#so i choose isabel this time.

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 9: November 2023 - Part 1

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?

Part 1 of November, Part 2 will follow.

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

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/PitLanePrincess: Isabelle Leclerc is the ultimate fashion inspiration for people who actually have to get dressed for work. A thread on why she’s the best follow if you want outfits that are stylish and wearable. 🧵⬇️

@/PitLanePrincess: Love the WAGs who serve high fashion, but let’s be real—I am not showing up to a Monday meeting in a full Mugler catsuit. Isabelle? She gives you real outfits. Blazer, midi skirt, chic top = effortless. 

@/PitLanePrincess: She mixes high and low so well, but the best part? She actually responds when people ask where things are from.

@/PitLanePrincess: She genuinely answers people??? I messaged her once about a bag, fully expecting nothing, and she just. Replied. Like a normal person.

@/PitLanePrincess: I swear she could afford to wear designer head-to-toe, but she chooses to mix H&M, Mango, and Zara with her Max Mara coats and Chanel flats. It’s aspirational but still possible.

@/PitLanePrincess: She rewears things!!! Some of these girls wear a $6K dress once and never again. Meanwhile, Isabelle’s been styling the same Max Mara coat for three years and making it look fresh.

@/PitLanePrincess: Also, she actually wears realistic shoes?? No five-inch stilettos, just sleek boots or comfy-yet-chic heels..

@/workwearqueen: If I ever ran into her in real life, I just know she’d be so sweet. Like, I could compliment her outfit, and she’d compliment mine back.

@/GridGossip: Some of these WAGs are giving editorial fantasy, which I love, but Isabelle is the one actually giving wearable inspiration.

@/everydayelevated: Isabelle Leclerc, if you see this, just know we appreciate you 🫶💖

***

The first time, Isabelle didn’t even think about it.

Max’s grey sweater—the one he practically lived in—had a hole in the sleeve. She watched him tug at the fraying threads absentmindedly, completely unaware of how worn it looked, how it sagged off his frame like it had given up.

So the next time she was out, she picked up a new one. Nothing dramatic. Same color. Same softness. Just... better. Better fabric. Better fit. Something that looked like him, only a little more cared for.

When she handed him the small box later that night, she hesitated—half-expecting him to shrug it off or barely notice.

"Your old one was falling apart," she said quickly, when he raised an eyebrow at the offering.

Max lifted the sweater out, turning it over in his hands. Then, with typical nonchalance, he peeled off the old one right there in the living room and tugged the new one on.

Isabelle watched carefully as he moved, adjusting the sleeves, testing the stretch.

After a moment, he nodded, satisfied. "Yeah. This is nice."

She exhaled, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. He didn’t realize it, but that was all the encouragement she needed.

After that, it started happening more and more.

A pair of jeans—no longer skin tight but a more relaxed fit that flattered his strong thighs… A new jacket—light, practical, something he would actually wear but wouldn’t make her wince when she saw it in photos.

She was careful. Isabelle never pushed, never tried to change how he dresses. Max liked simple, comfortable clothes, and she respected that. 

 She just made sure those things fit properly. Looked effortless instead of careless.

She told herself she wasn’t interfering.

She really meant to believe that.

But then Max walked into the living room one afternoon wearing an ancient Red Bull polo—wrinkled, slightly faded from too many washes—paired with sagging sweatpants that looked like they might give out at any moment.

Isabelle, mid-scroll on her phone, just... stopped.

Stared.

"Max, mon amour," she said carefully, setting her phone down. "Do you actually like that shirt?"

He looked down, frowning as if only now realizing what he was wearing. "Uh... yeah?"

"Are you sure?"

His frown deepened. "...Should I not?"

She sighed, standing up and crossing the room, smoothing down the skewed collar. "It's fine," she lied, fingers lingering longer than necessary. "But... you’re a world champion. You could look like it off-track too."

Max raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Are you saying I dress badly?"

Isabelle paused, choosing her words with painstaking care. "I’m saying... you have potential."

Max squinted at her, crossing his arms. "I wear what’s comfortable."

"I know," she said patiently. "But comfort and style aren’t enemies. You can have both."

Max narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "Are you planning something?"

"No," she said, way too quickly.

Which was how, the very next day, she dragged him into a high-end boutique in Monaco.

Max resisted, obviously. He grumbled when she handed him a proper button-down. Scoffed at the tailored jacket she picked out. Refused—loudly—the first two pairs of trousers she suggested.

It took a fair amount of coaxing—and maybe a few well-placed kisses—to get him into the fitting room.

But when he stepped out...

Isabelle knew.

She folded her arms across her chest and smirked as Max caught sight of himself in the mirror and visibly paused.

The sharp lines of the jacket, the way the button-down skimmed his frame, the clean, simple look that made him seem even more confident, even more himself—it was all there, clear as day.

"Huh," Max said, tilting his head.

"Huh," Isabelle echoed, smug.

Max frowned at his reflection, pulling at the jacket slightly, testing the fit. His mouth twitched—like he hated to admit it—but even he couldn’t deny what he saw.

"Alright," he muttered. "Maybe you have a point."

Isabelle beamed, grabbing another item off the rack with a glint in her eye.

"Good," she said, already handing it to him.  "Because we’re just getting started."

***

Max learned pretty quickly that shopping with Isabelle wasn’t a quick in-and-out mission.

It was a strategic operation. A full-scale reorganization of his wardrobe. And apparently, his entire life.

At first, he protested. Loudly.

“I don’t need that many clothes,” he grumbled as she held up yet another impeccably tailored jacket, inspecting it with that critical little tilt of her head.

“Yes, you do,” Isabelle said without even looking at him. “You can’t wear Red Bull merch everywhere, Max.”

“I literally can,” he pointed out.

She gave him a look—the kind that somehow managed to say you absolute idiot without her even opening her mouth.

“And you shouldn’t,” she said sweetly.

He groaned, but he took the jacket from her anyway, grumbling under his breath as he did.

By the time they left the boutique, Max was carrying more bags than he had ever carried in his life.

 He looked like a particularly fashionable pack mule.

He kept muttering about "overkill" and "consumerism," but every time they passed a shop window, he caught himself glancing sideways—checking the fit of his new coat, adjusting the collar just slightly. He thought Isabelle didn’t notice.

She noticed.

She just didn’t say anything. Smugness was a reward best delayed.

That night, Max thought the ordeal was over.

It wasn’t.

Isabelle helped him “put everything away”—which, he quickly realized, meant completely dismantling his existing wardrobe.

At first, she just meant to hang the new things up neatly. Then she opened the closet.

And froze.

"This is a disaster," she said, hands on her hips.

Max, lying sprawled across the bed and scrolling through his phone, barely glanced up.  "It’s fine."

"It’s not fine," Isabelle said, already pulling out a hoodie that looked like it had been through a minor war.

Within minutes, there were piles everywhere—keep, donate, burn immediately—and Max could only watch as his closet was systematically conquered.

When she was finally done, the place looked... Organized. Manageable. Almost stylish.

Max sat up, surveying the damage. "Wow," he deadpanned. "It’s like I live here and yet I have no control over my own belongings."

Isabelle smirked, smoothing out a freshly hung blazer like a queen surveying her kingdom. "You don’t," she said, utterly unapologetic. "I do now."

Max shook his head but didn’t argue.

Instead, he stayed right where he was, watching her fold a few sweaters with that little furrow of concentration she always got when she was focused.

A thought crossed his mind, and he grinned.

"You’re enjoying this," he accused.

She shrugged, not even pretending to deny it. "I like making sure you look good."

Max swung his legs off the bed, stood, and crossed the room to wrap his arms around her from behind.

"I already do look good," he teased, resting his chin on her shoulder, feeling her laugh vibrate against him.

She hummed, pretending to think it over. "Hmm. You look better now."

Max laughed, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "Fine. You win."

Isabelle turned in his arms, smiling up at him like she knew exactly how thoroughly she had just triumphed.

"You’ll thank me later," she promised.

And he did.

When he walked into the paddock a few days later—wearing a properly fitted shirt, no skinny jeans, no wrinkled team hoodie in sight—he caught the double takes.

The subtle stares. The media whispers. Even a few casual compliments from people who usually didn’t say a word to him about anything off-track.

Max just smirked, tugging his new jacket straight as he passed by.

Yeah.

Isabelle was right.

Again.

And maybe—maybe—he didn’t mind at all.

***

Instagram Post: @/f1hq

Comments: 

@/LightsOutMemez: Forget the championship. The biggest win of the season is whoever got Max out of those cursed skinny jeans.

↳@/PaddockSpy: Max Verstappen in an outfit that actually fits him… we are witnessing history.

↳@/ChecoMode: You’re telling me Max Verstappen had style potential this whole time and we never knew???

@/GridGossip: I don’t know what’s more shocking—the fact that Max won again or the fact that he did it while dressed like an actual style icon.

@/YukiFanClub: The only logical explanation is that Max’s girlfriend run interference. No man just wakes up one day and decides to dress better ON HIS OWN.

↳@/WAGWatch: Whoever picked this outfit, we thank you for your service.

↳@/RedBullChaos: This is definitely the work of a woman. And we love her for it.

↳@/PaddockSpy: I don’t know who’s responsible for Max Verstappen’s wardrobe glow-up, but I hope they’re having a great day.

@/ChecoP1: Max Verstappen’s biggest flex isn’t his trophies. It’s the fact that he now has functional drip.

↳@/MaxAndCats33: If he posts a mirror selfie in this outfit with his CATS, I’m actually going to lose my mind.

@/RedBullChaos: This is definitely the work of a woman. And we love her for it.

@/PaddockSpy: I don’t know who’s responsible for Max Verstappen’s wardrobe glow-up, but I hope they’re having a great day.

@/SoftLaunchDetective: First, he dresses better. Next, he starts smiling more. Before you know it, he’s dropping a blurry hand pic on his story.

↳@/DRSDrama: If this man posts one artsy Instagram story of his hand intertwined with someone else’s, I’m DONE.

@/FIAFits: The fact that it took this long for Max to upgrade his wardrobe tells me that he fought this change for MONTHS.

@/DTSTherapist: This is like when a man gets a haircut after years of looking the same and suddenly everyone realizes he’s actually attractive.

↳@/SoftLaunchAnon: Max Verstappen having a wardrobe evolution was not on my 2023 bingo card.

@/PaddockFashion: Okay but the best part is that it’s still so Max. Just… upgraded.

↳@/OversteerStyle: It’s like someone took his usual wardrobe and just refined it a little. No drastic changes, just subtle improvements.

↳@/TireDegTrends: He’s still wearing jeans, just… normal-fitting ones. And the shirt? Still casual, but suddenly it works.

↳@/StyleUnderCut: This is the equivalent of adding a subtle aero upgrade that shaves off two tenths per lap.

↳@/WAGWatch: Whoever did this didn’t erase Max’s essence, they just polished it. A true masterclass.

@/DriveToSurviveChaos: Netflix better not cut this from the next season. This is important.

***

The first thing Lewis Hamilton noticed when he walked into the paddock was not the weather, or the press, or even his own team's busy chatter.

It was Max Verstappen.

Specifically, Max Verstappen looking... polished.

Lewis actually stopped mid-step, doing a blatant double-take.

Max wasn't wearing the usual crumpled team polo and horrendous skinny jeans combo he seemed genetically programmed for. No. Today, Max was wearing dark, well-fitted jeans, a simple but perfectly tailored black jacket over a clean, crisp white t-shirt. His hair looked like it had seen a brush in the last 24 hours. His trainers were still comfortable, yes—but new. Coordinated.

Lewis stared at him like he was an alien.

"Am I in the wrong paddock?" Lewis muttered under his breath.

George Russell sidled up next to him, carrying a coffee, and followed his gaze.

He whistled low under his breath. "Well, well, well. Look who discovered fashion."

Lewis shook his head slowly. "No, I'm serious. What happened. Who is that."

Max caught sight of them then, gave a casual nod, utterly unfazed.

George narrowed his eyes, studying him.

"I mean... he's still Max," George said. "Just upgraded."

Lewis blinked, stunned. "I didn't even know he owned a jacket without a sponsor logo on it."

"Maybe," George said, taking a slow sip of his coffee, "maybe it's the girlfriend effect."

Lewis turned to him. "The what?"

George shrugged, completely serious. "You get a girlfriend who actually cares about what you look like, and suddenly—" He gestured vaguely at Max. "—that happens."

Lewis frowned. "He’s had girlfriends before."

George grinned. "Yeah, but he’s never dressed like he wanted to impress anyone before."

Lewis squinted, suspicious. "Do we even know if he has a girlfriend?"

George raised an eyebrow. "Do you think he picked that jacket out himself?"

Lewis opened his mouth. Closed it. "...Good point."

Meanwhile, Max strolled past them, earbuds in, calm as anything. No logos, no oversized hoodie, no worn-out sweatpants. Just effortless, unsettling effort.

Lewis watched him go, still frowning.

"I don’t like it," he muttered.

George laughed. "You’re just mad because he’s pulling it off."

Lewis huffed. "I’m mad because now I have to outdress Max Verstappen. And that was never supposed to happen."

George clapped him on the back, grinning. "Welcome to the new world order, mate."

As Max disappeared into the Red Bull hospitality, several team members turned to watch him too, murmuring quietly.

Because when even Max Verstappen starts dressing suspiciously well... You know something’s up.

***

Daniel Ricciardo was minding his own business—sort of—lounging near the espresso machine, casually watching the paddock buzz by, when Max walked in.

Daniel did a casual glance up—and promptly choked on his coffee.

Because there was Max.  Wearing tailored jeans. A clean, fitted jacket. A proper, ironed t-shirt. Looking... put together in a way that was frankly illegal.

Daniel slammed his cup down, pointed at him dramatically across the hospitality lounge. "You. Stop."

Max paused mid-stride, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "What?"

Daniel stood up, hands on his hips. "You can't just waltz in here looking like a Zara model on casual Friday and act like nothing happened."

Max gave a tiny, infuriating smirk. "I can and I did."

"No, no, no." Daniel waved a hand wildly. "You look suspiciously… functional. Coordinated. You match, Max."

Max just shrugged like it was no big deal. "Maybe I learned."

Daniel squinted at him. "No," he said. "Someone taught you."

Max gave him a pointedly neutral look.

And that’s when Daniel grinned.

 Like the world's most annoying lightbulb had gone off over his head.

He practically cackled as he leaned in.

 "YOUR GIRLFRIEND."

Max said nothing. Not a word.

 Which was exactly how Daniel knew he was right.

"You absolute simp," Daniel whispered, giddy. "You let her overhaul your entire wardrobe."

Max rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the tiny flicker of a smile.

Daniel clasped a hand over his heart. "God, I love love."

"Shut up," Max muttered, but there was no heat in it.

Daniel leaned back, arms crossed, studying him. "So what’s next, mate? Weekly skincare routines? Matching Christmas jumpers?"

Max gave him a long-suffering look. "If you tell anyone—"

Daniel grinned wider. "Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me." He paused, then added gleefully, "Mostly because everyone else already suspects something."

Max groaned.

Daniel beamed. "Can’t wait for you to show up next race weekend in proper loafers and a linen shirt. Monaco chic."

Max muttered something in Dutch under his breath that was probably deeply unflattering.

Daniel just slung an arm around his shoulder anyway, still laughing.

"You," Daniel said fondly, "are so whipped, and it’s beautiful."

Max shoved him off, but he was smiling—real, relaxed, the way he only was when he let his guard down completely.

***

The room was too quiet when she entered the meeting in the evening.

Isabelle felt it the moment she stepped in—like walking into a room where someone had just been talking about you. That sticky tension. The abrupt silence. The way no one met her eye.

She sat down, opened her laptop, and waited.

The project lead began reviewing the concept pitch. It was hers. Her layout. Her color palette. Her vendor list. But her name? Nowhere on the slides.

No credit. No mention.

Léa was presenting it like it had fallen from the sky.

And no one blinked.

Isabelle closed her laptop.

Slowly. Deliberately.

“Interesting,” she said, her voice smooth. “I must’ve blacked out while watching someone else design my project.”

Léa blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

The room stilled.

For a moment, Isabelle said nothing else. Just looked at them. Really looked—at the two junior designers who’d whispered and sabotaged, at the project manager who let it happen, at the senior designer who'd praised her ideas only to present them as someone else's.

“You’ve all been treating me like I don’t belong here since the day I started,” she said, calm and clear. “At first I thought it was because I was new. Then I thought maybe it was because of my last name. But now I understand—it’s because you’re afraid of me.”

Léa scoffed. “Afraid? Please.”

Isabelle turned to her. “Yes. Afraid. Because you’ve seen what I can do. You’ve seen how good I am. And instead of rising to meet me, you’ve spent months trying to cut me down.”

She stood. Quiet. Unshakable.

“You tried to twist my success into nepotism. You told people I only got clients because of who my brother is.” She paused. “You do realize I designed Max Verstappen’s penthouse, right? I didn’t just walk through it and fluff pillows. I created it. Every material. Every layout. Every detail. Because he trusted me. Not the Leclerc name. Me.”

No one moved.

“And the irony?” Isabelle continued, voice like silk on steel. “You thought I wouldn’t fight back. Because I’m quiet. Because I’m kind. Because I don’t yell or gossip or throw people under the bus.”

She tilted her head, smile sharp.

“You mistook my silence for weakness. That was your first mistake.”

A long pause.

Then she picked up her laptop, her bag, and her portfolio binder.

“I’m resigning effective immediately,” she said. “I refuse to spend another second giving my talent to people who try to tear me down instead of rising up themselves.”

She walked toward the door, paused, and turned back.

“One more thing,” she added, eyes narrowing. “The next time you decide to steal someone’s work, you might want to make sure they’re not ten times the designer you are.”

Then she left.

No one stopped her.

***

Team Redline Stream – Transcript

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

Max: "Yeah, I’m alone tonight. Again. My girlfriend’s still at work."

Luke Crane: "Is she ever not at work?"

Max: (Sighs.) "Rarely. I keep telling her it’s too much, but she says she’s fine."

Chris Lulham: "Classic."

Chat:

The way Max sounds so fed up"She says she’s fine" <- she is absolutely not fineBro is one bad day away from staging a full interventionTell her we said QUITHe’s about to unionize her workplace himself

(Max continues driving, glancing off-screen every so often. His focus flickers.)

(A door opens in the background. Max immediately looks up.)

Max: "Oh, you’re home." (Pauses.) "It’s almost midnight."

(A short silence. Max’s expression shifts.)

Max: "You haven’t eaten yet?" (His eyes narrow.) "Why? What do you mean you forgot?"

Chris: "Uh-oh."

Luke: "It’s happening."

Chat:

MOTHER HEN VERSTAPPEN HAS LOGGED INRIP to her but Max is about to lecture her for 20 minutesSomewhere, Jos is crying because Max turned into his momRed Bull gives you wings, but Max gives you forced meals

Max: (Grumbling in Dutch.) "You work all day and don’t eat? That’s not okay." (Pauses, then scoffs.) "No, I don’t care if you’re ‘not hungry.’ You’re eating something."

Chris: "Do you even know how to cook?"

Max: (Flatly.) "I know how to order food, Chris."

Gianni Vecchio: "Yeah, she’s doomed."

(Max is still focused on the conversation off-screen, visibly exasperated. Then, suddenly, he freezes mid-turn, his entire body going still.)

Max: "...Wait. What?"

(Silence. His mouth opens slightly, then closes. He blinks.)

Max: "You quit your job?"

Chris: "OH?"

Gianni: "HELLO?"

Chat:

SHE DID WHAT NOWMAX IS BUFFERINGDID WE MANIFEST THIS????Homie forgot how to drive for a second

Max: (Still staring off-screen, jaw slightly slack.) "Wait, like—actually? You actually quit?"

(A few beats of silence. Then, suddenly, Max exhales and leans back in his chair, shaking his head with a smirk.)

Max: "Finally."

Gianni: "Finally?"

Max: (Grinning now.) "Yes, finally! I’ve been telling her for months to leave. They treated her like shit."

Chris: "You sound happier about this than she probably is."

Max: "Because she deserves better. I told her that place wasn’t good enough for her." (Pauses, then softer.) "They should’ve known better than to treat her like that."

Chat:

MAX VERSTAPPEN, NUMBER ONE SUPPORTER

"Finally" LMFAO bro has been WAITING

He’s so relieved omg

Someone check on her ex-boss, they just felt a chill

Bro went from shocked to proud so fast

Red Bull Racing HR is shaking rn

I need a Max Verstappen in my life

Max: (Still grinning, shaking his head.) "So what now?" (Pauses, listening.) "Yeah? Taking time off? Good. You need it."

(His tone softens slightly, his expression fond. Chat goes feral.)

Chris: "So no more insane work hours?"

Max: (Smirks.) "Nope. Now it’s just insane hours listening to me talk about my simulator settings."

Chat:

She quit her job and he’s acting like he won his fourth titleMax really went "welcome to unemployment, babe"Bro is GLOWINGSupportive boyfriend era is PEAKING

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

📌 @/F1TeaSpill: MAX VERSTAPPEN ON STREAM JUST CASUALLY DROPPED THAT HIS GIRLFRIEND QUIT HER JOB AND WENT "FINALLY." BRO HAS BEEN WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT 😭😭

↳ @/RacingGirlie: THE WAY HE WAS SO READY WITH THAT RESPONSE LMFAO 💀 ↳ @/TireDegradationStan: He forgot how to drive for a second. The shock was REAL.

@/GridGossip: Max Verstappen finding out his girlfriend quit her job and IMMEDIATELY going: ✅ "Finally." ✅ "They treated you like shit." ✅ "You deserve better."

Boyfriend of the YEAR.

↳ @/MonacoMafia: Bro is celebrating her resignation more than his championships 😭 ↳ @/DR3nation: She quit her job and he’s THRIVING ↳ @/RedBullSimps: The way he went from SHOCKED to RELIEVED in under five seconds

@/F1GirlfriendsAnonymous: Not Max Verstappen exposing himself as the softest, most supportive boyfriend alive. He really said: 🔹 "You deserve better." 🔹 "If they don’t respect you, don’t waste your time there." 🔹 "Take time off, you deserve it."

And y’all still think he’s cold???

↳ @/DutchLion44: THE WAY HE WAS SO SINCERE ABOUT IT 🥺 ↳ @/​​OversteerOverlord: This man went from "I have no emotions" to "I will support my girlfriend unconditionally" real fast

@/FormulaLover: "NO MORE LATE NIGHTS AT WORK?" "NO, JUST LATE NIGHTS LISTENING TO ME COMPLAIN ABOUT SIMULATOR SETTINGS."

MAX PLS 😭

↳ @/PitStopPrincess: Her old boss just felt a chill down their spine ↳ @/DannyRicFave: Soft!Max is the best Max. I don’t make the rules.

