#the people I actually like…?? or the people who like me?

[icewindandboringhorror]

(also feel free in the tags to clarify Why you made the choice you made!! :0c)

[shimp]

"this character should kill their abuser" they're 12

“this character should kill their abuser” i agree. unfortunately they wouldn’t do that.

[tsunomenom]

2 hands | op81 smau

♡ summary: where you try to soft launch your boyfriend but your fans link you to the wrong papaya boy

♡ pairing: oscar piastri x singer!reader

♡ warnings: use of yn, some implied suggestive comments

♡ faceclaim: tate mcrae

masterlist

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

𝜗𝜚

yourusername

Liked by oscarpiastri and 675,821 others

yourusername 2 HANDS SONG & VID OUT NOW 🏎️🌟🏆

View all comments

user21 EATS EATS EATS

user33 POP PRINCESS YN DROPS ANOTHER BANGER‼️

user921 WILD

oliviarodrigo HAWT 🤭

yourusername 😍😍

user13 orange is her color guys 🤭🤭

yourusername it’s papaya 😉🧡

user541 yourusername STFU

user302 WE SAW THAT MCLAREN GIRL STOP WITH THE HINTS 🥲🥲

user921 she stays cryptic i’m so tired 😭

landonorris ate 👏👏 ♥︎ by author

user209 i see u 👀

user412 giving… boyfriend?

user307 NOT SLICK MF

user100 SHE WANTS UR 2 HANDS

user312 OKAY THEY NOT SLICK AT ALL WE ALL KNOW THATS landonorris IN SLIDE 2 😭😭

user44 HONESTLY 😭

sabrinacarpenter you don’t know how to not make a bop 😩😩

yourusername PLEASE COMING FROM YOUUU 🥲🤭🤭

user312 idc who she’s dating (cough lando norris cough) whoever it is wildling cause what do you mean YOU LOOK GOOD ON TOP OF ME 😭

user031 FREAKYYY

user991 she went to the same school of ovulation songs sabrina and taylor did

alexandrasaintmleux i haven’t stopped streaming since it dropped beautiful 😍😍

yourusername I LOVE YOU STAWP

user621 THAT VIDEO WAS HAWWWWT LIKE OMFG 😭

—— twitter

replies—

user341 they’ll make a power couple tbfh 😩

user031 TWO HOT PEOPLE (allegedly) DATING 😍��

user145 I LOVE WHEN HOT PEOPLE DATE OTHER HOT PEOPLE ‼️

user773 HONESTLY 😭

user981 they’re my celebrity crushes i can’t handle this (allegedly)

~~~

user044 CAUSE HONESTLY THAT TIKTOK CONVINCED ME-

user992 NO SAME

user312 not to play devils advocate but lando really is the only papaya driver who has that kinda merch 🤷‍♀️

user210 confused but continue

user312 user210 just saying she could be dating like oscar or pato just cause it’s lando’s car doesn’t mean it’s lando

user210 user312 back to bed grandma (also f1 literally commented on the og tiktok referencing lando…)

user087 she wasn’t slick with that video especially not after liking the f1 comment 😭

user127 WHAT COMMENT?

user087 user127 f1’s official tiktok commented on the tiktok referenced here “this might be lando norris 😳”

user127 user087 YOURE KIDDING

user787 this was honestly THE proof for me like it sealed the deal for me.

user991 i was convinced theyre dating after this too 😭

~~~

user912 GIRL IS OBSESSED 😭

user012 he’s got her down bad and i love the content 😭😭

user132 ITS SOOO GOOD THOUGHHH 😭😭😭😭😭

user778 NO FR FR SHE ATE

user341 SHES DOWN BAD AND IT SHOWWWS 😩

user003 i’m obsessed (but not convinced she’s dating lando 😬)

user778 OH?? whyyyyyy?

