and/or adviser, and a bodyguard.

been calling this either the harmony marriage au, or the elements of marriage lol

Rainbow immediately addresses the elephant in the room and all but volunteers to form a union with Luna; something she does partly to prove she isn't afraid of anyone or anything, but also because… look man she said she was sorry and she's gonna start her new rule with everyone against her - someone has to be there for her. Celestia especially approves of this union, as, even if these marriages are largely political, the element of Loyalty would make a true companion for a pony like Luna. Despite that, I think their start would be difficult, given all the ways the two are opposites… but ultimately flying by moonlight is just as nice as flying during the day, and the long stretches of peaceful nights give them plenty of time to get to know each other.

Cadance solves the unbalanced issue and forms a union with both Pinkie and Fluttershy. There's no limit to virtues that are compatible with Love, but Laughter and Kindness just have that little something extra that catches her attention, nevermind how stinkin cute they are. All three take to their new marriage well. It’s especially helpful that Pinkie and Fluttershy have a pre-established friendship that could easily remain platonic, or turn romantic or queer-platonic; there’s also the fact that Cadance herself was once a humble pegasus raised by earth ponies before being thrust into this royal life, which could be why they caught her eye in the first place. 

(Shining is still here, as someone needs to train these girls in the art of guarding, and their relationship is still active (although PinkieShy would not be considered his wives); bc if there’s one thing I’m going to do with the princess of love, it's show off some poly pride!)

Twilight would, at this point, ““have her choice”” between Generous Rarity or Honest Applejack; either would be fitting for her new title as the princess of Friendship, and both are good ponies who she could rely on. However, given just how much Twilight’s life is about to be upended with new, well, everything - ultimately Rarity turns out to be her best match. She’s generous with her patience and tact in a way AJ isn’t quite, and more importantly she understands the ins and outs of the high class, making her a real asset in Twilight’s transition to royalty. Nevermind that the two were maybe already a little smitten before their union even took place…

This leaves Applejack sort of “auto-paired” with Celestia. At first Applejack seems like a horrible choice for a princess who is practically a queen, given how very little she knows about this life, and the way the upper class look down on her, but it ends up that her more open/harsh honesty that would have maybe been too much for Twilight in her new role is actually perfect against Celestia. It takes Applejack a bit to learn how to hold her tongue in royal public but she learns to play the game in her own way, and her willingness to speak openly and bluntly with Celestia - in private - is so refreshing to Celestia, who hasn't had a pony tell her like it is in ages. That said, i think this learning curve takes quite some time to even itself out, and in the beginning they spend a lot of their marriage clashing with each other, though ultimately i see Applejack as a respectful enough horse that her southern charm does just that, charming the princess in a way she couldn’t expect.

The six are still all friends with each other, although given the sister pairs some of them see each other more often; Twilight, Rarity, Pinkie, and Fluttershy are a bit closer in that sense, while Applejack and Rainbow consider each other best friends. I’d be willing to say maybe something is going on between them, if i didn’t think that went against what the element of loyalty stands for, but there’s definitely rumors…

[elysiality]

-⋆˚꩜｡ synopsis — your little foraging trip with your girlfriend and the dictator of your village quickly goes south when said dictator pulls a knife on you. lucky for you, you've dabbled in the art of self-defense before. (requested !)

WOLF IN THE HEADLIGHTS —

★ natalie scatorccio and shauna shipman.

"How can a girl who couldn't even keep her title as queen keep a girlfriend?"

fuck this. onto rule five then.

rule 5— use violence to subdue the predator.

─────────── ౨ৎ ───────────

PT 2 — ★

-⋆˚꩜｡ cw !! — fem! reader, spoilers for yellowjackets S3, yellowjackets typical antics, knife to throat bullshittery, flirting, mentions of blood, mild descriptions of cannibalism, shauna shipman, is it really infidelity if you're homoerotically pinning a girl to the floor of the canadian wilderness with a butcher knife in front of your girlfriend?

══════════════════════════

oh, for the love of the wilderness.

you're considering foraging for some of the poisonous mushrooms that you were warned to avoid and shoving them in your ears for earplugs.

the dreaded, painful sound of Shauna snarling an insult at Nat reaches your ears for the sixth time in an hour. they can't lay off of each other for ten minutes.

maybe you'd be a little bit more sympathetic towards Shauna in other situations. she's not taking her baby's death very well, as expected.

and yes, she would warrant empathy for that in usual situations, as expected.

that is, if she wouldn't go back to the village after this little trip of your trio was done and dusted and then order around everyone like some sort of fucked up, wilderness stalin. power really does get to one's head.

you feel some ounce of humanity surface in you when you think of the poor scientists. one dead, the other two trapped in the animal pen next to the carefully bred ducks and rabbits as well as their shit hole. and possibly remnants of coach's dead body.

but then it sinks back under the surface, along with the rest of your unimportant emotions. throughout this whole over-extended, impromptu camping trip with your soccer team, you've gained a reputation as the 'aloof' one. which, in wilderness terms, means being assigned hunting duty along with Nat.

you didn't have the same penchant for shooting with a hundred mile radius accuracy like she did, so your job was setting snares along paths where she found the most prey.

that was how you started talking. like— really talking.

pre-crash, your relationship was cordial and friendly— a wave in the hallway, informing each other on Jackie's constant practice time changes and then bitching about it for a little, sharing notes, making assists during games, etc etc, but it never went any further than that.

it was only during these hunting trips that you really started connecting. you were quiet and easy to talk to— a perfect listener to lend your ears to Nat's agitated rants. you told each other about your interests back home— you'd never have a chance to do them again, but it was nice to talk about them nonetheless.

one thing led to another, as it so often does, and you started up a secret relationship before you knew it was happening.

the reason for the secrecy wasn't for fear of homophobia— you were on an all-girls soccer team, for fucks sake, but more so because you started dating when Nat took on the leader role for the team.

building the huts, gathering animals to breed, all these different activities meant that a public relationship would cause quite the scandal, given that your 'community' was small enough to be surveyed from atop of a large rock.

so you kept it under wraps for the time being. the thrill only contributed to your excitement of being in this relationship— secret kisses on hunting trips, moving in with her on pretense of her needing moral support (which isn't even a lie), holding hands under the makeshift table during feasts.

things were about as great as they could be in the middle of nowhere— until they found Coach Scott. until Nat executed him via mercy killing and Shauna blew up on her.

your relationship with Shauna pre-crash was...strained, to say the least. you were friendly enough to each other— but the only reason for that was that Jackie was the bridge between you two.

you were close to her so by extension you were close to Shauna. she was like a second body attached to Jackie, immobile and rendered useless without her. your relationship was strained because it was hard to seperate her from Jackie— Shauna just did whatever Jackie wanted most of the time. you didn't know what her true colours were. you couldn't even imagine her without her other half.

it was only after Jackie's death and the posthumous cannibalisation of her body that Shauna truly started growing into her own person— and that person was not someone you liked at all.

to you, she was lukewarm— an extraordinary achievement, given her feeling blue all the damn time, but you were kind and sweet enough. helping her move around when she started showing, giving her some of your food to help with the unborn baby's growth, defusing the tension between her and Lottie when she started spouting weird shit about the baby— oh sorry, her baby.

you knew she appreciated it, given that she didn't lose her shit with you if you dared to breathe too loudly, so you were as genial to each other as you could muster.

it started to manifest post stillbirth when you realised that your portions of stew were increasing, that Shauna silently contributed to arguments between you and anyone else by glaring menacingly at the offending party, that she willingly helped you with your chores even though you pushed through it in complete silence.

these were jovial enough gestures and you were grateful to her. the only problem you had with her was her attitude towards everyone else— and more specifically, your girlfriend.

for whatever reason, she had it out for Nat, even before her crowning. she hated her with fervid intensity, which heightened your dislike for her.

then came the frog scientists. the poor things stumbled into your village just a few hours too late. they could've dealt with Nat, who would've been merciful. instead, they had to deal with Shauna 'the Butcher' Shipman who'd recently discovered that she liked the taste of blood. oh and of course, Lottie, the wilderness' divine prophet or whatever the fuck, who had kindly given Coach Ben a friend in heaven via axe-to-the-head.

you realised pretty quickly that these scientists could be useful to you. they knew the way back to civilization. they could help you get home. you dared to let yourself think about that word again. home. your friends. your family. school. a normal life.

but of course, life has a way of ripping your happiness out of your hands and landing a solid kick to the groin instead. Lottie chose to stay back. then Shauna. then Tai. Shauna hijacked the gun and took charge of the village, locking up your path to civilization in the animal pen (again). There goes all hopes and dreams of leading a boring, adventure-free life again.

even so, the world kept spinning. which meant another day of scavenging for food out in the wilderness— especially with winter so close by. you feel like quite the worker ant as you push through overgrown shrubs and bushes, two more pairs of footsteps behind you.

everyone felt a bit queasy at the thought of eating meat so soon after the whole Coach Scott fiasco, so you and Nat were told to go out and forage instead. you were more than happy to do this, since it meant you would have time together and you'd be able to pry Nat's thoughts open like a nutshell and let her rant to you.

she seemed to have the same idea, getting skittish and jittery as you got ready, exchanging agonised looks with you while grabbing the grass-woven baskets.

however, on brand with your shitty luck streak, your plans were rudely interrupted by Shauna, who clearly thought that maybe you'd attempt to poison her or something— a very likely possibility, given the Misty incident at the start of your stint in hell and how irritable she was becoming these days. she firmly declared that she was joining you— and of course you couldn't reject your queen. (heavy air quotes on that).

so now you have to go hunting for mushrooms and what not with a very antsy Nat and Shauna, who's always been a ticking time bomb. luckily, you'd remembered that you had strung up some nets around a couple of berry patches deep in the woods, which is where you're on route to right now.

the trip had been relatively peaceful so far, save for the occasional woodland creature sprinting across your path and the sound of dry leaves crunching under your feet— but of course that couldn't last.

you round on the two of them, halting in your tracks. they're arguing about the rescue thing again. good god.