@/PaddockChaos: How much do you bet that Max has been trying to convince his girlfriend to be his full-time trophy wife for MONTHS and she just wasn’t having it 💀

↳ @/RedBullRacingWife: "Finally." <- That was a man who has been campaigning for this moment ↳ @/GridTeaSpill: You KNOW he’s been like "you don’t need to work, just stay home, I’ll buy you whatever you want" and she’s been like "absolutely not" 💀💀 ↳ @/OvertakeAddict: Mans was celebrating her quitting before SHE even processed it 💀

@/MonacoMafia: MAX WAS SO READY FOR THIS MOMENT 😭 "Finally" <- that’s not just relief, that’s VICTORY.

↳ @/DutchLion44: He’s been battling corporate capitalism on her behalf for MONTHS ↳ @/PaddockGossip: He really wanted her to be living that soft life and she was like "Nah, I have a job" 😂 ↳ @/RaceStrategyFails: Man had a 10-step plan for her retirement and she foiled it by having ambition

@/F1TinfoilHat: Max Verstappen trying to turn his girlfriend into a trophy wife and failing is so funny to me. Like you just KNOW he was pulling out all the stops. 🚗 "You can have any car you want." 🏠 "Live anywhere you want." 💍 "You don’t need to work, just be with me." And she really went, "No, I have emails to answer."

↳ @/RB20Fan: She quit her job and he was the happiest person in the room 😭 ↳ @/F1MemesDaily: Plot twist: She’s about to find another job and he’s gonna LOSE IT 💀

@/LightsOutMax: Max Verstappen has won three world championships, dominated the grid, and still lost to his girlfriend’s corporate job.

↳ @/SoftMaxFan: The way he’s been fighting for MONTHS and she was just like "No ❤️" ↳ @/PaddockPrincess: Bro was ready to pay her a salary just to stay home and she STILL refused 💀💀 ↳ @/F1Spill: "Finally." <- that was not just relief, that was a mission accomplished moment

@/RedBullGirlie: I need someone to ask Max in an interview if he ever tried to get his girlfriend to be a full-time trophy wife because I know he did

↳ @/PaddockClown: He absolutely pitched it like a Red Bull contract ↳ @/​​RB20Fanatic: "I can provide you with a top-tier environment, all the resources you need, and a long-term vision for the future." ↳ @/DR3Memes: Drive to Survive voice "And in that moment, Max Verstappen realized… he was not winning this one."

@/FrontRowF1: I don’t even think Max was mad that she worked. He was mad that they treated her badly. Boyfriend of the Year tbh.

↳ @/RB19Stans: Yeah, his first reaction after shock was pure rage at her old job 😭 ↳ @/F1Himbos: He was 100% ready to go to war with that company ↳ @/Lap1Drama: He’s been FUMING about how they treated her and now he won

@/F1Takes: Max Verstappen was sitting there on stream like:

👀 "Wait, you quit?" 😳 "You actually quit?" 😌 "Finally." 😤 "They treated you like shit anyway."

Sir, have you been campaigning for this???

↳ @/PitLaneGossip: Bro had an entire strategy in place. He’s been pushing this agenda for MONTHS. ↳ @/RB19Forever: His immediate relief tells me he lost sleep over this job more than SHE did 💀 ↳ @/MonacoMadness: Man heard "I quit" and didn’t even process it before celebrating

@/SoftVerstappen: Max really thought his biggest opponent was Lewis Hamilton when in reality it was his girlfriend’s work ethic

↳ @/PaddockTea: Man has three world titles and 0 influence over her career choices 😂 ↳ @/DR3Fanatic: She’s out there being an independent woman and he’s just like please let me fund your life↳ @/GridGossip: I fully believe he has pitched the trophy wife life at least once and got rejected immediately

@/MaxForPresident: Max celebrating his girlfriend quitting like it’s his own career milestone is so FUNNY to me

↳ @/PodiumPredictions: She said "I quit" and he unlocked a new level of happiness↳ @/SoftTyresOnly: The way he’s genuinely delighted while she’s probably still processing it 💀 ↳ @/MonacoMafia: If she gets a new job he might actually riot

@/LandoStan33: Max Verstappen is a billionaire and his girlfriend still refused to quit her job for OVER A YEAR. Queen behavior.

↳ @/OvertakeObsessed: She refused to be a WAG full-time and he just had to deal with it

@/MonacoMadness: Max: "They don’t respect you. Just quit." Her: "I like working." Couldn’t have been me. You think I’d rather be working than living the dream as a rich man’s problem?

↳ @/Lap1Drama: Imagine saying NO to Max Verstappen telling you to never work again ↳ @/PodiumPredictions: The way I would’ve handed in my resignation the second he hinted at it↳ @/F1TeaSpill: Why suffer at a 9-5 when you could be a full-time F1 WAG???

@/MidfieldMess: I respect Max’s girlfriend for standing her ground but personally? I would have been at home in silk pajamas with a cat by now.

↳ @/RB20Memes: If my man said, "Quit your job, I’ll take care of you," I’d be gone in 0.2 seconds.↳ ↳ @/DR3Laughs: Max’s girlfriend WORKED while he was literally BEGGING her to relax. I COULD NEVER.

↳ @/RB19Tactics: I’d be in Pilates class at 10 AM on a Tuesday living my best life ↳ @​​/SoftMaxFan: She really CHOSE to work when she could’ve been a full-time rich girlfriend.↳ @/OvertakeGuru: RESPECT TO HER but I would’ve folded immediately.

@/GridGossip: Max Verstappen’s girlfriend really QUIT HER JOB on her own terms, months after he told her to, and not because he’s a billionaire but because she finally decided she was done.

SHE REALLY DOES NOT CARE ABOUT HIS MONEY.

↳ @/SoftVerstappen: This is actually insane. ↳ @​​RB19Defense: Girl had a multi-millionaire boyfriend BEGGING her to quit and she STILL waited. ↳ @/LightsOutRB: She worked herself into the ground because she didn’t want to rely on him??? Couldn’t be me.

***

At first, Isabelle seemed fine.

She took a shower, scarfed down a sandwich…and then she just sat on the couch, staring at nothing. 

“So… how does it feel to be unemployed?”

Isabelle turned to face him with a breezy smile. “Great. Amazing, actually. I should’ve done it sooner.”

Max folded his arms across his chest, not buying it for a second. "Uh-huh."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What?"

"You’re saying that like someone who is definitely not fine," Max said.

She rolled her eyes. "I just don’t see the point in dwelling on it."

"Okay. But not dwelling isn’t the same as being fine."

She laughed, short and sharp. "Max, I quit a job that was making me miserable. I did the right thing."

"Yeah," Max agreed easily. "But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel weird."

He could see the argument forming on her face—the automatic instinct to insist she was fine, she was strong, she could handle anything.

But then she hesitated.

Her mouth opened like she was about to say something else—something defensive, probably—but instead, her face crumpled.

 And just like that, she was crying.

“Oh, Schatje.” Max pulled her into his arms without hesitation.

"I don’t know why I’m crying," Isabelle mumbled against his shirt, voice thick with tears.

"Because it’s a big change," Max said quietly, rubbing slow circles over her back. "Because you worked hard for that job, even if it sucked. Because you’re human, and this stuff is hard."

She sniffled against him. "I feel stupid."

"You’re not stupid," he said firmly, dropping a kiss into her hair. "You’re figuring it out. That’s brave."

She exhaled shakily, the tension in her shoulders finally starting to unravel. "I don’t even know where to start."

Max grinned. “Well, in the meantime, you can always be my trophy wife.”

That earned a wet, incredulous laugh. “Excuse me?”

“You know, live a life of luxury. Lounge around, spend my money—”

“I’m not going to be your trophy wife.”

“Why not? You’d be great at it.”

“I like working,” she shot back, slipping out of his embrace just enough to glare at him.

Max smirked. “Yeah, but you also like expensive pastries, and being my trophy wife means you can have as many as you want.”

She groaned, wiping at her face. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are, still crying all over me,” Max teased, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Isabelle huffed. “Fine. I’ll be your trophy wife for a week. Just to try it.���

“Deal,” Max said easily. “I’ll even buy you a designer handbag.”

She laughed again, finally looking a little more like herself. “You are ridiculous.”

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1Spotted: Y’all, Max Verstappen just walked into Chanel Monaco, and I’ve never seen a man more determined in my life.

@/SoftCompound: What’s the vibe? Casual browsing or “I know exactly what I want” levels of confidence?

@/F1Spotted: He walked in, went straight to the handbags, and told the SA, “I need something classic. Not too flashy. She prefers gold hardware.”

@​​/F1Tea: NOT “she prefers gold hardware” ??? Who is SHE???

@/GridGossip: That is a man DEEPLY in love.

@/F1Spotted: The SA showed him a couple of options, and he just went, “That one. I’ll take it.” No hesitation. No second thoughts.

@/RBR_obsessed: Not even checking the price tag 💀💀💀

@/EngineModeYES: The way he’s spending like a man who never wants her to work again.

@/McLarenMemeLord: “She likes gold hardware” AND “I’ll take it” in the same shopping trip… pray for this man, he’s down catastrophically.

@/OversteerFanatic: Do we think this is a “Congrats on quitting your terrible job” gift or a “Please let me keep funding your lifestyle” gift?

@/TyreDegSzn: He’s doubling down on the trophy wife agenda.

@/PadelAndPitStops: Next thing we know, she’ll be posting one of those soft-focus Insta stories of the bag with the caption: “spoiled 💚”

@/F1Spotted: He left with the biggest grin, holding the Chanel bag like it was a trophy.

@/Multi21Pls: He has 3 WDCs but THIS is his greatest achievement.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle:  I did a thing.

Emilie: Oh god.

Emilie: What kind of “thing”?

Emilie: Like... a normal person thing? Or a you thing?

Isabelle:  I quit my job.

Emilie: ...you WHAT

Isabelle:  I gave notice yesterday.

Isabelle:  Well, technically I handed in my resignation with zero notice.

Isabelle:  So... I guess I just quit.

Emilie: ISABELLE

Isabelle: I know.

Emilie: YOU QUIT Emilie: LIKE Emilie: YOU’RE FREE?

Isabelle: Apparently.

Emilie: Belle. Emilie:  BELLE.Emilie: THIS IS A MOMENT.

Isabelle: I’m half proud, half panicking.

Emilie: That’s valid. Emilie: But mostly: GOOD FOR YOU. Emilie: You’ve been miserable for months. This is overdue.

Isabelle: I just kept thinking I could fix it.

Emilie: You are not a human Band-Aid. Emilie: You do not have to patch up dysfunctional men in button-down shirts.

Isabelle: That’s a very specific burn.

Emilie: It’s targeted and deserved. Emilie: Also: I’m proud of you. Emilie: And I’m taking you out for champagne and carbs.

Isabelle: I don’t know if I want to celebrate or cry in a corner.

Emilie: We’ll do both. 

Isabelle: ...Okay. Isabelle: I could be convinced.

Emilie: I’m ordering us dessert too. You’re unemployed and hot, it’s a new era.

Isabelle: Thank you. I think?

Emilie: You’re welcome. I love you. I’m proud of you. And I swear to god if you try to go back I will physically block the door.

Isabelle: Noted 😅

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: What have you DONE to my friend.

Emilie: Miss “I’m fine,” Miss “It’s not that bad,” Miss “Maybe if I just do a little more…”

Emilie: She QUIT.

Emilie: HER. JOB.

Emilie: No backup plan. No exit strategy. Just mic drop and walk out.

Max: Yeah. Fantastic, right? Good for her.

Emilie: GOOD???

Emilie: MAX.

Emilie: SHE ACTUALLY STOOD UP FOR HERSELF AND WALKED OUT.

Emilie: Don’t “good for her” me!!

Emilie: I mean yes—good for her, but also

Emilie:​​ who are you

Emilie: and what have you done to the girl who used to apologize to printers when they jammed

Max: I didn’t do anything 🤷‍♂️

Max: She decided on her own.

Max: She deserved better.

Max: She knows that now.

Emilie: You’ve been boyfriend-ing too well

Emilie: She’s out here setting boundaries and reclaiming her peace like a whole queen

Emilie: And I’m just watching it happen like ????

Max: So you’re saying I’m a good influence?

Emilie: I’m saying you’re terrifying

Emilie: She’s turning down nonsense and choosing herself

Emilie: Do you even understand the level of personal growth we’re dealing with?

Max: She deserves it.

Emilie: Yeah. She really does.

Emilie: Also if you hurt her I will throw a stiletto at you. Custom Louboutins. It’ll be personal.

Max: Fair.

***

Isabelle wasn’t even sure why she had let Emilie drag her out shopping today. She didn’t need anything. She barely ever bought anything for herself—at least, nothing extravagant. 

She liked nice things…but she had never been hung up on brands, and she much preferred pieces that didn’t make her look like a walking billboard advertisement for a luxury brand. 

(Though she did quite like the absolutely gorgeous Chanel Flap Bag that Max had presented her with a few days ago. He had kept that ridiculous promise of buying her a handbag and she had been too amused to call him out on it.)

“You know, now that you’ve officially quit your job, we need to celebrate,” Emilie said as they strolled into Hermès.

Oh, right, now she remembered. Namely that she had quit her job literally days ago and was now officially unemployed. 

Isabelle sighed. “This is the celebration,” she said drily. This and the boozy brunch they had had before going shopping. 

“No, no, you buying something is the actual act of celebration.”

“I am not buying another handbag.”

Emilie gave her a flat look. “That’s what you said last time.”

“Yes, and I meant it,” Isabelle shot back. “Max literally bought me a Chanel bag the other day.”

Emilie stopped in her tracks. “He bought you a Chanel bag?”

Isabelle shifted awkwardly. “…Yes.”

“Like, you mentioned it in passing, and he surprised you later? Or was this a ‘we walked into the store, and he casually dropped his credit card’ kind of situation?”

Isabelle sighed, rubbing her temples. “It was a joke.”

“A Chanel bag was a joke?”

“I told him I’d be his trophy wife for a week.”

Emilie looked at her like she’d grown three heads. “And his response was to buy you a Chanel bag?”

“…Yes?” Isabelle said weakly.

Emilie grabbed her by the shoulders. “Isabelle. Your boyfriend is so far gone for you, I don’t think he even remembers what normal human relationships look like.”

Isabelle grimaced, thinking back to that black credit card that was tucked into the back of her wallet. “Can we move on?”

“No. Because you just quit your job, you’re technically unemployed, and your extremely rich, extremely besotted boyfriend is throwing designer bags at you. You are living the trophy wife dream.”

“I am not his trophy wife.”

“I mean, technically, no. But spiritually? You are this close.” Emilie held her fingers an inch apart, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Before Isabelle could protest, a well-dressed sales associate approached with a warm smile. “Miss Leclerc, lovely to see you again.”

Emilie, distracted by a nearby display of silk scarves, barely noticed. “We’d love to see that Kelly bag in black—oh, and maybe the taupe as well.”

The sales associate nodded. “Of course. Mr. Verstappen has his account on file for your purchases.”

Silence.

Emilie’s head snapped up so fast Isabelle was surprised she didn’t give herself whiplash.

“I’m sorry. What did you just say?” Emilie asked, her voice an octave higher than usual.

The associate remained composed. “Mr. Verstappen has set up a standing account for Miss Leclerc. She’s free to make any purchases at her convenience.”

Emilie turned to Isabelle so slowly and so dramatically that Isabelle knew she was never going to hear the end of this.

“Isabelle.” Emilie’s voice was deadly serious. “Are you telling me that Max—your Max—has a shopping account set up for you at Hermès? And you weren’t even going to mention it?”

Isabelle’s face burned. “I— I didn’t think it was important?”

Emilie clutched her own chest like she was on the verge of fainting. “Not important? Isabelle. Your boyfriend is Max Verstappen. He has a personal account at Hermès for you. That means you can walk in here at any time, pick whatever you want, and they just charge it to him?”

The sales associate, clearly trained to deal with these types of reactions, simply nodded. “That is correct.”

Emilie turned back to Isabelle, looking utterly scandalized. “And you don’t use it?”

“I— well, no,” Isabelle admitted, feeling like she was digging herself into a deeper hole. “I don’t need anything.”

Emilie dramatically staggered backward. “I’m sorry. You’re telling me that you could have been out here living your best trophy wife life, and you haven’t been?”

Isabelle groaned. “I knew I shouldn’t have come today.”

Emilie turned back to the associate with a blinding smile. “Yes, please. Bring out everything.” Then, lowering her voice, she added, “And maybe a glass of champagne for me because I need to process the fact that my best friend is living in an actual fairy tale.”

The associate merely nodded, disappearing into the back.

Isabelle folded her arms, glaring at Emilie. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being reasonable,” Emilie countered. “Because, let me get this straight—Max put his credit card on file at one of the most expensive boutiques in Monaco for you to use whenever you want, and you never told me?”

Isabelle groaned, covering her face. “I don’t even use it! I’ve never—”

Emilie held up a hand. “No, no, this is incredible. You could walk in here and buy, like, five bags, and they’d just say, ‘Of course, Miss Leclerc, Mr. Verstappen has already taken care of it.’”

“I’m not doing that!” Isabelle hissed, mortified.

Emilie smirked. “But you could.”

“Em—”

“No, no, let me have this moment.” Emilie leaned against the counter, shaking her head. “I knew he was obsessed with you, but this? This is next-level. Like, top-tier boyfriend behavior. Do you know how many women would kill for this?”

Isabelle sighed. “I don’t want to take advantage of him.”

Emilie threw up her hands. “You wouldn’t be! You’re his girlfriend! He’s obsessed with you! Have you met Max? If anything, he’s probably annoyed you don’t use it more.”

Emilie turned thoughtful for a moment. “Does he do this at other places too? Like, do you walk into Dior and they just start pulling things for you?”

“I don’t know!” Isabelle whisper-yelled. “I don’t go around testing it!”

“Well, you should,” Emilie said firmly. “Because if my boyfriend was this obscenely rich and obsessed with me, you’d best believe I’d be letting him spoil me on principle.”

Before Isabelle could argue, Emilie’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, then cackled. “Oh my God. I’m texting him.”

Isabelle’s eyes widened in horror. “No, do not—”

Too late. Emilie had already typed:

Emilie: Why didn’t you tell me you have a shopping account for Isabelle at Hermès? I just found out and I think I need medical attention.

Seconds later, Max responded.

Max: And?

Emilie turned her phone toward Isabelle with a smug grin. “Look at that. He’s not even fazed.”

Isabelle groaned.

A moment later, another message from Max came through.

Max: She never uses it. Tell her to buy something.

Emilie let out an actual shriek of delight. “I knew it.”

Isabelle covered her face with her hands. “I hate both of you.”

Emilie just smirked, turning back to the sales associate, who had just returned with an armful of options. “Alright, let’s start with the classics.” She turned to Isabelle with a wicked grin. “Because if you don’t pick something, I will.”

Isabelle knew, with absolute certainty, that she had lost this battle, but that didn’t mean she had to go down without a fight.

“I don’t need another bag,” she tried again, crossing her arms as Emilie eagerly surveyed the selection now laid out in front of them. The sales associate had clearly taken Emilie’s enthusiasm as permission to bring out the best pieces—the kind that weren’t just sitting out on the shelves.

Emilie rolled her eyes. “Need? Isabelle, we’re past ‘need.’ This is about principle. Your ridiculously rich boyfriend, who would literally hand you the world if he could, wants you to use his account. And here you are, acting like you don’t deserve it.”

Isabelle shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate Max’s generosity—it was just that… no one had ever really spoiled her before. She had spent so long being overlooked, so long having to sacrifice things for the sake of her family, that being on the receiving end of such thoughtful indulgence felt foreign.

Emilie must have sensed it because her teasing softened into something more gentle. “Hey,” she nudged Isabelle’s arm. “You know Max, right? He’s not the kind of guy who does things halfway. If he put his card on file here, it’s because he wants you to have nice things. Not because he expects anything, not because he’s showing off. Just because he loves you.”

Isabelle exhaled slowly. She did know that. She saw it in the way Max always made sure she ate before he did, in how he paid attention to the little things—how he remembered things about her that even her own family forgot.

Her fingers traced over the soft leather of a cream Verrou bag. It was beautiful. And maybe—just maybe—she could allow herself to accept this part of their relationship.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she looked up at the sales associate. “I’d like this one, please.”

Emilie let out a triumphant squeal. “Finally!”

The associate smiled. “A wonderful choice, Miss Leclerc. We’ll have it wrapped for you shortly.”

Isabelle bit her lip, suddenly feeling a little giddy. It was just a bag. But at the same time… it wasn’t. It was a reminder that, for the first time in her life, she was with someone who didn’t just see her—he cherished her.

As they waited, Emilie picked up her phone and quickly typed something. Isabelle frowned. “What are you doing?”

Emilie smirked. “Updating Max.”

A moment later, his response came through.

Max: Finally.

Isabelle groaned. “You two are a nightmare.”

Emilie grinned. “We’re your nightmare.”

And maybe, just maybe… Isabelle didn’t mind that so much.

***

The sun was warm on her skin as Isabelle let herself be pulled along Avenue de Monte-Carlo, Emilie dragging her from Valentino to Gucci to Miu Miu in a blur of bright storefronts and designer bags.

She should have been tired.

 Instead, she felt a little giddy — her new purchase swinging lightly from her hand, perfect indulgence.

It was a perfect afternoon.

 Until it wasn’t.

Isabelle had always known where she stood in her family. She had learned not to expect invitations, had conditioned herself to not mind when she was left out of things that should have been obvious.

But still—walking into Goyard with Emilie and coming face-to-face with her mother and her brothers’ girlfriends, all out shopping together like some picture-perfect family outing, stung.

They were all standing together, arms full of shopping bags, laughing about something before her mother’s eyes landed on her.

“Oh,” her mother blinked, clearly surprised to see her. “Isabelle.”

Isabelle forced a polite smile. “Maman.” She nodded at the other women. “I didn’t realize you were all going out today.”

The immediate flicker of guilt across her mother’s face told Isabelle everything she needed to know. They hadn’t forgotten to invite her. They just hadn’t thought to include her at all.

“Oh, it was just a last-minute thing,” her mother said quickly, like that made it better. “We thought we’d do a little shopping before lunch.”

A lunch Isabelle wasn’t invited to either, apparently.

Her brothers’ girlfriends, who had always slotted so seamlessly into the family, exchanged glances, clearly uncomfortable. One of them, Charlotte —Lorenzo’s girlfriend—offered a hesitant, “We didn’t think you’d be interested.”

As if Isabelle never had interests. As if she hadn’t spent years watching from the outside, always an afterthought.

Emilie, standing beside her, said nothing. But Isabelle could feel the rage radiating off of her, the way her best friend’s hands had curled into fists.

Isabelle inhaled slowly, pushing back the familiar wave of hurt. She had learned long ago that showing how much this bothered her never got her anywhere. So instead, she kept her voice light, pleasant—graceful in a way they didn’t deserve.

“Well, I hope you’re all having a lovely time,” she said smoothly. “It’s a beautiful day for shopping.”

Her mother smiled, relieved that Isabelle wasn’t making a scene. “Yes, it is. And what about you, ma chérie? Out with a friend?”

“Yes,” Isabelle said simply. “Just enjoying the afternoon.”