user003 user778 just the vibe also her soft launch has had an underlying aussie theme i feel 🤷‍♀️

user334 user003 back to bed grandma it’s ynlando endgame 😩

~~~

user922 is this a safe place?

user176 … i guess?

user992 don’t think yn is dating lando.

user176 nvm not a safe space.

user076 I AM EATING UP EVERY BREADCRUMB SHE DROPS TILL WE GET THE YNLANDO HARD LAUNCH 😭😭😭

user199 i’m obsessed with this and the new album is def papaya coded 😭😭😭

user990 THERE WAS A WHOLE ASS MCLAREN IN HER MV LIKE WTF 😩

user954 SHES NOT SLICK AT ALL

user103 i can’t get over her obvious easter eggs that lead straight to lando 😭😭😭

user031 left field here she’s dating pato ☺️

user176 this is actually hilarious as shit 😭😭

user988 BYE PATOOOO 😭😭😭

—— messages between yn & oscar

—— instagram

oscarpiastri

Liked by yourusername and 854,765 others

oscarpiastri Happy.

View all comments

user072 his caption would be that on a soft launch 😭

user871 he’s a man of few words

user880 OMG A SOFT LAUNCH 😭🥲

hattiepiastri i’m appalled on behalf of your girlfriend. that caption has no enthusiasm

oscarpiastri I’ll have you know i was actually very happy writing that.

hattiepiastri YOURE BEYOND HELP 😭😭

user701 AWW HIM AND LANDO BOTH HAVE GFS 😍

user299 who is lando’s gf?

user701 user299 yourusername

user976 user701 ALLEGEDLY ☝️

user232 THIS IS ADORABLE

landonorris i did not approve that caption when i helped you make this post.

user189 BYE HE ASKED LANDO FOR HELP 😭

alex_albon damn just expose him like that 💀

oscarpiastri I asked for your help in confidence…

rileywhittall disrespecting my wife with that caption is wild 🤧

lilymhe no honestly he needs more enthusiasm when posting about her 😓😓

oscarpiastri logansargeant alex_albon They’re bullying me.

user876 so lando’s dating yn ln and oscar is soft launching what world are we living in 😭

user109 you’re living in delusion cause when has ANYONE confirmed yn and lando

user716 THIS IS CUTE THOUGH GUYS 😭😭

user776 NO FR LIKE I LOOVE

user614 i’m obsessed with this stoppp 😭🤧🤧

user031 cutest soft launch i’ve ever seen 😩

user845 yn in the likes…

user103 supporting her man’s teammate’s soft launch 😍

user845 user103 or hear me out just supporting her man 😍

user103 user845 nope.

user143 the girl looks like yn…

user034 except she’s dating lando 😍😍

user778 user034 ALLEGEDLY

~~~

f1wags

Liked by user876 and 20,489 others

f1wags SPOTTED Lando Norris and model, Magui Corceiro, recently in Monaco. Rumors of Lando and YN LN have been spreading recently but has this development squashed those?

View all comments

user781 that’s crazy…

user091 oh- so yn’s not dating lando…

user845 I WILL BE ACCEPTING APOLOGIES

user097 BUT WHO IS SHE DATING

user199 user097 HEAR ME OUT… OSCAHHH

user188 so ynoscar girlies is it our time??

user976 YESSSS ynoscar

user009 lando and magui make more since than lando and yn

user755 true true

user129 WAIT SO 2 HANDS IS ABOUT OSCAR 😭

user087 still allegedly ☝️

user631 STOPP THE OVULATION BOP IS ABOUT THE POLITE CAT OSCAR PIASTRI 😭😭😭

user917 still in shock from loosing ynlando like that 🤧🤧

user900 mourning a relationship that never existed is CRAZYYYY

user930 they look good together 😭

user021 actually obsessed with them

user487 lando hard launched so people would stop shipping him with his teammates gf 😂😂

user079 NO FR 💀

—— yourusername instagram story

replies—

sabrinacarpenter ANOTHER BANGER?