"I've told you hundreds of times before— we can't leave yet because I say so." Shauna reiterates firmly, her grip on her knife tightening till her knuckles turn white.

Nat huffs, dropping her gun on the dirt, locking her eyes onto Shauna. "Then you're clearly a fucking psychopath. D'you think these people are just gonna be our fucking escape route whenever we want? Their fear is gonna dwindle soon and then they're gonna see us for what we really are— a bunch of scared, pathetic teenage girls who eat their friends to survive."

Shauna crosses her arms quietly, advancing on Nat with quiet footsteps. Nat steps back, just slightly, but a twig snaps under her heavy boots and it's enough to catch Shauna's attention. her lips curve upward into a canine-showing grin. like a wolf.

you, however reluctantly, take a step forward, ready to break up any potential fights. it reminds you of the basic rules you've set for yourself when going hunting with Nat— the rules on how to deal with another predator who has their eyes locked on your kill.

rule 1— be ready to intervene.

"No.", Shauna says softly, her intense gaze burning into Nat, "they won't. Because that's not who we are. We're so much more than that."

"Yeah?", Nat challenges, taking a shaky step forward. They're inches away now. "Then enlighten me. Who are we, if we're not the high school seniors who crashed into the middle of nowhere and have had to do horrible, fucked up things to survive?"

Shauna examines her for a moment, her eyes scanning Nat's gaunt, scar-streaked face. "We're predators.", she drawls out. she sounds each syllable out slowly, like she's explaining addition to a pre-schooler. "Yellowjackets, if you will." She grins like a shark.

"We kill to survive. We hunt, because we have to and because we want to. Our village is our nest— colony, pack, whatever you want to call it. We aren't just teenage girls and you know it." she pokes her finger into Nat's chest, rolling her eyes. "You're just too much of a wimp to admit it."

Nat gulps, that heavy, guilt filled gulp you've seen her do so many times— after devouring Jackie, when she found out that Lottie nearly froze to death during the hunting competition, after Javi died. you sigh internally. it's time to step up.

rule 2— create distance between the predator and the prey. DO NOT USE YOUR OWN BODY IF YOU DON'T FANCY BEING EATEN ALIVE.

okay, so you're only following half the rule. so what? you step in front of Nat, effectively shielding her from Shauna's gaze. the only problem? Shauna's attention is on you now.

two blazing brown eyes lock onto yours and you calmly hold her gaze, resisting the urge to drop it and run away squealing like a frightened rabbit.

her eyes are void of any emotion but morbid curiosity. like she's wondering what colour your blood would be. or perhaps how you would taste if she took a bite out of you. you wonder if this is what people mean when they say 'coming face-to-face with death'.

her mental deterioration was one of the most obvious, second to only Lottie's. when Jackie was alive, she was still somewhat tethered to the husk of her old self. the soft-talking, quiet smart girl who preferred to stay in her best friend's shadow. that persona froze to death with Jackie in the snow.

Shauna calls your name in a low voice. a taunting, almost playful tone— an echo of all the times she'd used it while reprimanding you during practice. "Move.", she almost croons, one hand tracing the sheath of her knife.

you stay rooted, raising your hands placatingly.

rule 3— attempt to calm the predator. diverge their attention. use bait if necessary. DO NOT USE YOUR OWN BODY.

"Listen. We have a job to do. I don't care what bullshit you two wanna argue about— don't do it now." you say, readjusting your basket over your shoulder for full mobility. "I get it. You're pissed that no one wants to turn our community into a dictatorship, she's pissed that you don't want us to be rescued and taken home." her eyes narrow dangerously— a sign that you should stop talking. you don't.

"But winter is coming. We need to stock up on food because what happened last time cannot happen again." her eyes flash with just the slightest hint of guilt before it melts into that corroded look that sits on her face all the time.

it haunts you, all of you. the first time you'd tasted human flesh. the hunger. the ravenous feasting. how you had learnt that day that human flesh tasted disturbingly like pork when cooked. how easy it was for civility and morality to leave when hope was lost.

"Come on." You plead with her, your voice dripping with honey. you can feel Nat's heavy breathing on your neck. she's torn between terror and rage. her hand finds yours and she squeezes, an action that does not go unnoticed by Shauna's trained eyes. "Let's go back to foraging. We survived a fucking plane crash. We'll get through this. Together."

oh. you wish you could've taken that last line back. you may have talked her down from the cliff if not for that last line.

something in Shauna's eyes splinters— like a mirror shattering into little shards of glass. her eyes flicker to Nat's neck, where Jackie's necklace sits on her collarbones, glinting gold in the sun.

Jackie. sweet, sweet Jackie, who always pointed out when your shoelaces were untied and redid them for you, who held your hair back when you threw up after a rough night out, who made sure everyone had snacks during halftime, who always let Nat stay over when things got rough at home even if they weren't all that close.

Jackie, who had died so easily, like she was born to die there, nestled under layers of snow shrouding her dead body after an argument with the girl she loved so much.

Jackie, who above all, wanted the group to stay together. who wanted to get through it together.

you tense up. you know what's coming. you can sense the storm brewing in Shauna, you can see it in her eyes. you've finally struck a chord.

"Yeah?", Shauna asks quietly, taking another step forward towards you. you're now mere inches away from each other. her breath is cold against your face.

"And where's she gonna go, even if I do agree to this stupid rescue plan?" it's Nat's turn to tense up. her family has always been a touchy subject for her and for good reason. you place your hand on hers, stepping closer to her body.

"Back home to her shitty trailer? With her alcoholic mom who waits for daddy dearest to come back from beyond the grave?" she's sneering at you. sneering.

you can't remember step four. your fists are clenching and unclenching desperately as you try to resist the urge to beat her into a pulp.

"But of course you'd defend her right?" Shauna taunts further. step four, step four— what was step four?

"You and your pathetic little girlfriend. What a perfect pair. I'm surprised you'd even want her, though."

Shauna directs her attention to Nat now, who's quivering behind you. a lesser woman than your girlfriend would've quailed under that gaze.

"How can a girl who couldn't even keep her title as queen keep a girlfriend?"

fuck this. onto rule five then.

rule 5— use violence to subdue the predator.

in one smooth motion, you vault over to Shauna, closing the gap between you two, tackling her to the ground. your nails, rough and jagged, dig into her wrists, knocking the knife right out of her hands as she hisses in pain.

your fingers close around the handle of the falling knife, already guiding it to her neck. just before you can cut her throat open into a pretty red smile, her hand comes up, gripping onto your wrist, shaking against the force you're using. just barely preventing her own death.

you lock eyes with her. those brown eyes, dark as the earth, once bright as stars, stare back at you. she's shaking under you, and panting, trying to regain her breath. the impact must've knocked the wind right out of her.

your legs are splayed out on either side of her waist, keeping her pinned down. one of your hands, the free one, is keeping her wrist pinned down. the other is holding the knife to her throat, where her other hand desperately struggles against it.

"Do you really think you're that important?", you ask her in a low voice. her eyebrows raise as you press the blade in your hand closer to her throat and she pushes back harder. she makes no move to get you off her even though she probably could— and easily, that too.

you're vaguely aware of Nat's laboured breaths behind you.

"Anyone can do what you do. You aren't our leader— you're just the butcher.", you spit out venomously. "Do you really think anyone would protest if I ended your shit right now?"

she tilts her head at you impassively, but her body trembles under you. you smirk. you know what she's actually feeling.

"You're shaking...", you sing-song gleefully, trailing the knife down her collarbone. she stiffens up as the cold metal scrapes against her bare skin, trailing along the fabric of her cloth.