She felt Emilie shift beside her, felt the sudden tension in the way her best friend’s grip tightened around her shopping bag.

“Oh, we picked up something special, actually,” Emilie said, voice perfectly even—but Isabelle knew that tone. She was angry.

She held up the unmistakable Hermès bag. Her mother’s gaze flickered to the bag.

“That’s lovely,” she said, her tone still light.

Isabelle just hummed in response. “Well, we won’t keep you.”

And with that, she turned—head held high, posture poised—pulling Emilie along with her.

They were barely out of earshot before Emilie exploded.

“Are you kidding me?”

Isabelle exhaled slowly. “Emilie—”

“No, Belle, no,” Emilie fumed. “They just—what, decided you didn’t even exist today? Like, ‘oh, we’ll just go shopping without Isabelle, she won’t care’?” She scoffed. “And the fact that your mother didn’t even apologize—”

“Em,” Isabelle sighed. “It’s not—”

“Don’t you dare say it’s not a big deal,” Emilie cut in. “Because it is. And I know you. I know it hurts.”

Isabelle swallowed. “I don’t want to think about it.”

Emilie scoffed. “Fine. But you know who would be furious about this?”

Isabelle shot her a look.

Emilie smirked. “Your boyfriend.”

“Em—” she warned.

“Oh, don’t Em me,” Emilie huffed. “You know he’d lose his mind if he found out they just left you out like that.” She paused, then muttered, “Actually, I kind of want to tell him. Just to watch him get all—” She gestured vaguely. “Dutch and possessive and mad.”

Isabelle bit her lip. Because, yeah. Max would be furious.

Emilie turned, eyes blazing. “How are you not furious right now?”

Because she was furious. Because she was hurt. But she had learned—long, long ago—that showing it didn’t make a difference.

So instead, she just smiled faintly. “I have better things to focus on.”

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: Just so you know, your girlfriend is too classy for her own good.

Max: ?

Emilie: We just ran into her mother and her brothers’ girlfriends while we were shopping.

Emilie: Guess who wasn’t invited on their little girls’ outing?

Max: Tell me you are kidding. 

Emilie: I wish I was. 

Emilie: They didn’t even try to hide it. Just said it was “last minute”. Charlotte said they didn’t think she’d “be interested”.

Max: Tell her to use the card.

Emilie: What card?

Max: The one in her wallet. Black Card. Behind the receipts she never throws away. My name on the back.  Hers on the front

Emilie: YOU GAVE HER A BLACK CARD???

Max: She never uses it. So tell her to. 

Emilie: i— oh my god

Max: Anything she wants. Anything that makes her feel the way they don’t.

Emilie: You’re insane

Emilie:  I love it

Max: Belle deserves better than scraps. 

Max:  and tell her I said if she doesn’t buy herself something outrageous, I will. 

Emilie: You’re dangerous when you’re emotional. 

Max: No. I’m dangerous when people hurt her

Emilie: Honestly? Same. 

Emilie: Consider it done. 

***

By the time Emilie got back to their café table, her hands were still shaking from how hard she was gripping her phone.

Isabelle barely glanced up from stirring her tea. Too calm. Way too calm for what had just happened.

Emilie stared at her for a moment — at the careful, practiced ease in Isabelle’s movements, at the way she tucked every ounce of hurt so deep inside you might almost miss it.

But Emilie knew her too well.

She could see the small tells. The stiffness in Isabelle’s shoulders. The slight tremor at the corner of her mouth. The way she stirred her tea even though it had long gone cold.

She hated it. Hated how often Isabelle had been forced to wear that mask around the people who should have loved her most. Hated that Isabelle had spent so much of her life being overlooked, sidelined, treated like an afterthought in her own family.

Emilie set her jaw and dropped into the chair across from her.

"We’re using the card," she announced without preamble.

Isabelle blinked up at her, perfectly innocent. "What card?"

Emilie narrowed her eyes. "Don’t play dumb. The card."

Isabelle sighed, setting her spoon down neatly. "I’m not using it, Em."

"You are," Emilie said, practically vibrating with frustration. "Max said you should."

"He always says that," Isabelle muttered, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "He was half-joking when he gave it to me."

Emilie stared at her — this girl she loved like a sister — and felt the white-hot burn of protectiveness flood her chest.

"Belle," she said flatly. "He put your name on a black Amex. That’s not a joke. That’s basically marriage proposal."

Isabelle flushed lightly but lifted her chin, stubborn even in her embarrassment. "It’s for emergencies."

Emilie made a strangled noise. "And what exactly do you call today? Getting iced out of your own family in public counts as an emergency in my book!"

Isabelle shook her head, the corner of her mouth tugging in a small, resigned smile. "Retail therapy doesn’t fix anything."

Emilie leaned in, fire still burning under her ribs. "It fixes your mood," she said fiercely. "And it reminds everyone watching that you’re not some forgotten little sister. You’re the woman whose boyfriend gave her a credit limit bigger than their combined mortgage."

Isabelle gave her a sharp look. "Emilie," she said warningly. “I literally just bought a Hermès bag.”

"And?" Emilie demanded. "You earned it."

Because Isabelle never asked for anything.

 Because Isabelle spent her whole life making herself smaller, quieter, easier — trying not to take up space that no one seemed willing to offer her.

And now?

Now she had someone who saw her, who chose her, and Emilie would be damned if she let Isabelle keep hiding from that.

"I’m just saying," Emilie pressed, voice gentler now, "Max didn’t give you that card because he wanted you to buy him groceries. He gave it to you because he wanted you to know you’re taken care of. No conditions. No strings."

Isabelle’s hands curled slightly around her teacup.

She looked so small in that moment, so heartbreakingly unsure of her own worth, and Emilie’s chest ached.

"Belle..." she said softly. "You deserve to be someone’s priority. And he’s trying to show you that you already are."

Outside, Monte Carlo carried on — laughter, footsteps, the clatter of shop doors swinging open and shut — oblivious to the way Isabelle was holding herself together with sheer force of will.

Finally, Isabelle let out a shaky breath and gave Emilie a small, reluctant smile.

"Maybe just... one thing," she said quietly.

Emilie grinned like she’d just won the Monaco Grand Prix. "One thing now," she said smugly. "Ten things later."

Isabelle laughed — properly, this time — and the sound bubbled up between them, fragile and bright and so achingly beautiful that Emilie almost teared up.

She would burn the whole damn world down to protect that laugh.

"And for the record," Emilie added, gathering her bag with a wink, "if you don’t use it, I will."

"I think that would technically be fraud," Isabelle said, smiling into her tea.

"Semantics," Emilie said breezily. "Let’s go make Max proud."

And for once — just once — Isabelle let herself be pulled to her feet without arguing, letting herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she was allowed to be loved exactly as she was.

***

The garage buzzed around Max — the usual sounds of a race weekend: drills, chatter, tires being rolled out, pit crew moving like clockwork. He should have been in the zone. Usually, he was.

But not today.

Today, he was angry.

Not the hot, reckless kind of anger that made his hands shake on a steering wheel —

 No, this was quieter. Sharper.

 The kind that sat in his chest like a stone, heavy and cold.

He thought about Isabelle standing there, smiling politely while her own family overlooked her like she was invisible.

He thought about the way she brushed it off, like she didn’t even expect to be seen anymore.

It made him want to punch something.

 Or someone.

Preferably a Leclerc.

He was mid-checking the tire pressures on the sheet when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Max glanced around, making sure no one was watching too closely, then slipped it out quickly.

Notification: American Express: €9.50 spent at Seaside Juicery.

Max stared at it. For a beat too long.

Then, despite himself — despite everything — he smiled.

The smallest, stupidest purchase imaginable.

 Nine euros.

 Smoothie, maybe. A Tea. A little something.

 But she had used it.

She had listened.

He tucked the phone back into his pocket, feeling stupidly giddy, the anger in his chest cracking just a little.

"Something good?" GP asked, wandering over with a tablet tucked under his arm.

Max shrugged, too casual. "She bought something."

GP blinked. "Who?"

"Isabelle. With the card I gave her. Nine euros," Max said, smirking.

GP laughed under his breath. "Well, congratulations. That's basically free compared to the psychological warfare you went through to get her to accept it."

Max just smiled — that rare, real one that didn’t make it to the cameras.

There was a short pause as the engineers passed by with fresh tire sets, shouting numbers back and forth.

Then Max added, way too casually, "She also bought a Hermes Bag. And she quit her job."

GP turned, full attention on him now. "What?"

"Yeah." Max reached for a bottle of water, twisting the cap off. "Told them to go fuck themselves. Finally."

GP whistled low. "Good for her."

Max shrugged like it was nothing. "She agreed to be my trophy wife for the week while she figures out what she wants to do."

GP choked on his laugh.

"Trophy wife?" he repeated, like he needed clarification.

Max deadpanned, "She makes coffee. Looks pretty. Yells at me to sleep more. Very demanding job."

GP shook his head, grinning. "You’re unbelievable."

Max’s expression softened slightly, the edge still there under it.

"I just want her to have something that’s hers," he said quietly. "Not whatever scraps her family bothers to throw her."

GP studied him for a long beat, then clapped him on the shoulder.

"You’re a pain in the ass, Verstappen," he said, voice light but warm. "But you’re a good one."

Max only shrugged again and grabbed his helmet, fitting it under his arm.

"She deserves better," he said simply. "Always has."

And then he headed toward the car, a little lighter than he'd been an hour ago — a little less furious, and a lot more in love.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Max: I got another card notification

Max: felt very proud

Max: thought maybe you finally bought something for yourself

Isabelle: …it was necessary

Max: €160 on cat toys is necessary??

Isabelle: YES

Isabelle:  They’re enrichment tools. 

Max: They’re getting a better life than I did growing up

Isabelle: They’re very intelligent

Isabelle:  They need stimulation

Max: You bought them a mini velvet couch.

Isabelle: It’s chic and it matches the living room

Max: You’re matching the decor for the cats now??

Isabelle: …a little

Isabelle: You said anything I wanted

Isabelle: I want the cats to live in luxury

Max: I respect the commitment

Max:  Does this mean i’m getting upgraded toys too?

Isabelle: Do you need stimulation enrichment?!

Max: If it comes with you feeding me treats and scratching my head too, yes. 

Isabelle: MAX

Max: 😂

Max: “enrichment tools” she says

Max:  You bought them a miniature sofa!

Isabelle: It matches the living room aesthetic. 

Max: We are officially insane. 

Max:  We have matching furniture with the cats

Isabelle: You say that like it’s a bad thing

Max: It’s not.  I’m obsessed with you and apparently with our spoilt cats too. 

Isabelle: You started this. 

Max: True

Max: I am so proud of my little trophy wife spoiling the cats instead of herself. 

Isabelle: Sassy and Jimmy deserve nice things.

Max: So do you. 

Isabelle:  I’m working on it

Max: You’re perfect and the cats are about to live better than 90% of Monaco. 

Isabelle: As they should

Max: Send me pictures when it arrives

Max: I want to see Sassy sitting on her tiny couch like she owns the penthouse.

[lewisvinga]

get his ass ! | lando norris/the grid x fem! reader

summary: y/n was loved among the grid, quickly gaining the title of ‘the mother of the grid’ due to her motherly nature. but when a famous football player says he’d like to take her on a date in an interview, the boys are quick to defend her.

fc; maria isabel

warnings; kinda suggestive pics , curse words

notes; requested! this came later than expected lol, been super tired after a long road trip and was out all day w poor connection😩🥲 don’t mind my lil football reference 🤭🤭 also second pic of the interview was meant to say pretty at the end but it was called off lol😞

masterlist !

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 940,038 others!

yourusername: pov: single mother after a day full of chasing and taking care of her 5 grown children on the paddock

tagged; landonorris, oscarpiastri, alex_albon, logansargeant, georgerussell63

username: MOTHER IS BACK ON THE PADDOCK

username: i want u fr

landonorris: ‘single mother’ who am i then?😕

yourusername: a grown child who asks me to ‘pretty please’ wipe the grease off of his pizza😁

landonorris: it was disgustingly greasy…🤢

username: LMFAOOAOAO

username: a single mom who works 2 jobs who loves her kids

yourusername: they get on my nerves all the time but i love my grown children 💓

logansargeant: sorry mom

yourusername: you and osc are an exception

alex_albon: oh, wow!

oscarpiastri: 😁

georgerussell63: you trying to say something, y/n….

yourusername: yeah give me carmen

carmenmmundt: i agree!

georgerussell63: wait-

username: you need to open a youtube channel!

username: your fit on the paddock ate today 😩

username: the picture of alex and logan w the snake 😭😭😭😭

username: can always count on y/n for content

yourusername posted to their story!

[caption 1; baby’s nap time 😴] [caption 2; taking my sons out for lunch 🫶🫶] [caption 3; my new child, surprise! it’s a boy!💙]

Jude Bellingham answers your fan questions!

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 1,503,028 others!

landonorris: all mine.

tagged; yourusername

yourusername: lando norris…. i thought you’d post this on your jpg account…

landonorris: nope😁

yourusername: could’ve been worse thank u

yourusername: all yours. forever. 🫶

landonorris: always.

username: so y’all saw jude’s interview too…

username: caption was 100% aimed a jude

alex_albon: can i tag him pls

yourusername: no.

landonorris: yes!

yourusername: no or i won’t take you to get kbbq tmrw

alex_albon: sorry lando

username: alex’s comment😭

username: oh wow

username: the 2nd, 4th, n last pic🥴🥴🥴🥴

username: their relationship isn’t a want it’s a NEED

logansargeant: oh!

yourusername: look away pls😞😔

landonorris: no keep looking so you and every other athlete knows she’s mine 😁

username: jealous lando omg 😵‍💫😵‍💫

maxverstappen1: take that tap in merchant!

carlossainz55: yeah and he won against you guys! put some respect on his name 🙄

yourusername: my football rivalry sons…

landonorris: no i agree w max

username: not the culers and merengues of f1 fighting 😭😭

georgerussell63: my eyes!😰😰😰😰

georgerussell63: but that serves him right! y/n is a taken lady!

username: red is HER color, no one can wear read

username: the fit is everything 😍😍

username: need someone to recreate the last pic w 😖😖😣😣

oscarpiastri: i really had to stop lando from posting more exposing pictures, you’re welcome btw mother

landonorris: i had plenty of other ones to choose from…

yourusername: thank u osc😭

[attapullman]

Pretend | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: You aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: f!reader, light smut, 18+ only as always, unprotected pinv, fake dating trope, one bed trope, lots of switching between present and past tense whoops

A Note From Mo: It's Choose-a-Fic! Thank you to everyone who voted and has been part of my 500 Follower milestone! Hopefully you like the fic I wrote just for you (with a little extra one bed trope as a special thank you)! 😘

Coupe glasses tinkle and laughter rings out as the rehearsal dinner draws toward an end. Everyone’s had a little too much of the hotel’s signature white sangria. On your left, Isabel and Reuben are frozen in blissed smiles, the outdoor lights casting an ethereal glow. An idyllic night before the wedding.

You should be relaxed. You’ve had a little wine, the most delicious dinner, and tomorrow your college roommate is getting married at this stunning resort. But every time that big hand grazes your shoulder or his breath heats the skin of your cheek, you’re reminded none of this is real and you desperately wish it was.

The only difference between six-year-old Robert Floyd and the man standing in front of you is the broad shoulders. Those pink cheeks are just as prominent and his eyes are wide behind updated corrective frames. Sandy hair politely brushed off his face. Even his thin lips warp in that same warm smile that instantly relieves tension. The only significant difference is those shoulders that fill out the entire doorway as he checks his rooming assignment with Isabel.

From where you stand behind her, suitcase in tow, you feel your cheeks warm and your gaze drop. You haven’t seen him since the engagement party where you muttered, “it’s a small world after all” more than once. It seemed all too coincidental that your college roommate would be marrying a guy who just happens to be in the same Navy squadron as your first grade boyfriend. 

To be fair, you had “dated” Bobby Floyd for a total of a week before your parent’s divorce landed you on the opposite side of the country. There hadn’t even been a formal breakup. He’d simply been the guy you jokingly referred to as your “first love” at wine nights. Occasionally you remembered his collection of vintage Coke bottle caps. 

He was practically a figment of your imagination until Isabel introduced you to the man in the nicely ironed pale blue button down and you sputtered out that you already knew each other.

You’re so lost in how bizarre the coincidence of it all is that you zone out through Bob’s check-in and the next few guests that arrive. It’s not until her line of relatives has dwindled that she remembers you’re sat behind her, sorting out the favors for after the reception. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have given you your card earlier!” she apologizes as she flips back over her clipboard to find your room number. It’s all forgiven, you were waiting to finish up your bridesmaid duties before checking in. Get the work out so you can slip on your bathing suit and enjoy the amenities - pool, sun, and cabana boys - before dinner tonight.

She hands you a room card and walks you through the map of the hotel. You miss the second half while gathering up all your items, mentally trying to remember exactly how many rights before a left. Dinner is at seven and anything else surely she will remind you. With a kiss to her cheek, you head off to your room to begin the fun part of this destination wedding.

The property is stunning, all sun-washed sandstone and lush tropical plants. Deep blue terry cloth draped over the sun loungers you would live on all weekend. Some sun to compliment what should be a flawless wedding weekend. Maybe you’d get lucky and one of Reuben’s hot Navy friends would join you for some eye candy. You deserved a little one-weekend-in-paradise romance.

Suite 4. It’s a little deflating to remember that you’re in this big suite alone because all the other bridesmaids have dates. A least you have some privacy. The intricately carved door accepts your room key and you push the heavy wood open, ready to change and relax.

W-why was Bob in your villa?

Standing amongst the floor-to-ceiling windows draped with ochre that overlook the ocean, white oak furnishing topped with plush linen bedding, and a trailing pothos overtaking the wall, was Bob Floyd - right in the middle of changing his shirt. Equally wide eyes taking you in as he held the bunched heathered grey cotton right in front of his head, thumbs through the head hole, mouth open in shock.

“What are you doing in here?”

What was he doing in here? This was your room. “Why are you in my room?”

Despite knowing he’s not in the wrong, his cheeks tinge a deep pink. Takes a moment to pop his head in the hole of his shirt and brush out the wrinkles. You cling to to the annoyance of him interrupting your afternoon instead of focusing on how toned he’s gotten as an adult.

“This is my room. Suite 4. See?” He holds up a card identical to yours, the glossy ‘4’ reflecting the sunlight. The same ‘4’ that looks back at you. 

Clearly there’s been some sort of mistake, someone at reception accidentally typing in the wrong number while going about their busy day or Isabel reading her meticulous list wrong. An easy fix. 

You bite your lip. “Oh. Maybe I grabbed the wrong card. I’ll go find Isabel and sort it out.”

“I’ll come with you, she might have handed me the wrong card. Probably supposed to be sharing a bed with Fanboy.” He’s impossibly sweet as always. 

You have no idea who or what a Fanboy is, but you accept his company back to reception, leaving your bag in the room purely because the bridesmaid dress alone weighs a half ton. The walk back there - with a few long turns - is a tad awkward as you both walk in silence, occasionally jerking your heads in the direction to turn.

Isabel has wandered away from reception, and is now soaking in one of the poolside bars with Reuben, their lovesick smiles contagious. She gives you the warmest smile when you approach, face splitting in two as she takes in your companion. “Hey, you two! You get settled in okay?”

God, this is awkward. Thankfully before you can muster the courage, Bob steps in. “I think there’s been a mix up with one of our rooms.”

Her eyebrows furrow as takes in what he said. Eyes flit to her lounger where her clipboard of rooming assignment lies within her tote. Reuben sips his frozen margarita in casual interest, not involved in the logistics.

“Which room are you in?” Even without her clipboard, Isabel is pretty sure she knows who is in what room. She spent months perfecting these details.

You hold up the glossy ‘4’, now slightly sticky with your sweat.

“Four? Hmm, I’m pretty sure that’s right. Was there a problem with the key? Both your keys?”

You give her a bewildered look. “One of us has the wrong key. We’re not sharing a room.”

“Why not? Your prude parents aren’t here to care if you share a room with your boyfriend.”

Every muscle in your body freezes. What is she talking about?

And while you’re paralyzed on the spot, Reuben looks like he’s about to throw up the margarita. Because he knows exactly what just happened. And not only is it his fault, but he does not have a solution.

Before you can question Isabel, the pilot is throwing his arm around your shoulders and grabbing Bob’s elbow, whisking you two away, calling out to his confused fiancée not to worry, he’s got it handled. The controlled hands of a fighter pilot steering you back in the way of Suite 4 while his face reads like he’s watching a plane crash.

Reuben won’t answer any of your questions, holding up a palm while you sputter out the who, what, where’s? of what is going on. Bob silently allows himself to be directed, confusion upon his brow, but patient enough to wait for an explanation. 

Once you’re privately within the confines of Suite 4, the soft scent of bergamot and sandalwood wrapped around your bodies, Reuben finally confesses his mistake.

“Isabel thinks you two are dating.”

You expect to see eyeballs on the floor from how violently they pop out of your head. What? Bob doesn’t look much better. You two have barely spoken in decades, let alone are in a relationship! Why in the hell would Isabel think that?

Reuben drags a hand down his face, wishing he was back in the pool drinking. “When Bob over here told me that you two dated way back, I casually mentioned it to Is. When she asked the other week if he’d be good sharing a room, I thought she meant Fanboy or Harvard.”

You skip over the fact that Bob has talked about you to other people to focus on the details. “She meant me.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” By this point he’s rubbing the skin on the back of his neck raw, eyes wildly desperate. “Can you two share? It’s only two nights.”

Your eyes meet ocean blue as you both look at the single bed, then at each other. Bob intervenes calmly. “Why can’t you just tell her we need another room?”

Reuben crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly defensive. “We don’t have any other rooms. We booked the place out entirely. Short of Aunt Muriel keeling over, one of you would have to be at another hotel.”

“That’s fine,” you quip, grabbing your suitcase and ready to get the hell out of this situation.

“There’s nothing within a half hour drive. And you’re both in the wedding, that is not going to fly with Isabel.”

You’re tough, you can do hard things. Two nights at a gorgeous resort where you have to share a king-sized bed with the sweetest man on the planet? Could be so much worse. From a look at Bob’s face, he’s having the same realization.

And right as you’re about to tell Reuben that it’s not a big deal, he sends in the clincher. 

“You’re also gonna have to pretend you’re dating.”

“You’re joking.” Your tinny voice rings out in the room. You can do a lot of things - go to a wedding alone, sleep in the same bed as Bob - but you draw the line at pretending you’re dating someone you hadn’t seen until an engagement party six months ago. Nope, no way.

You look at Bob, standing with his hand resting low on his hip, watching this entire scene unfold. Giving him an expectant look, he smooths out his face and gives you a little nod. He’s on whatever team you’re on.

And just as you were about to tell Reuben to get lost, Isabel’s sweet face floods your mind’s eye. That happy smile she always greets you with, and her dismay that something had gone wrong with your room. Her perfectly planned out wedding weekend ruined by her misunderstanding a minor detail. She would insist that you have separate rooms, even if it interfered with plans, and she’d be upset - the smallest tinge of disappointment clouding her bridal smile.

Isn’t the job of a bridesmaid to make the bride not have disappointment?

And now, sitting here at the rehearsal dinner, warm conversation all around you, you can still hear yourself let out a large huff of breath and agree. “Alright, we can pretend for the weekend.”

It’s a decision you stand by, but doesn’t make the subtle way Bob has been playing your boyfriend the last 24 hours any easier. He plays devoted partner a little too well. Carrying your beach bag down to the water that afternoon when everyone wanted to sit by the pool, sweetly rubbing sunscreen into that spot on your back that you can never reach. Grabbing a drink for you when he went up to the bar. 

Your lonely wedding weekend is suddenly filled with this broad-shouldered Navy man who gives you a shy smile every time you make eye contact.

There wasn’t time to put in ground rules before Reuben threw you you to the wolves to socialize with the rest of the wedding party. When Isabel saw you, standing a healthy foot away from Bob and her sculpted eyebrow raised, it was the first test of this “relationship”. Your heart slamming in your chest as you slipped a hand around that thick bicep and rested your hot cheek against his shoulder. His own face fighting anxiety as he allowed you to set the pace. Isabel’s smile brightening as she beckoned you closer, instantly fawning over the two of you and the way Bob’s hand fits a little too nicely around your waist.

Thankfully the copious amount of relatives and friends constantly interrupting Isabel and Reuben prevented your friend investigating too close into this development in your love life. Happy to believe over some intentionally placed hands and the casual way he throws sweetheart in when asking if you want a drink.

“Now that I have you alone, why didn’t you tell me you were together? First loves reunited?!” Isabel drags you away to the other bridesmaids, Bob giving you a small wave as he joins the men. 

You shrug, making a show of looking at the hibiscus to avoid her eyes. Desperate for a believable lie. “I didn’t want to…uh, distract from your big day?”

She wraps you in a warm hug you don’t deserve. “Not distracting in the slightest. He’s the best, you’re so lucky!”

You throw a glance his way, watching his good-natured grin as Reuben’s groomsmen, mostly aviators he’s worked with over the years, joke and jostle on the other side of the lawn. It’s side glances like these that carry through the night; when he pulls your chair out for dinner, asks the waiter to refill your water, and offers you half of his dessert. When your eyes do meet, you drown in the twin oceans that twinkle back at you.

By the time you’re heading back to Suite 4 to share that big bed, you’re pretty sure you’re not pretending to like him anymore.

You’re regretting not putting up the pillow barrier Bob so kindly offered to set up. It seemed childish at the time - you didn’t need a divider to stay on your side of the bed - but now you’re lying here in your little cotton pajamas you did not expect anyone to see and you can hear him breathing and the room is a little too warm. Every sense is on high alert and a pillow barrier would give you an inkling of privacy.

In the silhouette of the moonlight peaking through the curtains, you watch the planes of Bob’s face as he peacefully sleeps beside you. If he’s good looking in the daytime, he’s breathtaking at night. Pale eyelashes against his cheeks, lips slightly pouted, hair mussed from changing sides. You wish you could smooth your fingers over the planes of his face, appreciate the sharpness of his jaw, the roundness of his cheeks.

Tomorrow you have to pretend all over again to be in love with him. A feeling that’s already starting to creep inside you. A whole day of his gentle touches and laughs against your cheek. He was the perfect boyfriend that week in grade school, and even more perfect as an adult. Holding his hand made you want to never let go…which promptly made you want to jump out of your skin. 

This was a tiny white lie to get through Sunday morning. That was it.

You keep replaying the last moment before you retired back to your hotel room for the night. The drunken group sitting around the fire pit, a bottle of tequila making its way around the circle. Not enough chairs so you ended up in Bob’s lap, body cradled in the firm comfort of his chest. 

He made it so natural, the way his hand ran up and down your arm when you shivered in the night chill. You knew he could feel the shock up your spine when you noticed how intently he watched you during your story of how Isabel found a rat in your dorm room. He made you feel like the only person out there by the fire pit. The only person on this island.

When even the tequila couldn’t keep you warm any longer, the group disbanded in favor of cozy beds and hot showers. And even when no one else was in sight he still kept his arm around your shoulder to share his warmth, the pinching heels you’d shed in his hand as he asked whether you wanted to shower first.

Lips accidentally brushing your ear when he said he liked your dress; it matched the bougainvillea.

While you hadn’t spent much time together since your parents moved you away too long ago to remember, you were continually floored by how thoughtful he was still. He remembered how Isabel didn’t like ice, and that a few members of his squadron had allergies. Giving up his water because the woman next to him was without. Not to mention how he seemed to go the extra mile with you. All the years of boyfriends before this and not a single one had ever noticed you picked the pine nuts out of your salad; your new fake boyfriend requesting a fresh one sans nuts.

And it was borderline torture watching him get ready for bed post shower. Face and chest red from the scalding water and slick hair pushed back, towel slung a little too low as he dug through his suitcase. You were still speechless as he offered to put up a pillow barrier or something if it would make you more comfortable, making sure you knew he respected your boundaries.

His eyes were so blue without his glasses…

Caution to the wind, you run a finger over his cheek, brushing away a rogue eyelash and promptly turn away from him. Only one more day and you would be free of wanting a man that wasn’t yours.

The Fitch wedding day was perfect. Wide smiles, bridal lace, stunning hydrangeas, and not a dry eye in the house when Isabel and Reuben officially became husband and wife. It was the storybook start to a happy ever after. 

The sunlight blessed ceremony was followed by a lantern-lit reception, dancing and drinking overtaking the sprawling beach-front lawn of the hotel. You stayed out until the evening ended, the wedding party laughing and overfilling glasses of champagne until the last lantern was blown out. 

You barely remembered your rooming/relationship situation until a warm hand was on your forearm, asking if you were ready to go back to the room. It’s entirely unfair how good he looks in his suit. All day you’ve admired it, from the moment he emerged from the bathroom asking for help with his bow tie to an hour ago, when the wedding party did one last rendezvous on the dance floor. 

Bob has an ease on the dance floor, clearly practiced, the hand on the small of your back gently guiding. A hand big and warm and more distracting than trying to remember your own footwork. The dark-haired woman he seems close with whooping out, “Look at those moves, Floyd!” every time you get close, her own date cheering along. 

You shake the memory from your brain as Bob walks you back to the room. Keep the pining to a minimum until you can get to the airport and not have to see him ever again. You’re doing this for Isabel, your own emotions have no place. Even as you watch him open the door to the room and welcome you inside, looking so perfectly boyfriend-shaped.

Your skin feels too hot, your head clouded by bubbles and loud poppers exploding into the sky. Shedding this satin dress and getting into a warm shower sounds like heaven, washing away the buzzing ill-content flooding your body since you joined the wedding group that morning hand-in-hand with Bob. But a broken zipper interrupts those plans.

“Bob?” He stills on his way to the bathroom, bow tie loose around his neck. You indicate to the stuck zipper you’re fiddling with, warmth flaring at the top of your cheeks at your predicament.

The tips of his ears flush as he walks to you, chest a breath away from your back, admiring the way the satin flows over your curves and dips. Takes a moment to gather your hair over your shoulder before reaching for the zipper. The skin of his pinky accidentally brushes your neck, twin breaths catching at the shock. 

Firm fingers guide the zipper onto the track. As they guide the cool metal down your back, the boiling point that has been simmering below the surface since yesterday afternoon comes to a head. The lace of your bra is visible. Now the silken band of your underwear. The air of the room is still, eagerly awaiting what happens next.

While his voice is shaky, his words are firm. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Your head turns to the side, eyes catching his profile, too scared to look at him directly. 

“What are you pretending to do?”

His face falls into the crook of your neck, fingers tightening along the satin of your hips. “Pretending I’m doing our friends a favor. Pretending I’m not falling for you. Pretending every time I touch you it’s not the best part of my day.”

Your hand wraps around his, rough skin and satin beneath your fingers. Needing to tether yourself to reality to make sure this isn’t a champagne-fueled dream that he’s professing against your neck. 

“In that case, I don’t want to pretend anymore either.”

While you can’t see him, you can feel his realization against your skin. Brow furrowing, lips parting. The soft brush of his nose as he straightens up, uses his hands to turn you to him. Finally forced to look at each other amidst the information divulged.

You aren’t sure who leans in first, who braved the waters of uncharted territory. Time stills and speeds up as his face grows closer. The scent of sandalwood and bergamot that’s followed you all weekend replaced by the woodsy mint of his cologne you’ve treated yourself to when tucked into his side. Anyone outside can hear two hearts beating erratically, anxious and excited. 

His lips are warm and comforting, just like everything else about him. Pressing delicately against yours, taking his time and letting you set the pace. You’re torn between the shock of how divine he feels and the greedy need for more. Senses overwhelmed by him; you want to taste more, feel more, see more.

When he pulls away, a gentleman not wanting to overstep, you’re breathless.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you.” His confession is paired with pink cheeks and large hands playing with your fingers. 

You can’t help but to tease him, the banter from your childhood coming back. “Did it live up to expectations?”

“Way, way better.” Your smile is swallowed in his kiss, chins knocking as you trade off enthusiasm. A groan leaving Bob as you grab his hands and walk back to the bathroom. That hot shower still sounds amazing, but you need more of him.

The travertine tiles glow in the soft light as you watch your childhood love remove his suit, taking time to fold the pieces on the counter, letting you indulge in unbuttoning his crisp shirt as you share another sweet kiss. His own hands twisted in the dress barely clinging to your skin. The sounds that escape him as your hands explore his chest are purely sinful, meant only for your ears.

He barely lets you bask in his body, honed from years of Naval training, before he’s stripping the satin from your frame. You beg for another kiss, but he denies you. He can’t be distracted from watching every inch of skin being revealed. From letting his fingers follow the fabric as it pools at your feet. From kissing his way back up your body until your head falls back against the wall, fingers beckoning him to the shower.

“You’re so beautiful.” It’s more breath than words, but ignite the goose flesh along your skin as he adjusts the hot water and shower head to your liking.

Minutes or hours passed as you reacquainted under the steam. Your fingers tangled in wet strands of sandy hair, fingers slipping along any skin you can reach. His own hands tightly hugging your body, holding you close as he appreciates your nude form. Swallowing each other’s moans as his fingers dip between your folds and you run your palm along his shaft.

The universe has ceased to exist by the time Bob kisses you against the shower wall, fingers wrapping under your thighs to hoist you to his level. Loving the way you giggle as your arms wrap around his neck, trusting him wholeheartedly. Eyes trained at where he lines up with you, relishing the way your breath catches in anticipation. He kisses your forehead as a promise to take care of you, a promise you know he’ll keep.

Once he’s seated deep in you, the moment about connecting rather than getting off, he tilts your head up to check in with you. A kiss as his eyes search you for discomfort. The flames of his eyes burning the brightest blue. One final clench around him and he knows he needs to move; if not for his sake, for yours.

It’s the most glorious dream as he fills you completely, hips rocking into yours as sweaty foreheads meet.

When he brings you to orgasm, a steamy moment punctuated by your muffled screams against his shoulder, there’s nothing fake about the affection as he peppers you with praise. Or when he fills you with his own release a moment later, exhaling thank you, thank you, thank you.

A pillow barrier isn’t even discussed as you lay in his arms that night, cheek against bare chest. His arm trails down your arm like it had the night before, a mindless action you now recognize as meaningful to him as to you. Sated and content, as it should be.

You sit up a little to run your nose along his neck, producing a low groan from him. “You need something, sweetheart?”

“I was wondering, after that,” you gesture to the shower, cheeks heating, “does this mean we’re, uh, dating again?”

He smiles at your flush, cupping your face with one of his large hands. Presses the sweetest kiss to your lips.

“You know, we never had a break up. Technically we’ve been dating this whole time.”

taglist: @bella-maria2018 @berryvanille @bobfloydsbabe @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @desert-fern @drxgxnslxyer @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @mariaenchanted @maryelizabeth13 @petersunderoos96 @roosterforme @seitmai @senawashere @sometimesanalice @sorchathered @sweetwhispersofchaos @topherwrites @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

join the taglist for any fic

[thementalshawty]

Short PAC What ‘Era’ Of Your Life You’re In Right Now 😘

Haylowwwww my babies, you seen not only did I post a YouTube video which I know I finally got to do it’ll be at the bottom of this so look at that two readings in one, 😂! This is a reading I felt pulled to do for you guys really quick I felt like mistress Isabelle brooks from drag race feeling myself entering a new era and I wanted to spread that with you guys so choose from these iconic ladies who had and created so many eras and figure out just where you are in your life right now.

Pile 1

Your Card: The Twins

I’m seeing that you’re in your yin yang individual era right now, your glow up era I’m hearing that for your pile 1 glow up, your aura is vibrating high and you wanna protect yourself, you’re learning all aspects of yourself and you’re doing it in a safe haven or you’re attempting to get into a safe zone so you can explore the dual sides and natures of you! You’re judging yourself and holding yourself up to a standard that may not be you, comparing yourselves with your siblings maybe? Also if you’re in a relationship that is tense right it could be because of some trauma that THE BOTH OF YOU, need to deal with in order for your relationship to be harmonious. You’re your compassionate era “I see you twin.” I heard that, that maybe for some of you, idk, but I see you giving the benefit of the doubt more, being more caring and thoughtful to the other person, ending old habits and cycles that have been stopping you from having a loving relationship. This era you’re in is all about healing, balance, compassion, and reconnection! Glow up Era fashooooo!

Pile 2

Your Card: The Patron.

Well to put it just like that, you’re in your patron era, your guiding hand era, mentorship era. You’re definitely the voice and mind someone needs right now in order to get through this thing called life, I’m feeling like it could be you being the mentor or you gaining one. I’m also seeing that you’re in your either endorsement deals era or sponsoring the world era, you’re either giving or receiving some kind of financial investment and I’m seeing that this is new project era vibes as well hunty! I’m hearing what ever you but to do you gon eat it up HENNYYYYYYYYYYYY! I’m living for this era that you are entering you’re in your empowerment era and not just for you but for this new person coming into your life, be open minded, they may not be romantic but this connection is important for the both of you whether you’re receiving or giving the guidance. Learning era baby!!!

Pile 3

Your Card: The Astronomer

So baddies lol, I see that you here are getting more into your taboo era. I’m seeing that you guys will be discovering a lot about yourselves spiritually, you may even connect closely with your higher self, through dreams for some of you. Connecting with the stars is really important for you at this point, you may even be learning more about your astrology charts and shit right now, stars are aligning for you baby and you’re gonna find out why! Whatever shit you’re dealing with too at this point you’re in you’re gaze in to the future era cos the solution is not in the past, it’s in the future and you need to look there because I’m seeing what you doing right now to solve it ain’t working, time for new ideas. Be open to new suggestions to follow them like is gospel trust YOURSELF! If you’re feeling what someone is saying is not right trust me it ain’t! You are in your high priestess/hierophant era babies do not allow anyone to make you feel like you can’t trust yourself! Your gut is leading you right my babies this era that you’re entering is a whole new you! A glow up but this involves only you, as the other likes involved other people. You got this babies!

That’s all that I’m getting for you guys, let me know if you like these eras reading in the comments and I will try to do them periodically.

[leoascendente]

PAC/ Update on your love life 💕

Hi my loves and welcome to this new pick a a card! Here you have a new pac about love, I wanted to make it about something you all liked and it seems like these ones are your favorites so I made this as a summer solstice gift. I hope you like and resonate❣️

Take a deep breath before choosing the pile that calls you the most, keep ehat resonates and leave what doesn't

Happy summer solstice my dears, I love you all 🫶

My blog in Spanish here

Paid readings here

All pics are from pinterest, credits to their owners

Pile 1:

(Cards: world, 8 of gems, 5 of shells, 2 of shells, 2 of roses, hermit/ Tea leafs: dog barking, older woman, vine, purse flowers)

My dear pile 1, your love life looks a little confusing at the moment and I think this pile is only for single people. I see that there's someone you had intimacy with in the past but things ended up, is currently thinking about you, this person may ghosted you without you knowing why, if you resonate with this situation just know that they ghosted you because something complicated was going on in their life. The person in your mind thinks about you very often, I wouldn't be surprised if you've been dreaming about them or feeling their energy. Right now you look dissaponted because things seemed better than in the past, you put a lot of hope into this person just to feel like they failed you, in this case you are being called to meditate over your expectations and how you deal with your romantic relationships, it makes sense because of the picture you chose. You crave unconditional love, almost like as the picture says 'to merge souls', you are not meant for something sporadic or superficial, you need passion and intensity but my dear, you are forgetting about the hard parts of a relationship, you are thinking about falling in love and not about the steps that lead you to fall in love. The good thing is that you close a negative chapter of your love life in your recent past, that's why you felt that this time was different, because it really was but you thought you were repeating patterns again when you weren't, you can feel proud of yourself because of this shift in your life. I warn you that this person of your recent past is going to come back with renewed energies but in the meanwhile you need some time for introspection and healing, you just need to attend and fix some things within yourself because things with this person will lead to a safe place because your reading ended with the card of flowers that means happiness, so expect them to come back into your life at any moment. You also need this alone time because your femenine energy is needing some attention and you'll need you mind fully rested because you'll have to solve a financial issue before this person's come back. I see that you'll receive a very good advice from an older woman so listen what she has to say, you'll find out some information that will be usefull in the future and you're guides will tell you that you are in the right path whenever you see numbers 1222, 1212 or 222

Pile 2:

(Cards: 9 of shells, 9 of wings, 6 of shells, queen of roses, 10 of shells, 6 of wings/ Tea leafs: crib, haystack, beetle, cat, fox)

You have someone special in your life right now and things look really nice, maybe this is someone you are currently dating or simply you found out that the person you like likes you back, whatever it is, I see you very happy, even remembering an special event you shared with this person over and over. Ngl, both your person and you look very obssesed with eachother but this doesn't seem to be a problem to none of you, the thing here is that there's someone in your group of friends that is not happy of you finding love, be careful with how you behave with this two-faced friend because you'll reap what you sow, be wise because your approach on this situation could bring you karma, try not to argue. The best thing here is that your reading ended with the best cards possible, so doesn't matter what anybody tries to do to mess with your relationship because everything will be better than great at the end, but you may have to make a movement forward and maybe confess your true feelings, I see here a big romantic gesture and I feel it's you who's being encouraged to do it, you don't have to ask them for marriage but you could write a letter or ask them to go out or anything like that, depending on the situation of whoever is reading this. Whatever you decide to do it will have a very positive impact on your relationship and this will be a reason to take things to the next level, but my dear, don't share your plans with anybody until it's a reality in your life because that friend's energy could delay the positive ressults, good things will come to you anyway but there's no need of delays if you can prevent it by not sharing it. There's no much more to say besides that you'll have a very happy outcome with your person and you'll live a very healthy and fulfillling relationship. Felines will be a sign from spirit to act wisely and be cunning, something magical will happen after you get news about someone expecting a baby, beetles will be an omen of abundance and good fortune.

Pile 3:

(Cards: 2 of gems, 8 of roses, ace of wings rev, high priestess, lovers, 8 of gems rev/ Tea leafs: carriage, sunrise, V, dog, four leaf clover)

Okay, you may felt called to pile 1 too because your readings share a lot of similaities, read it if you feel like to. First of all, you are very aware of what's going on in your love life, you are my spiritual pile in this PAC but for some of you I also see a female that has psychic powers, maybe a witchy or intuitive friend that gives you spiritual guidance. I see that your love life has changed in your recent past and for the majority of you it's something that you've have been actively working on, it has been a conscious change you wanted to make, I'm getting that these changes were majorly focused on the kind of suitors you want to attract. Right now there's no much movement in your love life and you might be thinking that this stagnancy is a defeat, like all your efforts aren't paying off but that's very far from truth because you really have shifted your energy and what you are attracting not just in love, but also in general terms, just in case you needed this info to gain back hope (btw, I'm writting this at 12:12 on my clock). Deep inside of you , you can be intuiively knowing that someone is coming into your life but you don't know who, where or when, trust your gut instinct because that feeling is real, there's someone really close to enter your life but you need to stop looking for them in your daily life, you are being called to trust divine timing and investing in yourself meanwhile your person arrives. Before this meeting happens you'll go through a journey, it can be physical or mental but it's something you'll need to experience an enlightment where you'll be getting creative ideas, thise ideas will be very useful in your near future, especially in regards of a personal goal that you have and really want to achieve, just know that you got 2 of the best tea leafs, the V and the four leaf clover and both mean victory and good fortune so just relax and see how universe works at your favor. Your signs will be horses and dogs, especially black ones, faeries and the air elementals will be important for some reason I can't descipher, also a deceased loved one will make you they are right by showing you white butterflies.

Pile 4:

(Cards: 3 of shells, 9 of wings, 5 of shells rev, princess of wings, queen of roses, the hanged man rev/ vulture, tiger, pail, frying pan, shield)

My dear pile 4, I send you a virtual hug from here and wish you the best with whatever is going on in your life. Things may look crazy right now but keep always in mind that nothing last forever, neither the bad things so, by the moment just keep strong, at some moment things will get better. I see you are interested in someone but it's more like a crush because everything is in the air and there's nothing solid yet between you two, you may met this person through a friend or in a party and may got a little too obsessed with this person without them giving you a sign of reciprocal feelings, so be careful with delusion because you can be using it subconsciously to avoid the hardships of your current reality, I suggest you to check info about limerence, you may find some answers to help this tendency and heal. About this person you like, the cards invite you to be bold and make a movement forward, to take the lead of the situation, maybe text them or have a conversation the next time you see them, whatever you think it's more appropiate. The only warning here is that you may not be totally prepared to be in a relationship at the moment, or at least not fully receptive to everything that involves a commitment with someone else, before, you should maybe take some time for healing and balancing your life, you could enjoy fully this connection if the other areas of your life are more peaceful but that doesn't mean that you can't meet this person and know more about them, it would just involve taking things slower. I don't want to ruin your hopes and even less with this person because you could totally have a happy relationship together, what I mean is that maybe it's not the right moment to invest that much energy in a relationship when you are needing those energies so much, mostly for those of you who suffer from abandonment issues. Also, you'll be facing a challenging situation where you will have to defend yourself from someone's accusations, it will cause you some anxiety so I suggest you to go to nature to cleanse your energies when this happens, I'm getting that this is something you have could prevented if you listened to your intuition because you've been having a bad feeling with the person that is going to turn against you, just be brave and don't fear defending yourself with everything you have. By the moment take things with patience, try to approach the person you like but don't force anything or put your expectations too high, simply enjoy the good things and face the challenges one by one as they appear, you'll get out of this situation stronger and very proud of yourself, and maybe even with a boyfriend. For you, the only thing your guides are telling me is that they are there to help you whenever you need it, just communicate with them and they'll be quick to answer.