➥ yourusername 👀👀👀

➥ sabrinacarpenter STOPP

user087 OMG OMG OMG

user916 YESSS A NEW SONG‼️‼️

lilymhe i just screamed ngl 🥲🥲

➥ yourusername BYE ILY 😭

user009 ANOTHER BANGER ANOTHER BANGER

oliviarodrigo is this THE one 👀

➥ yourusername maaybeee 🤭

user991 AHHHHHHHHH

user021 A SONG ABOUT OSCARR?

alexandrasaintmleux SHUT UP 🤧

➥ yourusername eeeeeeeeek

—— instagram

yourusername

Liked by oscarpiastri and 1,235,405 others

yourusername SPORTS CAR mv and song out now!!!!! this video was a dream come true! thank you to everyone who made it possible and a special shoutout to the muse for the song ;) oscarpiastri

hope you guys enjoy it. love youuuuu <3

View all comments

user920 HARD LAUNCH I REPEAT HARD LAUNCH

user801 YNOSCAR GIRLIES WONNNNNNNNNN 😍😍😍

user167 ITS GIVING BRITNEEEEY

spotify gonna rent a sports car so we can play sports car in a sports car

ynhq Pop star. ♥︎ by author

user910 REAL

user192 100%

user676 POP PRINCESSSSS

user921 ATE ONCE AGAIN

user003 HARD LAUNCH OF THE CENTURYYYYYYYYYYY

landonorris i couldve gone my whole life without seeing these lyrics ☺️

yourusername whoops ☺️

landonorris yourusername no apology?

yourusername landonorris nope 👍

user039 OVULATION SONG 🔥🔥

user107 POP DIVA YN DEVOURS ONCE AGAIN

lilymhe I LOVE THIS SO MUCH DIVAAA

yourusername MWAH 🤭

applemusic 👑🏎️

user103 ACTUALLY ATE AND POP PRINCESS WILL EAT UP THE PADDOCK 😍😍😍

user309 YESS F1 WAG YN IS GONNA DEVOUUUURR

hattiepiastri you’re literally perfect 🤧🤧🤧

yourusername stfu you’re perfect 😭 literally my favorite piastri‼️

oscarpiastri yourusername Rude.

user937 YES.

user776 i wanna apologize for ever thinking she was dating lando cause i can’t wait to watch her unhingeness mesh with oscar’s nonchalant ass 😍

oscarpiastri 🧡

yourusername you got a sports car?? 😏 ♥︎ by oscarpiastri

user003 yourusername have i got good news for you

alexandrasaintmleux actually obsessed!! ♥︎ by author

user921 OSCAR PIASTRI I WAS NOT FAMILIAR WITH YOUR GAME

user209 SHOCKED TBH

user129 THE POLITE CAT PULLED 😍 ♥︎ by author

oscarpiastri You’re so incredibly talented and I am immensely proud of you! Grateful to be called your boyfriend and your muse. I love you 🧡

user031 i’m tearing up stop 🤧

hattiepiastri 👏👏👏

user995 this is too much 😭

yourusername IM SOBBING ENOUGHHHH 🤧🤧🤧🤧🤧 i love you sm osco. best muse ever 🧡

[ham1lton]

EVERYTHING IS EMBARRASSING ?

pairings: max verstappen x podcaster!reader

faceclaim: taylor russell

summary: you run the number one podcast on spotify, agonyauntie, and your dream guest is max verstappen. too bad for you that he hates podcasts.

or the one where your podcast is max’s guilty pleasure.

author’s note: clearing out drafts.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by yourbestfriend, alexandrasaintmleux and 1,837,892 others.

yourusername: after a month long hiatus, agonyauntie is back with bigger and better stories. i’m excited to share the newest episode with you on all of the available channels.

please tune in so my mom won’t regret letting me drop out of university to pursue airing people’s dirty laundry on the internet. thank you xoxo

view all comments

user1: WE WON WE WON HELLO!!!!!

user2: will you ever top mango man? i don’t think so.

-> yourusername: trust me user2. we will.

user3: the way during the hiatus the podcast was still #4 on the spotify chart is crazy.

-> user4: WE COMIN FOR THAT NUMBER ONE SPOT YUP!!!

user5: prettiest girl ever. you need a youtube channel so we can see that facecard.

-> user6: she said she prefers podcasting to making videos because she’s awkward asf 😭

-> user7: real omg

-> user8: she’s so me.

user9: who is this 😻

-> user10: yn yln! she’s the creator and host of agonyauntie, which she started back in university. it was originally a radio show in which people would email her their problems and she’d tell them advice. it went viral when she did the episode of ‘mango man’ (just google it, it’s hilarious) and then she moved to a podcast format so it was more accessible. it went to number one and she’s halfway through s2. it’s so good!!! honestly you need to listen to the episodes.

landonorris: SO EXCITED YESSSS 🤩

-> user11: always at the scene of the crime

-> user12: how many fandoms is this guy in? 🤨

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

AGONYAUNT! season 2, episode 7.

[soft jazzy intro music fades out]

yn: okay, this next email is… wow. honestly, when i read it, i had to sit back, take a sip of tea, and whisper, “what the actual hell?” to myself. so naturally, i had to include it in the episode.

let me just read it for you.

[mock-serious tone as she reads aloud]

“hi yn, first off, i love the podcast. you’re literally the only person i trust to handle this because everyone else would either call me crazy or tell me to dump him, and honestly, neither of those options feel right (yet). anyway, here goes: i think my boyfriend is trying to become a bird.

i know that sounds like i’ve lost the plot, but please hear me out. it started small—like him watching a lot of bird documentaries and casually saying things like, ‘owls are the wolves of the sky’ (which i didn’t think about at the time because men say weird things constantly). but then he started doing… bird things. he whistles now. a lot. not cute whistling, yn. it’s more like he’s calling for backup.

then last week i caught him eating sunflower seeds—not out of a bag, but cracking them open with his teeth and spitting the shells on the carpet. the carpet, yn. he’s also been spending suspicious amounts of time sitting on the windowsill ‘for the breeze’ and called a pigeon his ‘mate’ the other day like they’re friends now??

but the final straw? he built a nest. like, an actual nest. i came home from work to find him on the couch surrounded by twigs, string, and what i think might’ve been my missing socks. he said it was ‘just a joke,’ but when i asked why there were eggs in it, he got all defensive and said i ‘wouldn’t understand.’

so now i don’t know what to do. do i confront him and risk him flying away (literally)? or do i just let him… become whatever he’s becoming? pls help me yn. i miss my normal boyfriend who used to just binge-watch love island and occasionally make me toast.

cheers, girl who might be dating a parrot.”

[pause for comedic effect]

yn: okay. wow. first of all, thank you for this email. genuinely, it’s given me a lot to think about. like, this man has gone full National Geographic, and you’re just… casually living with it? incredible. i’m so glad you came to me because i don’t think your friends would’ve taken this seriously enough, and frankly, neither will i, but we’ll do our best.

so. is your boyfriend trying to become a bird? honestly, yeah. sounds like he’s halfway there. whistling, befriending pigeons, eating seeds like he’s at a football match—this man is leaning in hard. and i have to say, the nest? iconic. horrifying, but iconic. he built an actual nest in your home. he didn’t just think about it; he did it. that’s commitment.

but here’s the thing: you have to ask yourself, are you okay with this? like, if you imagine your life five years from now and you’re still with him, is he going to be perched on top of the fridge, squawking about how you don’t appreciate him? or is this just a phase? because maybe it’s temporary. maybe he’s stressed, and this is his way of coping—some people journal, some people go bird-mode.

what i suggest is this: sit him down for a chat. calmly ask, “babe, are you going through something? or are you genuinely preparing to molt?” like, we need clarity here. and if he doubles down on the bird thing, you have a choice to make. either support him and start buying bulk birdseed, or set him free—preferably in a park, not near any major roads.

also, maybe keep your eye on those eggs. i don’t know where he got them, but i’d be concerned.

anyway, good luck with your pigeon-man. i wish you nothing but the best, and if it escalates, please email me again. i have to know what happens.

[transition music fades in]

yn: right, let’s move on before i spiral into a full TED talk about men and their inability to handle hobbies normally. honestly, this man saw blue planet one time and said, “that’s my personality now.” unbelievable.

[music fades out, next segment begins]

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by landonorris, ynsfanpage and 1,727,908 others

agonyauntie: our newest episode is out next week, here are three clues about what it will include.

(hint: the middle one is that our host will be involved. spoiler alert! 😉)

view all comments

user1: omg it’s MAX VERSTAPPEN

-> user2: who tf is that

-> user3: exactly like yn said celebrities as guests

-> user4: he’s literally famous? he’s a formula one star???

-> user3: okay congrats

-> user4: ??

-> user3: girl idk what u want me to say idgaf abt that man 😭 good for him getting the krabby patty formula one or wtvr

user5: OMG MAX AND YN…

-> user6: new ship name needed asap

-> user7: new job application needed ASAP!

user8: omg what if yn and max get together? he’s her dream guest and she seemed a little into him om the live she did watching the f1 race.

-> user9: um he’s literally gay i just googled it…

-> user10? HUH?

-> user9: his fiance is charles leclerc i just read how they met on this gossip website called ao3. very cute. it also told me more about obama’s secret lover, some guy called harry styles. you should check it out.

-> user10: u grown as hell and u can vote. the world is a scary place.

user11: AND NEXT GUEST WILL BE LANDONORRIS LETS PRAY TOGETHER 😎

-> user12: lando we know it’s you take them glasses OFF!

-> user11: 🥲 🕶���🥲

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

author’s note: hi :) just looking for some feedback. send me an ask with what sort of fics u guys like. idk what to post. have a lot of drafts. also idk this will get a pt2. i just want it GONE! sorry <3

[sceletaflores]

GIVE IT TO HER LIKE A MAN!

꩜ masterlist ꩜ update blog ꩜ requests ꩜ taglist ꩜

｡𖦹°‧➵ pair: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ wc: 5.1k

｡𖦹°‧➵ contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, no ellie, joel’s pov, swearing, age gap (52/23), semi-public sex (more of a semi-public ALMOST over the pants handjob?), p in v, clothed sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, hair pulling, spit kink, degradation, pussy spanking, creampie, fucking in your childhood bedroom RAAAHHH, one (1) single line about joel wanting to slap you, one (1) single use of the word daddy, erectile dysfunction? we don't know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he's twenty, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ nat’s note: hi babies! i'm back! did you miss me? cause i missed you and oh em gee i'm so excited to be rejoining the party. this actually wasn't what i planned on posting but the angsty joel fic is kicking my ass so hard that i had to take a break from it. i just needed to word vomit some raunchy, freak-nasty porn to cleanse my palate! i don’t normally go for the dbf trope but it's just so joel i couldn't not dip my feet in these waters. it's also more like dad's-close-but-distant-acquaintance-joel because in my head that man has little to no friends honestly. hope you love it, mwah!

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics!

joel gives the best graduation gifts...

Joel isn’t the type to get invited to these kinds of things.

Graduation parties for Ivy League brats. Champagne in fancy crystal flutes and catered hors d'oeuvres getting passed around on silver trays. Men in loafers and pastel polos calling each other “old buddy” without any irony. It’s a far cry from his usual crowd—his mangy old t-shirt and stained blue jeans stick out in the place like a damn sore thumb.

The invitation came from a distant friend, someone he used to work with before his career took him in an entirely different, much shiner direction. He was here more as a favor than anything else. Tommy’s been worried about him, says he needs to get out more.

“Meet some new people, drink a few beers.” He’d said with his hand clasped on Joel’s shoulder. “It ain’t healthy to spend every weekend fixin’ shit around the house, