#so then when she asks him who he is i think what she's actually asking for is his title. WHICH time lord are you.

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 3: May 2023

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

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

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

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

Warnings and Notes: 

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

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

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

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

Max: …Okay?

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

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

Isabelle: …You what?

Max: Yeah. And a handwritten card.

Isabelle: THREE WEEKS AGO?

Max: Yes?

Isabelle: Do you understand how unfair this is??

Max: What do you mean?

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

Max: Maybe they should simply try harder.

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

Max: Again. Not my problem.

Isabelle: You’re actually infuriating.

Max: Because I remembered a holiday in advance?

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

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

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

Max: To what?

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

Max: Well, get used to it.

Isabelle: I might cry.

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

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

Max: Good. You deserve better.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo) 

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

Charles: …Right.

Arthur: Oh. Yeah.

Lorenzo: Was just about to text about that.

Arthur: Did we get her a gift?

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

Charles: …We did?

Isabelle: Yes.

Arthur: Perfume? Again?

Lorenzo: Arthur.

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

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

Lorenzo: Like what?

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

***

Instagram Post – @/isabelleleclerc

Comments: 

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

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

@/lorenzo_leclerc: Happy Mother’s Day!

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

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

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

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

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Max: I’m evolving.

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

Max:  She’s…

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

Sophie: Max.

Max: What.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sophie: Love you too, Maxie.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

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

Emilie: …Okay?

Isabelle: He just knew.

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

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

Emilie: Isabelle.

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

Emilie: Oh my god.

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

Emilie: BECAUSE HE LOVES YOU.

Isabelle: …but??

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

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

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

Isabelle: …Yes.

Emilie: Yeah. I figured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Isabelle: …I’m trying.

Emilie: I know. And so does he.

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

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

Isabelle: Yes.

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

***

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

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

Max couldn’t help but smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Max just sat there, watching.

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

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

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo) 

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

Arthur: Same as last year?

Lorenzo: Dinner at her place?

Charles: Sounds good.

Arthur: What about a gift?

Lorenzo: Something nice.

Isabelle: I’ll figure it out.

Charles: Perfect.

***

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

Charles: Oh, great.

Arthur: Nice.

Charles: This was way easier than I expected.

Arthur: Yeah, that came together fast.

Lorenzo: Good teamwork.

***

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

“Good teamwork,” it read.

Max frowned. Teamwork, his ass.

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

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

Isabelle sighed. “Max—”

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

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

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

“It’s easier if I do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

She blinked at him, lips pressing together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not your problem.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: So. That was… something.

Emilie: Oh no. What happened?

Isabelle: Max found out how my brothers treat me.

Emilie: Ohhhhhh shit.

Isabelle: Yeah.

Emilie: What did he do??

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

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

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

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

Emilie: Honestly? Valid.

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

Emilie: Isabelle, I am going to CRY.

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

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

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: Do you ever just want to punch someone?

GP: I work with you. Weekly.

Max: I’m being serious.

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

Max: Isabelle’s brothers.

GP: Charles, Arthur and Lorenzo??

Max: Yes.

GP: What did they do?

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

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

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

GP: …How bad are we talking?

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

GP: That’s… actually insane.

Max: I know.

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

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

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

Max: Thank you.

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

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

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

Max: I know it is.

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

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

Victoria: …What? Where is this coming from?

Max: Just answer the question.

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

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

Victoria: …What did they do?

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

Victoria: You’re joking.

Max: I wish.

Victoria: That’s—what the hell?

Max: Yeah.

Victoria: Oh my god.

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

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

Max: Okay. Good.

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

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

Victoria: …That’s heartbreaking.

Max: I know.

Victoria: What are you going to do?

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

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

Max: Of course I do.

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

Max: She deserves to be seen.

Victoria: Yeah. She does.

Victoria: So, what’s the plan?

Max: Plan?

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

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

Victoria: Which means?

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

Victoria: That’s the bare minimum, Max.

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

Victoria: True.

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

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

Max: I hope so.

***

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

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

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

"I’m doomed," she muttered.

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

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

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

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

Sassy let out another meow, clearly judging her.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Where do I buy the best lingerie?

Emilie: …Excuse me???

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

Isabelle: …

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: I tried, okay?!

Emilie: What do you mean you tried??

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

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

Isabelle: YES.

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

Isabelle: Emilie.

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

Isabelle: No.

Emilie: Isabelle.

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

Emilie: That’s actually disgustingly romantic.

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

Emilie: Oh, I am absolutely taking you shopping.

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

Isabelle: I don’t want to pressure him.

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

Isabelle: Insurance??

Emilie: Yes. For when you inevitably break him.

Isabelle: …

Isabelle: That’s not how insurance works.

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

Isabelle: You’re way too excited about this.

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

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

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

Isabelle: … I did buy silk sheets.

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

Isabelle: Emerald green.

Emilie: Oh, we are going all out.

***

Instagram Story – @/isabelleleclerc

***

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

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

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

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

Max didn’t speak.

He didn’t move.

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

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

But then—he moved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have no idea what you do to me.”

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

“Then show me,” she whispered.

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

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

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

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

And God, the way he touched her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With Max, she was.

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

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

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

That sentence alone nearly undid her.

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

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

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

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

For a while.

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

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

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

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

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

And it broke her.

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

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

And then the tears came.

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

But Max noticed. Of course he noticed.

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

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

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

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

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

Isabelle broke.

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

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

But Max wasn’t like anyone else.

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

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

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

Max frowned immediately. “Why?”

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

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

Something deep inside her cracked open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: So.

Emilie: So.

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

Emilie: Isabelle.

Emilie: I am not a patient woman.

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

Emilie: …Good or bad?

Isabelle: I think I need therapy.

Emilie: Therapy???

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

Emilie: Isabelle.

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

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

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

Emilie: …What do you mean?

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

Isabelle: I was just a body.

Emilie: Oh my god.

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

Emilie: Belle.

Isabelle: I thought that was normal.

Emilie: You’re joking.

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

Emilie: What the actual fuck?!

Isabelle: Em…

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

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

Emilie: IT’S NOT.

Isabelle: I know that now.

Emilie: Oh my god.

Isabelle: It was so different with Max.

Emilie: …Because he actually cares.

Isabelle: Yes. The first time I just…

Emilie: What happened?

Isabelle: I… broke down.

Emilie: Oh, Belle.

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

Emilie: What did he do?

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

Emilie: Oh my god.

Isabelle: And then the next time…

Emilie: He remembered everything.

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

Emilie: Because he pays attention.

Isabelle: Exactly.

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

Isabelle: Emilie.

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

Isabelle: STOP.

Emilie: No, because it’s true!

Isabelle: …I mean. You’re not wrong.

Emilie: I KNEW IT.

Isabelle: I hate you.

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

Isabelle: I’M BLOCKING YOU.

Emilie: So tell me everything.

Isabelle: I already told you enough.

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

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

Emilie: Oh my god.

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

Emilie: Belle.

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

Emilie: But it didn’t?

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

Emilie: And then?

Isabelle: And then it was… mind-blowing.

Emilie: Define mind-blowing.

Isabelle: Emilie.

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

Isabelle: …Okay.

Emilie: Yes.

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

Emilie: Oh my god.

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

Emilie: STOP.

Isabelle: It’s the same.

Emilie: I KNEW IT.

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

Emilie: He’s optimizing performance.

Isabelle: YES.

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

Isabelle: I am not dignifying that with a response.

Emilie: But you’re not denying it.

Isabelle: …

Emilie: BELLE.

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

Emilie: Wow.

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

Emilie: But then you met Max Verstappen.

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

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

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

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

Isabelle: …I hate that sentence.

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

Isabelle: Emilie.

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

Isabelle: …He’s both.

Emilie: EXCUSE ME???

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

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

Isabelle: I knew you were going to say that.

Emilie: AND I’M RIGHT.

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

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

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

Isabelle:

Isabelle: …He does kind of ask for feedback.

Emilie: STOP.

Isabelle: And then he actually remembers everything I like.

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

Isabelle: Pretty much.

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

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

Emilie: And now he’s doing it to you.

Emilie: I need a moment.

Isabelle: Take your time.

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

Isabelle: Oh, no.

Emilie: How many times?

Isabelle: EMILIE.

Emilie: I NEED TO KNOW.

Isabelle: …four.

Emilie: FOUR?!?

Isabelle: I told you. Life-altering.

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

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

Emilie: I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU.

Isabelle: Thank you. So am I.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: Max Verstappen ruined you.

Isabelle: He rebuilt me.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Instagram Post – @/isabelleleclerc

Comments: 

@/charles_leclerc: Happy 24th! 🎂

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

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

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

***

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

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

The suit was black. Structured. Corporate.

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

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

Charles had sent an Amazon gift card.

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

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

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

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

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

She was happy. Completely and utterly content. 

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

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

She narrowed her eyes. “Max.”

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

He pulled a small velvet box from behind his back.

Isabelle blinked. “Max—”

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

She opened the box slowly—and froze.

Inside was a bracelet.

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

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

She didn’t speak.

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

Her breath caught. “You remembered.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she meant it.

Because it wasn’t about the bracelet.

It was the way he saw her.

The way he always did.

Not as the sister. Not as the quiet one.

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

Just as Isabelle.

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

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Max got me a bracelet.

Emilie: Of course he did.

Isabelle: Emilie. It’s emerald.

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

Emilie: Isabelle, I need you to breathe.

Isabelle: I AM TRYING.

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

Isabelle: Right???

Emilie: Send a picture. Now.

Isabelle: Attachment: photo.jpg

Emilie: Holy. Shit.

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

Isabelle: What statement?

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

Isabelle: …

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

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

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: How are you still alive?

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

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

Isabelle: I didn’t think this deep.

Emilie: Oh, honey. He is drowning.

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

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

Isabelle: …I already do.

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: I thought you were joking.

Emilie: Oh, Max. I wish I was.

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

Emilie: She doesn’t even like golf.

Max: EXACTLY.

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

Max: And Charles… a generic Amazon gift card.

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

Max: I actually feel secondhand embarrassment.

Emilie: Welcome to my world.

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

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

Max: I— No. I need to sit down.

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

Max: That’s actually depressing.

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

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

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

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

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

Max: Good. She deserves better.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Victoria: So… still in love?

Max: More every day.

Victoria: You’re such a sap.

Max: You asked.

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

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

Victoria: Not surprised, just entertained.

Max: Glad my happiness is amusing to you.

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

Max: I know.

Victoria: And you’re fine with that?

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

Victoria: …Wow.

Max: What?

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

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

Victoria: Then don’t.

Max: I won’t.

Victoria: Good.

Max: …You’re being suspiciously nice.

Victoria: I can be supportive, you know.

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

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

Max: Not wrong.

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

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

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

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

Victoria: Sure, sure. Practical.

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

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

Max: …Still counts.

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

Max: …

Victoria: Max. It’s been two months.

Max: And?

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

Max: Isabelle.

Victoria: Isabelle what?

Max: …Leclerc.

Victoria:

Victoria:

Victoria: HOLD ON.

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

Max: Yes.

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

Max: Yeah.

Victoria: OH MY GOD.

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

Max: That’s her.

Victoria: AWWWW. MAX.

Max: What?

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

Max: …Thanks?

Victoria: Does Charles know??

Max: No.

Victoria: Max.

Max: Isabelle wants to keep it private.

Victoria: But why??

Max: Her family… it’s complicated.

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

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

Victoria: Max, that’s awful.

Max: I know.

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

Max: Nope.

Victoria: You haven’t told Charles??

Max: Isabelle doesn’t want them to know.

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

Max: Yeah.

Victoria: But you make her happy?

Max: I try.

Victoria: Good.

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

Max: I know.

[emizsc]

timeskip!kenma kozume x fem!reader

notes: married— established rs, this feels so ooc i apologize, y/n used a couple times, actual streaming terms used(willing to explain them if needed!!), fluff, kuroo mention, lowercase intended!

“38 minute and 42 second compilation of kodzuken being whipped for his wife.”

this is the seventh part of the series created by this fan. the first part of the series was titled, “15 minute compilation of pro gamer kodzuken talking about his girlfriend.” the fourth part was the change from girlfriend to fiancée, and the sixth part was the change from fiancée to wife.

this youtube series has blown up everywhere— to the point some people don’t even know kenma as the CEO of Bouncing Ball Corporation or as a professional gamer/youtuber.

kuroo had been talking to his colleague about kenma once, when highschool was suddenly their topic of conversation. “ever heard of kodzuken?” “your best friend is the dude who doesn’t shut up about his wife?!” kuroo couldn’t even tease kenma about it anymore— kenma just was so shameless when it came to you! (and before he got famous all the yapping about you was always to kuroo. trust me, he’d recieve earfuls about you when you weren’t even together yet.)

after every valorant or league tournament (ewwwww) whether it was a win or loss, once the mic was brought to him to ask about the game, he’d state simply, “I’d like to thank my wife. Good games.” god he’d be even more annoying when it came to a solo queue in valorant. his go-to insult for a snobby teenager would be, “you’re bitchless AND jobless.” safe to say his ego inflates when they realize they’re talking to THE kodzuken, and if they didn’t know beforehand, they’ll know him soon enough when his motor of a mouth warms up to talk about his wife, forgetting to ever brief on the topic of having multiple jobs with high incomes.

oh but the comments on the series were always the best.

user @applepie: may this love attack me

user @kodzusss: y/n how do you find a man like this

user @makemestays: aura farming again

user @svteenm: i think i know more about y/n than i do about kenma at this point

user @moalways: he’s the standard i fear

user @emizszc: laying on the highway as we speak

user @sunaslefttoe: I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE!!!!

if you add up the time of all seven videos, the total time is pushing 5 hours… god he just can’t shutup about you. all the little emoticons for his channel; raids, copium, NT, are just you and him. every sub challenge just surrounds you. just to name a few, there was

“xx subs for a cooking stream with my wife”

“xx subs and my wife will play a ranked valo game”

“xx subs for a just chatting stream with my wife”

even when he had to switch gears. as a CEO, his management team was sick and tired of him. today he had been invited for an interview. he knew the interview show was scuffed prior to coming, so he decided to just do what he was best at. …talk about you of course!

“so, if it ever came down to choosing between your wife or your company, what’d you choose?”

“my wife.” he puts up his pointer finger before speaking again, “actually, she was one of my main motivations to start working on the … blah blah … and she really … blah blahhh blah … my career … blah” the interviewer felt a bead of sweat drop from her temple.

sigh kenma is so in love with his wife.

okay this ending is so boring soooo pt.2 ?! maybe one that’ll be more specific to streamer!ken. let me know!!!

[sarahsangelicdoll]

could you make one where Rafe and Reader have a son and he saw that Rafe accidentally hurt Reader and now he thinks he's hitting her and at dinner with Rafe's family he says something like "my dad hits my mom" with total childish innocence and everyone is in shock, especially Rafe who would never do that

༊·˚ Thinking about that time Stephan unknowingly tried saying that Rafe hits you…

a/n: sooo i got an ask about dad Rafe before and decided to use that to go with this ! Timelines diff, Stephans six and Toby is three ! The ‘family’ is Rose, Wheezie, Sarah and John B + their kid(JJ) since this takes place further in the future and yknow, Wards kind of dead. Not proofread.

Stephan was playing with Toby, helping him build blocks as he tried teaching Toby how to build a block castle. The window cracked open to let some fresh air into the living room.

You and Rafe were in the kitchen. Glass door closed but the two of you still in the eyes of your kids. The two of you fighting to get a container of all natural honey open.

That’s when it happened- When Rafe ‘hit you’. He was trying hard to get the container open, and you were perhaps sitting a bit too close. So when his hand slipped off the lid and the force of his arm threw his hand back and he accidentally backhanded you.

To little Stephan, all he saw was Rafe hitting you and you holding your cheek in shock. He failed to see where Rafe quickly cupped your cheek and you broke out laughing, due to Toby pulling his attention back to the blocks as he tried to reach high up.

Stephan didn’t think of it much after that, just felt bad for you. His little mind failing to understand just how serious it actually would have been if Rafe did slap you. He never mentioned it, or at least not to you guys. Instead he chose to mention it while you guys were at dinner with Rafes family.

The atmosphere was slightly awkward as you, Rafe, Sarah, John B, JJ(not the dead one), Toby, Stephan, Rose and Wheezie.

The awkwardness in the atmosphere being due to the fact this is Rose’s first time coming around both Sarah and Rafe in years. Wheezie was full grown now, practicing law school.

“C’mon, it’s pasta, your favourite!” You urged on to Toby who was refusing to eat any of his dinner. Backing away from the fork with food whenever it got too close.

Rose chuckled at the sight, eyes going to Wheezie as she spoke. “You used to do that.” She said, soft smile on her face.

“Don’t make me force you to eat it.” Rafe tsked though still had an underlying hint of playfulness in his tone as he poked Toby’s cheek. The infant letting out a huff and looking down as to get away from the constant onslaught that was, unfortunately, his parents.

Stephan’s attention snapped towards Rafe as he heard his father’s words. Brow’s furrowing in concern for his little brother before he spoke with defiance but childish innocence in his tone. “Don’t hit him like you hit Mommy!”

Silence fell over the table at Stephans words, You and Rafe making shock and slightly confused eye contact as everyone else froze their movements.

“Hit?” Sarah repeated, being the first to speak as her eyes darted towards Rafe. “What do you mean hit Steph?” She asked. Sarah knew Rafe and knew how much he’s changed after all these years, so she was praying for some sort of misunderstanding.

Rose on the other hand, rolled her eyes as if she knew it. “Not surprised.. poor girl.” She said in reference to you as she wiped her face with a cloth. You couldn’t stop yourself from giving her a look of disapproval as you shook your head, eye’s scrunching slightly. Communicating without words.

“He hit Mommy in the kitchen once.” Stephan said with total innocence, JJ gasping in the background. Stephan crossed his arms as his tone became filled with defiance again. “And i didn’t want him to hit Toby!”

Your expression of confusion was quickly replaced with one of realization at Stephans words. Smile making its way to your face as you chuckled into your hand despite trying your hardest not too.

Rafe however, didn’t find it funny and only shook his head slightly, going to speak before John B beat him to it.