Pile 5:

(Cards: prince of roses, prince of gems, hanged man, moon rev, chariot, king of roses/ Tea leafs: door, yoke, man, whale, ring)

Omg pile 5, you have met your divine counterpart! I'm really happy for you my dear🥹🫶. This pile is for people who are already dealing with someone, so if it's not your case I suggest you to check the other piles. I see that you love eachother, there are a lot of feelings here but both of you have a very similar temper and your respective attitudes are getting in the way, you both are very stubborn and prideful but it's because of your experiences in love in your pasts, you both are scared of being hurt and this facade of pride is just a defense mechanism to protect your hearts, there's a lot of fear to be vulnerable here. You really like this person and just know that your feelings are reciprocal but the thing here is that you both have tough shells, I see you taking some distance or setting boundaries with this person because this situation is making you feel frustrated, so you may decide to simply move on hoping that they go after you. The good thing is that your person will find the will and courage to give an step forward and tell you to take things to the next level, they'll realize how much they crave you when you make them miss you a little, you got the ring on the tea leafs so for some of you there will be a proporsal too, for the rest I see a genuine love conffesion from your person. You'll find a beautiful door or entrance, when you see it shortly after you'll get food news about an oportunity or windfall, whales will be omens of staying grounded because there's nothing to worry about, you'll find a ring or someone ca gift you a piece of jewelry, wear it because it can work as a protective amulet, 7 will be your lucky number.

Pile 6:

(Cards: 8 of gems, magician, 9 of roses rev, 2 of shells, empress rev, king of gems/ Tea leafs: axe, flowers, casket, mountain, arrow)

Whatever you are living in your love life, it's time to release it and purify the energies, you've been working and investing a lot of energy into making something work with an soecific person but I'm sorry to tell you that is not going to end up as you'd like to. You'll be receiving news from someone you are interested in but you'll have to discern if this is the kind of relationship you want for yourself, this person of interest seems very hot and cold, with the empress reversed I feel like their attitude causes you to doubt yourself, even if they don't openly criticize you or anything like that, their behavior may be making you feel like you are not enough for them. You are being called to take a realistic look over the situation, if you feel like you are constantly fighting to keep this relationship going and you are the only one making the effort, the best thing you can do for your own wellbeing is to leave them and open up to someone else who is willing to make the same sacrifices for you that you would do for them. Even if it's a challenge for you, sometimes loving someone can't be the only reason to stay in a relationship and even less when the relationship is draining or painful. In the end I see you leaving and moving on because the casket on the tea leaf say that someone will be going out of your life, the good thing here is that the arrow is an omen of being on the right path, remember this whenever you see one. At the end of the day you'll be happy because you know your worth and how to invest on yourself, and everytime you let the old go you open up to new opportunities and people who resonates with your vibration, you will be opening the path for your soulmate too. You'll see the card of the magician somewhere and right after something special will manifest in your life, you'll find a beautiful jar and your guides encourage you to make a self love spell with it, wearing colors white and purple will help your intuition, bats will announce you a rebirth.

[shitouttabuck]

this could be the year for the real thing

buck/eddie | 1.7k | 7x06 coda(ish)

Eddie can count on one hand the number of times he’s been this horrifically hungover. His pre-teenage-pregnancy body bounced back blessedly quickly from tailgate parties and keg stands and beer pong tournaments, but after that? His cousins threw his bachelor party before he married Shannon, which involved a lot of mixed liquor, and then there were a couple miserable nights out after she left him, and now, last night, him and Buck the sole bachelor party members standing after Chim didn’t show up.

This is his worst hangover, because at least all the other times he wasn’t seized with worry about one of his closest friends and regret that he and Buck hadn’t noticed the empty hotel bed the night before. The nausea from hell doesn’t help, either.

Chim’s safe now, under the careful monitor of Cedars hospital staff and Maddie no more than three feet away from him at all times. The relief is a palpable thing, and Buck offering him a steaming paper cup of green tea soothes the churning in his gut a little bit, too.

He takes a sip and sighs gratefully, slumping against Buck in the hospital waiting room chairs when he takes the seat beside Eddie.

“Still queasy?” Buck asks, voice a rumble.

“Mm,” Eddie says, “back-to-back shots of tequila and sambuca are not it.”

Buck shudders beside him. “Don’t,” he begs, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. “I’m still very much in range of hurling.”

“Have you eaten anything today?” Eddie’d only managed half a banana when he went home to shower and change, but he knows Buck’s been with Maddie most of the day, and when it comes to taking care of other people, he sometimes forgets about himself.

“Had a granola bar,” Buck says, eyes still closed. “Can’t—don’t wanna think about food yet.”

His stomach chooses then to grumble audibly, with traitorously comedic timing, and Eddie snorts. Buck opens one eye to grin at him.

“Don’t listen to her,” he says, patting his belly. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“She doesn’t, huh? Then I guess she’s not interested in stopping by the juice bar on Sunset on the way home? Some sweet, sweet smoothies, all that fresh fruit and hydration, don’t even have to chew…”

Buck’s stomach rumbles interestedly and they both laugh.

“That sounds—so good, actually,” Buck admits. “We can pick up the peanut butter one for Chris, he’s always hankering—”

He breaks off as Hen appears at the end of the hallway, looking around and hurrying over as soon as she spots them. Eddie doesn’t think anything’s wrong—she’s beaming—but he and Buck sit up quickly in their seats anyway.

“Ugh,” Buck says, and Eddie’s dizziness at the sudden movement wholeheartedly agrees.

“We’re having a motherfucking wedding,” Hen grins, tugging them both to their feet, uncaring of their delicate dispositions. “Right here, right now.”

“Hospital wedding?” Buck asks, eyes wide. “Holy shit, okay, what do we need—who do we call—fuck—”

“Calm down, Buckaroo,” Hen smiles. “Just get friends and family over here, Karen’s gonna pick up Maddie’s dress, I’m gonna call Bobby, and we’re having a wedding.”

Buck’s already pulling up a copy of the guest list on his phone, squinting at it and muttering names under his breath.

“You boys got this?” Hen asks while dialling Bobby.

“Yep,” Eddie gives her a mock salute. “We’ll split the list and make some calls.”

He types out half the names Buck reads off to him in his notes app, and the two of them work through them methodically, calling Chim and Maddie’s nearest and dearest for this impromptu ceremony.

“Chris will kill us if he misses it,” he says suddenly, and Buck looks up at him, mid-text.

“He’s with Isabel, right? Pepa’s place is only a ten minute drive from here.”

Eddie nods. “I don’t have my car, though. You drove me.”

Buck tosses him the Jeep keys. “I’ll finish calling people, you go get them.”

“Cool,” Eddie says, and nearly bodies himself with the instinctive urge to lean over and kiss Buck on the cheek as he stands. It’s surprising, even though it shouldn’t be, because it’s an urge he fought and failed about thirty times last night, Buck’s sweaty skin pressed to his, salty under his mouth every time he dropped an innocuous, friendly kiss to his face with nothing but alcohol in his veins.

It hadn’t seemed out of place then, everything shiny and bright, Buck leaning right back into him.

Now, under the fluorescents of the hospital, organising a makeshift wedding for their family? Eddie doesn’t think it would land quite the same.

“Back in twenty,” he tells Buck instead, and has to physically tear himself away from the smile Buck turns his way, warm and golden under the harsh lights.

Chris and Abuela are delighted to be included, and, true to his word, they’re back at the hospital as the rest of the guests begin arriving, too.

Eddie’s—okay, he’s not going to say he’s not a crier, it’s just that his best friend is Buck, who cries at anything remotely tearjerky, so in comparison, Eddie’s not a crier. Now, though, they’re both very much damp-cheeked, much like everyone else crowded into this hospital room, watching Maddie and Chim exchange rings and vows with little Jee between them.

They’re a family, have been and would still be even if they never got hitched, but the fact that Chim refused to wait another few weeks, another few days, another minute before marrying Maddie? Eddie’s chest aches in the best way, and he slings an arm around Chris, and, before he knows he’s doing it, he looks for Buck.

The ceremony’s over, and Buck’s grinning at his phone, and Eddie pats for his own automatically, anticipating a goofy text.

But Buck’s edging backward, slipping out of the room, still grinning at his phone, and the ache inside Eddie spreads like an inkstain, blotting his insides.

And then Buck reappears with Tommy, which Eddie knew he was going to do, because who else would have Buck smiling at his phone like that, leaving his sister’s wedding even for a minute. Not me, Eddie doesn’t think. He doesn’t.

He’s not ready to make sense of the churning inside him—he doesn’t think he can blame the hangover for this one—when he clocks Tommy’s soot-stained everything and the way Buck’s own smudgy face matches like a puzzle piece.

He sees the way Chim notices, and Hen and Karen, Bobby’s eyes going wide and then soft. He sees the way Margaret Buckley doesn’t even attempt to school her face into anything but distaste and he hates her, but Buck’s not even looking at her. He’s looking at Bobby, and then he’s looking at Chim, and he’s smiling, this wide, guileless spread of happiness across his face.

Eddie’s helpless to smile too, the churning too complicated to parse beyond easy joy at every step of Buck’s sexuality journey, and this second-hand relief he’s not sure he’s got any entitlement to—he doesn’t, does he? Sure, he can be relieved that Buck doesn’t feel like he has to stay closeted, that everyone who matters loves him just the same, but he doesn’t get to feel like any of the relief belongs to him. Not now.

Not—yet.

Tommy’s made his way to Chim’s bedside to congratulate them properly, and Buck’s squeezing through the guests to get to the Diazes.

“Hey, bud,” he says to Chris. “Hi, Isabel.”

His face is still a smear of soot, and Chris giggles. “Buck. Your face.”

Buck frowns in confusion and Eddie steps over to him, hand already reaching to wipe the soot off his face, just like he has a hundred times at work. Except Tommy’s already there, licking his thumb and rubbing firmly at Buck’s chin, a gesture so familiar to Eddie that watching it happen separate from him feels like getting punched in the throat.

And beside the joy and the second-hand relief, there’s—this sense of profound loss. This emptiness, a space inside him he didn’t realise Buck had been occupying all this time. And now it’s like Eddie’s entered the room, finally, but the door is swinging shut on the far wall and Buck’s footsteps are echoing softer and softer as he leaves. Eddie’s late, he’s missed something he didn’t know was waiting, much less had a timeline on it.

The room empties out slowly, everyone giving the Buckley-Hans some space to rest, and Buck disappears down the hall hand-in-hand with Tommy.

“Y’all ready to go home?” Eddie asks Abuela and Chris. “We can get take-out.”

“Is Buck coming?” Chris asks.

“Uh, I don’t think so, mijo,” Eddie glances down the hall. “Although—” he pats his pocket, retrieving the Jeep keys, and startles when Buck appears by his shoulder.

“You have my keys,” he informs Eddie, stretching his hand out for them. Eddie drops them in his palm dutifully. “Juice bar? The fancy one on Sunset.”

Chris whoops excitedly, and Eddie smiles, even as his brow furrows.

“You’ve not got a hot date?” he asks Buck quietly as they walk to the exit.

“I drove you,” Buck shrugs.

Eddie rolls his eyes, stopping Buck with a hand at his elbow. “I think we can manage getting a cab.”

“I seem to recall you promising me a ‘sweet, sweet smoothie,’” Buck says, raising an eyebrow at Eddie. “You tryna stiff me, Eds?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Eddie lifts his hands in surrender. “Uh—do you wanna ask Tommy along?”

“Nah,” Buck says easily. “Maybe another time. He’s just gotten off shift. I’m seeing him tomorrow, anyway.”

“Okay,” Eddie nods slowly, ache bittersweet. “Just us, then.”

Buck beams. “Me and my boys,” he crows, wrapping an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and tugging him forward so he can wrap the other one around Chris. Isabel makes a noise of offense, and Buck hastily amends, “Me and my boys and Abuela. Dream team!”

Christopher groans at the very public embarrassment and Abuela smiles indulgently at Buck and Eddie lets himself get pulled along, safe in this room in his heart that won’t ever be empty, even if Buck’s not filling it in the same capacity as Eddie’s getting ready to allow himself to want.

It doesn’t matter. The door on the far wall’s not quite swung shut after all; it sits ajar, crack of light and Buck’s love spilling through. Maybe one day he’ll come back through it. Maybe one day Eddie’ll follow after him enough to ask.

[sunflowerwinds]

this love | chapter two [h.c]

summary: you never thought a knight could make you so tense. thanks to a shared love for literature, you finally grow the confidence to speak more than a few words to hazel. you get to meet a special friend of hazel’s while showing her the garden. the queen and king share some news.

pairing: hazel callahan x fem!reader

contains: baby gay in the making, slight angst, fluff. just pure princess and knight fluff. isabel again being the sweetest girl and friend to reader. the king and queen are a warning of their own, soft little gay touches.

word count: 3.7K

a/n: i wanted to treat you guys to chapter two early…. the relationship is brewing.

‘this love’ master list

Your parents weren’t being vague about Hazel watching over you.

It had been two weeks since she had first arrived and you’ve seen her from when the sun first peeks from the horizon to the depths of the midnight sky. She had to be in the room when you apologized to both Prince Jeffrey and his mother before they had to begin their journey back to their kingdom. It was utterly humiliating for you as you had to tell Prince Jeffrey that your reasoning was that you weren’t ‘properly trained’ as your father insisted.

Trained. You weren’t a pet. You didn't need to be trained. You needed to be respected by those ridiculous princes.

The intimidating knight had to see you in such an embarrassing state only two days into her job.

You swore you had seen more of Hazel in the past week than you had your own reflection. Instead of just Isabel in your corner for etiquette lessons, it was Hazel and Isabel.

The two of them seemed to be getting along quite nicely. Every time you caught them talking to one another, you saw Isabel smiling and nodding to her words.

That was one thing you were unadmittedly jealous of. You haven’t gotten the gall to make more conversation. She had mostly just been lingering around every corner to make sure you were doing what you were supposed to be doing.

You can talk to her. It shouldn’t be that hard to just talk. What would you talk about though?

It was just past breakfast time, Hazel following you to the library that your parents had but completely ignored. It was one of your safe spaces to just have some moments of peace.

Your parents weren’t constantly pressuring you about which of the unbearable princes to choose from. You weren’t being compared to Moira. If you could just sit in that library — or the garden as your second choice of comfort — and read a good book, you’d be content.

Your eyes followed to Hazel’s side profile, opening your mouth to start a conversation. Hazel shifted her eyes a little too fast for your liking when she noticed your change in movement. Your mouth clamped shut just as fast as it opened and you continued walking in silence.

Small talk is not easy, you’ve come to realize.

Why was this so hard for you? Every time her vision locked with yours, it made your entire body stiffen.

As you finally approached the library’s grand doors, Hazel sped up her pace so she could open the doors for you. She stood with her back against it, waiting for you to pass by into the secluded area. It was a rather minuscule library as not many people in the palace read books.

You were pretty sure you and Isabel were the only ones that visited the abandoned area. Well, you, Isabel, and now Hazel.

“Thank you,” you murmur as you pass by her, stepping into the room.

“Of course, princess,” Hazel replies, nodding at you with respect.

There that feeling flushed over you again. It was every time she had referred to you as ‘princess’. Everyone in the palace calls you princess as much as you insist for them not to. Hazel was the first person you didn't mind calling you ‘princess’.

Your eyes dance from cover to cover, figuring out where the exact book you were looking for was located. Hazel’s heavier boots echoed behind you, an anxious shiver crawling up your spine to cling to your ears. Your fingers traced the spines of the hardcovers until you landed on the book you were searching for.

You dig your fingertips into the top of the spine, tugging the book out of its place. You place it onto your palm, running a hand over the cover.

“There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand,” Hazel speaks up from behind you.

You jump slightly at her sudden words, turning around to face the knight.

“I’m sorry?” You ask her as you half heard what she had said.

Hazel’s eyes flickered to the book in your hand then back up to your eyes.

“Frankenstein. It’s one of my favorites.” She adds.

You didn't even know she was watching you so intently to see what book you had chosen. Well, you suppose that’s her job as your knight. You released a chuckle that was so shaky, you wanted to stuff the book into your mouth and down your throat to shut you up.

“Right, I’m sorry. I hadn't fully heard what you said.” You tried to play it off, keeping eye contact for probably the first time since she’s arrived.

“Oh, I didn’t intend to scare you, princess.” Hazel chuckled as well, taking a few steps forward.

“No, no, you didn’t, Hazel.” She raises her eyebrows at you, knowing you are lying straight through your teeth. “Okay, you did but that’s only because I didn’t realize you had even seen what I had grabbed.”

Hazel shook her head as she was now only inches from your body. Her captivating eyes shone bright from the mid-morning sun rays beaming in through the library's white-paned windows. You counted the different shades of blue that decorated her iris’.

You counted four.

“It’s the king and queen's orders to keep a close eye on you.” Hazel hummed, tilting her head as her eyes flickered to the book.

You nod, clearing your throat. “Of course.”

“What are your other favorite books?” Hazel hummed, now staring into your soul.

Your eyes flicker from the slope of her nose to the cupid's bow of her top lip.

“It’s a bit more recent but I did love Little Women by Louisa May Alcott.” You admit, surprising yourself with how good you were doing so far with talking to Hazel.

“Oh, I’ve never heard of that one.” Hazel furrowed her brows.

“Isabel had found it at a bookshop in town and brought it to me. It’s somewhere in my room still but when you have the time, I would recommend it.” You smile at the thought of Isabel thinking of you as she went out as you weren’t allowed to leave the palace.

Hazel only nodded at your words, grinning at your smile. You hoped she took notice of your subtle invite to ask her for the book one day.

“What else do you enjoy doing other than reading?” Hazel spoke up, moving a few steps back.

You wondered why she did so.

“Truthfully, I’m not allowed to do much within these walls. If I’m not in etiquette lessons and getting scolded for my apparent hunchback, I’m having to endure the utterly incompetent excuses for princes from other kingdoms that my parents hand-select.” You grin sarcastically, sighing out as you shake your head.

Hazel’s figure is walking away now, not sure as to what to say to what you had just admitted. You realize how venomous your words sounded and regret settles in your chest.

Too comfortable.

“Other than that, I enjoy visiting the garden. It’s quite beautiful there. Maurice and Hemmings, the gardeners, do a brilliant job at mending to the plants and keeping them alive.” You ramble, picking at the spine of Frankenstein.

Hazel is facing you now, just a few feet away. You suck in a deep breath, hoping she won't bring up how you just admitted you didn't want to get married.

“And where’s the garden?”

The garden was someplace that you probably could live in if it wasn’t outdoors. There were tall bushes that looked as if the tree's leaves were growing outwards from the trunk. In the center is a stone fountain with crystal-clear water. The much shorter bushes held in the midst of them beautifully bloomed petunias.

If you looked above, wisterias dangled from the tall trees on either side of the garden. You wanted to trap yourself here on most days and pretend there wasn’t anything else going on in the world.

“This is the garden.” You grin as you’re staring at the wisterias.

Hazel, too, had been admiring the way the flowers above framed the entirety of the garden. A faint smile spread onto her lips as the sunlight beamed in through the spring leaves.

“I can see why you adore this place so much.” Hazel glanced over at your elated expression and couldn’t help but absorb your radiance.

You drop your head as you lock your eyes on hers, watching her lips twitch into a smile. You’ve never seen her full smile until today; teeth and all.

It was a look you’d love to see more often. When she had to keep that knightly emotionless expression on her face, it felt more just like ‘ knight’ and ‘princess’. Right now, it felt like more than that.

Deeper than that.

“At this time in spring is when the wisterias appear the most beautiful,” Hazel states as she looks back up at the dangly flowers.

“And why is that?” You hum, wanting to hear her voice for the rest of your life.

“They’ve fully bloomed, showing their entire selves to us. That’s what’s so beautiful.” Hazel explained as she trekked around the fountain to make her way towards you.

You feel that familiar tension in your chest as she looks at you while moving closer. You were just fine. What was happening to you?

“I wasn’t aware that you were an expert on botany.” You teased as you avoided her gaze at all costs, sitting down at the fountain.

You turned to sit facing her but you were dragging one of your palms through the warm water. You wanted to look at her. You were quite liking it until she began to walk towards you.

“You have no idea how many things I expert in, princess.” Hazel quipped back.

Your cheeks flush scarlet as you continue to distract yourself. It was entirely too hot outside all of a sudden. You had to move locations as much as you’d love to stay in the garden.

“It’s about mid-day. I have go to the stables and feed my horse.” Hazel stated, adjusting her belt once again. “I can escort you to whichever room you’d like before then, princess.”

You finally looked up at her with a tight smile.

“Whichever room?” You question.

Hazel nodded, a faint smile spreading onto her lips. “You are the princess.”

“In that case, is it alright if I accompany you?” You ask her with a hopeful tone.

This didn’t seem to be something that Hazel was expecting from you. There was a moment of shock covering her features before she simply nodded curtly.

Hazel hesitantly replied; “If you wish, princess.”

You frowned. “If I’m intruding—“

If you wish. Why did that bother you so much?

“No, no, no,” Hazel’s tone had changed completely, a lot more gentle this time. “Just… okay, it might smell a bit. The stables, I mean.”

You nod along to her words.

“I know, Hazel. I haven’t been completely kept inside.” You try to lighten up the mood, anticipating to see Hazel’s smile lines once again.

Hazel chuckles to herself, looking down at her boots. A laugh. Even better than what you were hoping for.

“Alright, princess. Follow me then.”

You do so, taking this time to take in her back profile. You’ve never seen it as due to her knightly duties, she always has to stay behind or next to you; never in front.

It sent a shiver down your spine to be breaking the stupid rules with Hazel. Isabel was right.

Maybe you could be friends.

As you approached the brick stables, an instant deeper and pungent smell filled your senses. You pushed past it as you were entirely too excited to see the horses up close. Hazel grabbed onto the metal handle on the smaller door, tugging on it.

Once it had opened, you had seen a dark horse's head peak out. You slowly inched your way towards him, Hazel had reached into a cloth bag that was on her hip that you hadn’t noticed before.

“Aren’t you a gorgeous horse?” Your voice heightens as you approach the deep-colored horse.

Your parents never really allowed you to get into the stables as they were only meant for the staff and knights. Claimed it was only meant for those who had to be there. As you were standing in front of Hazel’s horse, you hated how you missed out on this because it was ‘too dirty’ for a princess.

Hazel was right behind you now, her hand gripping the handful of hay that she was going to feed him.

“Isn’t he?” She hummed, approaching him with a soft smile.

You nod as you watch her horse gently lower his head to allow her to smooth down the fur on his head. Hazel whispers something to him that you can’t understand.

Whatever she had whispered to him, he seemed to accept the hay instantly. She smiled with contentment, patting the side of his neck.

“What’s his name?” You question, watching him carefully gnaw at the hay straws.

Hazel glanced at you, clearing her throat. You wait patiently for her response, confused when she begins to turn away to search for something.

“Hazel?” You question once more.

“Yes, princess?” She replied, raising her brows at you from her hunched-over position.

Don’t get distracted. She’s supposed to call you that.

“What’s his name?” You raise your brows, focusing on the stallion.

“Peanut,” Hazel replies slowly, wincing slightly as she awaits your reaction.

A sudden laugh left your lips before covering it with your palm. You glanced around the open area around the stables, hearing the birds flutter away from your unexpected laughter.

You stare at Hazel with a straight and teasing smile.

“Peanut?” You tilt your head.

“It’s supposed to be ironic.” Hazel defends with a chuckle. “He’s big, tall, and strong, and well, a peanut is tiny.”

“It’s cute. It suits him very well,” you examine his muzzle and forehead.

You lean in closer, watching his eyes lock on you. He huffs and neighs rather loudly, causing you to back up just as fast as you approach him. You didn't know why or how it had happened but you were latched onto Hazel’s right bicep.

Your grip was tight out of fear that you’d angered him. Hazel’s left hand is carefully placed over your own, keeping your hand there.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Hazel mutters to Peanut, her hand that was attached to the one you had a grip on gently caressing his forehead.

“I-I didn't mean to.” You reply, shaking your head.

“He’s okay. I promise. That was my fault for not warning you. He was a war horse before he was mine. It took some time for him to warm up to me. Nearly snapped my arm off the first time I attempted to ride him.” Hazel assured you, keeping one hand on your grip and the other on Peanuts’ head.

Guilt floods into your veins as you watch Hazel calm him down. He had been through so much.

“Oh, poor thing.” You notice he has a scar right underneath his right eye.

You turn your head to look at Hazel and realize you’re still gripping onto her bicep. You release it, muttering another apology as you tried to push away how you noticed the muscle in her upper arm.

“It’s alright. Nothing to worry about, princess.” Hazel assures you with a grin, glancing down at your hand that was once on her body.

“He’s okay?” You ask, worriedly staring at the horse.

“He is. Here.” Hazel clears her throat, pointing to your hand. “May I?”

One thing your mother was right about was Hazel’s professionalism. You rather impulsively latched onto her while she was asking to touch your hand.

You don’t utter a word just lifting your hand to allow her to take it into her palms. A heat rose to your chest as she carefully moved to hold your wrist. You blamed it on the sun’s aggressive rays beaming down onto the back of your head.

“Don’t be sudden with your movements. Be gentle.” Hazel instructs as she carefully places your hand over Peanut’s forehead.

Her voice was just above a whisper, just a few inches away from your ears. You try to focus on how nice his coat of hair felt; not the sudden shivers traveling down your spine from her words.

“Wow.” Hazel spoke up, sounding rather shocked.

“What is it?” You question softly, continuing your movements with Hazel’s more careful grip still on your wrist.

“He usually would be freaking out by now,” Hazel replied, looking down at your wrist. “You really are a special one, princess.”

Special. Princess.

Her words echoed in your mind and rested in your thoughts.

“I am definitely not special. More lucky,” you dismiss her words, wondering why it made you feel both thrilled and uneasy.

“I disagree.” Hazel quips back, eyes locking with yours. “Respectfully, I disagree, princess.”

“Well we’ll just have to agree to disagree.” You grin flatly, wanting the conversation to end.

Before Hazel could mutter anything else to you, you spot Isabel walking into the direction of the stables. You both separated from one another, Peanut becoming completely disregarded.

“Isabel?” You question, smoothing down the front of one of your everyday dresses.

“The, uh, king and queen have requested your presence.” Isabel states, sucking in a deep breath.

“Right, well, I’ll be there.” You nod, giving her a kind smile.

“I’ll escort the princess. Thank you, Isabel.” Hazel nods to your friend.

Isabel’s eyes flicker from you to Hazel, an unfamiliar expression in her face. You scratch at your wrist where Hazel’s warm palm was as she walks away. Hazel gives Peanut one more reassuring pat on his neck before carefully shutting the top-half of the door.

“After you, princess.” Hazel moved to the side and bowed out of respect.

Back to knight and princess.

You begin to trek forward as you notice a few guards holding the doors open for the three of you. Isabel was walking right by your side, silently watching you. She wanted to say something. You know it.

“I see you and Hazel are becoming friends now.” Isabel hummed, glancing at the guards to nod in their direction.

“I suppose. She’s become more… open.” You reply back.

You were hoping that the charming knight hadn’t heard your words. She was merely a few feet behind you so you tried to keep your volume low.

“That’s good. She had told me you—“

“What did she tell you?” You didn't mean to seem so eager but considering Isabel flinched, it was entirely too much.

“That you hadn’t spoken to her other than ‘yes’ and ‘thank you’. She thinks you think she’s not paying attention to you.” Isabel reveals to you before looking at you once again. “She wants to get to know you.”

“Yeah, I’ve… realized that now.” Your mind flickers from the few shared moments no more than two hours ago. The library, Frankenstein, the garden. Special princess.

As you approach the throne room, you spot more than ten guards carrying luggage. You spot your mother and father instructing these guards out the front entrance of the palace.

“Mother? Father?” You call out to them, confusion written all over your features.

Your father turns in his place, eyes locking on your shorter figure. He glances behind you on Isabel and Hazel.

“We’re going to be traveling across the waters to a new kingdom to see if there are any other princes who you haven’t completely degraded. It’ll be three weeks time, at most a month before we return.” Your father motions to all of the heavy wood suitcases.

The words settled in and you weren’t as angry as you would have been. This is usually when you and your father would have a screaming argument about how they were wasting their time leaving.

“Oh, well, have safe travels. I hope you both come back healthy and well.” You simply reply, folding your hands respectfully.

“Ah, well, it seems like Dame Callahan has been a good influence on you this past week.” Your mother’s tone was rather shocked with how you weren’t starting a screaming match with your father.

You bite your tongue at the looks your father and mother were sending you. All it took was for a ‘safe travels’ for them to not be angry with you for a moment?

“I trust Dame Callahan will keep you in line. You know you mustn’t leave the palace gates, indoors by sundown, and you must be attending those etiquette lessons once a day except for Saturday and Sunday as Mrs. DuBois is home.” Your mother quickly explained the rules but all you heard was ‘a month without you guys breathing down my neck’.

“Yes, mother. I will be here.” You sigh to yourself, waiting for them to be on their way.

“Well then, Dame Callahan?” You hear your father address Hazel.

“Yes, your majesty. I won’t let the princess out of my sight.” She states calmly but you were more than calm.

You were over excited for their leave. You walked over to very stiffly hug and bid them goodbye. Physical touch wasn’t something you received from your parents often. Only orders and scoldings.

The carriage at the entrance of the palace was piled in the back full of your parents' luggage. You, Isabel, and Hazel stood on the very top step to wave them bye as the driver yielded for the horse to go onward.

“You seem happy.” Isabel hummed, a grin forming on her face.

“Me? No. I’m absolutely heartbroken that my parents will be leaving for the next month.” You reply in a flat tone, turning to her and smiling at the end of your sentence.

You’re about to be forced into marriage as you knew you weren’t going to have much say in this next suitor. You might as well try to make the most of the next month before then.

“And what do you plan to do for the next month, princess?” Hazel’s voice causes you to jump and flush as you had forgotten she could hear you.

You clear your throat with a smile, nodding your head.

“You wouldn’t tell my parents, would you?” You question Hazel.

Her eyes lock on yours with a small shrug. That wasn’t a no nor a yes. You’ll take it.

“I still have to look after you, princess.” Hazel replied.

“You’ll be there as well, Dame Callahan.”

You were sure of it.

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[shellbilee]

Hey There Darlin' - Chapter 10

A Glen Powell RPF Series

Warning: Smutttt, cursing

AN: Sorry it's been a while guys, I appreciate you all following along! I've just had some big work changes happen lately and they've taken all my energy and time. I'm hopeful to be back to regular posting soon! xx

Billie

“Thank you” Billie says to the server, taking the mimosa from her gratefully and gripping the glass in an effort to distract herself from the ticklish sensation of her pedicure.

She flashes an apologetic look to the spa therapist holding her foot when she still reflexively jumps a moment later, the woman looking up at her with an amused smile.

“This is literally the most fancy place I’ve ever been to” Billie says, taking a sip of her mimosa and turning to Sloane in the cushioned chair beside her.

“I know. It’s crazy isn’t it? I didn’t even know this place existed” Sloane remarks, sipping her own drink and relaxing back into the pillows.

Billie looks around the very exclusive spa, luxury and opulence dripping from every corner. It’s all polished stone and scandi-style wood, giant windows lining the walls that look out onto perfectly manicured, palm tree-lined gardens. Chelsea had invited twenty or so of her closest girlfriends, and of course had booked out the entire luxury space for a morning of indulgent pampering. The spa session was to include manicures and pedicures, scalp rubs and hydrating facials, finishing with an hour long, full body massage. 

From there, they were all headed to Beverly Hills where they’d participate in a pole dancing class, before getting their hair and makeup done and moving onto cocktails and dinner at an exclusive rooftop bar. Following that, the night was to finish off with more drinks and dancing at some exclusive LA club that Patrick apparently had connections to. It was like a bachelorette party straight out of a movie. 

Billie looks around the room again and watches some of the younger girls reaching for their next round of mimosas, two girls - who she thinks are Ellie and Isabelle, the best friends of Chelsea, each shooting a shot of tequila.

Billie can’t help the way she grimaces then, unable to think of anything worse than tequila shots, let alone tequila shots at twelve-thirty in the afternoon. With the day of events they had ahead of them, she was already betting that they wouldn’t be making it to dinner. 

“Hey girl” Sloane says, Billie turning back to find Bec walking over and sitting in the empty chair next to them. 

She’d been talking to Terri - her and Chelsea’s mother, and the rest of the ‘adults’ that had been invited along.

“You ok?” Billie asks, noting the tinge of concern colouring her best friend’s face.

Bec nods. “Yeah I’m fine. I just can't believe the level of extra Chels has gone to” she explains, gesturing with her hands to their surroundings, “I mean my bachelorette was fancy but this is just next level”.

Sloane laughs, leaning over in her chair as she sips her mimosa. “What did you do for yours?”

“We did a winery tour and stayed in a beachfront house down in Malibu” Bec explains, nodding her thanks to the server when a mimosa is suddenly brought over, “It was amazing. But nothing like this”.

All three of them turn when a cheer is heard across the room, looking over to find another round of tequila shots being downed.

“Did you have girls doing shots in the middle of the afternoon at yours?” Billie asks with a giggle, feeling her thirty-year old inner self shiver in disdain, “There’s no way those girls are making it to the club if they keep going like that”.

Bec laughs, shaking her head no, the three of them grinning at one another and apparently choosing to ignore the memories of their own antics when they were twenty-four.

Billie’s phone dings and she reaches to pick it up, smiling down at the screen when she sees it’s a text message from Glen. She taps at her phone, opening the message, a picture of Nugget and Brisket relaxing in his backyard filling the screen.

“Glen?”

Billie looks up and only smiles, answering Sloane’s question without words. She turns her phone around to show the girls, explaining that Glen was looking after Nugget today.

After a somewhat lazy morning, Billie had convinced Glen to go on a run with her - an easy two and a half mile around her neighbourhood. There’d been healthy competition between them, each teasing and pushing one another to go faster, eventually making it back home sweaty and laughing.

Cooling down with a post-run water in the kitchen, Billie had mentioned that she was worried about leaving Nugget all day, given Ryan and Lachlan - who would normally look after him, were away for the weekend celebrating their new found engagement. 

That had led to Glen suggesting that he take Nugget himself, offering to take him to his place for the day where Nugget and Brisket would undoubtedly tire each other out. Billie had immediately declined the offer, telling Glen that her eight-five pound golden canine was significantly more work than little Brisket, but Glen had insisted everything would be fine.

She’d eventually warmed to the idea after Glen had eased all of her potential concerns, finally accepting his offer.

“Wow he's already dog sitting after a week? I'm impressed Bil”

Billie laughs and rolls her eyes. “Shut up Sloane”

Sloane grins, teasing her. “What's he doing tonight?”

“Going out for a friend's birthday” Billie shares, looking at the two girls, “Actually, that friend is Chord Overstreet”

Bec raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Do you know where he's going?”

Billie shakes her head. “No, I didn't ask”.

“Why not?” Bec asks.

“You should meet him out somewhere” Sloane suggests at the same time, Bec immediately nodding in agreement.

“Nah, I don't want to be too clingy. I already spent last night with him” Billie says, taking another sip of her mimosa,  “And this morning” she adds after a moment, a sly grin pulling at her lips as she winks at her two friends.

Sloane wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

“And how was it?”

Billie chuckles.

“Incredible”

“Just incredible?” Sloane presses, clearly wanting all the juicy details and making Billie grin.

“There are no words” she replies, sighing almost dreamily as thoughts of yesterday’s shower suddenly replays in her head, the scene quickly morphing into a replay of their post-run shower from this morning. 

“Girls, the sex is insane” Billie remarks, looking at Bec and Sloane in turn, “He’s just---, I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s because he’s just so fucking gorgeous and I’m just so attracted to him, or if----”

“If he's just that fucking good?” Sloane asks, finishing Billie’s sentence and making both Bec and Billie laugh.

“Yes or that” Billie replies, leaning back in her chair and shaking her head at her friends.

“It’s probably both” Bec exclaims, winking one big blue eye mischievously, “The man definitely knows what he’s doing. He’s Glen Powell for God’s sake” she adds, her voice dropping to a whisper when she says his name and giving a sideways glance at the women working on Billie and Sloane’s feet.

Billie smiles sheepishly, knowing that is absolutely the answer.

She looks back down at her phone, fingers tapping at the screen as she types out a reply.

😍😍

You've tired them out already?

Typing bubbles appear almost immediately and Billie can’t help the way her heart rate picks up instantly.

They did it themselves, they've barely stopped running since they got here

Billie grins, instantly thankful that she’d agreed to take Glen up on his offer.

Thank you again for this Glen, I really appreciate it!

You're most welcome darlin. Hope you're having fun

“Guys, take a photo with me” Billie says, opening her camera and holding it up in front of them.

Sloane and Bec both lean in, mimosas in hand, Billie snapping a quick selfie of the three of them. She looks down at the picture - Bec smiling happily, Sloane pouting sexily and Billie winking as she grins, sending it to Glen with a quick message.

Definitely not as much fun as my shower this morning but I’d say it’s pretty damn close 😉

---

Glen

Glen relaxes back into the lounge, taking a sip of his beer as he looks around the semi-crowded, exclusive rooftop club. It’s a typical Saturday night crowd - a mix of high profile people and social media influencers, several groups milling about the venue. Some are on the dancefloor in the centre of the club, swinging their hips to the heavy beat of the music, others drinking extravagant cocktails, talking and laughing in the many booths dotted around the edge of the rooftop.  

He looks over at his group seated on the u-shaped lounge, nodding at Chord sitting across from him and holding up his beer in silent cheers to his long time friend. He pulls his phone from his pocket and signals to Nick and Priyanka beside him, the rest of the group following suit and looking up at Glen’s phone. He snaps a group selfie - everyone smiling and laughing, looking over the photo before tagging his friends and uploading it to his Instagram.

He does a quick scroll through his notifications - majority of them fans reacting to his earlier posted story of Nugget and Brisket playing, most of them comments from people going wild thinking he’d adopted another dog. He skims over the words from his fans and smiles at their reactions, noting a comment from his sister Lauren laughing at Brisket’s attempts to wrestle with the much larger dog.

He flicks back to his feed screen and notices Billie’s profile bubble showing a new story, clicking on her picture and immediately sucking in his breath when a video starts to play.

It’s a clip of Billie and who he figures is some of the other girls at the bachelorette party, each of them standing next to a pole and wearing heels so high it hurts his feet just to look at them. He realises it’s them at the pole dancing class - some of them bouncing on the spot to the music, some of them grinning and laughing at one another as if they’re waiting to be counted in. Glen’s eyes are glued to Billie near the front of the class, running over her figure dressed only in a crop and tiny pair of shorts that accentuates her already perfectly, peachy ass. He fights the urge to groan out loud, immediately wishing she was here with him, every single muscle in his body suddenly contracting when the girls all start to move.

Fuck.

They move and dance in practised unison, tossing their hair and swinging their hips, grabbing at their poles and lifting themselves before they’re kicking their legs out and swinging around. Glen can’t look away, mouth falling slack as his eyes follow Billie’s every movement, watching her muscles flex as she slowly lowers to her knees. She grins sexily at the camera, sliding her hands teasingly down her near naked body, rolling onto her back and arching away from the floor in the most erotic way. In an instant Glen’s in his own little world, feeling like Billie’s dancing just for him, watching as she rolls and grinds her hips like a wicked vixen and leaving him practically drooling with want. 

All too soon the video is over and Glen has to reach down to readjust himself, subtly shifting on the lounge so that no one notices the suddenly growing erection in his jeans. 

He breathes out heavily, feeling his heart racing in his chest, reaching out and taking a sip of his beer in an attempt to settle his thoughts. All he wants to do is find Billie and take her home, lick every single inch of her perfect curves and fuck her into the sheets until she’s desperately screaming for him. 

He takes another drink and shifts his hips on the seat, fingers suddenly flying across the screen as he types a reply to her video.

Fuckin hell, darlin’ 🔥🔥🔥

I’m gonna get a pole installed at home so you can show me this in person.

He flicks through the rest of her Instagram story - a group shot of them at the class, of her, Sloane and Bec getting ready for their next event, of Billie and who Glen reasons must be Chelsea, the bride to be, grinning at the camera with cocktails in hand. She’d posted the last photo an hour ago - a full length shot of Billie, Sloane and Bec, dressed for a night out and dolled up gorgeously, the three standing with their arms intertwined and grinning happily at one another. 

Glen smiles down at his phone, looking over Billie, desperately wishing he was with her tonight. He already can’t wait to see her again, to see her smile, to hear her laugh, to kiss her perfect lips. There are so many things that he adores about her, things that make him smile stupidly whenever he thinks about them, things that make him wish she was with him whenever she wasn’t. 

He knows it’s more than just the sex too - and while that part is just as indulgently incredible as he could have wanted, he knows there’s more to the way he thinks and feels about Billie, something deeper, something building. He also knows that he probably shouldn’t be feeling these things about a girl so soon, that voicing any of this a week after seeing someone is a sure fire way to make it all come crashing down. But still, for a thousand reasons that he can't even list, he just can’t seem to get enough of her.

Glen puts down his phone and takes another drink, finishing his beer and turning to listen to his friends chatting beside him - one of them telling the group about her newest role on an upcoming netflix mini series. 

“Another round?”

Glen looks over to see his friend Jay gesturing to the bar across the way, nodding at him in question. Glen tips his head in silent agreement, asking the group for their orders before they both stand and make their way over to the bar. Standing in line, Glen and Jay are in deep conversation about the upcoming football season when Glen feels a tap on his shoulder, turning to find two attractive women standing behind him and smiling up at him flirtatiously.

“Hi, Glen?” the first girl says, her long blonde hair pulled back in a slick ponytail that that cascades down one shoulder and makes her look like Barbie, “I’m Tiffany, and this is Pia” she says gesturing to her equally pretty friend beside her, the other girl tipping her head when Glen smiles at her.

“Hi” Glen replies, nodding politely and looking at each of them in turn, “Nice to meet you both”.

“We were just wondering if we could get a photo?” Tiffany asks, gesturing to her phone and flashing Glen a dazzling smile. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Of course”

Tiffany hands the phone to Jay and Glen steps back beside the girls, the two posing on each side of him and leaning in close. He can smell their spicy perfume, the scent tickling his nose as he keeps his touch high on their backs, smiling at Jay when he holds the camera up and snaps a photo of the three of them. 

“Thank you” Tiffany says, taking her phone from Jay and turning back to Glen with another charming grin and looking around, “Are you here with anyone?”

Glen nods, “Yeah. I’m here with some friends for a birthday” he answers, as always wanting to give as little information as possible.

“Oh yeah? Where are you sitting?”

Glen offers a polite tight lipped smile, gesturing in a vague direction to the other side of the rooftop, “Oh, just over there. There’s a big group of us”.

Glen breathes out through his nose silently, searching his brain for something he can say to wind up the conversation. He’s been in this situation several hundred times, and on any other occasion he probably would have been flattered and engaged both of them further. Still, as attractive as they both are, the thought of talking with another woman that isn’t Billie makes Glen’s stomach flip in the worst way.

Obviously noting his nonchalance, Tiffany flashes another smile and leans in close to him, her hand finding his arm and squeezing gently.

“Well, we’re sitting just over there” she presses in a sultry voice, pointing to a booth to the side where two glammed-up girls are currently sitting and talking, “So if you get lonely and want some company, you know where to find us”

Glen nods, offering another small, polite smile when she pulls away and winks at him, Pia offering her own dazzling smile as they both step away.

Glen exhales heavily and turns back to Jay, opening his mouth to comment on his encounter only to find Jay deep in conversation with a girl beside him. He chuckles at his friend, taking advantage of the quick moment of peace and pulling his phone from his pocket. To his surprise and delight, there’s a message from Billie, responding to his previous reply to her video.

Just so you know, there's typically a charge for private dances 😉

Glen grins down at the screen, typing a quick comeback to her witty words.

I wouldn't expect it to be free. I’m sure we could work out some sort of trade.

He steps forward as the bar line moves, glancing down at his phone as her next message pops up.

A trade sounds interesting… what did you have in mind?

Glen’s grin grows wider and he clicks his tongue, all manner of ideas instantly flying through his mind. He loves their teasing, flirty banter - just another one of the things he adores about Billie. 

well, my face between your thighs for an extended period of time would be my first offer…

He imagines her face right now - the way she’d be smiling stupidly at her phone, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly in that way he loves, his own lips stretching wider as her answer pops up on the screen.

hmm, that IS awfully tempting. But what would the second offer be?

Glen chuckles, biting his lip as he types again, sweetening the deal.

My face between your thighs for an extended period of time AND breakfast in bed?

Oh you drive a hard bargain, Mr Powell.

He runs his tongue along his teeth, typing again. 

So it’s a deal then?

Her response is immediate and he can't help the laugh that escapes him when he reads her reply.

🤝😍

He laughs and shakes his head, typing another message as he steps forward in the bar queue.

How’s your night going otherwise darlin?

Really good actually! The girls and I are all holding strong, the younger girls not so much haha. We just got to the club so I’m very ready for a dance! 😍

A photo comes through after her message, Glen clicking on it so that it takes up his whole screen. It’s a selfie of Billie, her teeth flashing in a sultry, gorgeous smile, her hazel eyes lined with a dark shimmery charcoal and looking even brighter than usual. Her skin looks smooth and flawless, glowing from makeup tricks that he’s consistently perplexed about even despite regularly having it applied to his own face. He can’t quite see her outfit but he can see the enticing tease of cleavage beneath pink straps, deciding from his own up close experience with her breasts that she can’t be wearing a bra underneath her dress.

He can’t help the expletive that falls from his mouth then , feeling his still semi-hard arousal twitch in his pants.

You’re fuckin stunning, peach

Thanks handsome 😘

Glen exhales and puts his phone away, not wanting to bother her anymore on her night out. She looks utterly stunning, and he knows that if she were here right now he’d be all over her in a heartbeat. 

He looks up when Jay turns back to him, the girl he was talking to having since left, but not before sharing her number with him. Jay wiggles his eyebrows when he shows Glen the newly added contact named ‘Tara’ on his phone, Glen laughing as they both finally reach the bar and order their next round of drinks.

“Oh wow. Here comes the parties”

Glen frowns at his friend before following Jay’s eyeline over his shoulder, turning to see a small sea of girls dressed in varying shades of pink filtering through the entrance. One girl among the masses is dressed in white sequined mini dress, a short veil perched on her long honey coloured curls and quickly identifying her as a bride to be.

“They must know someone at the club” Glen reasons out loud, knowing that the exclusive nature of the lounge meant that parties were very rarely allowed entry.

He looks over the new group of patrons, noting with a smirk that he’s not the only one who’s noticed them - several groups of guys around the club are now looking over the bachelorette party with eager interest like hungry lions to a group of grazing antelope. He chuckles and shakes his head, turning back to the bartender and nodding his thanks when she serves up half a dozen beers, telling them that she’ll bring the rest of the cocktails over to them.

They make their way back to the booth with drinks in hand, Glen passing them around before sitting down next to Chord and tapping his glass with his. He glances over at the now surging dancefloor - made busier by the club’s newest guests and the change in music to pop classics of the late 90’s, admiring the masses of swinging hips, exposed skin and cocktail-fueled, shouted singing before turning back to his group and laughing along with their conversation.

---

Glen steps out of the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him, rounding the corner and offering a polite smile to an oncoming woman as they side step one another in the corridor.

“Glen?”

He does a double take before he stops in his tracks, frowning as he looks down at the woman and searches his brain to place her. If she was a fan she’d have said his whole name, but saying only his first name told him that she somehow knew him personally.

Her face softens into a smile as she looks at his confusion, and in an instant the familiarity of her expression sinks in like a piece in a puzzle.

“Bec?” he says, immediately recognising Billie's friend and shaking his head incredulously, “What are you doing here?”

Her smile stretches into a grin when he says her name, a soft laugh leaving her lips. 

“We’re here for my sister’s bachelorette” she explains, pointing to the white glittery sash slung over her shoulder that says Maid of Honour and making Glen want to kick himself for not realising the very obvious answer.

“This was the last stop of the night, drinks and dancing” she adds with a laugh, gesturing towards the main area before looking back at Glen curiously, “What about you, what are you doing here?”

As the sheer coincidence of it all settles in his thoughts, a realisation dawns and immediately takes over his brain. 

“I’m here for my friend's birthday” Glen replies quickly, aware that his heart has suddenly begun racing in chest, his insides squirming in anticipation.

He’s asking the question before he can really think about it, the words blurting out of his mouth before he can even stop himself.

“Is Billie here?”

Bec’s face somehow splits into an even bigger grin at the mention of her friend, her silky, pale brown hair swishing as she nods. 

“She’s on the dancefloor with Sloane”

Glen manages to suppress the grin that threatens to take over his entire face then. “Do you think she’ll mind if I come and say hello?”

Bec laughs, looking up at Glen with amused eyes. “I think she’ll mind if you don’t”

They both laugh, smiling back at one another for a moment before Bec is pointing over her shoulder at the women's toilet door.

“Give me a second to use the bathroom and I’ll take you over to them?”.

Glen nods and steps back to let her pass, suddenly feeling giddy with excitement.

Billie.

He can’t believe she’s here - that out of all the places in LA, she’d by some miracle managed to end up at the same club he was at. What were the chances of that?

Glen inhales deeply, letting the air expand his lungs before he’s breathing out again, leaning his head back against the corridor wall and closing his eyes to savour the moment.

“So it seems you were lonely after all”

His eyes flash open to find Tiffany, the girl from earlier, standing in front of him and leaning against the wall suggestively, her lashes fluttering as she looks up at him. He does his best to control his disappointed expression, offering a half-hearted ‘hey’ as she steps closer to him and once again puts her hand on his arm.

“C’mon, my friend is just at that table over there” she presses again, long ponytail flicking as she points over to a booth just outside the corridor and squeezes his forearm, “Let us buy you a drink”.

He clears his throat, trying to decide on how to decline in the gentlest possible way, opening his mouth to say as much when he’s beaten by the sound of the bathroom door shutting behind him.

“Alright I’m back” Bec’s voice says suddenly, interrupting the interaction as she appears beside Glen, “You ready?”

Glen watches Bec take in the scene in front of her, her eyes landing on Tiffany’s hand and travelling along her arm until she’s looking at the blonde’s face. They stare at each other for a moment, silent and assessing - Glen's years of growing up with two sisters instantly alerting him to the unspoken communication between the two women. All of a sudden he feels like he's walked into a lion's den, exhaling silently as he looks between both of them. He watches Bec's lips suddenly stretch into an all too sweet smile at Tiffany - a smile that he’s immediately certain is anything but sweet underneath, Tiffany’s hand quickly slipping from his arm as her expression morphs into a scowl that makes him think of angry Barbie.

Glen clears his throat, the sound cutting through the invisible tension like a knife, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair as he looks down at Bec.

“Ready when you are Bec”

She's still looking across at Tiffany - her smile somehow even wider than before, eventually breaking her gaze and turning to Glen, gesturing for him to come with her.

He offers Tiffany a polite, almost apologetic smile, nodding before he moves and follows Bec out of the bathroom corridor. He exhales loudly when they step out into the main area and back into the pulsing bass of the DJ, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks down at Bec beside him.

“So that must get annoying sometimes” Bec comments without looking at him, pausing for a moment to scan the dancefloor, “You know, when you just want to be out and minding your own business?”

Glen shrugs, acutely aware of the protective, older sister tone that's suddenly taken over her voice.

“It does get old sometimes. But unfortunately, it’s part of the territory”

She turns to him but doesn’t say anything, and for a split second Glen swears he sees her eyes narrow slightly - all of a sudden unable to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of being silently measured up. 

He watches as she smooths down her baby pink dress and turns back to the dancefloor, scanning the crowd once again before gesturing for Glen to follow her. He smiles when her walking immediately transforms into dancing, her hips swishing to the beat of the Britney Spears song that's playing as they step onto the floor and move through the sea of people. Glen scans the crowd around them, searching for Billie ahead of them, his stomach a pit of nervous excitement and simmering anticipation knowing he’s only seconds away from finding her.

It’s then that he spots them - two girls just up ahead, swinging their hips and throwing their arms up, dancing just separate to the rest of the pink-clad group beside them. His eyes fall to the taller of the two with her back to him, a short slip dress made of glittery, rose pink mesh-like material draped over her luscious curves like a silky waterfall. The dress is completely backless save for two thin straps that criss-cross over her lower back, a slit on one side of her leg that nearly shows her hip bone whenever she moves a certain way. He can see a tattoo in the centre of her upper back, the finely drawn, intricately detailed inked flowers that he’s slowly becoming more than familiar with suddenly coming into view as he steps closer.

Billie.

The second he realises it's her, the more the familiarity of the rest of her settles into his brain. The enticing slope of her waist into her ass, her long, toned legs, her buttery smooth, tanned skin. He exhales as he looks over her, feeling his pants tighten almost reflexively at the sight.

She looks fucking incredible.

He sees Sloane dancing beside Billie, the smile on her face growing when she spots Bec returning to them on the dancefloor. Glen can’t help his laugh when Bec enthusiastically points at him beside her as if to say ‘look who I found’, Sloane’s eyes lighting up when she looks across and recognises Glen.

He grins at her, nodding his hello, watching as she immediately starts to dance into an oblivious Billie and forcing her backwards into him. He chuckles when Sloane winks mischievously, and he makes a mental note to thank both Bec and Sloane for once again for being the ultimate wing women.

He smells Billie’s coconut scented shampoo the second she invades his space, unable to stop the grin that’s taken over his entire face when she backs up into him. He watches as she whips around, her hands held up in gestured apology, her gorgeous, hazel eyes widening when she realises exactly who it is that she’s just bumped into. 

The way her eyes light up, the way her lips stretch into the most breathtaking smile, the way her whole face transforms into a picture of utter happiness. In one quick moment, every single thought in Glen’s mind is blank save for thoughts of Billie and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than right here with her. 

“Hey darlin’”

“Glen!” Billie beams, blinking up at him incredulously and immediately reaching for his arms, “What are you doing here?”.

“I’m here with my friends. Coincidentally, this is where Chord’s birthday is” Glen explains, bending down to speak in her ear and unable to stop himself from pressing a fleeting kiss to her jaw just below her ear. 

He watches as Billie shakes her head in almost disbelief, her expression a mix of shock, confusion and absolute delight. Glen reaches for her hand and twirls her around, his eyes taking in the rest of her now that he can actually see all of her.

The front of her is just as sexy as the back, the dress’ loose cowl neckline allowing him a perfect view straight down her chest and confirming his earlier thoughts that she's wearing nothing beneath the glittery material. Her outfit leaves little to the imagination and for a moment all he can think about is undoing the tiny straps and watching the dress slip from her skin and pool at her feet. 

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous, Billie”

Billie practically beams at him, moving her hands to his chest, Glen pulling her closer and sliding his hands down to her hips. He swears he feels her shiver then, his fingers teasing the skin just beneath the short hem of her dress, leaning down so that his lips are at her ear again.

“I don't want to take over your night, I just wanted to come over and say hey” he breathes just loud enough for her to hear, loving the way her fingers flex against his chest as if she's just as affected by him as he is by her, “Come find me later?”

She grins and nods, Glen twirling her around again and looking over her once more, fighting the urge to action his explicitly sinful thoughts and instead flashing her a wolfish smile that he knows she can see right through.

She returns his smile and he immediately thinks all kinds of things that he definitely shouldn’t be thinking in the middle of a crowded club, shooting her a final wink before turning and making his way off the dance floor. He walks across the venue and back towards his friends, instantly wondering how he’s possibly going to be able to concentrate on anything else but her for the rest of the night. 

“Where have you been?” Chord asks when he sits down in the booth, holding up a fresh beer that Glen takes with a grateful nod.

“I found a friend on the dancefloor”

Chord raises one suggestive eyebrow, looking at Glen with amused suspicion, “A friend?”

Glen laughs. “A girl” he says, pausing to take a sip of his beer, “A girl I’ve just started seeing”.

Chord grins teasingly, pressing for more information.

“I met her last week at Rufus” Glen says, nearly shouting over the heavy bass of the new song that’s just come on, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair.

“What's her name?”

“Billie”

Chord takes a drink of his whiskey, tilting his head as he looks at Glen. “Do I know of her?”

Glen shakes his head no, and Chord flashes him a knowing look that only friends can communicate through.

Glen clears his throat, unable to help himself from sharing more.

“She's incredible man. It's been a week and I'm already mad for her”

Chord chuckles. “Wow, the sex that good is it?”

Glen laughs, shaking his head, a grin taking over his entire face. “You have no fucking idea”

They both laugh and Chord holds up his glass, Glen clinking his beer against his before they both drink to their cheers.

Glen lets out a breath and relaxes back into the lounge, tapping his fingers against his beer bottle and glancing over his shoulder at the dancefloor across the way.

---

Several rounds of drinks later, Glen is feeling a little drunk. 

A little drunk is perhaps an understatement. Moderately drunk. Sort of intoxicated.

Numerous beers and several shots have left his inhibitions lowered and his thoughts fuzzy - fuzzy, but filled with thoughts of one thing and one thing only.

Billie.

His group has gotten progressively more lively too - also emboldened by several rounds of birthday shots and cocktails, so when the music suddenly turns into a slow r&b song and they’re dragging him onto the dancefloor, he barely fights the grip on his arm and lets them lead him towards the heavy, sensual bass. 

The instant he steps onto the dancefloor he’s scanning the pulsing crowd for Billie, suddenly unable to think of anything he wants more than to feel her body pressed up against his. He finds her a few seconds later, dancing near the centre of the crowd with Bec and Sloane, her hips grinding to the beat as she tosses her head in time with the music. She looks carefree and sexy and everything his alcohol tinged brain wants right now, and before he can even think about it he’s dancing through the masses towards her.

He sees her turn and swing her hips, tossing her long chocolate curls and smiling over her shoulder, her face suddenly lighting up when she spots him walking towards her. Glen’s acutely aware of two guys dancing just behind Billie and Sloane - their intentions definitely mirroring his own, Glen shooting a charged look of unspoken warning at the one closest to Billie as he closes the distance to her and reaches for her hand. 

In one quick moment, all he can think about is tanned, glowy skin and perfect, luscious curves.

“Hey you” Billie greets when Glen pulls her in close to him, leaning in and bringing her lips to his ear, “Come to dance with me have you?”

Glen grins, his hands reflexively moving to the thickest part of her hips, the tips of his fingers brushing the skin just below the hem of her short dress. 

“Just couldn’t stop thinking about you darlin’”

Billie grins, her lips parting gorgeously and her hazel eyes bright as she looks up at him. “Well that makes two of us”

The song changes to something slower, darker, dirtier, and Billie doesn’t miss a beat - turning in Glen's arms so that her back is pressed against his chest and her ass is flush against him. In one quick moment all the blood in his body rushes straight to his cock and for the second time tonight he’s fighting his growing arousal in the middle of a crowded club.

She’s rocking side to side in time with the heavy music, her ass rolling and grinding and making Glen so painfully hard that he’s certain there’s no way she can’t feel him behind her. Billie’s head falls back against his shoulder and she reaches up to link her hands behind his head, Glen’s hands slipping lower until his fingers are nearly teasing the slit on the hip of her dress. Glen dips his face to her shoulder, inhaling her sweet scent and pressing a lingering kiss to her collarbone, looking down her body and groaning at the view of her tits under the shimmery pink fabric. All of a sudden he wishes he was anywhere but here - somewhere alone with Billie so that he could have his mouth on her nipples and his hands all over her naked skin.

Glen is practically panting, his heart hammering in his chest, his entire body on fire. He knows Billie feels the same as he teases his fingers along her thighs, each one of her satisfied sighs only stirring him on more as he whispers in her ear how fucking good she feels and how damn sexy she is. Glen feels like they’re in their own little world despite them being in the middle of a crowded dance floor, Billie’s body pressed against his so tight there isn’t an inch of space between them.

Fuck.

Eventually the song ends and Billie unwraps herself from Glen, Glen taking advantage of the opportunity and leading her off the dancefloor. He’s desperate to kiss her, to taste her, to have her lips pressed against his own, desperate to have her all to himself so he can show her just how badly he wants her. He spots an empty lounge in the back corner away from the busiest part of the club, feeling Billie’s grip tighten around his hand as she lets him guide her towards it.

His mouth is on hers before either of them can even sit, Glen licking into her mouth as she kisses him back eagerly. He lifts her legs across his lap and cups the side of her throat with his hand, Billie all but whimpering into his mouth when his free hand grips roughly at her naked thigh. There’s a fire behind his ribs - suddenly raging in his insides, every single fibre in his body burning with a decadent desire to consume every single part of Billie.

At some point they pull apart - and Glen’s intoxicated mind can’t even tell how long they’ve been kissing, his lungs burning as he looks back at Billie’s dark, hooded eyes. He’s warm, too warm, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth, his mind foggy from a mixture of too many beers and his absolute craving for Billie. His cock is straining against his jeans and pressed against her thigh, every small shift of her on top of him sending his body further into overdrive.

“I’m so fucking hard for you, peach” Glen breathes, loving the responsive little moan she lets out at the sound of his words in his ear, “Please let me take you home, Billie. I need to take you home”

He bends and kisses her neck while he waits for her reply - her skin sweet, intoxicating and deliciously addictive, Billie’s hands gripping his biceps in a way that he knows is an answer without words. His eyes lift to meet hers - hers, gorgeous and glossy with want, and he can’t help the way every single one of his deep muscles squeezes when she nods her head yes.

“Just let me tell the girls I’m leaving” Billie sighs, nearly panting as she fumbles for her bag and phone on the plush material beneath them.

Glen busies himself with pressing kisses along her jaw and down her throat, his fingers gripping the fat of her thigh as Billie types on her phone. A small moan escapes her throat when he reaches the space just beneath her right ear, and he somehow makes a mental note in his inebriated brain to remember that for later on. 

He loves that she’s just as affected by him as he is by her - the decadent desire to have her all over him and everywhere, to be buried inside her, thick, deep and heavy, over and over, and over again. 

He smiles against her skin when he hears her curse his name out loud, her voice soft and breathy in that way that he finds so desperately irresistible. It all but ruins him, and it takes everything he has to remember that they’re in the middle of a crowded LA club and not at home alone in his bedroom.

The sound of a giggle rumbles in her throat and he forces himself away from her skin for just a moment, following her eyeline to her screen and squinting to focus on the words on her phone.

Bec: Get it girl! Be safe 🩷

Sloane: You better ride him good B! 😉🍆

Glen chuckles before he bends to kiss her again - needing to have his mouth on some part of her, holding the back of her head still as he captures her mouth in a hungry, near bruising kiss. It makes him dizzy - the indulgent feeling wrapping around his spine and making his skin prickle in the best way.

He feels Billie’s hands on his face and before long she’s pulling away from him, her lips red and kiss-swollen and so sexy it makes him want to groan. He loves that she’s practically panting - that both of their chests are heaving in their joined embrace, her usually bright hazel eyes now dark and lust blown in a way that he’s certain mirrors his own.

She smiles as she looks at him - soft and sensual and making everything inside him burn hotter, her eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips and back again. 

“Take me home, handsome”

----

Glen has no idea how he and Billie didn't just fuck in the Uber back to his house.

It was all lips and tongues, wandering hands and near silent moans, Glen's fingers teasing beneath Billie's sinfully short dress at some point to find her thighs already hot, wet and deliciously wanting.

And fuck if that hadn't taken every ounce of self control he had not to bend down and bury his head between her legs - Uber driver be damned.

Glen’s raging hard, so hard it almost hurts, that when they finally arrive at his address he's practically bursting out of the car and sucking in lungfuls of the cool night air like a panting dog after a run. 

His mouth is on Billie the moment they’re through his front door - Glen pressing her up against the nearest wall and devouring her throat with his lips, his arousal forced up against her pelvis in an attempt to feel some kind of relieving friction.

In an instant Brisket and Nugget are bouncing happily at their feet at the return of their owners, Glen and Billie somehow mustering enough restraint to break apart for just a moment to greet their excited animals. They manage to settle the boys in lightning speed, Glen immediately wrapping Billie in his arms and latching his mouth back to hers in a heated, feverish kiss.

He slides his hands down underneath her dress and grips the ample, peachy flesh of her ass, lifting her into his embrace and nearly growling when she wraps her legs around his waist and presses flush against his raging arousal.

He’s delirious - drunk off alcohol and the addictive smell, taste and feel of Billie, wanting, no, needing to have more of her as he kicks off his shoes and navigates blindly through his house. She’s already working the buttons on his shirt, having undone all of them by the time he sets her down on her feet in his bedroom, Billie pushing his shirt off his shoulders and grabbing at his newly naked chest

Glen slides his hands to her neck and down to her shoulders taking the shoelace thin straps of her dress with him - pulling away from her swollen lips in time to see the glittery pink material slip down her skin like a shimmering waterfall and pooling at her feet. 

It’s then that Glen actually takes a step back to admire the stunning woman in front of him - letting out a heavy, shaking breath and biting down on his fist as his eyes rake over her perfect form before him. Standing there in nothing but a pair of string-thin purple panties with her skin flushed and glowing, her tits soft and perky and her hair long and tumbling down her shoulders, she looks nothing short of a goddess and Glen feels like he’s going to spontaneously combust. 

“Fuuuuck Billie. You’re gorgeous”

She smiles at him - soft and kitten-like, sensual and devious, and it’s all it takes to have Glen kicking off his shoes and undoing his belt, his eyes never leaving hers as he takes her hand and pulls her towards him.

He kisses her then, hard, fast and hungry, his free hand roaming her naked flesh as her sweet scent takes over his senses and sparking something primal deep inside his core. He lays back on the bed and pulls Billie down with him, her legs falling to the sides so that she’s sitting over his torso and looking down at him with dark, glossy eyes.

He’s so fucking turned on, every single part of him hot and throbbing with addictive desire, to have her, to take her, to feel her until she’s begging him to stop.

“Sit on my face peach, I wanna taste you so bad”

Billie lets out a sound that he can only describe as a whimper mixed with a moan - like she’s going to fall apart from just his words, Glen’s grip on her luscious hips firm as he guides her up his body until her legs are on either side of his face.

He smells her arousal instantly, and he doesn’t miss the darker patch of purple on her thong, his tongue reflexively wetting his lips as he looks at her covered sex. He swears he’s never been more turned on than he is at this very moment, his whole body practically vibrating as Billie straddles his face.

He reaches up and gingerly pulls the silky material aside - unable to stop the growl of wanton approval that instinctively rumbles in his chest at what he finds. 

She’s fucking glistening, sopping wet and waiting for him, the sight of her perfect pink folds making him involuntarily buck his hips into the air, his grip on her hips digging so tight he’s sure he’s hurting her.

Fuck.

“Are you sure?” Billie asks, a hint of hesitation colouring her breathy voice - Glen not missing the way her hips are already subtly grinding as she hovers just above him.

Glen swallows thickly. 

He’s never been more sure of anything in his fucking life.

He doesn’t answer - too far gone in his thoughts about what he’s about to do to Billie, instead gripping at her buttery skin and pulling her down onto his waiting tongue. 

---

Previous Chapter

TAGLIST:

@angclvings @auntiegigi @friedchips-blog @memories-in-bw @maeleelee @jessicab1991 @bellaireland1981 @queenslandlover-93 @itsjustkhaos @kneelforloki @djs8891 @lovemesomevesey @entertainmentgirl80 @buckysteveloki-me @stankface @fore45fore @sqrlgrrl2 @mrsevans @stinkerbelle007 @smoothdogsgirl @alwayshave-faith @marvelouslyme96 @meldizzzle @winterassassin1804

[bg3-brainwormed]

okay but I just thought about it, one thing we know is that Durge is able to resists The Urges when it’s someone they love, as seen by not killing Isabel. this can’t be the first time Durge has had that happen

It definitely isn’t! There’s even scattered mentions of it throughout the game. Sceleritas complains that Durge had a tendency to be too kind to orphans and beggars, etc., and had to initially be cajoled etc into killing them.

At some point after that the cult mind/brainwashing really got to them because that “weakness” seemed to steadily appear less and less… but the cult seems to exist entirely of outcasts and orphans, so maybe Durge just found some wiggle room where they could. (They did definitely eat and murder a lot of innocent people, to be clear. They can contain multitudes it’s okay.)

And then there is, of course, the Letter of Forgiveness, Orin’s comments, and Enver Gortash, Chosen of Bane. Who Durge admits to punishing themself for, because they admire and respect him more than they desire to follow the Urge. Who Orin laments over for weakening their slaughter kin, because Durge wouldn’t kill him.

Durge resisted The Urge for Enver fucking Gortash and it has me gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. There’s even a voice line where if Durge attacks Gortash, he mentions that he thought Durge had better control over the Urge than that, which implies they have discussed the possibility before. (And that Gortash can’t fathom a world where it is Durge who chooses to attack him.)

Heartbreaking: The Worst People You Know Just Unlocked the Power of Love Unholy Obsession

[cripplecharacters]

I've read the post about how arm prostheses are often more trouble than they're worth and it makes sense. My special interest fandom doesn't have robotics or magic anyway, so a prosthetic there would more or less amount to a stick with possibly a hook on the end, and I'm not trying to argue in favour of making anything more advanced than that here. What I would like to know is if the same practical considerations apply with someone who's lost BOTH hands or analogous gripping appendages. Is it worth it to go for the lightest and least clunky prosthetic possible or is it still easier to do everything with the mouth and/or feet? Does it vary depending on what one is doing, or how much of the arm is lost?

Hello!

[Please note, we don't currently have mods who are amputees; you can try checking with some of our recommended blogs from our navigation post, but I'm not familiar with any bilateral arm amputees doing writing advice on Tumblr.]

There are a lot of factors that would go into this, and the two you mentioned are absolutely important, but I'd say that age plays the biggest role. What I mean is how old the person was where they had their arms amputated, since that's where I generally see the biggest difference in prosthetic use.

For the following sections I'll presume a scenario where the person is financially able to buy prosthetics that would suit their body in the technical aspect and potential assistive devices to get them on etc. aren't a problem to acquire for them.

If someone loses their arms at 70, they're almost certainly going to be using prosthetics, at least part-time. They spent decades doing everything with their hands and probably have close to zero coordination necessary to do these tasks with their feet now, not to mention being in worse condition in general due to their age. Even if their prosthetics are the simplest hooks, they will probably give them more independence since at an older age and with no practice, using their legs would be out of the question and using stumps could be much harder for someone whose way less flexible and strong. This doesn't mean that all the cons of an arm prosthetic disappear, because they don't - in this scenario, it just means that the possible pros outweigh the cons.

If someone is born without their arms or loses them as a younger child, they're probably gonna wear prosthetics at first because their parents will want them to and will stop just as fast. Have you tried to put a shirt on a toddler? Now imagine trying to put two arms on them that they can't fully control. For someone younger they will just instinctively do things however they can, whether that would be by using residual limbs (more common if it's below the elbow) or feet (more common if above the elbow). There might be some tasks that might be impossible or very difficult to do without a prosthetic, and then the person might get a specialized one - Bebe Vio is a wheelchair fencer who uses an arm prosthetic to hold her foil because you can't really do that without one. Some instruments might also require the use of a prosthetic, but children generally tend to figure to do almost everything out with what they got. There are armless drummers and guitarists who play with their feet.

You can check this video out, it's by Isabelle Weall where she talks about why she chooses to not use prosthetics arms. Jessica Cox is one of the most famous people with no arms, and she can do more or less everything - fly a plane, do karate, drive a car. Matt Stutzman is one of the best compound archers in the world, and he doesn't use prosthetics either. All these people lost their arms young or were born without them.

Obviously a lot of people will be in the middle. That's where length of residual limbs will play a major role, but also people's lifestyle or what they do on the daily basis. If someone needs the tactile sensation to be able to do their job, they will probably prefer using their arm stumps or feet if the stumps are too short.

But if someone's stumps are too short, and they don't want or can't use their feet (it's not as easy as just starting to do stuff with your toes, it requires a ton of practice, flexibility, and patience) then they might go for prosthetics or a prosthetic, singular. Some people might find it easier to adapt to a body-powered prosthesis because to them the pros of one are more significant than the cons. I mean, not that many people have the flexibility alone needed to write with a pen with your foot, let alone coordination. They could wear a prosthesis when they know they'll be doing a lot of grabbing work because it's awkward for them to try doing it with their residual forearms and take it off to play with their dog because it feels nicer to pet it when you can feel it's fur on your skin.

There is of course the situation where regardless of factors, neither option really works for someone. They might have minimal to no ability to actually use prosthetics (weakness, other disability), while their legs might be atrophied from the bedrest caused by the illness that required their arms to be amputated (or anything else that prevents them from using their legs). This person might rely on caregivers instead for a lot of tasks, and these people absolutely do exist. Sometimes it's a situation that happens right after the amputation and they later find something that works for them, but sometimes they might not. This is a possibility as well.

All these factors should be considered for a character, and then of course you have to factor in the character themselves - can they afford prosthetics? Do they have a way to learn how to use them effectively? Get them fixed and adjusted? If the learning process of using a prosthetic is frustrating to them, they might not want to use it at all, and if it comes easily to them they might be more inclined to actually wear it.

Of course even if the pros-to-cons analysis decides that using prosthetics would be beneficial, the cons are still very much there. They're still heavy, with not the greatest dexterity, sometimes causing skin issues or muscle soreness. It takes a lot of work in occupational therapy to be proficient in using them. As long as you do research on the reality of using bilateral prosthetics (both negative and positive sides, which will be different for different people so you should get as many perspectives as you can) it's definitely okay to include them. There's no point in painting them as either magical tools that are just like regular arms or making them seem like they're completely useless pieces of junk - though they can be that for many, but for others they can also be what helps them live their life more fully, makes bringing groceries in easier, or just allows them to participate in that one hobby they do once a week.

And of course: when in doubt, have a range of disabled characters.

I hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[alwritey-aphrodite]

here’s my submission for the fall coffee house put together by @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno - im not gonna lie i have no idea where this came from but its the longest thing ive written in literal months so enjoy!

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: none :) except that i didn’t proofread lmao

You’ve always been a planner, always had goals for your future, dream boards and five year plans and a list of things to accomplish before you turned thirty. None of those ever included feeling so claustrophobic in what was supposed to be your dream job that you packed everything up and moved away and got a job at a coffee shop. Your life is far from terrible, and you’re quite happy with your choices, but you know if you were somehow able to tell past you where you would end up at twenty seven, she would have spit in your face.

The coffee shop you work at is wonderful, especially now that autumn is in full swing, because it’s almost absurdly cozy and warm. You’re able to wear whatever you want, craft playlists, design menu boards, and spend all day talking with regulars and newcomers alike. Even if it wasn’t where you imagined you would end up, you couldn’t be happier. Especially when an incredibly attractive single father starts to frequent during your shifts.

Isabel and Frankie Morales are nothing short of delightful. The pair of them are absurdly polite, which is especially adorable on the kindergartner, and Frankie is a generous tipper. Before, they had come in every Friday when he picked Isabel up from school for a cookie to split, but now that the weather has turned, they come in most days around two for hot chocolates. Most of the time they retreat to a booth, but on busy days, Frankie helps his daughter onto one of the high top stools along the counter before sitting down next to her, giving you the perfect opportunity to watch and listen to their conversations, still a little scared to actually speak to him beyond the small talk when you take their order.

Today, it’s raining, pouring really, and the shop is mostly empty, the students who normally hunker down for study marathons nowhere to be seen and even most of your regulars hadn’t bothered to show up, choosing to stay dry at home rather than brave the elements for their coffee fix. Your boredom grows with each hour that passes, but then the bell above the door rings to life, and Frankie and Isabel hurry inside, an umbrella trailing behind.

“It’s raining really hard,” Isabel says, trudging up to the counter and leaving her father behind to deal with shaking out the umbrella to keep it from dripping. Normally, she’s glued to her father’s side, but maybe she feels safer with the emptiness of the shop.

“Yeah it is,” you agree with the girl, trying not to laugh as she attempts to stretch herself tall enough to see you over the counter, and you compensate by leaning forward on your elbows, “I didn’t think you guys were going to show up.”

“We were already wet, what’s the worst that could happen,” Frankie says as he approaches the counter himself, umbrella sufficiently dry.

“And I really needed a treat,” Isabel adds, sounding so much like an adult trapped in a toddler’s body you can’t help the giggle that escapes you.

“Oh, yeah? What happened?”

“Don’t get her started,” Frankie mutters, and you laugh again, calming your giggles as Isabel clears her throat.

She launches into a story about recess and reading spots and lunch tables, and it’s hard to keep it all straight, but you nod along all the same, sympathizing with the exhaustion of being a little girl.

“That sounds rough,” you say when she finally finishes her story, and she nods sagely, causing you to fight against your giggles again, “how about I make you an extra special hot chocolate, hm? Would that help?”

“Yes please!” Isabel’s eyes light up, her little frown replaced with a gap-toothed grin.

“Same for you?” You ask Frankie, even though you know he’ll refuse.

“Just a black coffee for me, please.”

You ring them up for a small black coffee and a small regular hot chocolate, even though you give them both larges and you add flavoring and toppings to Isabel’s drink. Instead of slipping into one of the many open booths, they take a spot at the counter, and your heart expands to an impossibly large size. Handing over their drinks, you place a plate of cookies in front of them too. They’re all Halloween and fall themed, and you’d spent the better part of the afternoon decorating them with more care than necessary, simply because you had the time. Frankie starts to shake his head, but you’re one step ahead of him.

“Please, just take them. They’ll all go to waste otherwise, no one else is gonna come in.”

“You should take them, then,” he counters, not giving in.

“C’mon, I’ve eaten about ten of these bad boys today already, and I’ve got a box full of pastries set aside for when I leave. Take the damn cookies,” you’d normally never use that language with a customer, but it’s dead besides the two of them and you’re grinning so you don’t think he’ll take offense.

A smile blooms on his face even as he shakes his head at you, and he takes two cookies from the plate, one for himself and one for Isabel, who looks like the happiest girl in the world now that she has cookies to add to her ginormous hot chocolate.

It’s dark by the time they get ready to leave, and you feel a little awful, like you’ve kept them trapped with you when they could have a million things they needed to do all because you were a little bored.

“Thanks for keeping me company,” you say, a little sheepish as Frankie helps Isabel back into her raincoat, which is difficult because she refuses to part with the cookies you’d boxed up for them to take home.

“We should be thanking you, for the cookies and the company,” he counters, pausing in his struggle to smile at you. You smile back, but then Isabel is tugging on his sleeve and pulling him down to her level. She whispers at him, and they’re a little too far for you to hear, so you just busy yourself with wiping down the already spotless counter until Isabel clears her throat rather dramatically and you turn your attention back to the pair with a gentle smile.

“You know, these are a lot of cookies for only two people,” Frankie starts, and you’re getting ready to argue with him, thinking he’s trying to get out of taking them again when he continues, “maybe we should split them three ways? And we can make you hot chocolate for a change?”

It takes you a second to figure out what he means, but when he does, there’s no stopping the smile that overtakes you, and you’re so beyond happy you can’t even speak for a minute.

“I’ll be done here around six,” you reply once you can form words again, and Frankie’s smile is so gorgeous it threatens to eliminate that ability all over again, “if you’re not already sick of me.”

“I could never get sick of you,” he responds, and if you weren’t already a complete goner, you definitely are now.

[virtues-end]

So when i chose my helvling's name i headcanoned that the name they chose was actually a small part of their original human name, like choosing the name isa while not being aware that in another life they were called isabelle. And now it's actually funny to imagine shea or anyone that used to know them hearing their new name for the first time and going insane over this, like they are the same person but you know, not quite. Like most of it got lost along the way

Btw i love your game so much, it's definitely my favourite in the genre :)

Aww, I love that. Very... bittersweet.

And thank you! Glad you're enjoying it. <3

[swordsswordsswords]

Sorry to Get Into It today but this has been on my mind. I want to preface this saying I love Pacat’s series, all of them, I have enjoyed reading them and have spent much time engaging in discourse over them. However…

In all of Pacat’s series there is a blond main character who has a clear, specific birthright that automatically gives them power. And I get from his interviews this has to do with the racial caste system (if you’re wondering why I refer to it as a caste system I encourage you to read Caste by Isabel Wilkerson) in Australia, how Anglo white people automatically have a certain privilege by being white and blond. And how does Pacat respond to this? Not by calling out the flawed system, but by creating a brunette character who, little known to Blondie, has from their own birthright, just as much power, dare I say, *more* power than their blond counterpart. And in the end, that character uses their own power, still given largely by birthright, to overcome or match the blond character.

But to me, this is not a satisfying conclusion because instead of dismantling the oppressive system, it instead reinforces it, by choosing to acknowledge and respect the hierarchy. This is the same sort of struggle, for example, with types of feminism that don’t actively denounce the flaws of a patriarchal system and put the burden on women to align themselves better with the system. For example, Lean In culture: “gender pay gap at work? You just need to work harder and be a girl boss!” And it’s worth noting this type of feminism only works, if at all, for women who have a lot of privilege already— white, able bodied, middle class, straight, cis.

So, similarly, in all three of Pacat’s franchises—Captive Prince, Fence, and Dark Rise, the main characters all have some birthright privilege of their own—Damen is a prince, Nicholas is the son of a famous fencer, Will is really [spoiler]—and this helps bolster their otherwise underdog status. For all three of them, we admire their tenacity and bravery in the face of their circumstances, but even so, if they “win” in the end, it’s at least in part because of this birthright.

Now I ask you to imagine, what would these stories be like if they didn’t have that privilege? What if Damen were really just a random soldier who happened to kill Auguste at Marlas? What if Nicholas were just a kid who could barely afford fencing lessons? And what if Will were simply a dockworker, bereaved by the death of his mother? Perhaps it seems they wouldn’t stand much of a chance, but then I ask you, instead, what narrative could we create where these characters, and their blond counterparts that have power over them, realize that in fact the system itself is unjust and actively work together to dismantle it?

I want to read that next.

[sleepythegh0st]

Who Each Hatsune Miku: COLORFUL STAGE! Character Would Main in Mario Kart

Because it did so well on my Instagram

Ichika is the first of many who discovered that her main from 8 was cut from World. She used to use the female Villager. At first she wasn't sure what to do... that was until she saw Pokey, the literal cactus. She's not worried anymore.

Saki has been a Toadette girl her whole life and doesn't plan on stopping. She matches with Tsukasa =]

Honami was another victim of her main being cut, as she used to use Isabelle. She joined the Cow Crew pretty quickly though.

Shiho used to main Dry Bones. When she saw Nabbit's reveal however, she decided there was no turning back.

Minori uses Daisy, her favourite princess. She's always loved her because in her mind, they look alike. You know what they say, "What little girl doesn't dream of being a princess?"

Haruka used to use Kamek because he looked the closest to a penguin. Needless to say, the inclusion of an actual penguin in World is a dream come true for her.

Airi used to be a Cat Peach truther. She's hoping to find out that she's still there in costume form, but until then, she's settling for normal Peach.

Shizuku also has a favourite princess. You'll likely never see a day she doesn't use Rosalina.

Kohane, being a fan of cute little guys, is loving the new roster for World. She was very quick to abandon Tanuki Mario when she saw Monty Mole.

An is a big fan of Pauline. Need I explain why?

Akito is the resident Dry Bowser fan who is not happy to see he was cut, although you'll never see him admit it. He claims to not care, and is apparently perfectly fine with using normal Bowser in his absence, but secretly, he's hoping to see Dry Bowser return as a costume.

Toya has loved Yoshi since he was little. He was always partial to one of the blue variants, and he is very intrigued by the implication that all colors come with their own costume now.

Tsukasa has always, and will always use Toad, as mentioned before. The day Saki gives up Toadette is the day Tsukasa gives up Toad.

Emu used to use Bowser Jr. She was a big fan of the Koopalings. However, as soon as her eyes met Para-Biddybud, she fell in love. She almost doesn't want to play Mario Kart until she can use it she's so excited.

Nene was devastated at the loss of Link. She thought it would be impossible to choose a new main... because now she had to choose between two fish. Ultimately she chose Cheep Cheep because she thought it was cuter.

Rui used to use Pink Gold Peach largely because Nene complained about her inclusion all the time. He isn't particularly bothered about losing her, because he still has King Boo, his real favourite.

Kanade specifically liked the white Shy Guy. She isn't bothered by the colors being costume specific now, as she really only played for the music anyway.

Mafuyu used to use regular old Mario simply because she didn't care. For some reason she's keen on trying the Snowman...

Ena and Airi used to match, as when Airi would use Cat Peach, Ena would use normal Peach. When they found out Cat Peach was being removed, Ena decided to sacrifice her main and look for a new one because they did not want to use the same character. She thought it would be an impossible task, but so far, Swoop has caught her eye.

Mizuki uses Birdo. All of you know why, I'm sure.

[purplecatghostposts]

Miraculous Ladybug characters and what character in Mario Kart 8 I think they choose as well as if they’re good at the game, based on the vibes I get from them!

Marinette: Used to play Peach but now is purely loyal to Toadette and Toadette ONLY! Canonically great at video games, so Mario Kart is naturally included.

Adrien: CAT PEACH. If anyone else chooses Cat Peach, he immediately gives them a DEVASTATED look and they swap immediately. Very good at the game, he has three stars on every cup!

Alya: Daisy. She will FIGHT anyone else trying to pick Daisy. Nobody is taking Daisy from her. She’s pretty decent at the game but is mostly just here to have fun and maybe kick some ass.

Nino: Strikes me as either a Yoshi guy or Shy Guy guy, though he’s chill if other people wanna pick them. Also decent but has a grudge against certain NPC opponents.

Chloé: Pink. Gold. Peach. Threatens to sue if anyone else takes her. She’s actually pretty good at the game and tends to be VERY agro. No mercy, she needs to WIN.

Kagami: Has swapped between a lot of different people but settled on Link. Incredibly intense in-game. She’s willing to battle to the death.

Félix: Isabelle from Animal Crossing. Do not let it fool you. He wants to WIN and he will red shell you at the worst time to do it.

Luka: Claims he’ll ‘Choose anybody’ but he’ll go for Rosalina if given the choice. He’s just trying to have fun and is 90% of the reason why controllers are not thrown at the TV. Juleka claims he’s “Going easy” on everyone so less feelings will be hurt. (She’s right, he loses on purpose a lot.)

Juleka: Dry Bones or Dry Bowser, she thinks they’re both cool. Doesn’t usually get top 5 if everyone is playing but consistently gets 6-7th! Hitting people with red and blue shells is kinda cathartic for her.

Rose: Sometimes picks one of the baby versions of the characters, but other times chooses one of Bowser’s kids, like Wendy or Roy. The former is for when she’s playing to have fun, the latter is for when she’s gunning for top 3.

Zoé: Pretended to be bad at the game until she realized she didn’t need to spare anyone’s feelings. Very good at the game, knows a lot of the techniques to give herself mini boosts. She LOVES Boswer Jr., especially after becoming Kitty Noire.

Sabrina: Genuinely one of the best players… When she’s not playing with Chloé. Otherwise she’s always letting her win, aiding her the best she can, and pretty much always gets whatever rank is directly behind hers. Claims her favorite character is Baby Peach (it’s actually King Boo).

Kim: DONKEY KONG. Also occasionally Wario. He’s actually kinda terrible at the game but he tends to spams items and makes that everyone else’s problem.

Max: Chooses one of the Inkling Kids (he strikes me as someone who also probably loves Splatoon). He’s good at the game but with how many other people are also good at the game, sometimes he gets overshined. He’s better at fighting games.

Alix: Waluigi 100%. She thinks he’s hilarious and while she doesn’t actually care, she WILL bring up ‘Waluigi should’ve been in Smash Ultimate’ At some point, because she thinks it’s funny. Not great at the game, is here purely to spam items and fuck over as many people as possible.

Myléne: Terrible at the game but plays to have fun! Likes to play Boswer because Ivan has cosplayed as him before.

Ivan: Also terrible at the game but likes losing alongside Myléne. Likes to play as Luigi, though occasionally chooses Dry Boswer if no one else has.

Nathaniel: Rarely plays but will choose Rosalina or Lemmy if he does. Likes to play against other casual people but usually dips if too many competitive people are playing at once.

Marc: Surprisingly really good though isn’t always good about asking if he can have a turn or not. Loves to pick the animal crossing villagers if they haven’t been chosen.

Lila: Claims she’s won a championship before. Is actually terrible at the game with the worst luck and very rarely plays. The first time she was gonna play with the class, she selected Cat Peach. Everyone stared at her as Adrien gave her the most devastated look. She panicked and faked an injury to stop playing altogether.

[house-elf-magic]

Buddie Royalty AU… kinda

Idea: instead of a presidency, America has a monarchy, and Helena and Ramon Diaz have just stepped down as king and queen following King Ramon’s heart attack. Eddie reluctantly takes the throne at his parents’ behest, though they seem to be constantly hovering over his shoulders, waiting for him to mess up. Unfortunately, they’ve also talked him into this silly… competition? No, everyone was calling it The Choosing.

Eddie was to pick from the women candidates ages 25-35 his new wife and new mother of his son Christopher. Each candidate was to bring just one friend or family member along for support during the following weeks when he would choose the best woman for the job.

Just barely securing a spot through her parents’ signing her up against her will… Maddie Buckley, three years’ widowed after she killed her abusive ex in self-defense. Contractually obligated to see it through, Maddie chooses Buck as her person.

The thing is: Maddie doesn’t want to win.

The thing is: Eddie doesn’t want a woman.

The thing is: Buck loves kids and maybe really likes this one’s dad.

The thing is: Prince Christopher loves his new friend Bucky.

Enter Eddie and Buck falling in love at perhaps the worst time, Chris making a new best friend, political schemers trying to end the Diaz dynasty, Isabel Diaz trying to help her son and grandson find true happiness, Ramon and Helena being a pain per usual, and Head-Advisor-to-the-Throne Athena Grant-Nash being utterly fed up with everyone’s bullshit.

Some story beats:

- Chim is the on-staff head emergency medic. Once he, Maddie, and Buck meet, he sneaks them into some of the more restricted sections like the library or staff gym

- Buck meets Chris in the library after Christopher ditches his new tutor (Mrs. Flores?). They become quick friends, but, since Chris has been kept almost entirely out of the public eye, Buck doesn’t know who Chris is for a while

- Buck and Eddie meet by accident in the palace. They try to stay away from each other for very obvious reasons but are drawn to each other like magnets and form a clandestine relationship with a fast-approaching deadline

- Helena and Ramon are trying to lead The Choosing so Eddie will pick an appropriate woman to be his queen, like lovely Miss Marisol

- Eddie throws out most of his old advising team and restaffs with people he trusts, promoting Athena to Head Advisor since he knows she isn’t under his parents’ thumb and is damn good at her job

- Eddie hates the throne and Chris does too, but he doesn’t see a way out until Chris is accidentally poisoned when the political dissenters were trying to kill Eddie. Buck catches it quick enough from his firefighting work and ensures Chris gets an epipen in time

- Eddie decides it’s the final straw and he’s choosing this family he’s made with Buck once and for all, so he calls a press conference after talking with Athena and announces her as regent in his place

- Eddie steps down with Chris and goes to live with Buck as civilians. Maybe he takes on a dispatch role to support Buck without anyone seeing his face. Chris goes to real school and thrives socially. Buck proposes only a few months later :)

Someone else is welcome to write this fic! I don’t have the bandwidth right now to do it justice, but I hope someone does and makes it their own! Free to use with credit