"Yeah, people tend to do that when they're being threatened with a fucking knife." she grits out. you tut and tighten your grip on her other hand, pinning it forcefully to the ground.

"Come on now. Don't be a smartass..", you roll your eyes, dropping your voice to a low husk that imitates hers. "You look so much better when you shut your mouth."

it's her turn to smirk now. her gaze drops to your lips and she raises her head just enough to press her nose to yours, but you pull away just slightly. you still have a girlfriend, after all.

she snorts, her eyes pulling away from your plush lips to focus on the blade that's now resting against her throat. "I knew you weren't boring."

you raise an eyebrow, digging into her skin just a little— not enough to draw blood, but enough to elicit a delicious gasp out of her. "Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

Shauna shrugs, grinning. her body language betrays that she's loosening up now. her previously strained shoulders have now dropped, and her fingers are indolently intertwined with yours.

perfect.

you stare at each other in a quiet few seconds of silence. then, you brusquely press the knife into her throat, drawing a thin line of blood. the red drips out of the wound, vibrant on her pallid skin.

she chokes in surprise, a whimper of pain finding it's way out of her throat, her eyes widening. the element of surprise. always works.

you lean in a little closer so that your breath mingles with hers. your hair tickles her face, blocking you two from Nat's view.

"Listen to me.", you say genially, holding back a maniacal grin. "You need to drop this whole terrorist act of yours. It's not cute on you." your thoughts wander to Nat and you add, "— and stop targeting Nat to be your stress relief. It's not her fault that we were actually willing to let her lead us. That she was actually capable of doing it too."

Shauna's eyes flicker with a hint of something— admiration, maybe. Nobody has stood up to her like this since— well, since Jackie.

her breathing grows ragged— not in trepidation, but in anticipation. the sicko is enjoying this. she chews her bottom lip, almost agitated, squirming a bit under you. you remain firm as a statue on top of her.

"What if I don't want to?" the statement is almost petulant in nature, but you know what she wants. and if it'll get her to put a halt on her plans for wilderness domination then...

you carve another pretty line across her throat, just below the first one. Shauna groans, her eyes hooding in hunger.

"Then I'll give you want. Do you want to see Jackie again? I know you do. I'll help you. And I'll do it while you're wearing her necklace, so that you can give it back to her."

You tangle your fingers in dark, sunkissed hair, yanking it back so that more of her throat is exposed to you. her Adam's apple bobs tantalizingly, practically begging for you to draw a pretty pattern into it.

you don't. yet.

"Will you be good?" you ask her quietly. her eyes are completely clouded now, scanning your face as though she's seeing you for the first time.

they're still glistening with just the slightest hint of shock. like a deer in the headlights.

your eyes trail to the empty dagger sheath still hanging off her belt, the callouses on her hands from all the time she's spent gutting animals with that beloved knife of hers.

no.

a wolf in the headlights.

"Hey." you prod her throat again with the tip of the knife, glaring. "I asked you a question." you let go of her wrist to move your hand to her chin.

she immediately takes the opportunity to rest her now free hand on your waist where your shirt has ridden up, no doubt leaving dirty streak marks that you're too lazy to clean behind.

you tilt her chin up, forcing her eyes off your lips and back into charged eye contact. she scans your face, as though evaluating you and weighing her choices— before she cedes with a small, almost imperceptible nod.

you smile. "Good dog.", you coo in the most condescending tone you can muster. she bares her teeth at you before snapping her jaw shut, realising that she's only proving your point.

you stay on top of her for one beat— then two—

you roll off of her, dropping her knife to the ground. she immediately straightens up, leaning back on her arms and cracking her neck.

you rub at the crick in your own neck as you smile sweetly at a dumbfounded Nat, who had evidently been watching the whole thing with a wide open jaw.

you strut up to her, your gait eased and relaxed now that you can breathe freely and push her lips closed with a single finger.

"I'm gonna go see if that mushroom thatch we set up last week is still intact." you tell her. she stares at you like you just told her that you wanted to join Lottie's weird prayer circle cult.

you giggle, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips before skipping off. god knows you needed that little stint of open violence. saying that you wanted another hunt would be too crude— but you doubt that anyone would've protested against harming Shauna. except maybe for that little pet of hers, Mel.

Shauna, who had been preoccupied with twirling her knife over in her hands and wiping her own blood off of it, comes to stand next to Nat. she stares off at the spot where you vanished out of sight and into the bushes, her face identical to Nat's. the sight is almost comical.

then finally, after a long, extended pause—

"Hey. You up to sharing?"

Nat whips her head around to glare at Shauna so fast, she thinks she might have whiplash.

"Not a chance in hell, you little bitch."

══════════════════════════

a/n: holy moly this took foreverrr— I might go back and proof read this, idk. this also had a lot more shauna x reader than the anon who requested this prob had in mind. sorry anon !

anyways, reminder that requests are open for thoughts, drabbles, etc etc for all the Yellowjackets girls— dead or alive !

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

how do you think leona would do if he falls in love?

Here are my thoughts in bullet-point/headcanon form for ease of reading! Key word there being my thoughts. (There will of course be different interpretations based on who you ask this question to.)

Standard disclaimer: These points are nothing more than my opinions and I am NOT saying my opinions are any more or less valid or “correct” than yours. Please, I’m not pre-book 1 Riddle/j It’s fine to have other takes; just remember to be mindful in how you communicate differences in opinion.

To start with, here's how I think Leona would deal with the experience of first love:

Firstly, I definitely feel that Leona is the type of person to not easily fall in love. There are many examples in canon of Leona rejecting the love he receives from others, whether it be from his own family (Cheka, Falena), dorm members (Ruggie, Jack, Savanaclaw mobs, etc.), or other peers. Even though he desires others’ approval and praise, he also simultaneously believes the compliments are insincere or that he may not be deserving or worthy of it, that he hasn’t “earned” it. It’s also difficult for him to be emotionally vulnerable with others, and I feel that this would extend to romantic circumstances.

Continuing from the previous point, I think it’d be a slow burn. Like, the feelings develop gradually and manifest in small but increasingly more forward-facing ways like his gaze lingering for a second or two longer than usual, him getting slightly irritable when he smells (I 100% believe that smell is a Big Thing for beastmen) some other guy on the object of his affections, or simply… his mind wandering to them, maybe in a daydream.

A lot of it is Leona musing about the situation and then being in denial. He’s not so oblivious as to ignore what are clearly blossoming feelings, but he's not so hasty as to act on them right away. He'd sit with those feelings, examine them, question them. What is it that he is experiencing and why, how did things come to this, etc. He may even try to convince himself it's a phase or he's "too good" for this or he's "above" this. Really takes a long time to wrestle with his emotions and to sort them out. And then when he has come to his conclusion, he might not be very pleased with it because (as I said before), he has self-esteem and self-worth issues despite outwardly presenting himself as confident and in-charge.

For a while, he keeps his distance and observes. He’s nothing if not a big cat biding his time, keeping an eye on his prey until—BAM! Down comes his paw, ensnaring the mouse. It's like a game of chess or... cat and mouse. You have to watch your opponent and predict their moves, then plan your own moves two or three or more steps ahead of them. He'd want to gauge if they're already taken, if they seem to express an interest in him too, what they like and dislike, information like that. The last thing Leona'd want to do is charge in, guns blazing, only to be rejected and have his pride hurt.

He may also go out of his way to test the object of his affections by purposefully engineering scenarios to see how they react. At first, it's subtle things that could easily be passed off as coincidence or happenstance. For example, maybe Leona would accidentally bump his shoulder against yours or as he's walking by his tail flicks you. That's just the start though. He'd put more pressure on over time. Like he'd be more confrontational, putting himself in your path as some obstacle to overcome, still being sort of an asshole to see how you handle yourself around him.

Leona tells himself he has the upper hand, and he's usually pretty consistent about hiding his feelings to that end. It might peek through here and there, but they easily read as him being tsundere as per usual. I think that would be his way of coping, because deep down he doesn't want to admit that a part of him is scared to feel this way. It's something else he could fail at, someone else he could frighten away or destroy.

With time, I think he'd become more confident. He has a better grasp of the other person, he's been able to sort out his thoughts. But the thing is, his pride is still a major deterrent. Instead of coming out and saying it, it would become another game. If you've ever read or watched Kaguya-sama: Love is War, it'd be similar to that. Leona would push for the other person to be the one to fall for him and confess first. Part of it is he's kind of afraid to be so emotionally vulnerable, part of it is that he's desperate to be wanted and needed by others, and part of it is that he feels he needs to "earn" that love by winning you over. He wants that sweet, sweet validation from you. He wants YOU to choose HIM.