“Are you sure it wasn’t an accident? Look, your mom’s laughing.” He said, nudging Stephan and pointing towards you.

Stephans brows furrowed as he looked over at your laughing form, eye’s going to Rafe who also looked quite amused. “Why are you laughing?” Stephan asked in confusion, resulting in more laughter from those around the table.

“He didn’t mean to hit me, baby.” You said through a chuckle, Scooting closer to him. “It was an accident.” You comforted while squeezing him into a hug. “Ohh i love you, at least you care.” You said while laughing. Rafe shaking his head but laughing nonetheless with everyone else at the table.

⟡ ݁₊ . written by sarahsangelicdoll, 2025 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours. Doing so will result in me blocking you and reporting.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

WAG Bootcamp: Part 2

Part 1

Word count: 593

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: On her first-ever race day, Y/n experiences the chaos, stress, and excitement of Formula 1 as the WAGs teach her how to survive the emotional rollercoaster.

________________________________________________________

Y/n thought she had survived the worst of the initiation. She had learned the pre-race rituals, mastered (or at least attempted) the mysterious “paddock girlfriend face,” and even accepted that she now had to irrationally hate any driver who so much as looked at Lando the wrong way.

But nothing could have prepared her for race day.

The paddock was buzzing with energy—fans screaming, engines roaring, and mechanics in a frenzy. Y/n had barely taken a sip of her coffee when Kika grabbed her arm.

“Alright, rookie. Time for the next lesson.”

“What now?” Y/n asked warily.

“How to survive a Grand Prix,” Lily said, tossing her a pair of noise-canceling headphones. “Trust me, you’ll need these.”

Lesson Four: The Race-Day Survival Guide

Y/n followed the WAGs to the McLaren hospitality area, where they had their usual spots. The screens showed the cars lining up on the grid, and she could already feel her heart pounding.

“Step one,” Alex said, crossing her arms. “No matter what happens, you do not freak out on camera. If Lando crashes, you hold it together until you’re inside.”

“Wait—crashes?” Y/n swallowed. “We’re talking about, like, little crashes, right?”

Silence.

“Right?”

Susie patted her shoulder. “You’ll be fine, dear.”

Not comforting.

“Step two,” Rebecca added, “learn the art of selective hearing. The commentators will say stupid things, the fans will tweet even dumber things, and some guy named David Croft will mispronounce names. Ignore it.”

“Step three,” Carmen leaned in, lowering her voice. “If Lando is leading, do not say out loud that he’s going to win. You will jinx it.”

Y/n blinked. “You guys actually believe in jinxes?”

Kelly, who had remained quiet until now, turned to her with a dead-serious expression. “Max retired from Monaco 2021 because I said, ‘This is going well.’”

Y/n gasped. “Oh my God.”

“We don’t talk about it,” Kika muttered.

The lights went out, and the race began.

Lesson Five: How to Emotionally Handle a Race (Spoiler: You Don’t)

It started fine. Lando had a clean start, holding position. Y/n sat on the edge of her seat, gripping her hands together, trying not to scream every time someone got too close to him.

Then, lap 12 happened.

A driver—who Y/n immediately decided to despise for eternity—dove down the inside, nearly taking Lando out.

Y/n shot to her feet. “WHAT THE—”

Lily yanked her back down. “Cameras!” she hissed.

“That was reckless!” Y/n whisper-yelled, furious.

“Congratulations,” Alex smirked. “You just experienced your first ‘what the hell was that’ moment. There will be many more.”

For the next thirty laps, Y/n experienced every emotion possible. Joy when Lando made an overtake. Panic when the pit stop took too long. Rage when another driver squeezed him off track. She nearly passed out when he was fighting for a podium.

And then—P2.

“He did it!” Y/n gasped as Lando crossed the line.

The WAGs cheered, clapping and hugging.

Y/n exhaled, feeling like she had just run a marathon. “I don’t know if I can do this every weekend.”

“You will,” Kelly said, sipping her drink. “Welcome to the rest of your life.”

Lesson Six: The Post-Race Debrief

After a chaotic cooldown period, Y/n finally found Lando, still in his race suit, hair messy from his helmet, grinning as he pulled her into a hug.

“How was your first race?” he asked, slightly breathless.

Y/n looked at him, remembering everything—the stress, the screaming, the insane group of women who had taken her in.

She smiled.

“Terrifying. But I think I love it.”

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One

“We are going to get in so much shit for this,” Chris rambles, “if we get fucking caught with this-”

“Chris, stop okay,” Eddie tries again. She’s been working herself up with the same shit for twenty minutes.

“We decided to do this babe,” Robin reminds her.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time!” Chrissy practically wails, “he saved our asses, it just seemed fair!”

“Our asses were in trouble in the first place because of him,” Eddie mumbles under his breath.

Robin Elbows him, “shut up, he said he didn’t know and I believe him. I told you, he’s a good soul.”

Eddie just rolls his eyes at her, “we’re not going to get caught,” Eddie says again, full of confidence. And he is, like, reasonably sure this is going to work. Steve’s buried in the middle of a crate full of spare parts, some of them engine parts so are pretty resistive to the scanner. Steve’s running on bare minimum power output. He’s basically nothing. Eddie’s scanned the crate from every angle at about two feet range; the port security are not going to pick up on him.

They’re just sneaking an unregistered, Mars built synth through customs, that’s all. Nothing exciting. Just a synth that One built with his bare hands. One who single handed caused a Synth uprising and murdered every single man, woman, and child on Mars and proceeded to build his own empire in the rubble.

Absolutely nothing to see here.

Eddie holds his fucking breath.

The coms button lights up, Chrissy instantly flicks it, and the most bored sounding voice in the universe asks Eddie if he has anything to declare.

“No, nothing.”

“Please check the list of prohibited materials. You must declare anything radioactive.”

“No,” Eddie says again, “nothing.”

“Docking gate four, please align with the scanner and hold position when indicated to do so.”

The line goes dead, Chrissy maneuvers the ship carefully, and Eddie is certain all of them are holding their breath. They’ve done this what feels like hundreds of times. Eddie is absolutely sure it has never, ever taken this long. The longer it goes on, the twitchier the girls get.

The coms light flashes, and the girls both turn to Eddie wide eyed. Eddie can’t blame them; he’s pretty sure he’s still holding his breath when he flicks the toggle, “please proceed to the gate,” Eddie flicks the switch back, exhaling and flopping down in his seat, the girls both let out breathy cheers and fall into each other.

“Oh fuck me that was terrible,” Eddie gets up to go and retrieve Steve out of the parts bin.

Eddie watches Steve carefully. He’s not doing anything, just standing in the sunlight. Head tilted back, like he can actually feel it on his skin. Sometimes he blinks his eyes open, looking down at his own hand, turning it in the light.

Chrissy appears next to Eddie, holding a bag out to him; sugary baked goodness, “oh that’s the good stuff,” Eddie thanks her, sugar powder smeared on her face.

“I fucking missed this,” She agrees.

Robin appears next, coffee for the three of them. Real, actual coffee. This is the closest Eddie ever gets to a religious experience.

“Okay, me and Chris really need to do the rounds,” Eddie nods, waves them off since his mouth is full, there’s several minutes of awkward hugs as everyone negotiates coffee cups and precious pastries.

“Where are you going?” Steve asks them, frowning. He looks so human, Eddie thinks to himself. They’re definitely going to be able to pass him off as human but...he doesn’t have any ID. Nothing. Steve doesn’t exist, which, considering they’re only planning to be home a week or so, shouldn’t cause too much of an issue.

Until they have to smuggle him right back out again.

Eddie hopes.

“We’ve been off world for like, months, we both need to go visit with our parents.” Chrissy says it off hand, “see you later, Steve. Bye Eddie.”

The girls are oblivious as they leave, picking their way along the busy street, bulging backpacks hoisted up high.

Eddie sees it though. It was fast, the change in Steve’s eyes. They’re normal again now, blink and you miss it kind of thing, but Eddie has no doubt something just happened.

“Steve? What was that?”

“Another file...presented itself.”

“A memory?” Eddie presses gently, standing closer together so they can speak quietly. There are plenty of people around them, everyone chattering and going on about their day; no ones paying attention to them. “What was it?”

“Children...there were children, they were...very important to me. Like I was their parent, somehow. I was...very protective of them,” Steve looks around, frowning. “I need to find them.”

Steve actually turns, like he’s going somewhere, “woah woah there,” Eddie grabs Steve’s hand, and Steve does stop. Eddie is under no illusion that Steve stopped because he wanted to. There’s no way Eddie could stop Steve; Steve could rip Eddie in half, like a wet sheet of paper. His hand is human warm in Eddie's. “Lets go to my place okay...we can talk about it and try to figure something out, we can’t just...go off. Do you even know where you would be going?”

“Hawkins, Indiana.”

“I...holy fuck. I wasn’t actually expecting an answer.”

Steve frowns, his lips pursed in a sweet, confused little curve, “neither was I, until I said it.”

“Shit...Steve. Come on.”

This is not normal for a Synth. Not any kind of Synth. This is just...Eddie doesn’t give a fuck about Steve’s weirdness, it doesn’t matter really, just how weird it is...Eddie’s got to get to the bottom of Steve’s memory errors, he figures the answers have to be there somewhere.

Eddie’s working in a bit of a make shift situation here. The ships in dry dock to be unloaded, refueled and have some minor repairs. Including the airlock which Eddie is praying no one asks any probing questions about.

“Okay, come and sit here,” it’s Eddie’s bed in his pokey apartment, and he has all the tools he could scrape together set out on a towel, but he thinks he has enough here to at least have a look. Now that Steve is willingly accessing the files, Eddie might be able to do a scan, at least.

Steve sits. Eddie goes to find one of the latches on Steve’s scalp, but stops himself, pulling back. It feels...invasive. Suddenly. Now that Steve is alive and awake in a way Eddie’s never come across with a Synth before. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Steve tells him, “I don’t mind.”

“Okay…” Eddie goes back to it, noticing for the first time that Steve’s hair is ridiculously soft. Eddie cards his fingers through it, finding the little edge, and using his magnet to unhitch the plate, “pretty sure it’s this one.”

Steve hums in agreement, sitting still as Eddie leans over him, Eddie works for a few minutes, keeping an eye on the readouts on his visor; everything stays green and holding.

“Okay, lets look,” the handheld reader loads slowly; unsurprising really, when Eddie clocks how much data there is, “Christ,” he breathes, “these files are fucking massive. No wonder you’re having a problem processing them.”

“They do seem to affect other systems.”

Eddie hums, “this is mad...I don’t even recognize the format.” This is...Eddie lets it load, finally, looking at the file data, frowning, “this...this cannot be right. I need to send this to the girls.”

It takes a long few minutes, Eddie letting another file scan through while he’s waiting; this ones even bigger, which is just, insane.

Eddie’s communicator starts beeping in his pocket; he doesn’t bother plugging it in, just brings it up close enough to his ear that he can hear, “Eddie, where did you get this?”

“It’s from Steve,” Eddie tells her. He watches as the next one completes; it’s much the same, just even more complex.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Chris. I am absolutely fucking certain,” considering Eddie literally has it in the palm of his hand, “I just watched the file transfer myself. One hundred percent.”

Eddie doesn’t even blame Chrissy for questioning it, Eddie would have done the same.

“Eddie, those are brainwaves. This is a memory. Like a human memory.”

Eddie looks down, but Steve is already blinking back up at him. Steve does not look even one bit surprised.

“Chris, you and Robs want to go on a road trip?”

The facility is abandoned. Long abandoned. The doors are smashed in, the walls are bare, and every single thing has been stripped out of here. There’s just dust and trash in the corners of every dark room. Broken office chairs. Designs spray painted by vandals. Stripped wiring hanging forlornly from ceilings where the tiles have either been smashed or just fallen in on their own.

“Steve?” Eddie asks, creeping along behind him. There’s no one here, there hasn’t been for a long time, but the place feels haunted.

“We need to go down.”

“Down?”

“This isn’t it; there’s...something more.”

“Right,” Chrissy says confidently, even though she looks fucking terrified, “down it is.”

“I brought torches,” Robin offers.

Steve leads them past a bank of elevators; no power anyway. There’s a panel that Steve unceremoniously rips off the wall; Eddie couldn’t even see it until Steve did it, the camouflage was so good. Next goes the security pad; with no power, Steve just calmly rips the unit right out of the wall. The door next to it, he has to force.

It screeches and creeks, groaning loud enough that Eddie wants to cover his ears. It doesn’t want to go, but the metal itself eventually buckles under the force of Steve.

The stairwell is as dark and empty as everywhere else.

They creep down, torch beams flickering, only the soft sound of their feet on the steps.

It feels like they go down forever.

When Steve opens the door at the bottom, a soft light fills the space. It’s not bright; much closer to emergency lighting. There’s strips of it, either side of the hall.

Every room looks like a torture chamber to Eddie, despite the stripe of cheerfully flaking rainbow paint that decorates the hallway.

Things that look like dentist chairs with horrible, probing machinery hanging over it. Rooms with huge devices in that Eddie can’t even guess the purpose of, “Steve, what the fuck is this?” Chrissy whispers.

Steve pushes open a double door, and everyone freezes at the sight that greets them.

Eddie, for a brief second, thinks they’re human kids. They aren’t, even in the poor light he can see that their insides are machine; not human. The smears of colored Synth liquids are no less gruesome looking for it though.

In the doorway, Steve falls to his knees.

Steve was almost impossible to move; he weighs a fucking tonne. Between the three of them they manage to slide him out of the way of the door, far enough that they swing shut at least and they don’t have to stand there, looking at the ruins of whatever the hell this is.

“They made Synth kids,” Chrissy looks green, like she’s gonna’ throw chunks at any moment. Robin is sheet white, even in the shitty lighting, “what’s wrong with Steve?”

He kneels, frozen, his eyes white again.

“I think he’s processing memories,” Eddie hazards a guess. “We...need to wait it out, I think.”

“Jesus,” Chrissy’s teeth are chattering, her voice shaky, “couldn’t he have done this somewhere else?”

“Not sure he’s exactly controlling it babe,” Robin tells her, eyes wide enough Eddie can see the whites; Eddie’s pretty sure he probably looks the same.

“Kids,” Chrissy breathes again, “sick fucks.”

When Steve drags in a deep breath, they all jump, “Jesus Fucking fuck,” Robin hisses, Chrissy taking two big steps back away from him in surprise.

Steve’s...breathing. Loud and panicked which is just. He doesn’t even have fucking lungs, “Steve,” Eddie kneels in front of him, grabbing his shoulders, “Steve, you’re fine. Steve.”

Steve grips Eddie’s shoulders; not hard though, like he still knows Eddie’s just a breakable human. Eventually, he calms, seeming to slowly realize he doesn’t need to breathe, so it stops again.

“Steve?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “yeah, sorry,” Steve gets up, fluid and sure on his feet again, he easily pulls Eddie up with him.

“What did you see?”

Steve looks around, “not here,” he says.

“I fully fucking second that,” Chrissy adds, vehemently.

“Yeah, lets get the fuck out of here.”

But Steve hesitates. And then he goes back into the room of horrors.

“Steve,” Chrissy hisses.

“Where the fuck is he going? I don’t want to go back in there-” but the doors swing open again, Steve back already, he’s carrying another synth in his arms; this one doesn’t seem injured that Eddie can see.

She’s wearing white, her hair clipped short. She’s stiff in Eddie’s arms, the unnatural stillness of a deactivated Synth.

“Steve? Who is that?”

“This is Eleven. She’s coming with us.”

“Eleven as in the number that’s ten along from One?” Robin asks, panicked.

“Oh fuck me, this is such a bad idea,” Chrissy whispers, as she follows along.

“Steve,” Robins hisses, “Eleven is like, ten numbers up from One. Is it that kind of Eleven?”

“Eleven is nothing like Henry.”

“Well that’s reassuring,” Robin mutters.

“Ah fuck me, we’ve got to go back up all those stairs.”

Eddie just follows along quietly at the back, listening to the girls bitching, feeling like the ghosts of this place are trying to follow them out.

Eddie wouldn’t have thought twice about it before, but now...now it feels kind of odd. A little disrespectful maybe. Synths are artificial, they’re not people, they’re not even alive, so before meeting Steve, Eddie wouldn’t have given it a second thought.

Now, having a synth in the back of their transport, just laid out with a blanket thrown on top, feels kind of weird. Feels a little disrespectful.

They’re nearly an hour outside of Hawkins before the girls chatter starts up again, like they’re just now far enough away from that place that it’s okay again.

Naturally they’re full of questions, and Eddie listens carefully as he drives, “I think I remember a lot more now,” Steve is telling the girls.

“Yeah, like what?”

Steve frowns, Eddie watching him in the rear-view mirror. Next to him, Chrissy is twisted fully in her seat so she can see Steve, “I think I’m from Hawkins. I think I was made there. Henry...lied to me. He just overwrote my memories to try and...make me be on his side. I think Henry stole me from there.”

“You think he caused the errors?” Eddie asks, and Steve frowns, shaking his head.

“Henry was there? One?” Robin pipes up, “oh my God,” she breathes, and it feels like they all realize it at the same time, “One was built there too, right?”

“He wasn’t an anomaly, was he?” Chrissy follows the thought to it’s obvious conclusion, “that’s what they were trying to do there, isn’t it? True sentience.”

Steve nods.

“So...Mars? That was...actually someone's fault. Like One wasn’t just an accident, they built him that way and then…”

“They thought they had him under control. They thought he was...compliant, like me. Like the others. That’s why Henry killed them, he knew the kids might be able to stop him, one day. He waited until I was in maintenance. He must have waited and waited for me to be shut down before he did anything, physically I was the only one there who could have saved the kids.”

Robin reaches across the seat, squeezing Steve's hand. “it’s not your fault babe, okay? If you were being, fixed up or whatever, you couldn’t have known what he was going to do, right?”

“Why the fuck did they build them as kids? That’s just…” Chrissy doesn’t have the words.

“Messed up?” Robin supplies.

Steve frowns, “they were being transferred to new bodies as they grew up, they...had minds like mine. Memories. They were trying to make...people.” Steve shakes his head, “I’m not sure.”

“So why aren’t you a little kid?”

“I was built as an adult, like Henry. The kids memories are their own, just like with a human. They thought that would work better than what they did with me and Henry, but it would take longer; the kids had to grow. My memories are…” Steve frowns, again, twitching, eyes flashing briefly white before he blinks back to alertness, “from a person?”

“Holy shit,” and that revelation kills the conversation for quite a while as they all process everything. Mars was...well. Whoever was building these Synths, the government? The military? Both? Whoever the fuck it was, it’s their fault that One happened. Not the random programming glitch that they’ve successfully blamed all this time.

Mars is just...one giant cover up.

And Steve...holy shit, Steve was actually a person, a human being. That makes so much sense. None of it was programming, it’s just...Steve. All the mannerisms, the personality...it was real.

It still is real.

“We should...tell someone.” Eddie suggests, “people should know that One wasn’t an accident. Mars is their fault, whoever built him. It was deliberate, and they fucked up.”

“We wouldn’t be able to prove it though,” Chrissy reminds him, “Steve is our only evidence. And a creepy building in the middle of nowhere filled with dead Synths.”

Eddie sighs, she has a point. And if it really is one massive cover-up, the first thing they would do is eliminate Steve.

“Steve?” Eddie asks, unable to keep the question in any more, they make eye contact in the rear view, “what was your roll?”

Steve smiles faintly, “I’m the babysitter.”

Eddie dropped the girls off at Chrissy’s parents place and instructed them, very firmly, not to breathe a fucking word of this to anyone. They didn’t need telling, not really, but it still made Eddie feel better to say it.

Now they just need to sneak a Synth into Eddie’s apartment without drawing too much attention. Luckily Eddie’s in a cheap and shitty part of town, and most people keep their heads down and their business to themselves. It’s pretty late by the time they get back, and that’ll help.

Eddie had, briefly, considered going to Wayne but, fuck dragging him into all of this mess.

They have Eleven wrapped in a blanket, and Steve holds her vertically, one arm wrapped around her like she’s a piece of furniture. Eddie’s got his head on swivel, he tries to play it cool, but he’s failing miserably as he trails after Steve up the stairs. Anyone who sees him will know he’s guilty of something. The lights flicker, the bulb on the second landing gone completely.

Eddie nudges trash out of their way as they head along the hall.

Steve takes Eleven inside, laying her out on Eddie’s beat up two seater couch, her stiff body resting awkwardly, propped against a headrest.

Her hair is peach-fuzz, but whoever built her did just a good of a job as they did with Steve.

“Can you wake her up?”

“I can try,” Eddie’s exhausted, it’s been a long fucking day, but he retrieves his tools from where they are still laid out on the towel on the bed. It’s been long hours since Eddie found Steve’s memories, but Eddie’s tired enough that it feels like it’s been at least a week.

The panels are easier to find and open at least, thanks to the short hair.

Eddie wonders vaguely if that’s why they made it short.

“Wait,” Steve says suddenly, “we should check her for a transmitter. Henry must be aware of them, if that’s how he found me.”

“Sure,” Eddie gestures at her vaguely, there isn’t anyway Eddie’s going to be able to move her, but Steve turns her over. He moves her easily, but gently. With great care.

Steve lifts the back of her white shirt, indicating the place where Eddie should cut; the transmitter is there, exactly the same as with Steve. Eddie crushes it and drops the remains into the garbage disposal.

“Okay,” Eddie mutters to himself, getting a coffee, “okay we can do this,” he does his best to hype himself up, but he’s running on fumes. It really has been a hell of a long day, all the traveling, plus finding that place. It’s been a lot.

This morning, calling Chris, feels like it was simultaneously ten minutes ago, and about a thousand years.

Eddie tries to suppress another yawn, and fails, before pulling his visor down, Steve’s hand on his shoulder stops him, “this can wait.”

Eddie half shrugs, “she’s...your friend though, right?”

“Yes. And she still will be tomorrow.” Steve takes Eddie’s coffee away, “I can watch out for both of you tonight. You should sleep.”

Eddie could fight it, but he knows Steve’s right. Plus the idea of just going to bed sounds too incredible to resist.

“Okay, but first thing in the morning.”

Eddie blinks awake with gummy eyes. He’s still in bed, his room looks fine.

Obviously the government hasn’t ransacked his apartment and carried him off into the night. It’s all good. Eddie sighs, rolls over, and lets himself fall back into the nice place half between sleep and wake, cocooned in his warm bed covers.

He figures it’s maybe an hour later, Eddie still resting without sleeping, when there’s a gentle tapping on his bedroom door.

Eddie makes a quiet, ‘hmm?’ noise, figuring it’s Steve and that Steve will hear him.

Steve comes in with a steaming mug of coffee, which is just...outstanding really, and Eddie sits himself up more in bed to take it carefully, “thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Steve’s such an odd duck, for a Synth. It’s got to be all those human memories.

“You said One was like you, but the kids are growing their memories organically?” Eddie cradles the steaming mug close to his face, breathing the scent of coffee.

Steve doesn’t move, standing over Eddie, “yes.”

“Do you think that’s why he chose Henry? Do you think that was his name, before?”

“It’s possible, if I had a name before, I don’t remember it,” Steve turns, sitting on the edge of the bed where Eddie’s invited him. Eddie shifts a little further when the bed really dips, it’s easy to forget that Steve is fucking heavy, “I have been wondering,” Steve continues quietly, “if Henry’s memories...are from a bad person. And that’s why he and I are so different.”

“I think...that makes sense. I mean, you’re a good guy Steve. Even Robin says you have a good soul.”

Steve frowns, looking pensive, “but what if...I don’t. What if I turn out like him?”

Eddie downs the last of the coffee, ditching the empty mug on the bedside table, “pretty sure the fact that you’re worried about it means that you won’t.”

Steve nods, “thank you, Eddie.”

[enavstars]

I wanted to do this in digital but I don't have the time right now.

For context I hc Rin and Obito as 2 years older than Kakashi, so Kakashi was 12 during Kannabi and Rin and Obito 14.

I don't usually draw Rin that much but I absolutely love her and plan to do more with her. It's funny because when I first watched the show I didn’t like her. It wasn't until I began to read fanfics and saw all the headcanons and interpretations of her character here on tumblr that I started to like her. So thank you all for that <3<3

So here are some (bits of how I see her/of my my headcanons about her) on her relationship with Kakashi.

Rin used to idealize Kakashi, so ended up crushing on him. And Kakashi really did carry himself with a lot of self-confidence and strenght, always giving that prodigy vibes. So Rin being a kid didn't realize how young Kakashi actually is.

This changes after the Kannabi bridge mission. Kakashi, whose body is still adapting to his Sharingan, is unable to keep the confident facade due to the inmense pain he's in (I can expand on this in another post if you'd like), so he looks extremely vulnerable and small.

After seeing Kakashi in this state, Rin can't ignore anymore that Kakashi is a kid even younger than herself and inmediately drops her crush.

So now Rin sees Kakashi as more like a little brother, and she decides to look after him. (This comes from what little caracterization we have in canon of her. In the scene where Obito dies, while Kakashi is crying and shaking, Rin inmediately stops crying when Obito asks her to do the transplant, showing her incredible mental strength).

And she takes care of Kakashi not just because she understands how important he was to Obito, but also as a way to cope, in the same selfless (but unhealthy) way she's always known. She needs this, needs to take care of someone vulnerable to help herself. After all, she was really messed up by Konoha and the war, she is still a child soldier who got her obsession with being useful to the village drilled into her head. So she distracts herself from her own grief by helping Kakashi with his, thinking it's what Obito would have wanted, even if it's slowly destroying her.

Because here's the thing, Rin underestimates how important she truly was to Obito and prioritizes Kakashi over her, in the same way Kakashi prioritizes Rin. Neither realizes that both of them were the most important people to Obito.

So in summary, Rin seals her own pain and refuses to cry or show weakness in front of Kakashi (supporting him like she supported Obito) but at the same time she spends most of her time with him with the excuse that she’s helping him with the pain from the Sharingan.

They sometimes sleep in the same hospital bed, hugging and exhausted, and then there can be heard soft sobs and sniffles. But it's impossible to know which one of them is making those noises.

[beecass]

after watching this i have some thoughts.

the movie really is about a dysfunctional couple who moves to their dream house and go crazy. but their relationship is broken way before that. in the movie the main problem is about gender roles, and that's why mac takes the "woman" role in this epsode staying at home and fixing just like barbara in the movie.

and is not just in this epsode that mac is like barbara but his whole life, he has a business with dennis, lives with him, peels the apples for him, everything he does he does for dennis.

but that's old news. when they go to their monthly dinner and mac complains about dennis not wanting the kareoke machine, they fight but make up at the end. the same thing happens with barbara, she complains about how oliver dissmissed her storytelling at dinner and completly undermined her, but then they made up. and that's before they moved to the new house.

the new house is not new anymore and actually they only start to go crazy once barbara tells oliver how she truly feels. oliver has an almost heart attack and she feels relieved at the thought of him dying. now we all know that wouldnt be mac bc he cant live without dennis but thats what he does. he actually tells dennis how selfish he is.

the difference between barbara and oliver is that their crazyness comes from the fight for the house in the divorce. with mac and dennis they both hate the house, neither of them want it, they are not attached to the house like barbara and oliver were. so when they go crazy is really about how they just did it the wrong way.

dennis wouldve loved to stay at home and fix everything and cook, and mac wouldnt get stressed driving to work and eating dennis' food. they are not like barbara and oliver.

but they are.

dennis is actually barbara and mac is actually oliver. oliver almost dies and thinks of his love for barbara to the point to write her a pretty letter telling about how much he loves her and how much she means to him before "dying". barbara cant stand oliver anymore, his existence is annoying to her, and not even words of affection can make her feel different. she still hates him.

now i would even argue they are both barbara since oliver is just an incredible exemple of straight white man who just does not deserve the wife he has. but thats just my opinion.

now one thing that got me is the cat and the dog. i think we can agree how mac is a dog person and dennis is a cat person. in the movie barbara is more attatched to the cat while oliver is more attatched to the dog. when the cat dies, he shows no reaction at all the same way dennis reacts to dennis jr's death.

now when their kids go to college they are left alone in the house with the dog. and that's when the similarities really get to the surface.

a few other parallels is barbara's cooking, she has a business with food and that would compare to mac's famous mac and cheese that dennis doesn't take it seriously at first and complains about it.

also there's a scene where barbara throws at plate at oliver and it reminded me of dennis throwing the plate and smashing it on the floor.

finally, at the dinner, and that's when they talk for the first time, he says he still loves her, while she says she doesn't want him anymore. now which of them is mac and which is dennis at this point?

and then she feeds oliver the dog.

mac and dennis relationship mostly breaks in this epsode with dennis screaming because i hate you, and that's compared to when oliver finally breaks the thing that made them fell in love years before. he breaks the foundation of their relationship, and when he thinks barbara got hit by one of the pieces he rushes to her asking if she is okay. that's mac running after dennis when he is making his way to kill the neighbor.

and they haven't gotten over that yet. it still seems like they are still stuck in the barbara/oliver dynamic. they are still stuck in the house and in the divorce, growing bitter and bitter to each other. mac still loving dennis like oliver still loves barbara, and dennis getting meaner and meaner to mac, like barbara with oliver.

they destroy the house they loved together. mac and dennis destroy their relationship together. barbara is mac oliver is dennis barbara is dennis oliver is mac.

the gender dynamics in the movie are actually so great and well developed, the caracthers are interesting and the comedy is just so sunny lol.

really great movie.

also danny devitos caracther is so funny i loved it.

i haven't seen anyone mention "war of the roses" (1989) when they talk about the references in mac and dennis move to the suburbs, but it's a great dark comedy about a dysfunctional couple moving into a new house and how they completely lose it (to put it super simply) oh and also danny devitos in it! it features an iconic scene where the wife feeds the husband the dog, allegedly - and i'm convinced this movie is what sunny is referencing.

[kazucee]

.ᐟ 𝐐𝐗𝐂3: I actually love the trope royal knight x lady in waiting. Now imagine that with our favourite loser—Phainon.

Didn't count the words since I just wrote it on tumblr on a whim TT + it's a pretty short drabble teehee. I've been having a huge writer's block so apologies if the entire thing came out clunky and unnatural.

Not proofread- If you see any mistakes, no you don't. Possibly ooc. Yeah okay...

Being captain of the Royal guard sure had its perks, while the rest of them suffer under grueling training and the constant clamour of metal against metal, he gets the liberty of attending to the beck and call of the royal family. Phainon wasn't one to complain when presented with mountains of work, in fact he handled everything with an easy smile on his face, as if there was nothing he would rather be doing. To be a knight was to serve, just like how the sun was made to shine.

To serve the kingdom, to serve the family, and to serve the darling that has managed to capture his heart. So it was no surprise that he could always be found by the princess' side.

The rumor mill has conjured up yet another amusing one: Sir Phainon seems to fancy a certain princess. He wanted to laugh, wanted to tell everyone that although he accompanies the princess constantly throughout the castle, his gaze remains perpetually fixed on someone else entirely—her lady in waiting. You.

So did he just happen to be lingering on the kitchen doorway as you mander about just to catch your eye? Maybe. As he stood by peaking his head into the kitchen he recognizes the scent of lemon meringue pie, he assumed it was requested by the princess, you always seemed to have a certain fondness when it came to the bubbly lady and Phainon couldn't help the small smile that would grace his lips every time he saw you two with arms intertwined as she chatters on about the latest gossip.

When you did finally put down that iron fist of yours and turn to see an amused Phainon your face would give a twitch of surprise before morphing back to its usual indifference. "Don't you have troops to order around, captain?" You remarked as you pushed past him to make your way towards the princesses chambers.

"After seeing your performance in the kitchen earlier, I'm thinking of handing that task over to you, you seem to hold an astounding amount of authority over most people." Phainon revelled in the way you scoffed to hide your smile. You didn't even notice that he was trying to match the pace of your walk with his long legs, hands folded behind his back, the epitome of carefree saved for the way his heart hammered against his ribs.

"are you suggesting we switch roles for the day?" You supply an answer to his ridiculous banter.

"I think you'd look lovely clad in armour and the royal knight uniform." When you glanced at him, he looked sincere, like he was actually considering the idea. You managed an eyeroll at the notion.

"I share your sentiments. I'm sure you'd look lovely in my uniform as well, or better yet a dress with many flounces and frills perhaps." Now it was Phainons turn to snort.

You see some maids pass by the two of you with a gleam in their eyes, a gleam that gives you the feeling that a new rumor would spread tonight, one that rang partly true.

"where are you headed to?" Phainon asks, eyes drifting towards the many portraits hung across the hallway, distracting himself as to not stare at you. He thinks it's a shame that you wouldn't have a portrait of your own, a beauty like yours needs to be framed in gold and adored by anyone who walks by. He decided that he would learn to paint.

"why are you asking?" You raise a brow at him.

"what if it's dangerous?" Phainon mimicked your look, raising a pale brow of his own. You honestly wonder how this man became the captain of the Royal guard, the famed sun born hero, the revered knight of the kingdom. To you he looked like the boy you had known all your life, frost bitten hair paired with warm cerulean blue waves, with a grin that held a certain amount of charm and mischief. It was hard to imagine that the young boy was now a man.

"you do realize that we're in the palace. The most safeguarded place in the entire kingdom." You reply, voice flat as you try to keep up with his antics.

"danger never sleeps" was his reply, shrugging his shoulders. Although he has a point, you thought him ridiculous, as always.

"I'm the safest I can be right now" your voice was like a breeze, easy and light. You turned to face him halting your walk making Phainon pause mid step to fix his stare on you. His stare held a certain intensity that made you nervous.

"how can you be so sure?" Phainon challenged, crossing his arms as he leaned against the marble walls. There was a look he had on his face, one that made you want to knock it off. Which you successfully did once he heard your answer.

"I'm accompanied by the captain of course" you said without thinking, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. What you didn't realize was how true those words were. How at this moment, there is no one in the entire kingdom—not King, nor Queen or Princess—who's more safeguarded than you. How Phainon was willing to do anything and everything in his power to guarantee that you'd be safely escorted anywhere, even if it was just around the castle. You didn't realize just how much Phainon was ready to put on the line just to make sure that you would go out unscathed, unharmed.

Facing him, you could see the way his form shifted and his expression had changed into something unrecognizable before he broke off his gaze to look at yet another painting of some king that had died a long time ago. At the angle he presented you, your eyes trace against his sharp jawline, his adams apple as it bobbed upwards when he swallowed, and the faint dusting of pink across his cheeks.

What an unexpected reaction you thought as you continued to stare daggers into him. It was at that very moment where the captain of the Royal guard was rendered completely defenseless despite his sword being sheathed within reach.

//Sigh// I love lover loser golden retrievers boys. Hope you enjoyed~

[dollbrbie]

♡ ⸝⸝ THE AFTERMATH

cw. fratboy isagi, he’s a little stalkerish in this but he just misses his girl, part one where they break up here

ever since your breakup with isagi, he’s been so in his feelings.

the only reason you know this is because of the posts your friends have screenshotted from his profile of sad quotes with drake songs playing in the background. it’s honestly a little cringe. so, if you hadn’t felt so bad already you’d probably be crying with laughter. you’ve also noticed user6372928 in your story highlights a lot recently. wow, must be a real fan.

and isagi knows he’s only making this worse for himself, that he’ll never move on this way. but, he can’t help it, hes a certified lover boy!

meanwhile, you’re not really sure how to feel with all this. you know isagi’s been asking around about you, you know he’s stalking your socials constantly. he just won’t leave you alone. and i guess in some fucked up way it was reassuring, knowing how much isagi actually loved and needed you.

but you ended things because you wanted better for him. so, why was he still holding onto this for dear life? you were hoping he’d realise sooner or later, hoping maybe his friends would help him move on.

but really, all his friends hate this more than when he was actually with you. saying, “bro, please just move on from her. you should be glad anyway, wasn’t she like, mad controlling?”

he frowns, “no..? where did you get that idea?”

shrugging, they reply, “cause you never came to the frat parties anymore. plus, she was pretty nasty. always saying shit to you, i couldn’t deal with that.”

but even if you weren’t his girl anymore, isagi wasn’t about to let his friends talk shit about you.

“shut the fuck up, she wasn’t nasty. she was the best girlfriend i had. you think i’m this upset over a girl who treated me like shit?”

then there’s a pause of silence.

“damn alright. sorry, bro.”

he huffs before getting up from the couch he was just sat on, storming up to his room with a frown on his face and slamming the door shut. he’s definitely letting your break up get to him more than he should.

so, he decides to stalk your instagram again!

and the way his stomach dropped when he saw your instagram story; you at a frat party with your girls, looking like you’re having the best time of you life, the frat isagi and his boys hate. what makes it all worse is the fact you look like you’re actually fine without him, that this breakup has no affect on you. and sure, isagi knows you’re the one who broke up with him, but you weren’t even a little upset? a little bit hurt that your two year relationship was over?

the actual truth was that your friends had practically dragged you there, wanting- no, needing you to stop being so fucking miserable about your now ex boyfriend. yeah, yeah, you love him, but you’re really bringing the energy down here!

of course, isagi never had this though cross his mind and instead jumping to the worst case scenario. it’s like everything finally snapped. there’s no way isagi is gonna take this for a second longer. he can’t.

and that’s how he ended up in this situation, his hands shoved in his pockets whilst walking out of his frat like a man on a mission, ignoring his friends questions and calls.

he’s gonna get you back one way or another.

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[villainmirabelmadriga]

(New content for this hope you like it)

Now Tim knew that things got serious when he saw Stephanie impaled by a by a plant from that large being called Undergrowth

They were all already freaking out all but Ra Al Gual he seem to know a lot more about this place than he was let him go on and it was starting to get on Tim's last nerves

But right now is mattered was trying to come himself and everyone else down about Stephanie's death Bruce seemed to have his Batman mask one about the situation, Jason looking murderous as he turned himself at Ra, Cass who is normally quiet looks like he was about to start crying, Damian had to look for the spear on his face as he held on to her purple the hood

Which makes sense Damien was right next to her when she got impaled he saw exactly how it happened and her bleed out as Stephanie died immediately after it happened which was incredibly suspicious to Tim but something called his eye it was a green glow like kryptonite but the shade of Lazarus pits

When it started to get more solid Tim decided to get it everyone's attention " guys I think something is about to attack us or it might be another encounter with Phantom" Tim watches all of them got into position when the growing light fell down revealing Stephanie

All of them are in shocked in that moment but Ra Al Gual he walked over curious and sophisticated as he hoped to get up but immediately look to her stomach where Tim knew she got stabbed at he quietly listened as Ra spoke way to calmly for the situation

"Seems like I was right about how death works here you have a sticker which childishly say 'what a spookably terrifying injury boo carefully now " as Ra said that Tim walked over and what he said was right it was a purple sticker with a carton ghost on it on top of Stephanie stomach exactly where she was impaled at

Was concerning but that would matter later would matter was debriefing what happened to her and making sure Steph was okay as all of them hugged her especially Damian and Cass which was a bit surprising but they did watch her die since they were right next to her

Tim watches Bruce finish hugging stuff as he goes right back into Batman mode as he asks "Spoiler. Debrief what happened when you died also can you remove the sticker?"

Tim watch this Stephanie moved one of her love hands to her stomach and tried to to touch and peel the sick of it from Tim's point of view it looks stuck on her like someone super glued in onto her costume

Tim after watching her do that for a while then looked at her took a deep look at her actually it looks like her costume was fixed with some green yarn and she had a deep confused look on her face as she answered Burce " Well B after I'm stabbed do the stomach all I remember is waking up and seeing some kid with black hair and blue eyes and a hospital bed with a sticker book in his lap."

Tim Damian and Cass had helped Stephanie sit down next to them as she continued talking she seemed a bit dazed and out of it that she had just died and came back so she got every right to be and every right to stop if she wanted to but Tim watch the Steph continued "And you have to understand send me some my the stop won't do my stomach it was still open it wasn't bleeding just open but It like had a hole in me empty but not really hurting. "

"The kid in the bed took a deep look at me but he was trying to look into my soul then he beckoned me to come by him and gently put a ghost sticker on my face before smiling at me next thing you know breathing again back here."

Tim and the rest of the bats sat there in silence not only was this place incredibly dangerous had beings that they didn't really understand it also seemed to have no concept of death. When Tim realize that even looked over at Ra he had to know he's been here longer than all of them

Tim couldn't lie he was truly angry warning like that would have helped them sooner for them not to use that as a plan if they were here for too long Tim got up and walked over to Ra with the Livid look on Tim's face he yelled and hollered " You knew and you didn't warn us. You could have told us that hey we're stuck here weather the chance of escape cuz if you die you'll be brought back it was just like the stupid box things. "

Tim couldn't lie he knew it was wrong to mostly take off his anger on Ra he was mad and he needed someone to blame we're getting them caught in the situation and right now it was Ra because he knew the man was more than willing to trick people for his own gain

As Ra stayed silent Tim was getting angrier he was this close to doing something that he was going to regret that was when Cass walked up and calmed him down she got giving him a look that meant they could be angry at each other when they got out and that they needed to keep going through more doors to get to the exit

Little did Tim know as they walked into the next room that all that anger and heavy emotions of guilt and sadness ran through all of them was about to be used by a conniving despair eating therapist

(that's right if I update this again it's going to be with Spectra because I would find that very angst also I cannot write fighting things that will)

Danny's for laughs and giggles has been actually haunting Ra al Ghul in Nanda Parbat in his new electric ancient of space form also he might be trying to dissociate from the fact that his parents tried to kill him for a third time

So Danny's doing like a Spook's haunted Mansion type except with 2,000 doors along with the help of a few Ghost and the spirit of the Lazarus pits

Here's when it starts to turn bad Danny trauma kinda kind starts forming as actual monsters in the house of Spooks so now Ra al Ghul actually has to escape from

Of course Batman and his posse finding about Phantom's House Of Spooks end up going there and because of that Ra al Ghul being taken away all the way back to the start because the bats are there and the game must restart

So the bats are now trying to escape from a little supernatural haunted house and help a half dead teenager with their trauma

The idea of Danny at first using like cardboard boxes and like childish things to try to scaring the Bats and they believe it's just a supernatural child not knowing better but Ra al Ghul know is the deeper they go in the more terrifying it becomes

omg the Bats being forced to work with al Ghul and he’s just so tired he doesn’t mind too much. They can be meat shields if things turn out for the worst lol. He knows Batman and his posey are competent for the most part, so he would be at least somewhat glad for their help…if things weren’t reset when they showed up.

[mmmilkweed]

how do you think the ancients and the beast would react to know that pv and smc had children

I WAS GOING TO MAKE A COMIC BUT ARG HAVE THE TEXT VERSION

For the Ancients... PV was *supposed* to tell them about Smilks pregnancy. He was GOING to tell them. But turns out Smilk gets a LOT worse, attitude wise, and basically.. All his time was spent on Smilk ( for the first 3 months it was just Smilk absolutely abusing his Pregnancy Status. Think: "I can't believe you won't let me do this, I'm carrying your child! " basically having PV wrapped around his pinkie. After that? The pregnancy actually hit him like a bus. Funs over, now he needed PV for real)

For the last 2 months of Smilks pregnancy, he basically didn't speak to any other ancient. All communication stopped. But that's not too far from the ordinary when it comes to PV, so no one questioned it.

Until he strode into a meeting with a babe swaddled to his chest.

First, the ancients were confused. Is he babysitting? Such a young cookie? Maybe. But then again her icing seemed oddly familiar to Vanilla's (minus the slight blue undertones.) So, of course, they asked who's she was. "Why, mine of course! This is Lemon Meringue Cookie." he'd say with a bright smile.

Then they'd be offended. No one is surprised PV got.. Busy.. With someone so soon, but not even introduce them to the mother? That was uncharacteristic. They didn't even know he was courting anyone! And so they voice their concerns. And then PV's face scrunches as he thinks. "Oh. I seemed to have forgot to send the letters. My apologies. Shadow Milk Cookie became a whole lot more.. Demanding, once he got pregnant."

Oh the silence that followed. All eyes on Pure Vanilla. They just stared at each other, PV shuffling in place, uncomfortable. At once, the table erupted. Hollyberry was the first to speak: "She's adorable!" Golden Cheese's face seemed both disgusted and impressed: "You bed the Beast of Deceit?!". Dark Cacao threw a hand in the air. "What were you thinking, Pure Vanilla Cookie?!"

Hollyberry was also the first to stand up and coo over the little Lemon nested against her father. She was already singing the little Cookie's praises. PV warned against touching her - not that he didn't trust his friends, it was just that Smilk took issue with it. Says she'd smell weird if they touched her. PV couldn't tell if it was a joke or not.

Golden Cheese joined her, but instead of praise she scrutinized the little bug. "She's going to have your nose, poor thing." though her tone was fond.

Dark Cacao remained seated, brows furrowed. He wasn't sure of this.. Decision PV made without consulting any of them. He was skeptical, worried PV was getting manipulated. Worried PV will fail to take action when time comes, simply because Smilk gave him a child. So he voiced his concerns. And PV listened, and nodded and agreed with his friend. He already knew - of course he did, spending so much time with Smilk - and he was prepared for the worst. From one father to another, they shared wordless acknowledgedment. "..She is rather adorable." DC said, also joining the circle around the babe.

I'll do the beasts some other time idk, it would be a lot less interesting though. Mostly just "Nah nah guys this is all a part of my plan dw. This has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that PV knows How To Get It On and its hard not to say yes to his breeding kink guys I swear. Anyway this is my second pregnancy and yes it's still part of my plan guys I swear"

[cinnamongrl2006]

Ferrari driver!Jason Todd x Journalist!Reader⋅ ౨ৎ  ‧₊ .ᐟ 

a/n: here’s part two

warnings: Reader's appearance is not described but she is referred to as a woman, idk not much else?

Summary: It's your first weekend working at a f1 paddock and you interview Jason after a bad race.

────୨ৎ────

It was your first weekend in the formula one paddock after your internship at a newspaper. It was the first weekend you had an actual grown up job, the first weekend you couldn't fuck up. It was just your luck that you'd been selected to interview Ferrari driver!Jason Todd after his race.

Ferrari driver!Jason Todd had a very bad race, his pit stop lasted a second longer than it should've, his engineer called for team orders and he finished right outside the podium. If he'd overtaken his teammate at some point he'd be standing there, covered in champagne with a trophy in his hands and a medal around his neck.

But instead he pads over to the post race interviews, hair tousled from the helmet, pupils blown wide. His assistant steers him towards a reporter and he braces himself for the same sour, intruding questions as always. He doesn't look up from his hands, fidgeting with his watch and bracelets.

Ferrari driver!Jason Todd who is known to have a temper after a tough race, which unnerved you.

"Good morning, mr. Todd!" You greeted him with a poster smile and introduced yourself, stretching out a hand towards him. He shook your hand and straightened up in front of the camera readying for the turmoil to come.

"How was the race?" You asked, glancing down at your notes and back up, meeting his gaze. He grumbled under his breath but answered politely.

"We had a good start, getting both cars in the podium— I honestly think we could've won the race, or at the least get both cars in the podium, but...strategy is what it is. You win some, you lose some. We'll keep pushing."

You nod in acknowledgement.

"How do you mentally process the difference between a race well won and a race narrowly lost? Do you see it as a lesson, motivation or something else entirely?" You breathed as you pushed your microphone towards him.

Oh. He thought. That's a fucking good question. It wasn't the type of question the hours of Ferrari media training taught him to answer or deflect, it was different. It let him think.

Ferrari driver!Jason Todd is taken aback by your question. Your words cut through his foggy, scrambled mind like a block of butter. He opens his mouth as if to answer but he just sighs and closes it again.

He regards you with curiosity for a second before finally answering, "Well, to be fairly honest it depends on the race; it's not the same to finish fourth in a championship opener than after getting p1 the race before..." He hummed. "Yeah, I guess I do see it as motivation, us athletes need to strive to be better, that's how we make a living." He fucking winks at you.

You blink, startled, before laughing it off awkwardly.

You don't have time to process what's happening before Ferrari driver!Jason Todd is pushed away from you and onto another journalist. In the same manner, a short Japanese driver is shoved towards you, quickly.

Your eyes don't linger too much on Jason, and that's a shame, because you don't notice how his eyes stay glued onto you, how his gaze, so sharp, so blue, could cut a hole through your skull.

Ferrari driver!Jason Todd is not smitten, that's for teenagers. He's not blushing at a complete stranger who is not even looking in his general direction; or so he tells himself.

It takes him a persuasive phone call with Roy to muster up the courage to ask you out on a date.

Ferrari driver!Jason Todd runs into you in the hotel lobby (it's not like he's been pacing around it for the last hour) and invites you over to dinner with his friends. When you ask him why he grumbles a little and admits he was rude to you.

"You asked a good question, our time was cut short." He says, matter-of-factly.

"Well, yes, but—"

"I also think you're beautiful, is that good enough a reason?" He asks, leaning down closer to you.

────୨ৎ────

co written with @prettywritergirl2 !!

[sports-on-sundays]

Hello hello, I am back with another request! It's with Oscar again but friends to lovers. Hear me out, the most cliche thing ever. Oscar loves her, she loves him but both too dense to realise it. They are out and about and another dude corners her and tries to make out with her, Oscar saves the day (make him protective and violent pls, make him punch the guy (side note: I would pay money to see Oscar actually punch someone, don't ask me why idk🙈)). So then he comforts her, takes her home and she asks him to stay. I will leave the rest of the convo to you🤗. Let there be a first kiss and cuddle I beg I am the biggest sucker for those bcs Oscar seems like the best guy to have your firsts with.

Holy hell that's a long ass request haha. Thank you for reading all that🤣 have fun with it and feel free to change things up a little bit if you want to!

be / OP81

Summary: Oscar x female!best childhood friend!Australian!reader - You and Oscar are finally forced to realize your feelings for each other.

Warnings: panicking, someone forcing himself onto another person, blood, crying, i did change up the request a little bit 🤏, feeling sick

Requested: Yes! And don't worry about the long request, I really liked it, and thanks so much for requesting! Long requests are better sometimes anyway.

Author's Note: Guys I'm starting to think I seriously need my very own Oscar Piastri....

"It wasn't even that funny-"

"It wasn't even that funny!"

Both you and Oscar look up to who it was mockingly imitating Oscar's friendly teasing, and your eyes set themselves upon Lando Norris, smirking obnoxiously.

"What's your problem?" you demand, crossing your arms, most of the laughter from Oscar's joke that he made fives minutes ago (yes, you were still laughing your head off at it) gone.

"What do you mean? I'm just kidding. It's just funny how your boyfriend can make the most dumb joke, and send you both into a ten minute laughing fit-"

"Boyfriend?" you and Oscar seem to ask incredulously in sink.

The smile falls off of Lando's face this time, and is replaced by a look of surprise and confusion. "Waaaait... So you're trying to tell me you guys aren't dating?"

Oscar blinks a few times in confusion. "Y/n and I are just friends. We always have been."

"Yeah," you add quickly, nodding. "I don't know why everyone thinks differently."

Lando's eyebrows raise in amusement. "Maybe because you guys act like you're mad in love...? Like, all the time? Or maybe the fact that you come to every single one of our races? Or maybe it's the way you look at each other with heart eyes, like the other one is the only one in the room? I mean, I don't know. It could be the way you're always giggling and talking and yapping to each other... But, oh, what do I and everybody else know?"

"Good question," Oscar deadpans. "What do you know?"

Lando shrugs, rollings his eyes, and struts away. As soon as he's gone, Oscar turns back to you with a little shrug and says, "Sorry about that. I guess nobody gets that two people can love each other as friends without feeling romantic feelings..."

You nod, shrugging. It makes sense to you, simply because that's how it's always been with you and Oscar, forever. The two of you practically slept in the same crib (not literally!). You always just assumed he's like a brother or something, and it doesn't pay to consider anything else. So you haven't. Too risky, and besides- that's not worth it to waste your time thinking about. You like things just the way they are, no need to change them.

"-Y/n?"

"Hm?!" you look up, snapping out of your pondering.

Oscar smiles at you, his brown eyes soft, like they always are when he looks at you. You smile back, eyes equally as warm as he says, "Did you hear me?" in amusement.

You chuckle, "No, sorry."

He nods, giving your shoulder a little pat as he stands up. "I've got to go now get ready for the race. First of the season. Wish me luck!"

"Luck isn't needed," you say with a little grin. "You've got enough skill alone to win it."

He grins. "I guess. But luck never hurts, does it?"

"Not at all." You stand up with him and give him a quick half-hug, saying gentler, "Drive safe, and bring it home. I'll be cheering you on."

"Like always?"

"Like always."

"Hey, Y/n?"

You look up from your phone, shutting it off. You're sitting alone, long after the 2025 season opening race, the Australian Grand Prix, has ended. You haven't seen Oscar since the race ended, and have just been sitting around, not wanting to go home until you have a chance to talk with him. And there he is, standing there, back in his regular clothes: a black sweatshirt, sweatpants, and sneakers, looking thoroughly sleepy.

You immediately stand up, smiling, saying simply, "It was a great drive."

"Well, I-"

"Hush. You scored points after what happened, and that's enough, for goodness' sake."

He smiles softly, and though his eyes say a lot more, he just nods and says simply, "Yeah, yeah, you're right. As always."

You nod promptly and say teasingly, "I know!"

He just rolls his eyes and says, already in a better mood just by talking to you, "Mum wanted you over tonight for dinner."

You grin, "She did, did she?"

"You know she always does, whenever I'm around, want me to bring you over. She adores you."

"She's the sweetest," you chuckle. "Well, I wouldn't mind one of your mum's home cooked meals."

Oscar nods, grabbing his coat, and saying, "I agree; that would hit the spot right now. C'mon."

You two make it to the car and get in, before you start heading to Oscar's mother's home. The car ride is mostly silent, but neither of you really mind. It's a comfortable, good kind of silence.

Towards the end of it, though, you ask simply, "So, that's the end of the first race week of the season. How're you feeling?"

Oscar shrugs, thinking for a few moments, before saying, "Hmm... I guess I'd have to say tired, but very hopeful."

You smile. "Good. You just need your beauty rest, huh?"

He glances at you with a cute little smile. "Right."

Dinner is nice. Warm, and reminds you of home, and your childhood, and everything good. And it's perfect for a rainy day like today.

Once he's finished eating, though, Oscar stands up, stretching, from the table, and says, "Well, I should be off to bed..."

"Oh, Oscar, you will give poor Y/n a ride home won't you?" Oscar's mother asks.

He looks over at you with a little smile and nods, saying, "Oh, right, of course."

You walk to the door together, but before Oscar opens the front door to leave, you gently grab his arm and say simply, "Osc."

He looks up from unlocking the door, meeting your eyes. "Hm?" he asks gently.

"You don't need to drive me home. I could get a cab or take the bus or whatever. It's all good. You've had a crazy week, as it is, much crazier than mine-"

"I mean, I was thinking maybe it'd be fine if I didn't drive you home, too, but you don't have to get a cab. I'm sure if I asked, my mum would be fine with you just staying the night or something."

You blink in surprise, but smile at the suggestion. "Oh. Well, I'd hate to bud in-"

He smiles. "You're family, Y/n. Don't worry." He takes your hand, tugging you back towards the dining room, calling, "Mum! Would it be fine if Y/n just stayed the night? We've both had a long day!"

"Oh, of course, honey! Tell her she can make herself just all nice and comfy and at home! Y/n's such a sweetheart, anyways. She's always welcome!"

Oscar smiles, looking at you. "You heard that, right?"

You smile back up at him with a little laugh. "Yeah, I heard that."

He nods, saying, "C'mon, let's go to my room."

The two of you head there, both of you knowing the way to Oscar's childhood bedroom from all the years you used to spend in there together. When you walk in, seeing all the dressers in the same place they always were, and all Oscar's old decorations from his karting days, memories seem to flood back, just like that, and both you and Oscar feel it. You crawl onto his bed, just like you always used to do, flopping down against his pillows, making yourself at home.

Oscar smiles and crawls in next to you. Just like he always used to do, too. "Last time we were both here was..."

"...right after you joined McLaren, right?" you smile at the memory.

"I guess so." He smiles down at you.

"I remember distinctly, one time, you had been gone so, so long, and I asked your mum if I could surprise you when you got home..."

Oscar starts laughing, clearly remembering it to. "Ohhh yeah. I threw open the bedroom door and flopped on my bed, even though you were on it. By the time I saw you and yelped, it was too late."

"Yeah, and I wrapped my arms around you and started tickling you," you say giggling.

He rolls his eyes, grinning. "I remember. By the end of it, I was gasping and near tears. God, Y/n, you know I was tired."

"I know. But I made you laugh and smile, didn't I? And I made you feel better, didn't I?"

"I mean, I was just happy to see you," he says, his gaze comfortably resting on yours.

"I was happy to see you. Do you know how much I missed you those months?"

"You miss me if you don't see me for a week, Y/n, still."

"Why do you think I come to every race that I can?"

"Because I pay for you to?"

You roll your eyes at that, crossing your arms, "I mean, yeah, but that's not the sentiment I was going for!"

He laughs, giving your shoulder a little playful tap. "I know, I know."

You sigh deeply, the sweet silence settling between the two of your for a little while, before murmuring, "And I hope you remember after that tickle attack, when your face was red and you were nearly crying from laughing, I gave you the biggest hug of all time..."

Oscar's face warms at that as he leans a bit closer to you. "Yeah... Yeah, I remember. You wanna know why that moment was special to me?"

"Why?"

"Because that was the moment I realized that there are some people in my life that never truly will leave me. Even if I leave them. And you're one of the best of them. That was when I learned what family is."

You nod slowly, thinking about that for a few moments, before saying, "That's... so sweet. I like it."

Oscar smiles. "Me, too. I like it too. I'm so lucky to have a best friend like you."

"And I so lucky to have a best friend like you."

Oscar smiles at that, nodding, satisfied, before letting out a big yawn, reminding you if a sleepy cat, before folding his hands up into fists and rubbing his watery eyes.

And, as if it's contagious, you let your own yawn, a few moments later.

Oscar smiles, this time more sleepily at you, before slipping his arm over your shoulders and pulling you a little closer to himself. You flop your head to lean against his shoulder, and murmur, "Time for us both to get the much-needed rest our bodies are begging us for?"

"Mmm-hm. Yeah. Whatever you said," Oscar murmurs as he drifts off, the hint of a smile still lingering on his mostly relaxed face.

And you both drift off, surrounded by that perfect warmth and tranquility that feels just like home.

A little under a week later, you're sleeping against Oscar in a very similar position, feeling like you're just as at home in China than you are in Australia, simply because of the person you're resting against, when you're awakened by the painful claims, "I ship it, the mechanics ship it, the other teams' drivers ship it, the fans ship it. My God, even my mum ships it! Literally everyone can see you're mad in love except you and her!"

You stretch, your eyes fluttering open, and murmur before you're even sure it's Lando's unwanted yapping torturing your ears, "Landooo shut uppp..."

Oscar gives your shoulder a squeeze, groaning to Lando in his perfectly alert awake state (contrary to yours), "Look at that, Lando, you made her wake up!"

"Oh, yeah, 'cause you'd hate for her to stop sleeping against y-"

"Lando, stop, it's not like that."

"How come every time a girl and a guy are friends, everyone ships them? I think that's society's problem," you comment as you rub your tired eyes.

Lando snorts, saying, "It's not every time. You guys are just obvious. And oblivious. You just need to admit it to each other."

"There's nothing to admit to each other, Lando," Oscar comments as he watches you slowly lean off of him, slipping his arm off your shoulders.

"Yeah, we're, like, brother and sister."

"Well, I wouldn't say that-" Oscar begins quickly.

"I mean, yeah, like-"

"We're more like just really close friends," Oscar finishes confidently.

"Yes, that's true, I agree," you say quickly, looking up at him. "We're family, but not brother and sister."

"Ah, so you're family, but it's not like siblings. What else could you be other than mad in love but just too dense to realize it?" Lando asks.

You just glare, crossing your arms, and Oscar comments, "I don't know, but it's not like that."

"Maybe it's just not like that simply because you both refuse to admit what you really want."

"Lando, I don't need you of all people being my psychologist. Could you just leave it?" you comment, feeling Oscar's eyes watching you.

Lando sighs (overdramatically), shrugs, and says, "Suit yourself. I'm just saying, you guys have got to get together soon, or else you'll drive yourselves and everyone else insane. We can all tell you guys just need to kiss already." And with that, he once again struts away.

As soon as he's gone, you whine, leaning your head into Oscar's shoulder, "I hate Lando!"

"Don't say that. He's just kidding," Oscar says gently.

You sigh. "I know... it's just..."

"Hm?" Oscar prompts gently.

"I don't want people thinking something that's not true."

"Who cares what they think? We both know how we feel about each other, and that's all that matters." But do we? Oscar's brain echoes.

"Yeah, you're right," you murmur, nodding, comforted by his words, not even picking up the way he stares forward, eyebrows knitted together, deep in thought.

You've heard what you think you want to hear, and that's all that matters to you.

The moment you see Oscar after his podium, after he stood on the first step, winning such a solid race as that, you run into his arms, causing him to laugh as he hugs you back, saying, "Hey, Y/n."

"I'm so proud of you!" you say excitedly. "Amazing drive- amazing!"

"Thank you, Y/n. It means a lot. I'm so happy you were here to cheer me on."

You grin up at him. "Me, too, Oscar. Me too."

He celebrated with his team after the race, you staying in your hotel, since Oscar promised you he'd like to bring you home with him to Monaco, and have a more low key celebration, without as many people. Besides, you'd like it that way better anyway. And this way, you can get some extra sleep and try to avoid some of the jet lag from the long flight to Monaco.

Now you stand in Oscar's bathroom back in Monaco, gazing at yourself in the mirror in your white crop top and silver skirt, knowing that when you step out of the bathroom, all you need is for Oscar to tell you it looks nice, and then all your worries will vanish.

And once you do, of course, he stands up from the living couch and says, "You look really pretty. Ready to go?"

You smile softly, sighing in relief, and nod. "Yes. I'm ready to go celebrate with the winner of the 2025 Chinese Grand Prix." You laugh a bit, and add as you head out to the car, "Oscar, you know I'm so incredibly proud of you."

He grins. "I know, I know." You know he loves your lavishing, even if he wouldn't admit it. He's never gotten enough of it; you're one of the people that appreciate him the most, you think, at least. You appreciate him a whole lot, anyways.

Soon you get to your destination, and the night starts off really fun, you and Oscar just sticking with each other, laughing, singing, drinking, and dancing. But after too long, the air becomes stale, the noise becomes too loud, and the drinks turn bitter. You're tired, and Oscar's off somewhere, swept away with his other friends. You sigh deeply, leaning against the wall, running a hand through your hair.

It's then that you feel a hand on your shoulder, and it makes you flinch. It's unfamiliar.

It's not Oscar's hand.

You look up to see a man around your age with tangled overgrown curly brown hair and dark, cold eyes. He's wearing a gold chain around his neck and a football jersey. It's then that he shows you his unflattering smirk and says in a thick French accent, "I'm Jordan."

You just kind of nod, showing a fake smile and crossing your arms, not really in the mood for any antics with any strange guys.

His eyebrows raise as he says, "Do you have a name, or am I going to have to give you one?"

Your lip immediately curls up as you look at him from the corner of your eye, still not tilting your face directly towards him. "You're not smooth. My name is Y/n."

"Pretty name for a pretty girl. A sassy girl, too, at that. I like that."

You bite your lip, rolling your eyes in utter annoyance at this guy 'Jordan.' "Good for you..." you murmur, trying to send him the message that you really don't want to talk with him.

Jordan just hums and steps closer to you. You glance up at him for the first time, really, feeling a bit sick from how close he is to you. You murmur awkwardly, "Could you please step away?"

"No, I don't think I will. I'm enjoying your reaction too much."

"Please, stop."

He roughly grabs your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. You swallow deeply.

"I really like your skirt..." he purrs, leaning in closer to you, completely ignoring your protests. His hand slips onto your thigh and grips it tightly.

"Stop... I don't care-"

"You don't, don't you? Well, what a shame... I reckon there's not much you can do about that..."

"St-"

He lips meet yours in a nasty, rough kiss. Your head pounds and spins as your knees begin to shake, panic of what's happening sinking in, your thoughts raging with anxious thoughts at the same time as your head being completely empty. You push at his chest, but he pushes his whole body up against yours, pinning you to the wall, further into a shadow.

You gasp, the panic sinking in deeper, and hardly register what happens next.

Oscar's familiar voice in all the chaos says in one of the angriest, coldest tones you've ever heard from his mouth, "Get your fucking nasty hands away from her."

Jordan tears his lips away from your mouth as Oscar grabs him, Jordan turning his head to look behind him, but before he has a chance to react, you watch as a fist comes flying across and hits him square across the face. He stumbles back and as blood begins gushing from his nose. For a moment, his eyes meet yours in shock, as if he expects you to help a dog like him, but it's then that you watch Oscar grab him by the collar and murmur in the darkest of tones to him, "I told you to get your nasty hands away from her, and you didn't. That's my girl, and no one dares to touch her like that. You better not think you can go on like this, and I hope this can be a reminder for you not to." And with that, Oscar throws another punch, hitting the guy in his eye. You slowly slip down the wall, still watching in shock as Oscar finishes him off by handing one more punch to him on his bloody jaw, before letting go of his collar, letting him fall to the floor, finishing with a yell, "The pain you're feeling right now is nothing compared to the pain you deserve!"

You watch as Jordan scampers up and, just like that, without even considering a fight, stumbles off, out of sight.

And then, everything hushed, Oscar turns, and his eyes meet yours. His hair is a little sweaty and messed up, falling over his forehead. For a moment, you see that remaining burning anger, but as soon as he takes you in, that vanishes, and is replace by the familiar warmth he seems to always look at you with.

And the moment your eyes lock, the tears start coming, and you break down.

Oscar is immediately by your side, pulling you into his arms, sitting on the floor next to you and holding you in his lap, gently stroking your hair. After a while, you hiccup, slowly leaning away, your body still shaking, and murmur, mopping up your eyes with your hands, "Os- Oscar... That was scary. I'm scared."

He gently takes your hand. "You don't have to be. I'm here. Are you ready to go home?"

You nod slowly, and Oscar helps you up, leading you out back to his car, his arm around your back protectively the entire time.

Once back in the car, as the events of what just happened replay through your head, you hiccup, more tears threatening to flow. Oscar gently takes your hand, murmuring in the dark of the parked car, "Tell me what I can do for you, and I'll do it. I hope you know I'll do anything for you to feel better."

You sigh shakily and just lean into him. He wraps his arms around you, holding you for a few minutes, before you lean away again and murmur, "Let's just get home..."

Oscar nods. "Good idea." He turns the car on and begins driving, and as soon as he does holds his hand that he's not using to drive out to you. You put your hand in his, letting the warmth from it fill you and comfort you.

As he drives, you suddenly say in the empty silence, "'That's my girl.' That's what you said."

Oscar just nods a little. "I know. I did mean to say that, you know."

You swallow, thinking for a few moments, before murmuring the simple question, "Why?"

"Because you've always been mine and I've always been yours, haven't I?"

You swallow. "I don't know what that means."

"Forget what it means. You're the most important girl- the most important person- to me. You're my girl, and I'm not going to let anyone be messing with you."

That feels right to you, and good to you, to hear that. And you're glad, in a way, that he's so confidently figured that out. It frees you to say back, "Well, yeah, then... I guess that makes you my boy, then..."

Oscar smiles very softly, giving your hand a little squeeze as you arrive at his home. Once you're both inside, before you have a chance to start worrying, Oscar says gently, putting a hand on your shoulder, "I want you to be comfortable. What do you need? I could get you something to eat, run a bath for you, get a change of clothes, all three, whatever else you need-"

"Oh, uh, don't worry about it-"

"Hush," Oscar suddenly interrupts, shaking his head. He moves to stand right in front of you, before gazing down into your eyes, and saying in all sincerity, "Look, I want you to be honest. I want to take care of you if that's what you need. I want you to be comfortable."

You swallow, nodding a bit, before murmuring, "A bath and a change of clothes might be nice... I'm not hungry, though."

Oscar nods, putting his hand on your back, leading you to his room. He opens his closet and says, "You can wear whatever you can find. I'm going to go run that bath for you; I'll call you when it's ready. I'll get a towel for you in the bathroom, too."

You nod, find one of his bigger McLaren T-shirts and a pair of black sweatpants, and head to the bathroom just as Oscar is calling for you.

Oscar smiles at you gently when you walk in and say simply, "Anything else you need?"

You shake your head 'no,' saying, "Thank you."

He nods. "Of course. I'll just be in the living room, you can come there when you're done. Call me if you need anything. And take your time, too."

You smile weakly, nodding. "Alright. Thanks, Osc."

He nods, leaving you to have your bath. You peel off your clothes and sink into the water, feeling its warmth surround you like an embrace. You let out a long sigh of relief as the water touches your sore, tense muscles, soothing them. After the night you've had, it feels good to just be. To just experience something genuinely good and calming, knowing Oscar is just in the next room.

Oscar. The way he stood up for you, was so protective of you, and beyond that, has been taking such good care of you... You know Oscar a good man... He was always a really sweet boy, and he's grown up to be a really very upright and sweet man. It was crazy- crazy- to see him go off on that stranger, and beat him up the way he did.

But somehow, it felt right. It was just proving he's good. That he cares so much about and for you, he won't let anyone hurt you without knowing the consequences of it from him.

How much does he really care about me?

The question almost feels good to ask, because you have a feeling the answer is one you like.

And then the way he so confidently called you his girl.

'That's my girl.'

Just looking back on it, for some reason, it makes your heart skip a beat. It's that chest-tightening nervous affectionate feeling you get often when Oscar does or says little things. Although this time, it's not little, and every new thing he does seems to make your stomach flutter a little more. It's a familiar feeling that you're sure you've gotten hundreds of times before with Oscar, but for some reason, you're only realising it now. Why, you have no idea, and what the strange feelings could mean, you have even less of an idea.

Soon, you finish your bath, and after drying yourself put on Oscar soft, comfortable clothes, no matter how over sized they are on you. Besides, you don't care in the slightest about that as soon as you inhale his familiar, comforting scent when you put them on. You go to the living room and see Oscar laying on the couch on his phone, now in a T-shirt and sweatpants, just relaxing. As soon as you walk in, though, he looks up.

"Osc...? Do you have a brush I could use for my hair?"

He nods, hopping up from the couch, and says, "Yeah, I do. Wait here, I'll be right back. Just get yourself comfy."

He leaves, and you shrug, taking his advice, and curl up on the couch, waiting for him to come back. He takes longer than you expect him to, but soon enough, he walks back in and sits next to you, saying, "Why don't you just relax, and I can brush it for you?"

"Seriously? You don't have to," you say immediately, secretly wanting badly for him to brush your hair for you. You love the feeling of other people playing with your hair- and if it's Oscar, even better.

He smiles at you. "I know, but I want to." And with that, to both of your delight apparently, begins gently brushing through your hair. When he's done, he slowly start running his fingers through it, starting from the bottom and going up to the top. You sigh, leaning back into him, and Oscar just simply loves it. After a while he says, softly amused, "You just seem to melt when my hands are in your hair."

You shrug, smiling a little, and say, "What can I say? It feels really good."

He chuckles that low comforting chuckle that feels just like home. "I can tell." After a few more minutes he says, "I found a hair tie I think you must've left here at one point. Do want me to braid your hair or something?"

You smile, glancing back at him, and say, "You can do that? I don't know if I can trust you."

He just smiles back at you. "You should. I'm good at it. Remember, I grew up with three sisters."

You shrug again before saying, "Well, alright..."

He chuckles softly again, before he gently begins braiding your hair, his fingers gently weaving through your locks, slowly, until he finally finishes and ties it on the end. Once he's finished, you turn around to face him.

He smiles at you.

You smile back, taking his hands in both of yours.

"You're beautiful," he suddenly says, looking right into your eyes. "I don't think I've told you that enough. Because I think it all the time, whenever I look at you."

For some reason, your friend saying that makes you blush. There are a few moments of silence, before you look down at your joined hands and murmur, "Crazy that the hands that beat up that guy are the same hands that just gently braided my hair."

Oscar shrugs, smiling a little. "They have different uses in different moments. And I don't regret what I did for a moment, not any of it. I would do the exact same thing if I had to do it all again. In fact, just thinking about it makes me really angry. But what matters most is that you're okay."

You sigh slowly, nodding, your head a bit dizzy at the thought of it all. "I'm just so thankful for you, throughout it all. You, like, saved the day..." you chuckle wryly.

He shrugs, nodding a bit. "I guess." A little laugh.

More silence.

You stare down once more at your joined hands. "But Oscar..." you begin hesitantly.

"Yes?" he prompts gently.

"...I'm sorry."

"Y/n... for what? You did nothing wrong-!" Oscar begins somewhat incredulously.

"It's just... You were celebrating your win..."

"Oh, Y/n..." Oscar begins, his tone softening. "Come on, now. Look up at me, will you?"

You sigh, doing so.

"It's not your fault, what happened," Oscar says. "It's that idiot's fault, and we both know that. What happened happened, and there was no preventing it. And if you're worried about me, don't be. I had a perfectly good time celebrating in China with my team. This was more that I wanted to do something with you, for you. But look at this right now. Here we are, sitting together, anyway. Isn't that what matters the most anyway; isn't that the point? So why don't we just make the most of this moment, right now, hm?"

You sigh again, nodding slowly, before saying, you heart almost feeling like it's being squeezed, "Okay."

"Hey," Oscar murmurs, his hand touching the bottom of your chin. "You're looking down again. Talk to me." He gently raises your chin.

You swallow, and suddenly, words that you hardly knew you even thought start coming from your mouth, and only now as you hear them in your voice do they even begin to make sense: "I guess it's just that... You're so caring and gentle with me, and protective. And we like each other so much and get along so well and we've known each other for years and... I guess sometimes I wonder about us... You know, our relationship, like, what even is it? I mean, I think we'd both readily admit we most definitely love each other, but I guess... well, I don't know..."

Oscar nods slowly, before whispering, as if it's some long kept secret, "You guess you just wonder in what way we love each other?"

You swallow, nodding. "Well, yes, exactly. Because... well, I don't know."

"Can I tell you how I feel about you?"

You study his face for a few moments- his handsome face- and nod.

"I feel about you the most deep feeling I've ever known, deeper than I ever thought I could experience. The love I have for you is beyond anything I could describe in a physical sense- it's beyond a romantic love or and family love or the strongest kind of named love I could think of. All I know is that when I look at you, I see fulfillment, and happiness. I see everything I've ever needed, plus everything I've ever wanted. I see a priceless jewel- the sort of thing that anyone would honor and protect with their life. I see beauty herself, on the inside and out. I see my best friend, my favorite person, the one I would spend any and every moment with, if I could. I see comfort, I see love. I look at you and know the great lengths I would go for you. I know it's all so cliche, but it is a love beyond words. It is. I just..." he trails off, before leaning in and whispering, "Are you crying?"

You sniff, looking away, your heart pounding. "No..."

He smiles gently, his hand leaving yours to reach up and wipe a tear away off your cheek with his thumb, "Don't cry."

"That's just so... sweet... and... everything I exactly feel, too, put into words..."

"Y/n..." he hums gently with a little chuckle. "I don't want you to cry, though."

"Don't worry," you say with a little hiccupy laugh. "They're good tears."

He smiles a bit, grabbing your hand again and giving it a squeeze. "Okay."

You swallow, before daring to ask, "What would the difference be, if you were my boyfriend instead of my best friend?"

Oscar eyes seem to light slightly at the question, and he says simply, "Nothing at all, except for one thing: we would be able to express that deep love for each other in different ways."

You nod slowly, swallowing.

Oscar leans in closer to you. "How does that sound to you?"

"I... I think it could be just what I need."

Oscar smiles softly. "I mean, I feel like... it would be nice to not just have to use my words to tell you how much I love you. You know, to be able to kiss you, or something, instead."

You find yourself smile a little at the words, nodding as pinkness gets to your cheeks. "Yeah... that doesn't sound so bad."

Oscar smiles, just gazing into your eyes. "Yeah?"

"It's just that... with tonight, with what happened..."

"Oh, I wasn't meaning we had to do anything tonight- just to think about. You know...?"

You nod slowly, before muttering, "But maybe... Just maybe tonight is the night to do it." You pause, before continuing, "You know, with all that happened, maybe if we just decided... tonight, let's just take a little step... it would help me to leave that. You know, it wasn't my fault... and I have someone who really does love me."

Oscar smiles. "And I really do."

You smile back, looking back up into his sweet brown eyes.

He slips his hand out of yours and gently brings it to your cheek, muttering, "Well, is it okay if I kiss you? Just a little kiss?"

You smile wider, feeling your stomach flutter at the sincere question. Nodding, you reply, "Yes, I reckon that is okay."

Oscar nods, his thumb stroking your cheek a bit as he leans in, his other hand gently touching your waist. His hand on your cheek shifts to cup the side of your neck, and he whispers, his warm breath on your ear, "You still okay?"

You nod.

And with that, he leans in, and, pulling you closer to himself, kisses you in the most perfect way. His adoration and love for you flows through the kiss, while still keeping it short and gentle. When he leans away, he whispers, "How was that?" with a little adorable smile.

You just sigh shakily and murmur, "I think you should do it again."

And he does without a second more of hesitation. His lips meet yours as he pulls your body closer to himself, lost in the kiss, lost in his emotions. When he pulls away again, he's pulled you onto his lap, but neither of you seem to care, both too swept up in each other's gazing eyes.

"I didn't realize for how long I needed to do that..." he whispers gently.

You smile a little. "I didn't realize how long I needed that from you."

He smiles back. "We'll call that both of our first kisses, okay?"

You nod. "Does this mean I'm your girlfriend now?"

"I like the sound of that."

You smile and throw your arms around him in an embrace. He pulls you closer to him, leaning back so that you can lay your head on him, and rubs your back, whispering, "I love you so much, Y/n. So, so much. To the moon and the stars and all the way back."

You smile up at him. "I don't know about the moon and the stars for me Oscar, but I'll tell you this: I love you enough to want to spend my life with you. I love you enough to want to grow old with you."

At those words, Oscar's arms tighten around you, and he chuckles, "See how sappy we suddenly get as soon as we decide to just give it up and kiss? My God."

You grin into his chest. "Yeahhh... But I don't mind it."

"Oh, trust me, I don't either." He shifts, moving you with him, making you both comfortable, so that you're laying together, cuddling.

"I really like this."

He hums. "Me too."

"You know we'll never hear the end of it from Lando if he finds out."

You feel the vibration of his laugh in his chest. "I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, let's just relax. I just want to be. Be with you."

"I think that sounds like exactly what I was made for. To be with you."

He smiles, and you shut your eyes, content to listen to his heartbeat and just be.

Just be with him.

[kingkat12]

unclean (Roman Godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: angst, jealousy-schemes, mentions of sex, weird biblical references lol, ANGST (ouch ouch ouch)

summary: will you ever feel clean again? this has become too much-- how are you supposed to make a decision when the people in your life are pulling you in different directions? all you can do is try not to break.

word count: 6,150 (warming y'all up for the last chapter oop)

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 15

a/n: THANK YOU FOR 1K FOLLOWERS!! enjoy the second-to-last chapter and the calm before the absolute shitstorm;) MWAH, thank you for all your support my lovelies!!<333

"Think you'll ever be clean again?"

Roman's words echoed in my mind over and over; I realized that my answer was no.

I felt dirty.

Dirty, unclean, and filthy, all the fucking time.

The hallway was loud today, but Letha walked beside me like she was floating through a quieter world, untouched by the noise, untouched by all filth. She always had that kind of ease, that effortless grace that made people part around her without her having to ask them to. Was Letha maybe the modern equivalent of Moses? 

... That was an odd thought; certainly not one I wanted to think again.

Then again, it was either weird biblical references or thoughts about Roman. The weirder my thoughts were, the more they interfered with anything Roman-related that could bring forth a hefty blush to my cheeks, or a feeling of doom settling in my chest.

I was unclean.

And I felt like a dirty fucking whore.

I kept my head down, tugging my jacket higher over my shoulder, conscious of the way the collar barely covered the faint smudge of the hickey Roman had left on my neck from our time in the library. I did my best to conceal it this morning, but I was still terrified the blooming colors were shining through-- Letha hadn't noticed it yet, and I wanted to keep it that way. I had even tried to scrub the hickey off in the shower despite knowing it wouldn't work; I was getting desperate. I had cried, brought my hands over the marks over and over, like I was begging them to go away and disappear.

Marked.

Unclean.

Filthy.

Filthy fucking liar.

"So..." Letha started, brushing a strand of golden hair behind her ear as she smiled knowingly. Immediately, I sensed that this wasn't going to be good. "There's this guy... his name is Jack, and he told me to tell you that he's into you."

I blinked. "What?" Who?

"I also told him I'd ask if you were interested," She cast me a sideways glance, beaming at me like she was serving me the best news of the century. "I think you should be."

My stomach twisted. "Letha!--"

"Don't say no yet!" She looped her arm through mine, warm and insistent. "He's sweet. You need someone sweet!"

I didn't want someone sweet-- I wanted the devil reincarnate that haunted my every waking moment, also known as Roman Godfrey. "Jack... Wang?" I tried. "Which Jack are we talking about?"

Letha bit her lip to contain an excited giggle, squeezing my arm; "Jack Edwards!--"

"No!" The words slipped past my mouth before I could stop them. I cleared my throat, hoping to recover from my outburst. "Not him... He's one of Roman's friends. That's really fucked up."

Letha sighed; disappointment read all over her face. "You'd never have to actually like the guy," she pressed. "Just... entertain it for a little while. Give Roman a taste of his own medicine. Don't you think he deserves it, after keeping... that from you?" 

She couldn't say the word out loud in the hallway-- upir.

Because that was the reason we were in this station in the first place, the fact that Roman was a upir.

The idea of making him taste his own medicine made my stomach twist, and not entirely from disgust. I hated the thought of stooping to his level, playing some shallow game... But the image flickered unbidden through my mind; Roman's dark eyes snapping toward me across the room, his smile dropping as I lean just a little too close to some other guy, making him watch me the way I had been forced to watch him too.

I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking away the thought. "It's childish,"

"He's been childish since the day you broke up! Why should you have to be the bigger person?"

If Letha knew the real truth of what Roman had actually done after we broke up, she'd have a heart attack. There was no way in hell I'd tell her about what happened in the library some days ago. My heart thudded unevenly in my chest; maybe I was being the bigger person because I wanted to be? Because I still loved him, even though I hated him for everything he had done to me, even though he had been a upir all along. Despite my attempts at staying calm and neutral, Roman's voice echoed in my head, images of him curling his fingers inside me with that evil smirk on his face flashing before my eyes; "Think you'll ever be clean of me again?"

Never.

Never.

Letha watched me disassociate and shudder, and her eyes gleamed like she already knew she had me hooked. "This will help you get over him, y'know? I only want what's best for you,"

I exhaled slowly through my nose, fingers curling into fists. It was a terrible idea-- reckless, messy, everything I wasn't supposed to want. But God, how I wanted him to hurt too, for all the lies, all the girls, and for the pathetic mess he had made of me in the library.

Maybe this would scrub me clean of the mess we'd made?

My silence was enough of an answer for Letha. Her smile turned smug as she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "There ya go,"

I shot her a glare, but she only giggled under her breath; "It's perfect," she purred, voice teasing. "It'll drive him crazy!--"

"Shouldn't you maybe be a little more worried about your own life?" I snapped. "Why are you so obsessed with mine?"

It took me a second to realize what I had just said. My eyes widened at the same time as Letha's, and her hook around my arm lessened. Oddly enough, there was something satisfactory about seeing her like this-- I had no idea what came over me when I continued; "Instead of setting me up with more guys, why can't we talk about who you're fucking?"

"No one!" Letha huffed, retracting her arm. "What's come over you?!"

The more I watched her bewildered and offended expression, the more I wanted to dig my thumbs into her eyes and split her skull open; that way, I could maybe finally get to see what she was plotting in there. "Don't you have anyone running around you? You always do,"

"Not--" Letha cleared her throat, attempting to save face. "Not recently, no."

"Are you sure?"

"I-- Seriously, I don't get you!" Letha stopped walking in the middle of the hallway, staring back at me in disbelief. "I'm trying to be nice and keep you distracted, and this is how you repay me?"

I placed myself in front of her, folding my arms over my chest. "Why are you getting so defensive?" It felt like I had found an odd rope in the forest, and I was pulling at it with all my might-- I had struck gold, hadn't I? 

Letha's lips parted, wanting to argue, but nothing came out. A shadow flickered over her face-- too quick, too subtle, but I caught it. There was something there. For a moment, I thought she might actually tell me. But then, just as quickly, she smoothed out her features, letting out a soft, breathy laugh like I'd said something ridiculous; "You're impossible," she muttered, shaking her head.

I cocked a brow. "I'm... impossible?"

"You're just lashing out because you don't want to admit I'm right," she teased, looping her arm back through mine like I hadn't just cornered her. "But I get it. It's scary, right? The idea of actually moving on?"

My pulse stuttered. I opened my mouth to push again, because I knew I was right, I could feel it-- but Letha was already moving, already steering the conversation back onto safer ground.

She gave me time to let her words sink in, studying my face with that keen, knowing gaze, like she was waiting for me to break.

"Letha--"

"I just want you to be happy," Letha murmured, reaching forward to put her hand on my shoulder with an earnest touch. "And I know you won't be if you keep waiting for Roman to change."

If only she knew I wasn't waiting for him to change-- I was waiting for the end of the week, when I hoped my answer would come stumbling into my mind with no effort at all. However, it was such a clean, practiced shift in her tone, that for a second, I doubted myself; had I really imagined that flicker of something in her eyes? Was I reading too much into this?

Letha wasn't the enemy here.

She was my friend.

... Right?

"I have to go," she eventually said, giving me a final squeeze before slipping away. "But think about it, okay? Being seen with a friend of Roman would fry his crazy nympho brain." Letha didn't wait for a response-- Letha Godfrey never waited for anyone. She was already blending back into the flow of students, graceful as ever, like she hadn't just left a rock lodged in my throat.

I let out a sharp exhale before I turned back to find my locker, shaken up by the conversation. This was nuts-- was I supposed to let one of Roman's friends flirt with me? Why was he even interested in me? Roman didn't have that many friends in the first place anyway, so I knew this was risky.

With shaky fingers, I worked the combination of my locker, still rattled from the conversation--

Until my body froze.

There was torn page splayed on top of my unorganized heap of books. Someone had snuck it in between the cracks of my locker.

I pulled it out slowly, staring down at the words, ink sinking into the delicate paper; it was a passage from The Picture of Dorian Gray.

You have killed my love. You used to stir my imagination. Now you don't even stir my curiosity. You simply produce no effect. I loved you because you were marvellous, because you had genius and intellect, because you realized the dreams of great poets and gave great substance to the shadows of art. You have thrown it all away. You are shallow and stupid.

What... 

... The actual fuck?

I held back a gasp of shock and disgust, fighting the urge to crumple up the page and throw it to the floor to stomp it. It was clear as day that Roman had left me this-- who else would assume this was a good thing to leave the girl you're begging to take you back? 

Was he trying to prove a point?

Was he trying to tell me that I was shallow and stupid for thinking about throwing everything between us away?

With an angry huff, I stuffed the page into my back pocket-- I was definitely going to burn it when I got home.

... Maybe then, I'd feel clean?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I had been angry before, yes; but nothing could beat the tsunami of rage ravaging through me after seeing that stupid passage.

I sat on the bleachers during lunch the next day, tucked into one of the higher rows, the sun casting sharp shadows along the field below-- I angrily picked at the edge of my water bottle label, trying to drown out the chatter of the students scattered around the stands. Letha sat beside me, legs crossed, her chin delicately propped on one hand; "Don't look now," she murmured, voice soft and secretive. "But... I think your admirer is on his way."

My head snapped up to look at her before I could stop myself. "There's no fucking way," I hissed under my breath. "He's here? Now?"

Letha's grin flickered, bright with amusement. My stomach turned as I followed her gaze-- and sure enough, there he was. Jack Edwards, one of the jocks from Roman's cocky friend group. He strolled across the field with some guys I recognized from before, hands stuffed into his pockets, cutting through the groups of lingering students like he owned the place.

My pulse quickened. Panic rose in my chest as I glared at Letha; "You didn't,"

"I might've... suggested you needed some cheering up today," Her eyes sparkled, wicked and bright. "He was more than happy to oblige!"

"Cheering up?! Letha, I didn't agree to this!" With a groan, I buried my face in my hands, hoping the ground would open and swallow me whole. I didn't want anyone but Roman anyway-- fucking hell, I should've been more clear with Letha.

On the other hand, she looked proud as ever; "I'm the best, aren't I?"

Heat flooded my face. I gripped the edge of the bleacher so tightly my knuckles ached. "Letha, I'm two seconds away from lobotomizing myself with my fucking water bottle because of you!"

"Oh, come on," she whispered, leaning in close. "It's just a little harmless fun! You need some distractions, we talked about this!"

But there was nothing harmless about the way Jack's eyes locked onto mine as he climbed the steps.

Unclean.

Filthy.

I felt dirty-- I shouldn't be indulging in this.

Trapped, pinned beneath Letha's gaze, I tried to contain my panic; "Why the fuck is he even into me? He's, like, very close to Roman, no?"

"Well..." Letha cleared her throat, shooting Jack a sweet smile as she waved him over to us. This would've been the perfect time to catapult myself out of my seat and up into the sun's orbit. "Men are primitive, y'know? If they think they can get laid, they don't really care how or with whom."

"Ew, Letha!" I was sick to my stomach just imagining that I'd sleep with anyone that wasn't Roman. 

"Relax," she cooed, brushing her fingers lightly against my arm. "It's only a game! You don't have to do anything but lead him on a bit."

I couldn't breathe.

And then Jack approached-- standing just below our row, flashing a grin that made my stomach flip. "Hey, girls," he murmured. "Need some company?"

I wished the ground would swallow me whole. Before I could even muster up a half-hearted response, Letha was already smoothing down her skirt and rising to her feet. "You bet! I'll leave you two to it," she said sweetly, flashing me a look that was both knowing and victorious before slipping down the steps like she had just orchestrated the most harmless, innocent thing in the world.

But it wasn't harmless, not when my stomach was twisting itself into knots, and definitely not innocent.

And then, like a twist of fate, I felt a shiver run up my spine— I knew that feeling like I knew my own breath. There was a tingling sensation at the front of my brain, sending repeated signals to turn my head.

... Oh no.

I knew who could be doing this to me.

With a pit in my stomach, I turned my head slightly, pulse pounding in my ears, and sure enough, there he was.

Roman appeared at the far end of the field with the rest of his friends, just beyond the fences, half in the shadows of the trees. The upper button of his shirt was unbuttoned, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, but his posture was rigid, unreadable.

Except I could read him.

The tight set of his jaw, the slight flare of his nostrils, the way his head tipped, just barely, like he was daring me to keep looking at him. 

I opened my mouth (whether to call out to Roman or to breathe, I wasn't sure), but before I could do either, Jack's voice pulled me back; "So," he drawled, taking the empty space beside me. "What's a pretty thing like you doing all the way up here, huh?"

I barely heard him. My eyes flickered back to Roman instinctively, but--

He was already gone.

A cold wave of panic crashed over me. I sat up straighter, scanning the field, searching, aching--but there was nothing. No sign of him, like he had never been there at all.

Except he had been, and he had seen everything. He had seen Jack sitting down next to me, he had seen the hungry look in his eyes; I had an inkling that this was going to bite me in the ass. I had screwed over my one-week truce with Roman, all because of Letha's convincing. Swallowing the thick rock in my throat, my mind raced with everything unsaid, everything unfixable. What had I done?

I turned to Jack, not bothering to sweeten my tone; "Let's cut the bullshit, yeah? What are you doing here?"

Blinking, he let out a shocked laugh. He fixed his hair in an oddly familiar manner (it wouldn't surprise me if he had picked it up from Roman) before he recovered. "I've been... trying to get your number for a while. Before Roman got to you, actually,"

... What? 

I felt my face soften. "Oh," 

Jack chuckled, shaking his head as he darted his gaze to the field in front of us. "Godfrey called dibs out of nowhere," he explained. "And if we are to follow bro-code, I had to pull away."

"This isn't very bro-code friendly, though?" It was true-- I had seen Jack hanging out with Roman recently, so they couldn't have had a falling out. "Roman could rip your throat out for this." 

He could. He genuinely could. 

I held back a shudder as I watched Jack, and the way the sun reflected off his pitch black hair. Eventually, he spoke; "Roman's been preoccupied with other girls as of late, so I figured I'd shoot my shot," He was smiling at me now, so smug, so sure of himself-- it was almost charming. "I mean, I had to see if the rumours were true."

I blinked at him, barely processing. "What rumors?"

Jack only grinned wider; "That you're finally over Godfrey,"

My stomach dropped.

Over him? Over Roman?

The laugh that almost escaped my throat was so bitter I had to bite down on my lip to keep it in. I had spent every second of every day thinking about him, hurting over him, wanting him. There was no version of my life where I just moved on.

I should have shut Jack down immediately. I should have told him to go find some other girl to bother, that I wasn't interested, that Letha had put him up to this for her own amusement-- but instead, I just stared at him, hollowed out, my hands tightening around the hem of my skirt as my mind spiralled.

Had Roman lied to me? Was he actually preoccupied with other girls? Was he maybe so desperate to keep me around because I'd be an easy lay? Maybe he was scared I'd tell his secret to people if he didn't keep me close?

I felt my breath constrict in my chest; "He's sleeping with the cheerleaders, isn't he?"

Jack blinked. "Roman?"

"Is he?" Please, please, no. If he had lied to me about this, I would die on the spot.

Something in Jack's charming eyes changed, but I didn't need Sherlock Holmes to decode that look for me-- they softened with the realization that I would probably never be over Roman. I would always be Roman's girl, just like every other girl at this school that had ever been involved with him. Therefore, I watched as Jack sighed, shaking his head; "Nope. I would've heard the details by now, if so,"

I instantly felt my heart fall into its right place. "Thank you," I whispered.

Jack sank back into his seat, looking back at the field in front of us while he nodded to himself. I peeked the small smile; was he maybe relieved to get a proper answer? "Sorry to bother you, then," There was a certain ease about him that made me feel beyond comfortable-- he wasn't snappy about this becoming a failed attempt (unlike how a certain other blonde asshole would react), but he was simply accepting of the facts before him. In another universe, I would've probably gone for someone like Jack, someone confident, someone quietly strong.

I had no idea what came over me when I suddenly found myself smiling too; "You didn't bother me. It's kinda nice to talk to someone that isn't Letha,"

Jack glanced at me with a flirty chuckle. "She's a bit intense, right?"

"A bit, yeah," 

"I think she gets it from that Rumancek dude," Jack continued, shrugging matter-of-factly. "They're always hanging out, the both of them. Did you know that the guy once threatened to gut me for being a bad group partner during a lab project? Funny man... I don't get what she sees in him, but I guess the weirdos gotta find love somewhere too, right?"

... Wait.

What?

I straightened up in my seat. "Peter?"

Jack's eyes widened with intrigue-- "Why do I sense this is news to you?"

"They're not together like that," I huffed. "That'd be nuts. If Peter and Letha were sleeping together, Roman would have a field day chewing them out to the bone."

"Okay..." With a cocky laugh, Jack shrugged again; "I might've misinterpreted it, then. They hang out a lot behind school, that's all I've seen... looking all gooey and shit."

I had to put a stop to this rumor before it got to Roman. Knowing him, he'd jump to conclusions, and Letha could really, really suffer; "No, no... Even if they talk, then it's nothing like that,"

"Alright," Jack snorted. "Don't come running to me when you see that I'm right, though."

The sun, now dipping lower, cast long shadows across the field. It felt like the calm before a storm, and my ease began to settle into a rhythm. I was about to say something, maybe even something nice, but then, I heard it; the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps approaching. The air instantly grew colder, and I turned my head, dread pooling in my chest. My eyes locked on him-- Roman.

His presence was like a sudden freeze, like he was the shift in the atmosphere. He moved with a quiet intensity that made the world seem to shrink around him; I wanted to shrink into nothing as well, sucked into a black hole where I could hide. 

Before I could process it, Jack spoke again, his tone lowered, almost conspiratorial. "I don't know what it is about you two," he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear. "But you both always act like you're untouchable... and with him hanging around, I suppose you'll always be."

When Roman eventually reached us, he was completely still, frozen in a way I had never seen before. His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as they passed over me, barely acknowledging my presence. I felt my pulse quicken, my breath catching in my throat. There was something about his stoic expression that made my stomach flip, and it made me feel like I was about to be disciplined for acting out, just like the old days in elementary school. 

It was as if Roman couldn't quite let go of the distance between us, eyes flickering back and forth for a good second or two. Then, his gaze darted to Jack with unnatural speed-- upir, upir, upir. "Seriously?" Roman said, snapping his fingers at him as his condescending tone fuelled my anxiety. "You've really got nothing better to do than this?"

Jack froze for a split second, and I could almost hear the gears turning in his head, trying to process the shift in Roman's tone. His voice hadn't risen; it was the kind of tone that made it clear he wasn't in the mood for games, but it wasn't outright threatening-- just... annoyed.

However, to my surprise, Jack shot a grin. "Well, well, if it isn't the big bad Godfrey! Finally decided to join us, huh?"

Roman didn't seem amused at all by his antics-- quite the contrary. "She's not your problem, dude,"

Jack shrugged, undeterred, but his words were sharper than before; "She's not your property either, Roman,"

I held my breath. I really, really didn't want to be here. Little by little, I started sliding down my seat. Maybe if I hit the ground, I could slither away?

But the confrontation wasn't over-- Jack's grin became little more pointed with every second. "You sure you're not just holding onto her out of habit, man? You seemed pretty done before, when you were talking to Jessica,"

That name made me want to barf right down on Roman's shoes, and for my vomit to burn through the leather of his shoes. Jessica, the same girl that had tried to flirt with him at a party a while ago-- Jessica, the same girl he had threatened with his lighter, saying he'd burn her extensions off if she didn't shut up about me. Was he really that mad at me? Was he so mad that he was actually talking to a girl he despised just to get revenge for the heartbreak I had caused him?

Roman's jaw tightened, but he didn't immediately respond-- I knew this was the Godfrey look of mortification. It was clear that he didn't want me to know that he had talked to Jessica at all.

To make matters worse, Jack sensed this and kept pushing. He pointed between Roman and I, biting down on the look of glee spreading through his face. "I mean... you two aren't even together anymore, right? So why do you care if I'm talking to her?"

I could see that he was getting to Roman. A part of me wanted to grab Jack, shake him, and warn him that he was going up against the most dangerous carnivore on the planet, a upir, yet... another part of me wanted to see if Roman would actually snap. After his illustrative show of his control in the library last week, I wondered how this would apply in real life the second time around. 

Roman's chest tightened for a split second, and for just a moment, I was sure he'd flip, I was sure he'd just lunge at Jack to get it over with.

But alas--

"We might not be together anymore, but we still fuck,"

... No.

Oh God, no.

There was a beat of silence. 

My heart sunk in my chest, and I felt the blood drain from my face. It wasn't just the words-- it was the coldness in his voice, like he was speaking in a way that made it clear that pursuing me wasn't something Jack should even be thinking about.

On the other hand, Jack's grin faltered as his gaze flickered between Roman and I. I wondered whether he imagined when we had managed to have sex, where we had done it, what the timeline was-- that must've been a mortifying thought to think. I was certainly not jealous of him. Still, he opened his mouth to say something, anything, to salvage his pride.

But Roman cut him to it; "Maybe you should ask your little friend here what depths of desperation one must sink down into to get fucked on a library floor?"

I felt like the air had been sucked out of me, and it got to a point where I started pondering whether to get up and push my stupidly pretty ex-boyfriend down the bleachers. Then, my next thought was that it probably wouldn't hurt him at all. I hadn't expected to, but I missed thinking about other things, like whether Letha actually was the modern-day Moses or not. And Jack...  poor Jack's face went pale. 

Roman's eyes never left him, and I spotted the evil shimmer in his eyes, the look of complete and utter evil glee. Beyond happy with himself, he let out a huff of pride before he stuffed his hands into his pockets-- "Get lost, dude," he said, his tone final, deadly. "This one's mine."

Jack didn't say another word. He was quick to get up, muttering something under his breath that was unmistakable; "Freaks," 

I sat frozen to my seat, my heart still racing, trying to process what had just happened as I watched him leave, huffing as he disappeared down the bleachers. It felt like someone had just poured a bucket of cold water on me, and now I was left to shiver and shudder.

Eventually, Roman turned to me with that same evil smirk I secretly loved; "You should stop talking to guys like that," he cooed, his tone soft with false concern. "You know they can't keep up, baby. Shoot a little higher, if you want to get over me so bad."

If I could kick the bleacher seat away from me when I shot up, I would. Stepping closer, I buried my pointer in Roman's chest; "Fuck off," I hissed. "You don't get to do this!--"

"No, I do," In an instant, his smirk was wiped off his face, and it revealed the bitter glimmer in his eyes as he grabbed my hand, urging me to get my fingers off of him. "We decided on a week's worth of peace, did you forget?"

Angered, I yanked my arm away from Roman with a groan. "You decided that! You cornered me with your fucking fingers inside me! How the fuck do you expect me to think clearly in that state?! On top of that, now you've managed to tell Jack we fucked, so congratulations! Letha will probably find out in an hour or two, and you've screwed me over again!"

Getting all of that in his face didn't seem easy-- Roman broke eye contact, letting his gaze fall down to his newly polished shoes. "Jack won't say anything," he mumbled. "And if anything, you simply deny it. I won't tell Letha anything if she asks me."

It took me a minute to really feel the weight of what he was saying. At the start of my whole journey with Roman, he was dying to tell Letha everything, and he would do anything for an opportunity to rat me out and get me in trouble-- but now, he was protecting me. From now on, I was sure he'd always want to do that. This snapped me out of my anger, and I retorted to a simple nod; "You owe me, by the way,"

Roman's eyes peeked up, his eyebrows raising-- "That's my line,"

I struggled to bite down on the smile that immediately threatened to crack across my lips. This was highly ironic. "Stop it," I whispered, carefully nudging him. "You owe me forty-nine ninety-nine."

Roman's cheeks seemed to warm from my touch. "What for?"

"The, uh..." I swallowed hard. "The plan B." 

It took him a few seconds to figure out what I had needed that for. Had he forgotten that he had come inside of me? Seemingly not; "Oh," Roman's hand shot to his pocket again, finding his wallet. "You took care of it?"

That line annoyed me to the point where the following words simply slipped past my mind-- "Of course I did! You're crazy if you think I'd have babies with you,"

Roman's hands froze as he reached for the dollar bills in his wallet. It wasn't for many seconds, and I would've missed it had I not been watching his every move. I felt like I had punched myself in the gut, and now I wondered whether he felt that way about it too. In silence, he gave me fifty dollars, not looking me in the eyes anymore. 

"Don't look so sad," I breathed, feeling my heart clench. "Roman, I--"

"I would've been happy," His jaw tightened, and he shoved the bills into my hand with more force than necessary, like he couldn't stand to have them in his grasp a second longer. "If it were with you... I would've been happy."

Roman didn't wait for a reply-- he didn't dare to. Turning on his heel, he stormed off down the bleachers, the sound of his boots echoing in the empty space. 

The fifty dollars burned in my hand. It felt like they were about to turn my flesh into burning lava, making a hole in my palms. I let Roman walk away, I let him leave; what else was I to do when I was this shell-shocked? 

I crumpled the dollars into my pocket, sniffling. 

When had the most beautiful relationship in my life managed to become... this?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

There comes a point when you have nothing more to say. There comes a point when it doesn't feel worth it anymore, when the pain becomes too much to bear, and your body materializes it-- most days, I could feel the sorrow like a ball in my hands, vibrating, ablaze in a cloud of fire, burning my fingers before slipping through them.

Being without Roman felt like waking up in a dead man's bedroom. Empty. It used to be a place filled with life, with love, yet now it was abandoned, destitute. I used to be a person filled with life, with love, yet now I was alone, rotting. 

I had done it all to myself. This was my own doing, and I had done it while wielding the sharpest of swords, forged just to fight the scariest of beings--

But Roman wasn't scary?

He wasn't even a full upir, something Letha had failed to mention.

If I closed my eyes, I could still see him kneeling before me, clutching onto my body as he sobbed into the fabric of my shirt. Pleading, crying, begging, begging, begging. The broken look in his eyes, the way his fingers trembled against me, holding me like he was breathing his last dying breath and wasting it on me. 

In my mind, when I visited the memory, I'd sink down to the floor with him. I'd bury my fingers in his hair and let him cry into the crook of my shoulder. I'd caress him, hold him, tell him everything was going to be alright, and that I loved him like I had loved no one else. 

Roman Godfrey used to be scary. Now, he was just a boy.

Wailing for comfort.

Begging for forgiveness.

Pleading for another chance to get back the life he had once led, the one I had so cruelly ripped from his trembling arms.

I couldn't breathe. Maybe it was the fact that I didn't want to? Maybe if I stopped breathing for long enough, I'd no longer have to feel the pain of being conscious? I could die of my own volition, on my terms, in my own time.

Yet then I'd...

I'd leave him.

Roman would be alone.

He'd continue walking this earth with no one by his side. He'd wander through centuries alone, he'd eat alone, he'd cry alone, he'd live alone, he'd be alone.

So I whispered; "I don't want you to be alone,"

I adjusted my phone where it lay on my pillow, making sure he'd be able to hear me when he got this voice message. "I don't want you to be alone... All those years, when everyone you know is dead. That was the most heartbreaking thing about all of this, Roman, that I found out that you're destined to live forever if... if you kill yourself..."

My lower lip quivered as I shifted in my bed, rubbing my tears into my skin. I shouldn't have bothered-- I had already drenched the pillow.

"So, whatever I end up choosing, Roman, you need to live," 

Please.

Please.

"You need to go on, and you need to stay strong... and make your heart steel if you must. Do whatever you need to do, just-- just don't do what would need to be done for you to... to be a full upir. Don't ever think about it. Don't even consider it. Could you promise me that?"

I blinked away my tears, rubbing my forehead in a circle with my pointer to hopefully alleviate the pain. 

Nothing ever did.

Nothing ever would.

"You said I'd never be clean of you," I whispered. "But you're not something I need to wash off my skin, Roman." 

Sniffling, I shifted-- I wondered whether he'd be able to hear the shuffling of my bedsheets. "I just want you to be happy. I really, really want you to be happy. So, if we don't end up together... think of me once in a while?"

I hoped he would.

I so desperately hoped he would. "... Please?" And with that, I broke. Letting into a loud hiccup of a sob, I hung up on Roman's voicemail. In the bleak dark of the night, I caught the time; 02:04.

And at 02:27, I got a twenty-three minute long voice message back.

I pressed play over and over;

"I love you,"

A whisper. Barely there.

"I love you, I love you, I love you,"

Again and again, soft, rhythmic, almost like a prayer. Like if he just said it enough times, it would make things right. It was the only thing he could say.

My thumb hovered over his name, over that tiny glowing green button. Roman was awake. I knew he was. Somewhere out there, he was awake with his phone still in his hands, maybe just waiting... maybe just hoping?

I choked my sobs against my pillows, my whole body trembling beneath the weight of the crushing heartbreak-- it didn't matter. None of it mattered, because I couldn't call him.

So I played it again.

And again.

And then I saved it twice; once on my phone, and once on my USB the next morning, just in case I ever forgot how it felt to be loved like that.

"I love you... I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,"

Roman loved me...

But would that be enough to save us?

At least I had until Friday to figure it out-- at Jasmine's party.

(a/n: AHHH I can't WAIT for y'all to see what's gonna go down at the party!! this was like a teeny tiny little appetizer... omfg. thank you so so much for reading this far!! 🥹💕)

here are all the chapters!!<3: PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 15

loveliest taglist of all time:

@mentallyscreamingsincebirth @putherup @corawithfanfiction @vladsgirlxx

@iamaslytherin0 @sexualparkour @the-universe-is-complicated @heavenly-bratt

@lafemme-nk @namiusedbubble @useyourwandbro @strmborns @literally-lani

@virgosapphire79 @star-girl-04 @veyzus @ddipotassium @pecxiebu

@mil88691 @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @katifefe @sn0wybowie-blog

@lilithskywalker @likecherriesinthespring @sadheartjellyfish @vadersangel

@shehangsbrightly @burningmiraclekingdom @dollforaswan @austinswhitewolf

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@belovedmoony @lokitargaryen @vienneviennaxx @ellie1725

@taintandviolent @sweatyconnoisseurstrawberry @amidthechaos

[linkons-most-wanted]

Sylus, Intimacy, and Desire: An Essay

Inspired by this excellent video essay on Zayne's intimacy and a few comments asking for a similar analysis of Sylus, I wanted to share a few of my thoughts!

I actually think that Sylus and Zayne are great to contrast to each other on this topic because they each make relatively overt bids for physical intimacy but in very different ways.

While Zayne is outwardly restrained, where that restraint causes his hidden internal desires to intensify to the point of no longer being controllable, Sylus is outwardly flirtatious/assertive, but then actually very comfortable managing/controlling his desires.

Sylus's character demonstrates that when desire is embraced and expected, and appropriately indulged, it can be confidently controlled and regulated. It can seem paradoxical at first--that the most "forward" character is also the one most interested in specific, verbal consent--but I'd argue it's spot on in terms of psychology.

Sylus knows and accepts his desires

In Midnight Stealth, he says, "I truly enjoy watching my little prey struggle. Especially when it thinks it can escape from me." There's clearly a sensual/sexual element to this, and it points directly at kink, where power and power exchance are tantamount.

More on power exchange in a second, but what I want to emphasize here is that Sylus is very comfortable with what's considered to be a very "dark" desire. (Dark romance girlies, sound off.)

Contrast this to Zayne, who feels very conflicted about even very normative, expected desires and emotions.

Sylus has a lot of reason to be very comfortable with his desires, regardless of their nature, due to his powers as a dragon. He's able to pull out others' hidden desires, so of course he knows his own. As we see in Beyond Cloudfall, the types of desire he respects are when people are true to their hearts--ie honest with themselves and others about what they truly want, even/especially when others consider those desires to be dark/deviant. MC is the only person he's met who's honest in this way and truly follows her heart.

Power exchange

We get many signs that Sylus is very interested in power exchange, such as the entirety of No Defense Zone where he taunts MC to "tame" him, and the recurring theme of "taming" and "winning his heart" that's made especially clear in Final Farewell (the Abyssal Chaos Commission) dialogue. In Night of Secrecy, when MC indicates she wants control, he says he can't give it to her--"At least, not yet."

He is actively looking the relationship to get to a point where he feels safe giving full control to MC.

Conversely, when it comes to being dominant, he doesn't value dominance for dominance's sake--he's constatly talking about how boring "weak prey" is. What is attractive to him about MC, and when she submits to him, is specifically that she's strong and powerful, specifically that she trusts him with herself. If she didn't have power to give up, power that he respected, he simply wouldn't be interested.

Delightfully, in the AU of Innocent Birdcage, we get a version of Sylus who is similarly comfortable with his desires, so we get an even more overt demonsration of bondage kink. Even when not frenzied, he's tugging that thread of power exchange, reminding MC that he's dangerous while simultaneously smitten with her courage.

Sylus gets off on more than just sex

What is so interesting to me about Sylus's portrayal is that he's very flirtatious, very forward, and very sensual--but with relatively very few on-screen/-page kisses. We get very sexually charged moments with face touching, hands (MY GOD THE HANDS), etc, but the tension is rarely diffused.

We see Sylus's physical sensitivity especially in Lost Oasis, No Defense Zone, and Innocent Birdcage. Part of why we see these sensual moments not devolve abruptly into heavy petting, like we do with Zayne, is that Sylus is not in a hurry. We see this in Night of Secrecy too--MC has to get quite forward for him to finally "give in" (though he never really loses control).

Sylus enjoys the waiting. Unlike Zayne, who sees his restraint as a matter of life and death, to Sylus, it's a game. He enjoys seeing how much teasing he can take (No Defense Zone) and putting MC in situations where he doesn't know how she'll respond ("Sylus and Tartarus are in your hands...").

Given their history in Beyond Cloudfall, things like forehead kisses are just as precious to Sylus as other more overtly sexual types of affection. Sylus is willing to accept affection and sensation in any form MC is willing to provide it, while also enjoying a bit of power play. So, touching her face, grabbing her chin, throwing her around a bit--gestures which become more affectionate and more accepted by MC over time, but still retain their value to him.

He's a young dragon

One of my absolute favorite moments in Beyond Cloudfall is when MC says, "You're a young dragon, aren't you?" It humanizes Sylus in this really profound way, reminding us that he's still figuring certain things out as he goes.

Given that he's a creature very in-touch with his instincts and desires, you're not going to get a typical virginal trope. He's certainly not naive to the mechanics--and you can certainly imagine he'd be aware of all kinds of sexual desires thanks to his draconic powers.

But, MC is still the one to introduce him to the concept of a forehead kiss. We see him be bold and flirtatious in Bloodnight Blaze, confirming that he's well in-touch with those desires, but he seems to value the tender moments equally, if not moreso.

There is this sense in his character of wanting to explore things with MC, of wanting to learn with her, to grow together. There's an openness and receptivity to his character in that way. Unlike Zayne, he may not have all that many specific ideas of what he wants to do to/with MC--he wants to experience that intimacy with her having equal agency and initiative.

He wants to be wanted

I posted recently about the close-up shot of Sylus's eye in Night of Secrecy, where we're shown very clearly that he's not using his power to manipulate desire.

Given that Sylus has always been percieved as a dangerous, violent creature by everyone except a select few, to be seen in a tender way is unfamiliar and vulnerable.

He wants to experience her desire in its raw, un-tampered-with state. He wants to know what she truly wants, and does not want to create a scenario where he's in some way manipulating or coercing her desire, whether using his eye or otherwise. Her genuine desire is more precious and appealing to him than mere sex.

As much as I am begggingggg for more Sylus make-out cards, I think moments like we see in Magnum Opus are far more precious to him.

A very strong piece of supporting evidence here is what he says in Approaching Dusk when MC asks how she can get him to willingly stay in her trap. He tells her that she should ask him for things, show her vulnerable side, and make him feel as though she relies on him. That is much more seductive to Sylus than physical pleasure.

What consent means to Sylus

I think the idea of getting consent can be construed in a "cover your ass" way, as in, "well, you have to do this or you're doing something wrong" so it's a "good guy" thing to do.

But, one of the things to be found within responsible kink is a much more profound appreciation for consent. To pull on the themes above, consent isn't just a box to check; it communicates genuine, vulnerable desire. It also affirms that the power exchange is wanted on both sides.

When Sylus asks for consent, he's saying, "You have power in this scenario. Are you willing to give it to me?"

It's the very fact that she can and would say 'no' that makes her 'yes' so very intoxicating and appealing to him. Even in Long Awaited Revelry, he's giving her options. It's her own greed/desire that makes her agree to his terms--not her lack of alternatives. She doesn't actually have to get the Aether Core, but she wants it enough to take risks.

Night of Secrecy

Let's dig deeper into some key dialogue in Night of Secrecy:

MC: “I told you that a hunter doesn’t like being passive.”  Sylus: “Oh… so you want control… Unfortunately… I can’t give it to you. Not yet, at least.” His warm hands scorch my skin and slide up my back unhindered, settling firmly on my waist. When gripping a gun, they’re cold and unyielding, but when they touch me, they become tender and warm. And now they’re a weapon of their own, teasing and tormenting me. Sylus: “…Don’t run.” MC: “You’re… so annoying…” SYlus: “I won’t deny it. I guess you can say I lied. Tonight, you’re not the only one feeling greedy… And I won’t be leaving until this greed is completely satisfied. Ah, I misspoke. Greed can never be satisfied… But you can temporarily soothe it.” He takes my hand and places it against his chest. His voice is slow and earnest as he asks the question once more… Sylus: “Say it again. Kitten, do you want it?”  My eyes linger on his, and our heart rates sync up.  I lean down over him, running my fingers through his sweat-damp hair.  MC: “This is my answer.”

In "And now they’re a weapon of their own, teasing and tormenting me," we see more of this indulgence in power play and power exchange. You can easily imagine Sylus challenging himself to see how slowly he can go, to focus more on MC. Him saying "Don't run" can be interpreted as MC trying to get out of his grip--not to escape him, but to accelerate the intimacy, to escape the "teasing and tormenting".

Sylus's "greed" includes taking things slowly. It includes build-up and power-play. It includes spurring on MC's own desires.

We get this really lovely back-to-back of "I won’t be leaving until this greed is completely satisfied" to “Say it again. Kitten, do you want it?” 

He is greedy... for her genuine consent. He wants her to want it.

I think "I won’t be leaving until this greed is completely satisfied" is best understood as Sylus being clear to MC that he wants her too. Neither this, nor “I’m hoping ‘yes’ is still your answer because… I just can’t hold back anymore” can be construed as him pushing boundaries because MC has already explicitly invited him into that territory. I interpret the hand that she puts up to stop him as her wanting to be "on top", not as her wanting to stop or slow down, and Sylus's remarks as specifically, verbally affirming his desire for her.

Even him saying "Greed can never be satisfied…" indicates that his everyday baseline is wanting her in this way, and he's very comfortable with those desires and how to keep them in check.

Desire without entitlement

At no point does Sylus ever behave as if he's entitled to MC's affection, physical or otherwise. He always desires her, but does not have specific expectations of her. He's always asking, "so what will you do?" The fact that he doesn't know the answer is what makes the question so compelling to him.

If he wanted sex, he could get it--he's powerful enough and persuasive enough. Which makes that conquest irrelevant and boring to him. What is far, far more interesting is co-discovering MC's true desires with her, just like they did in Beyond Cloudfall.

Repression and regulation

In the way that Zayne's character represents repressed desire, Sylus's character represents regulated desire.

His desires are accepted and known, not rejected and bottled up. Thus, he's able to approach regulation in a playful way, appreciating the challenge that it provides and finding ways to express his affection and sate his desires that don't put pressure on MC.

It is because he is comfortable with his sexuality that it's able to be secondary to his primary desires with MC.

In conclusion

So, as much as I want more kiss cards for them, the writers are cooking. There's a specific point they want to make, and I think they're making it beautifully. I am constantly delighted by the complexity and nuance that the writers bring to Sylus's character.

I'm hopeful that as we see Sylus's and MC's relationship deepen, we'll see MC gain more confidence to initiate, which will then translate to more on-page and on-screen intimate moments.

And until then... there's always fanfic. 😅

[carbonfiction]

i know the general census is that frank is gentle but how would he handle if his little bunny that seemed all innocent and shy liked it insanely rough? not just spanking and backshots “rough” but face slapping and grabbing, breath play like holding her mouth and nose, intense manhandling like chokeholds and being held in the air to show how small she is in his arms and lowk clit torture. and she likes to act all delicate because she is and can’t even fit him all the way in after training and also squirts from a few touches to her clit but she likes being broken and wants him to use every ounce of his strength to do that and i need him to skullfuck me with my hands tied behind my back with a vibrator assaulting my clit…and then he slaps my cheek over and over and then pulling out to put me in a chokehold until i’m bruised 🐳 glasses anon i need him to break five pairs monthly from how rough he is i need him to CORRUPT MEEE

FIRSTLY!! 🐳ANON HELLOO<33 I have missed you<3

Please you are so real, it’s like actually a carnal needdddd how bad I need frank to hold my jaw and coo filthy filthy things at me while he blows out my back. And you are SO right on the corruption and skull fucking omggggg. Oh and I also wanna add bc of this ask (and my absolutely foul thoughts on born again bearded frank) I ammmm working on a rougher/mean!Frankie piece rn and I am quaking each time I open the draft. I cannot wait to get a sec to get it finished for y’all <3

im praying this is understandable enough though and not complete waffle😭 I struggle trying to get my thoughts out clearly enough sometimes if ya couldn’t already tell🥲 18+smut thoughts below the cut inc themes of rough sex, breath play/choking, Size kink? Doggy/prone? Was the goal anyway😭Overstimulation, bodily fluids and aftercare (pleeeeease lmk if I've missed anything, i always go blank tagging😭)

Buuuuuuut buckle up! in response to this, I feel like if there’s anyone who can offer the rough stuff it’s him yk? Obviously if you were to let him, no mattwr how embarrassed you could be about it, he'd listen openly. But just know there would be SO many conversations beforehand on likes, dislikes, hard limits, safe words, boundary’s ect, and this goes for both of you! Neither of you want to make the other uncomfortable, especially not in a moment that takes such a level of sexual intimacy, trust and even respect. (Even when being deceptively disrespectful sometimes)

Frank strikes me (and im sure many of you guys) as task motivated so if his baby bun wants something a certain way, he’s going to ensure everything is correct for her to get it. He loves you too much to do anything without afformentioned confirmation. This also includes a lot of discussion on what sort of thing you need for aftercare within those moments when things get heavy too-

And I say those moments bc I don’t think he’d always indulge it? like dont get me wrong, he’d do it, but it’s not going to be every single time you fuck yk? He might incorporate bits here and there like a lil hard tap on the cheek for your attention “eyes on me, yeah, there she is, theres my dirty girl” or a hand on the neck “that feelin good sweetheart? That pretty head gettin all fuzzy?”

Perhaps frank even indulges you with licks of overstim outside of those moments, forfilling it with whatever form is within the mood- vibe, his mouth or fingers. “Shhh, You can take it. Taken more than this before, atta girl, you feel it, aint gotta think, just gotta keep cummin”

But the whole shebang? The whole 9 yards of him getting reeeeal rough, properly leaving marks, really manhandling or getting intensely mean would definitely be different; perhaps even almost planned? Like for example those moments are reserved for say arguments sake, ovulation, pent up stress relief or when your headspace is feeling a specific way?

The way he fucks, the way he talks and touches you? All Completely different to how frank would usually operate in the bedroom and that’s not a bad thing in the slightest!! I just personally feel it would take as much out of frank to do it as it would for you to take it yk?

But That being said he would be disgustingly good with it when he does use it <3

Wrapping his big bicep beneath your chin as he fucks into you harshly from behind, the other hand pinching and slapping at your tits- the taugt buds of your nipples- sharply enough to make you jerk and gasp. Problem is though, the more you jerk and react the more he tightens his hold, squeezing you in the headlock until he can feel the flutters of your cunt and the heaves of your chest. His massive body completely draped over yours, the weight of him pressing you down toward the mattress, hips pummelling your backside in a brutal fashion, punching deep and fast. "Fuckin tight little hole's squeezin my cock, you like not bein able to breathe? feelin me in your tummy?" the hand at your tits drifting to press at your stomach making you squeak, the pressure intensifying the pleasure coursing through you. "Yeaaah, yeah you love all that cock in there dontcha Bun, greedy fuckin girl. Made for it, just lettin me use that pussy how i want"

That hand (sometimes then reaching for your vibe if the mood so runs that way) will then drift further down to your puffy clit, already oversensitive and abused from prior attention. Frank slaps it once, twice, three times before immediately massaging tight, quick figure eights until you practically end up limp in his grip, eyes rolling back as you cum again with a choked, almost gargled moan. Your cunt squeezing him almost as tight as the grip on your neck before he lets go; letting euphoria take over your body with each gasp of oxygen that fills your lungs.

Frank does not stop until he feels you physically cannot cum anymore (or you Safeword!!). He fucks you through orgasm after orgasm (even his own) until you’re nothing short of a mess, practically trembling like a newborn deer and the slightest brush on your clit has your legs closing with a broken yowl. Panting body absolutely covered with various marks, drying spit, slick and cum.

The aftercare, while hes incredible with it generally, is then a complete 180 however- gone is all the roughness of his movements, the sharpness of his words. Replaced by touchs that are feather light and words careful, quiet grumbles as he checks in on you. "Hey pretty girl.. Heads all hazy huh? I know.. But i gotcha, franks gotcha, your safe."

Once you've had a drink and a little bite to eat, some fruit or something simple, he'll always carry you to the bathroom and only leave you to change the sheets as you sit to pee (bc christ forbid a uti on his watch-) then you can lean back against his chest in the warm water of the bath he left running, his broad body sat behind yours as he gets you clean without you even needing to move.

Whispers of soft praise and gentle shushes filling the echoing bathroom as he ensures every sensitive inch of skin is clean even when your eyes droop. "Shhh, i know.. Know its sore baby, just one more moment. One more swipe n' ill leave it alone yeah?" punctuated with a soft kiss to your temble that an hour ago you wouldn't of been able to even dream of him doing.

Frank dries you off with the softest towl you own, of course warmed by the dryer. soothing your skin with a lotion and/or balm you love. Never forgetting to pay extra gentle attention to the red welts on your ass, thighs and chest as he tells you how gorgeous you are in a moment that sometimes, you can feel anything but.

He'll help you into the pajamas you choose (wether your own or one of his shirts/boxers) and not bat a single eye if wearing panties to bed is too uncomfortable for you to handle.

Once fully comfortable his first mission is to then get you a propper snack or little meal. Insisting food is fuel and you need it after everything he put you through as he treads of to the kitchen. Coming back to then execute mission number 2: laying down with you resting cuddled up on his chest.

Fingers softly running over your arm as he presses kisses anywhere he can with little movement. "Doin okay sweetheart? You tell me if you need anything else alright? Nothins too much for my girl." " so proud of you, ya know that?"

"Gettin sleepy down there? I know..shh, you get some rest. Not goin anywhere i promise, Love you sweetheart"