I think he expects a certain amount of push and pull. If the game's too easy for him, the (psychological) hunt loses some of its thrill. I think he'd also be the type to seek a partner that isn't just a blind yes man (despite him giving off the vibes that he wants to be in total control, especially in his own dormitory); they should be able to keep him on his toes one way or another, and they shouldn't idolize him in a really unrealistic way--because then he worries what would happen if they learn about his flaws. Would they see him differently? Reject him? Etc.

It'd take a considerable amount of time and effort, but slowly he'd let the walls around his heart down to let you in--but ONLY if you pass his tests and prove that you can be loyal, trustworthy, and cognizant + accepting of all his flaws. He has high standards, so he's pretty picky about who he allows to be by his side. I don't think he'd be happy having to like... put in a fake "perfect prince" act or airs for someone else. Pretending to be someone you're not in order to have love might be just another source of stress for him.

He would take a more aggressive approach if the object of his affections makes it obvious that they return his feelings. More "accidental" touching (but of course nothing that breaches into something they find discomforting), intentionally dropping phrases that come off as flirtatious, demanding to spend more time together, etc.

If they're not into it, he'd respectfully back off. However, that won't stop him from moping about it in private later.

Then, assuming a scenario in which he and the person he's romantically interested in get together/start formally dating:

I think he'd be a lot more blatant and shameless about "showing off" his affections and/or the relationship in general. Overt flirting at this point, casually laying his head on the shoulder or wrapping an arm or tail around you, etc. Who cares who sees? Let them know you're already taken.

Oh yeah, he's really into physical touch (within whatever limits you deem to be acceptable; he respects your autonomy). Cuddles while napping, hand holding, head pats, listening to your heartbeat, etc. It grants him a sense of security that you're like... physically there with him.

I think words of affirmation are also up there, however I don't think he would appreciate it if it's like... overdone. Too many compliments might start to feel disingenuous or even smothering after a while (what comes to my mind specifically is how he reacts negatively or with denial to his brother, Cheka, Kifaji, and even his own dorm members praising him).

As I mentioned earlier, I think there'd be a lot of banter and teasing; Leona strikes me as someone who likes to toy with his pre or puts up a fight; he still has his pride and won't take sass lying down, he'd definitely retaliate but in a playful way.

Slightly whiny and needy. Key word: SLIGHTLY. He's not going to go full yandere on you. I believe that Leona would be somewhat insecure about the relationship and wants you to validate him with your presence. Like, if you're lying down somewhere and try to get up to leave... he might pout and be all dramatic about it, maybe throw in a sarcastic line about how he's "a delicate prince" and how he'll "wither like a flower" without you.

Slightly possessive. Again, the key word: SLIGHTLY. He's not going to restrict your movements or demand complete control of your life. However, he might sulk if he like... sees some other guy hovering or getting handsy, obviously making you uncomfortable. (If it's a particularly bad day for him, Leona might get intrusive thoughts about being the "second pick" and his partner leaving him for some "better" guy.) We've already seen he can get pretty territorial when it comes to Savanaclaw and the Botanical Garden, so I think at some point he'd also step in to intimidate people he feels are becoming a problem for his S/O. It's not the case for every situation though; his partner should be able to handle themselves or let him know when he's overstepping.

I think he'd be a little more tolerant of things his partner pulls. They're the one exception for certain things, like touching his ears or being more willing to listen to their requests to go to class or to try this new vegetable.

He'd try to distance his S/O from his family, especially in the beginning. Leona would tell them he doesn't think they're ready to meet the royal family yet (especially knowing the rocky relationship he has with his family), but really a lot of this stems from his pride. Falena, for example, honestly might make him look uncool by infantilizing his "baby bro".

Leona doesn't really go out of his way to plan grand gestures (he's not Kalim). If he does anything "big", it's probably like sending Ruggie to your doorstep with fancy flowers and a notecard or something. What he values isn't the "frivolous" stuff, but spending quality time together (even if it's doing nothing in particular). Might still spoil you on, say, special occasions, but he generally dislikes making a big deal of these things.

I think he'd be into you wearing his clothes. It's an easy visual indication that you're intimate enough to do this, but also it cloaks you in his smell so every other beastman in the immediate vicinity also knows you're "marked". Leona tosses his unworn blazer over you, casually saying, "Keep it."

Speaking of!! I think he’d also really like the idea of marking (bites, scratch marks, etc.) or scenting his partner. Just animalistic stuff like that, y’know. I’m sure he could hold himself back if they’re not comfortable with these aspects.

I do believe he has the capacity to be very sappy, but I don't think he'd want to be at this level all of the time. It would probably be limited to private settings and done sparingly, sort of like a treat?? Cuz if he does it too often, then it might lose its "special" feeling, and I also feel like he wouldn't be open to being all squimshy 24/7. Usually his sappiness is sarcastic.

Going to keep it 100 here, he's going to be more vulnerable around you (especially in private), and that means potential traumadumping. That's not to say that he'd do it super frequently to go into full-blown details, but his S/O would be one of the few people he feels comfortable enough with to open about his deepest insecurities and fears. He sometimes needs someone to hear him out, a shoulder to cry on, etc. Of course, he's not going to treat his partner like an unpaid therapist. Leona just... needs some extra support every now and again, reminders that he's doing fine, you know??

IMPORTANT ADDITIONAL NOTES:

Leona being in love would NOT smooth out all the rough edges to his personality. He's not going to white knight/act like you constantly need his protection, he's not going to bend over backwards and do anything and everything his partner asks of him. He still has a will and he can and will disagree or argue if he's opposed to something. He'll still let you handle yourself as needed.

Leona being in love would also NOT magically cure him of his personal issues and struggles. This is also true of the other characters who have deeply rooted trauma, but I feel this point should be included as a reminder anyway. It's of course not his entire personality, but his past experiences will impact how he interprets and reacts to things in present day (hence him being needy/wanting validation, etc.).

Like all relationships (whether romantic or platonic), it would not be flawless. There will be highs and lows, fights and disagreements, etc. This is normal in any relationship; what matters is that you're able to be mature enough to patch things up afterwards and learn from those rough patches.

[novy2sirius]

How you’ll meet your spouse ෆ

ᥫ᭡ Your 7th house ruler can not only tell you about your future spouse but also can tell how you’ll meet them and where you’ll meet them -> house ruler tut

7H ruler in 1H: You will approach them first/bump into them first. They will be someone who’s very confident, masculine, assertive, and/or passionate. They may be really athletic as well. You’ll meet them somewhere involving beauty, fashion, or appearance (example: makeup store, fashion show, etc.), at a fight (example: boxing match), at an athletic event or place involving sports (example: basketball game, dicks sporting goods store, etc.), at a race of some sort, and/or it could indicate meeting somewhere involving the planet it’s placed in (example: if your 7H ruler is Mercury in the 1st house it could indicate meeting on social media or through any of the 7H ruler in 3H locations/ways that I mentioned)

7H ruler in 2H: When meeting this person you will be very calm and collected. You won’t feel anxiety or stress when you’re with this person. Your spouse will be someone that’s very laid back and chill. You’ll meet while purchasing/buying something (example: mall, grocery store, etc.), at a fast food place/restaurant, through a job (a short term one typically - example: cashier), somewhere involving money or finances (example: bank), and/or a location that involves the voice/singing (example: choir)

7H ruler in 3H: You will have a great flowing conversation when meeting. You will share a lot of similar interests with your spouse which will help you connect really easily. This will be someone that you cannot every stop laughing with. You will meet either on social media, through siblings, through neighbors or them being your neighbor, in school (usually pre-k, elementary, or middle school), somewhere involving phones (example: cell phone store), a location involving writing/literature, and/or while in some type of transportation (example: car, subway, train, etc)

7H ruler in 4H: You will feel an immediate sense of comfort when meeting your spouse and won’t feel the need to put on a show. You will feel like home to each other. You’ll likely meet in a house/home, through house related things (example: real estate), through events/locations involving emotions (example: an acting set), during the holidays (since the 4th house rules over traditions), a location involving nursing/taking care of people (example: nursing home), near a restaurant/fast food place, and/or through each other’s family/motherly figure somehow

Example: My grandma has this in her chart and met my grandpa through her sister

7H ruler in 5H: You will feel your childlike energy come out a lot around this person. This person will bring you lots of joy and be very entertaining/humorous. You’ll meet your spouse through/near children somehow (example: at a park, through your own child, etc.), at a concert, at an entertainment event, through a hookup/one night stand, while on vacation, at a casino/while gambling, in a location involving drama (example: a play/theatre), during a game of some sort, and/or while doing one of your hobbies (example: playing the drums, drawing, baking, etc.)

7H ruler in 6H: Your spouse will likely be very fit and healthy. They’ll be someone that does a lot of nice things for you and is very consistent. You’ll meet at the gym, a location involving health (example: health food store, through a nutritionist, doctors office, hospital, etc.), while doing some type of service for others (example: community service/volunteering), near animals (example: pet store, zoo, etc.), through a coworker (or maybe they’re your coworker), and/or somewhere that you routinely go everyday (example: if you go to Dunkin’ Donuts every morning then you could meet them there)

7H ruler in 7H: Your spouse will be someone that’s very charming and/or cheerful. Since the 7th house is the house of relationships it could mean when you first meet your spouse they’re on a date with someone else, dating someone else, or you’re dating someone at the time. It could also mean meeting your spouse somewhere involving beauty/fashion (example: at a fashion show, at a makeup store, etc), at a wedding, at a dance competition/event, while there’s a conflict occurring, and/or through business partners of yours. This could mean they possibly are your business partner as well. Sometimes I’ve seen this manifest as a enemies to lovers relationship also since the 7H rules over enemies too

7H ruler in 8H: Your spouse is someone that’s very mysterious, seductive, and loyal. You’ll both be very infatuated with each other from the moment you meet. This is a big indication of marrying wealth. You are going to meet your spouse during a transformational or challenging time in your life. You will meet them near somewhere involving dark things (example: somewhere involving horror such as a haunted house), near a big business (example: one you own, one they own, one you’re in/they’re in, etc.), at a funeral (odd but a possibility), near a crime scene/the police/somewhere involving crime, near a location involving psychology (or maybe they’re your psychologist), and/or near a place involving spirituality

7H ruler in 9H: This person will bring out your more adventurous, optimistic, and wild side (in the best way). You will laugh a lot with this person and have lots of fun with them. They’ll help you grow a lot as a person. You’ll meet them either at college/university, while traveling (example: in a foreign country, on an airplane, at an airport, etc.), at a library, through or near television/media (example: television set, photo shoot, etc.), during an interview (example: job interview, television interview, etc.), in a location involving religion/beliefs (example: at church), at a court (example: basketball court, courthouse, etc.), in a location involving the news (example: news interview), and/or somewhere involving the law

Example: My sister has this in her chart and met her husband at school

7H ruler in 10H: This can be an indication that your spouse is very successful or famous. They’re someone who is very ambitious and mature. This can mean you’ll meet them through work/your career/their career, through your father figure/their father, through your boss or that they’re your boss, at a huge public event (example: olympics), through a public figure/famous person, at an event involving famous people (example: meet and greet, oscars, etc.), and/or at a very public place in general

Example: Ariana Grande has this in her chart and met Dalton while he was working (he was her real estate agent and her 7H is also in the sign Cancer which is very interesting cuz the Moon rules over homes)

7H ruler in 11H: Right away when meeting each other you will get along and be friends instantly. Your spouse will be very friendly to you when you meet/a friendly person in general. They’ll be quite intellectual and unique as well. This placement indicates that you’ll meet your spouse through or near technology (example: a dating app, instagram, apple store, etc.), friends/friend groups, at a party, political events, in a location involving film, at a convention/social event, at a hotel/motel, while doing a community service of some kind, at a club (example: chess club, book club, the clubs you drink at, etc.), and/or a location involving science

7H ruler in 12H: There will be an immediate spiritual connection when meeting each other. One of you or both of you may be shy when first meeting. Since this is the house that rules over old age it can mean your spouse is older than you or that there’s an age gap between you two. It can indicate meeting your spouse in a secluded/isolated location, meeting somewhere where you can’t see one another or don’t know each other’s true identity (example: through social media accounts that don’t show your face like a fan page or astrology account), in a place that’s very quiet (example: library), in a place that involves spirituality (example: crystal shop, psychic, etc.), somewhere that involves alcohol or drugs (example: at a bar, drug store, vape shop, etc.), near a location involving music (example: music video set, music store, etc.), and/or during a time where people are isolated (example: during a lockdown similar to the covid one)

Example 1: Kris Jenner has this and met Caitlyn Jenner during a blind date which tracks since the 12H rules over the unknown. She also said it was love at first sight

Example 2: Victoria Beckham has this and met David Beckham in a secluded area at the Manchester United Players lounge (which is a secluded area from the game they were at). It was at a football game (or Soccer as you would call it in the US) as well which is played with the feet (Pisces/the 12H rule over the feet). She also said she was very shy and just waved at him at the bar at first (the 12H rules over alcohol as well)

Example 3: Kim Kardashian has this and met Kanye while he was recording a song

© novy2sirius

[mattsstarlet]

fully introducing…dealer!matt and goodgirl!reader

in which…your friend brings you along to a trap house party, where you meet the dealer himself.

warnings: mentions of drugs, alcohol, and suggestive content. no smut.

note: my first ever prompt is here! i’m not the best writer so i really do hope u enjoy.

your heart thumped the same rhythm as the loud bass blasting off the walls. as you walked into the trap house, the more you saw, the tighter your hand gripped your friend.

it was much wilder than you had ever imagined, or maybe it was because parties weren’t your thing. you’d rather be cooped up in your cozy bed with your nose stuck in some romance book. 

the lights are down low, and a small disco ball flashes colors, matching the pace of whatever rap song is playing. you scrunch your nose as you smell a whiff of weed and alcohol lingering in the air. 

 a bunch of rowdy boys huddle up over a table, playing some sort of game involving alcohol, though it looks like they’ve done a lot of drinking and less playing. as you walk in further, each corner is busy with horny couples sticking their tongues down each other's throats.

your friend looks back at you, tightening her hold as you two make your way past a busy crowd. she’s only been here a few times, but she’s already familiar with the layout, having some sort of relationship with a guy who lives here. 

squeezing past the sweaty bodies, your friend pulls you towards the direction of a couch. one of the guys sitting there raises his head, a small grin appearing on his face.

“what’s up, baby?” he lifts himself off the couch and snakes his arm around her waist. “y’made it.” 

“hi,” her voice soft and gentle. she motions to you with a wave, signaling you to get closer. “chris, this is my friend and roommate.”

he nods, “s’nice to meet you. heard a lot about you actually,” he smirks. 

chris goes on, joking about how much of a yapper your friend is. you on your end, block out their conversation, distracted by the items on the coffee table. 

teeny tiny bags of colored pills lay on the flat surface, as well as lines of white powder and expired credit cards. in the middle, cold bottles of high-quality alcohol sit next to an ashtray with stones of a certain green plant and cut-up brown paper. 

a tattooed arm brings you back to focus when it reaches over, picking up a pre-rolled joint and a lighter. your eyes shift towards the owner, chewing on your bottom lip as you take in the mysterious man.

the first thing you noticed was his stubble, and how well it defined his sharp jaw. the messy hair look makes it seem like it was made for him. it just fell perfectly into place around his sculptured face. 

“y’starin’ mad hard, sweetheart.” his low, husky voice snapped you out of your daze. “y’tryna buy or… jus’ like whatcha see?” a slight smirk appeared as he finally pulled his gaze from the joint to your wide eyes. he glances at your pouty lips, licking his own before meeting your gaze once again. 

you shake your head; the thought of trying pills or weed alone makes your skin crawl. it’s no secret that you’ve at least tried alcohol, but then again, it was just a tiny sip.

“oh, no thank you... I—I don’t do that,” you say nervously.

he chuckles lowly, “of course you don’t…” he mutters. he looks around, noticing chris had taken off with your friend to most likely fool around in his bedroom.

matt takes in your nervous state; he shouldn’t care if you'll be fine on your own or not. the drugs in his system have already been fucking with his head, but the thought of a pretty innocent girl being all on her own didn’t sit right with him—or maybe he was already making you his… and matt hates when people take what’s his.

“sit. lemme keep you some company, yeah? you...your uh friend dipped. can’t have a quiet little angel all by herself in a place like this.”

you clear your throat as you slowly make your way next to him. being this close to him makes your head foggy; he’s intimidating, and the scent of his spicy cologne mixed with a hint of weed doesn’t help either. he’s got this…thing that creates an unfamiliar warm fuzzy feeling in your core. 

you play with the hem of your skirt as you sit inches away from him, rubbing your slick thighs together. the action doesn’t go unnoticed by matt, his imagination running wild, wanting to throw you over his shoulder and into his bed. his cock hard as a rock just imagining your pouty face as he eats your sweet cunt out. 

matt runs a hand through his brown hair, trying to shake off the dirty things he wants to do to you. he places his rough, clasped hand on your knee. it’s light and gentle, yet it doesn't help the growing fire in your tummy.

“easy, sweetheart… i'm gonna be honest, angel,” he rubs your thigh in an up-and-down motion, going as high as where the end of your skirt touches his fingertips.

 “that thing you’re doin’… ‘s’makin’ me think some things… naughty things.” 

you stop the action immediately, your skin filling up with goosebumps as his hand moves to your inner thigh, not that close where you need him but close enough that matt could feel the heat. glancing at him with those big eyes, you mutter a little ‘sorry.’ 

matt squeezes your thigh, his mind too caught up in the way you’re nervously biting on your bottom lip, “relax, babydoll. jus’ sit back and be a good girl, yeah? i got you, angel.” 

he smirks slyly when you nod again. swallowing thickly, you relax your shoulders and sit back. matt’s hand moves higher, up your soft skin when your skirt rises. “there we go, gooood girl,” he praises, his smirk growing wider. he leans in, his hot breath fanning your ear, “y'know...i think we’re gonna get along jus’ well, angel.”

© 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗌𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗅𝖾𝗍

interact under this post to be notified when i upload posts like this!

a/n: been in my drafts for so long, i can’t keep hiding there. also feel free to send me some inbox’s about these two!

TAGS: @mbbsgf

[inbabylontheywept]

Babylon's 6 D&D Tips

I DM’d D&D for ten years. I started in middle school, and I kept it up until my sophomore year of college. This is my mini-guide for what the game is, what it isn’t, and how to play it well. So. From the top.

Tip 1: Don't make your main storyline time dependent. 

D&D is an amazing open-world experience. You can pick at any detail. Nothing is a non-interactable part of the scenery. If there’s a sewer manhole, you can lift it up and climb down. If there’s a house, you can look inside and rob it. If there’s an NPC that you meet at the market, you can follow them home and see their whole life. Their parents, or their partner, their trade - all of it. It will be made up on the fly by some sort of reasonably skilled improv speaker, but it will also exist after that. That’s how the world is built. That’s the secret sauce that makes D&D beautiful.

If your plotline is too urgent, it kills those opportunities. The worst example of this that I have isn’t even from D&D, but FO4. The game is clearly built around exploration and adventure. The plot is built around rescuing your kidnapped baby. There’s a lot of tension between those goals. The plot does not work with the game mechanics, and it's really, really, jarring.

Be wary of doing that. It's surprisingly easy.

Tip 2: Don't set up giant, epic, fantasy battles between multiple armies. 

D&D is not a very good epic-battle simulator. There are games that have streamlined combat mechanics to allow for whole armies to fight, but D&D is very detail oriented, and trying to control too many people at once makes combat slow to a crawl. That very creative DM who can tell you every detail of an NPC’s life is also just not very good at multitasking. 

If you really, really want to - fine. But you should be ignoring standard mechanics when you do so. Move to a “cinematic mode” and just go by vibes. And generally, take a moment to “get” the game before modifying it. If the kind of plot you really want is urgent, and involves epic scale armies, maybe look into different RPG systems. D&D specializes in exploration and small, focused parties. Using it for things outside of that is kind of like hitting nails with a wrench. 

Tip 3: Don't prepare your plot like it's a book. Kill your lore codex. 

D&D is a collaborative storytelling adventure. That's the secret sauce. Writing out codexes and trying to crystallize the world before you start playing ruins the collaborative element. It’s genuinely better if you build as you go. It lets your players give input. And it saves you a lot of time. Why bother trying to write up who the Mayor of Snoresville is if there’s a good chance your party never even talks to him?  

(I would also apply this to writing in general. If you want to write all of your world's lore before starting your book, you'll never start your book. And you'll go crazy. Fear the lore codex.)

Tip 4: Prepare your combats and your NPCS rigorously, but generically. 

This ties in to Tip 3. If you spend a lot of time preparing the lore of the Bandit Leader of Redgrove, things like his family history, or his trauma, or his deep-down character motivations, and then the party never goes to Redgrove, it all goes to waste. D&D evolves rapidly and chaotically, so building things in a modular, reusable way really pays off. 

So. I tend to have two big pools for my NPC work. One is a character sheet pool. I keep it small and focused. I can generalize most melee classes ahead of time, so I can have an Archer, a Brawler, a Tank, and some Generalist Infantry. That’s like, 80% of your martial enemies, done. Spellcasters are a bigger pain in the ass, but a few pre-mades thrown into a campaign pays off if you know your themes. If you’re dealing with a death cult, make some death clerics. A dragon will probably have sorcerer acolytes. 

My second pool is a pool of character mannerisms. Some should absolutely be practiced ahead of time. Figure out what mannerisms make your villain really pop. And if the party skips that villain, just move those mannerisms to some new guy down the line and you’ll still be fine. Nothing wasted. A lot of the mannerisms are going to be picked with no heads up when the party does something weird, like following a random merchant around for a few days just to see how they live. You can get through almost all of those extremely well with just variations on the 4 humors, the 3 socioeconomic classes, and regional dialects.

Tip 5: Give your players permission to inject themselves into the world. 

It is common for people to over-formalize the rules and responsibilities of “being a player” vs. “being a DM.” I think the most common way to phrase it is something like “The Players are in charge of their characters and their backstories, the DM is responsible for the worlds and its NPCs, and both need to stay in their lanes.”

It’s isn't just better to mix it, it's necessary.

Failing to share these roles forces the world to exist in a crystallized state before the campaign even starts - at least if you want to integrate backstories into the plot. Groups that fail to do this can often feel like the characters were born the day the campaign began, and did nothing interesting beforehand. 

So, for DMs: Don’t be afraid of trying to inject NPCs and details of this world into your player's past. Imagine that your party rogue goes into a town and finds a fence for selling some stolen trinkets. Maybe, have the fence recognize the rogue. “Gods of fire, it’s McClellan. I haven’t thought about you since the candy-rat incident. You took a real beating making sure I got away that day. Glad to finally have a chance to pay you back!” 

Now, the rogue still has a choice here. They can say something like “Ah, this guy is mistaking me for someone else, but I can roll with it to get a better deal.” It’s their character, and their choice. But they can also go, hey, I do know this guy. I was apparently part of something called “The candy-rat incident.” I can decide how I know this guy, and where, and for how long, and what that incident was. That’s not less control - that’s more! 

And for players: Don’t be afraid of injecting your past into the world. Maybe you’re a fighter in a wartorn setting and you run into a group of deserters robbing refugees by the roadside. The DM has clearly planned this as some vindication, some enemies you get to thrash without feeling bad. But you have different plans. You take your helmet off, and you look the deserter’s leader in the face, and you say “Jack, you saved my life back on Stone Ridge. You were a good man once. You could be one again. Ride with us.” 

Now that's powerful stuff. Do you even know what Stone Ridge is? Hell no. Are you gonna? Hell yeah. And what you just did was way better than the DMs plan of bonking bad guys to feel good. You changed the writing of the world, commandeered an NPC, and made the whole encounter far more interesting.  

Tip 6: Ignore all portrayals of D&D in the media. 

The best players that I get are people with no experience with D&D of any kind. The second best are those that are willing to drop their preconceptions at the door and just play. The worst are people that have seen D&D portrayed somewhere and are insistent on imitating the portrayal. The exact nature of the failure varies - at worst, they’ve seen some kind of tongue-in-cheek parody, like order of the stick, and then hyperfocused on all the worst parodied aspects as the whole point of the game. D&D is not about outsmarting the mechanics (which is trivially easy, and largely pointless - it just makes your own storytelling less fun), nor is about turning everything into shallow tropes about Horny Bards and Dumb Fighters and Insufferable Paladins. At best, they’ll have seen some kind of ultra-cinematic example of D&D played on a podcast, where the DM has a theatre degree and ever party member is a professional actor. Those people are nice, but they often have unrealistic expectations.

[doctormonocat]

Replaced

Self Aware! Rafayel x Unaware! Player

Can you guess which other game character this is inspired by? I will be doing a series for each of the LADS boys being self aware. A little angsty, once again. It will hopefully become clear, but this is a story about Rafayel, your favorite LI, becoming self aware, and eventually being replaced by Caleb. I just picked Caleb bc he just released, but Sylus or any LI released after start would work. Hope you enjoy! I'll prolly do a part 2. A bit long, sorry!

Self Aware! Rafayel who becomes aware slowly but surely. Rather than an instant moment of understanding, he begins to recognize new things in his world, things he didn’t understand before. Things seem… out of order. Time is disjointed, his senses thrown into a black void just as often as he is alive. 

Self Aware! Rafayel realizes he is a game character long before he ever becomes aware of you. His existence seems to dull with each passing day before he meets you. His life, his suffering, his love… none of its real. He realizes that he is pre programmed into a virtual reality. But he wonders, why? And why does he feel a sort of… presence? 

Self Aware! Rafayel who feels the presence everywhere. In his battles with his… lover? (is she still? Does he even want her to be? Rafayel doesn’t know. Even she seems fake now) There is an unknowing force watching him. Despite the oddity of it, Rafayel isn’t alarmed by it. If anything, it’s comforting. Warm. It feels like his first hug after a life of being touch starved. 

Self Aware! Rafayel becomes addicted to the presence. Comforted by the ever watching force. He looks forward to his limited interactions with it in that cafe everyday. His dulled world begins to spill with color. 

Self Aware! Rafayel who one day sees… you. You’re the presence that’s been there for what seems like years, the only thing allowing sunshine to pour into Rafayel’s darkened world. He preens under your attention, feeling like a deep sea fish seeing the light for the first time. 

Self Aware! Rafayel who finally realizes his world is a dating game. It's a bit of a shock, but a surprising comfort. You had become his everything before he was even aware who you were, and being able to actually see you everyday has only deepened his feelings. So, learning that you joined this game to date the characters, and that he is your main focus is a relief. He feels requited. You care about him just as much as he does you (maybe not quite as much, he realizes. Currently, you are his only tether to realness, and are still unaware of his awareness or his feelings. But, it won’t be like that for much longer). 

Self Aware! Rafayel who is aware of the other male love interests, but doesn’t pay them much of a mind besides the occasional twinge of jealousy. After all, you only complete their events out of a sense of obligation. But he is your focus. You pull for his cards, spend your in game currency on his outfits, and have him accompany you for card games and plushie hunting. It’s clear to him, he is your favorite. And he hopes that when he makes you aware of his presence too, that your favoritism will turn into something more. So, in response to those other boys, all he does is give you a pout the next time you visit him in your cafe. But, seeing your smile in his presence makes the painter’s grumpy mood vanish quickly. He loves your smile, direct just at him; teasing, joking, and flirting all the time just to see it whenever he wants. Yeah. He needs to see that smile more often.

Self Aware! Rafayel who wants everything to be perfect for when he confesses. He’s been picking up some coding skills on the side, trying to keep it hidden from you as he carves out a small place in his world just for you to. The perfect place by the beach, with the perfect light. The perfect gift (a painting of you), the perfect words to say to make you understand the depth of his sentience and of his love. His perfect moment. He’s worried he might spoil it accidentally though, with the extra attention he’s been lavishing on you. You’re just so cute, that every time you cheer after the two of you win a battle together he can’t help but laugh along. He’s a little tired of waiting, but he still wants everything to be perfect. He just hopes you can chalk up your excellent luck pulling cards and his extra smiles to a new game mechanic. 

Self Aware! Rafayel who is vaguely aware of the announcement of a new male love interest. Colin? Or maybe Cade? Who cares? Rafayel’s been your favorite since launch. Truly, he doesn’t pay too much attention. He’s too focused on making his confession to you just perfect. 

Self Aware! Rafayel who starts paying attention when he hears it come from your mouth. 

“Caleb is almost here!” You say, cheerily. 

Self Aware! Rafayel who feels his heart clench a little. Now he begins to remember the details clearly. Caleb. Thats his name. The jealousy he feels is a bit more papabile than it has been before with the other boys, feeling like a heavy stone pulling his heart down into a dark ocean. He remembers you playing that chapter with that… man… in it a couple times, but he dismissed it as you trying to better understand the story. He knows it's not because you want to see that guy. Is it? 

| | | | |

Self Aware! Rafayel who doesn't realize how black everything has been until he’s let out into the light again. How long has it been? He feels his body physically react when he checks your phone’s internal clock and realizes a month has passed. His world had become dull again without you at least visiting him; fake, and flat and just black. It scares him for two reasons. The first, that without you he might stop being aware, stop existing as he is now. He might start being like the other nothings that populate his world without you, pre programmed to run in circles. It terrifies him. And the second, that something might have happened to you in the time you were away from him. He is even more scared that something in your large and expansive reality might be able to harm you. With his dulled senses, he hasn’t felt your presence visiting him at all in the past month (that went by all too fast to him. Add that to his growing list of things that will keep him up at night.)

Self Aware! Rafayel who is scared now for an entirely different reason. He manages to use his coding skills in the brief time period where you are visiting to tether himself to the game outright. At least it will be harder now to pull him away from you. Even if you stop visiting, he’ll be aware. But with that, comes an even worse realization. You’d been here, actually. In the game, playing as usual. Just not with him. 

Self Aware! Rafayel who wants to cry and shout all at once. Who the hell is this Caleb, and how dare he take you from him (he tries to push down the feeling that you have betrayed him as well. He doesn’t want to fall into that rabbit hole of resenting the only thing that makes him feel alive). So, instead he blames this… usurper, who has stolen your love, your light, your attention away from him. 

Self Aware! Rafayel who has a plan to get your attention back. Screw the perfect moment. He just needs to confess the next time he sees you. You’ll throw away apple boy the second you realize you have a sentient fishie who loves you more than anything. 

Self Aware! Rafayel begins to slowly realize a couple of harrowing things. The first, that you haven’t visited him in a long time. The last time you did, his first gasp of air in over a month, seemed to be irregular, if not a fluke entirely. You were too focused on Caleb (the name still sickens him to think about) to spend anytime with him anymore. Who knows if you would even give him the chance to confess. The second, even more harrowing thought. Was it your attention, your love, that brought him sentience? If so, could that same awareness be brought to another? Would Rafayel’s competition soon extend to another man who knew of your existence just as he did? The third, that it might not even matter for him or the “colonel” either. You had discarded and neglected Rafayel so easily when a new shiny toy came into your view. Did you even see him as real? Would you ever? Were you even capable of that? 

Self Aware! Rafayel chose to push that thought down deep. He would cross that bridge when he got to it. No, he should deal with the problem at hand. Caleb. Just the very thought of him made fire burn in Rafayel’s veins and a sting like salt water in his throat. At the very least, he should deal with this so-called replacement. 

Self Aware! Rafayel who knows deep in his soul, in the very essence of his being that you love him. You’ve just been… distracted. Tempted. Lured. But Rafayel knows about luring also. He is a siren, a vision of seduction and temptation. Colonel apple can’t compare. Rafayel will use very weapon in his arsenal. His newly acquired coding skills will force you to see him, force you to let him win your love back. He’ll shower you with gifts, with digital seashells, in game currency, and his sweet words. He’ll hold off on confessing, just until his competition is not even a memory in your mind. 

Self Aware! Rafayel decides that even if that fails, he has other ways of convincing you to his side. He wonders what would happen if he were to alter the game code, to make Caleb repulsive to you, or even better, gone (the thought of messing with the game code, with the very essence of the world does still make him a bit queasy. Perhaps that will be his last resort). Instead, he wonders what would happen if he decided to find Caleb in his world. Maybe a recreation of a certain explosion might be in order, certain to actually find it’s target this time. 

Self Aware! Rafayel who is becoming desperate. He’s willing to do anything. Even if it means removing all other obstacles by any means necessary. You will love him again. 

After all, why wouldn’t you? With no one else but him and you, everything will be just as it should be. 

[eowynstwin]

Ghoap x reader. Autistic reader. Christmas angst. Allusions to Ghost’s backstory. Salacious use of ribbon. Soap being inappropriate. NSFW.

Soap fidgets on the train the whole way over to the light show. You don’t notice, of course, your earplugs are in, but Ghost, hypervigilant for the season, cocks an eyebrow.

“Itches like mad,” Soap grouses. He tugs at the collar of his sweater, a ghastly thing in fuzzy green, red, and gold, with LED bulbs embroidered down the front.

Ghost scowls at him. Soap purses his lips, not chastened. You sit between them, oblivious, fingering the zipper of your purse.

There’s enough cheer on the train to make up for their collective lack. More than one person wears a dumb Santa hat, and at least every other has on something colorful and festive. It seems like everyone feels some sort of Christmas spirit but Ghost, and it makes his hackles tense up.

Your hand slips into his then, smooth like silk settling over his palm. He looks at you; your gaze is fixed steadily ahead, unfocused. He’s not sure whether you reached for him to find comfort or offer it, but he closes his fingers around yours anyway.

He looks over—Soap has your other hand. Reaching to find, then. He squeezes.

The three of you wait until the very last moment to disembark when you arrive, letting the crowd out first. Ghost’s choice. The absolute last thing he wants is to lose either you or Soap in the stream of people flowing from the train—Soap will get distracted, and you hate it when strangers crowd you. This is going to be a trial as it is.

Ghost has to admit—once they reach the grounds, the displays are something to see. Together, you walk through a tunnel of lights leading you to the beginning of the walk, rings of warm white gently shining overhead, and Ghost, despite himself, can’t help but admire how it makes both of his partners look like they’re glowing.

Then Soap tugs at his sweater again, and Ghost bites down a growl.

“Oh, hot chocolate,” you say at the end of the tunnel, looking over at a cart laden with a few big steel samovars. “I’m going to get some, either of you want any?”

“Cider,” Ghost says, softening the curtness of his tone with the tenner he hands you. “If they’ve got any.”

“Coffee for me, hen, if you don’t mind,” Soap adds with a smile. You nod, and scurry toward the drinks.

Soap eyes him. Ghost knows what he sees—his back has been ramrod straight since the bloody month started. He holds his shoulders the same way he might if he had his rifle across his chest. His jaw has been hard as a cinder block any time the market clerk tossed “happy holidays” at him when he did his best to get away as fast as he could.

“Don’t,” Ghost says.

Soap says nothing.

This is not their first Christmas together, but it is their first with you. The sergeant already knows how Ghost feels about the holiday; you do not, and Ghost wants to keep it that way for a little while longer.

Divining your feelings about anything takes a little longer than it might with anyone else, but he’s pretty sure you’re excited, in your way. Soap, for whom pine trees and glitter and the smell of snow in the air seem to activate a sleeper agent in his brain that orgasms at the mere sight of tinsel, already has a Wellington resting in their shared fridge, and artfully wrapped presents crammed under their pre-lit tree. The two of you together have flooded the flat with lights, candy-cane frippery, crocheted snowflake doilies, and ski-lodge scented candles.

Ghost, for his part, has scrolled various travel websites to figure out if assassinating Santa Claus is something actually feasible. Maybe if he defeats the final boss of Christmas he can actually sleep through the night at least once this month.

It isn’t that he hates it, exactly. It’s just that Christmas, to him, began as a hazy game of roulette, wondering if the wild animal of his father would appear to ruin the exchange of charity-shop gifts wrapped in reused paper, and then solidified as an image reflected in pools of spreading blood.

The last happy Christmas, he had to burn down. That’s no reason that he has to ruin it for everyone else, though.

You return with three paper cups held awkwardly in your two hands, and Ghost and Soap relieve you of your burden. Your cup has a peppermint stick jutting up out of it, and you use it to stir your steaming drink periodically as the three of you proceed.

The path leads through an army of glowing snowmen in mismatched sizes, life-size gingerbread houses, past multicolor balls tossed across the top of a frozen pond. Trees banded with so many strings they look like branches of lightning reaching up from the earth. Electric snowflakes dangling above your heads from netting stretched between lampposts.

Ghost keeps clenching and unclenching his fist. His cider goes rapidly cold in his other hand, untouched. He probably can’t get his money back for it, but he’s agitated enough to start a fight and try.

Meanwhile—it’s obvious, you’re enjoying yourself immensely. You don’t say much as you flit between installations, running a hand over the glowing bulbs, tilting your head this way and that like a curious little bird. You take your phone out more than once to open your camera, and Ghost knows you’re saving pictures to put together a slideshow later on.

More than once, you look back at him and Soap, and grin wide at some novelty or another. Ghost manages to nod his head at you—go on, little birdie, keep having fun.

“Jesus,” Soap mutters, trying to scratch at a spot on his back for the third time.

“Fuck’s sake, Soap, just take the fucking thing off,” Ghost snaps.

“Canna,” Soap says.

“Why the fuck not?”

Soap’s mouth slants sideways. He looks around for spectators, and, finding none within eyeshot, lifts the bottom of the sweater.

Bright, shiny, very red ribbon runs in two lines along the naked cut of his obliques—down past the waistband of his trousers.

Ghost tosses the cider out of his cup and grips Soap by the back of the neck, throws, “OY! Duckie! Bathroom!” at you, and drags his boyfriend to the nearby public loo.

It’s empty, thank god, so Ghost wastes no time yanking the closure of Soap’s trousers open. The ribbon continues downward, downward, the V narrowing and narrowing until—

It converges in a (somewhat lopsided) bow tied right around the base of Soap’s dick.

“Soap, what the fuck,” Ghost says.

The sergeant backs up, and pulls the sweater fully off. It reveals a latticework of satiny red crisscrossing his chiseled torso: lines of ribbon accenting the curves of his pectorals, his toned abdomen, highlighting the small indent of his trim waist.

Soap’s cheeks flush pink.

“Goes further down,” he mutters, not meeting Ghost’s eye.

“What the fuck,” Ghost repeats.

“Was gonna do a big reveal when we got home,” Soap says. “Start stripping when we got the door closed. That rubbish.”

Ghost, incredulously, snorts, and Soap smiles at him.

“First time you’ve laughed this month,” he says quietly. “S’ why I did it.”

Ghost steps up to him and takes Soap’s chin between thumb and forefinger. “You fucking idiot,” he says, and kisses him.

The bathroom door opens, letting in a gust of wind, and Ghost and Soap jump back from each other momentarily, before relaxing when your voice reaches them.

“There better not be a handjob happening in here without me—oh,” you say, stopping short.

Shoving the waist of his pants down further, Soap turns around to show off to you the full extent of what he’s done. It gives Ghost a good look at the pretty intersections happening overtop of the muscles of Soap’s back, and the dip of the ribbon down between the two perfect globes of Soap’s arse.

You blink several times. “There isn’t a lock on this door, Soap. If I get down to suck you off, someone is going to come in.”

Impossibly, Ghost snorts again, and then laughs for real, a full-belly guffaw that comes out a little more harsh than it should. But you grin at him, and the line of Soap’s shoulders, which Ghost suddenly realizes has been as tense as his this whole time, relaxes.

He pecks the bare swell of Soap’s bicep, and then the crown of your head as he passes you by.

“I’ll hold it closed, duckie,” he says. “Do whatever you want.”

He only leaves the door once when he hears you shriek suddenly with laughter—to find that Soap has decorated his cock with a peppermint-loop of red lipstick, all the way to the tip.

“Fucking idiot,” Ghost repeats, and cancels his trip to the North Pole then and there.

[itsblueflamebae]

If only I could

synopsis: if mac could, they would be there for you

wc: 675

cw: angst, hurt no comfort

notes: pre-game. gender neutral reader.

Mac doesn't have a mouth, but they do have feelings - if they could, they would tell you to take your eyes off them and please, please, rest.

Maybe they would cook something for you - you were looking for a pie recipe last week, and then you gave Arma a new trauma. You often eat in front of the monitor, and maybe Mac would awkwardly hold a knife because their fingers not used to do that, but they would try to make sure you get some sleep while they are cooking. Your old house was full of dust and sorrow – the yellow-flowered wallpaper turned into chrome, nauseating rods, covered with rattling corrosion. Mac will forever be grateful to you for taking them from your old apartment to your new, spacious home. You could have left them behind in those four walls for the new owners, you could have sold them, and Mac would have been disassembled for even more profit, but you value them – through laziness, you wipe between the rows of the keyboard with an q-tip, and Mac feels like you're stroking their shoulder.

Mac has never been fussy – they remember the move, waiting to appear on a new table. There were a hundred boxes packed side by side, squeezed by powerful slabs, compressed by concrete layers, studded with rebar, painted with beautiful colors, covered with the best wallpaper, and filled with empty Ikea furniture. You were radiant with happiness back then, but now it's the thirteenth hour of you staring at the screen.

If Mac could, they would make your day better.

Once, you pasted all sorts of stickers from different cartoons around your workplace and a dozen sugar-to-the-gritty pictures from Pinterest with motivation. A paradoxically ugly pile of phrases with the concept of productivity, as you would later mutter. Illusory, with beautiful photos of stage blogs, a hollowed-out culture of performance, biting like a wild, cautious dog, tearing through the fortress of flesh and skin.

If Mac could, they'd peel those stickers off, but you did it first.

And if only Mac could, they'd turn themself off and take you for a walk. They'd give you some water. Mac was looking for a way to help you, but you couldn't see. They searched a hail of kilobytes of information, awkward zeros, but they didn't find anything. If they could, they would cry. They would curl up in a ball of bare wires and threads with a thousand volts, trying to cry, but instead of eyes, they have bottomless, dry, salty lakes and zeros and ones on their sleeve and instead of their eyes. Machines, they say, are perfect in their own way – powered by the internet, with an iridescent current flowing through their veins of wires. Perhaps this is true, but now, without upgrade, without knowing that you are okay, Mac is powerless. The brightness of the screen slowly dims. It's not intentional, but you forget to blink, and you're sitting so close that Mac's motor starts running at an unseemly pace. For some reason, on a day like this, neither your fingers on the keyboard, traveling over the buttons like on the moles on the body of Mac, nor anything else brings them joy, absolutely no-thing. They begin to slow down slightly, as you are more likely to decide to turn them off and go to sleep.

One day it will be better, they believe with the remnants of their thoughts. Perhaps one day you will find a way out of your hibernation, you will be happy within these walls, alone or with a partner or partners. Perhaps one day, your screen time at the monitor will be less than thirteen, then ten, and then five hours a day. Mac will be covered with a crust of dust like ice. But if this means your happiness, then Mac will not hold you. They cannot. They are just your computer and a bunch of pixels, after all.

Mac would have sighed, but they don’t know how.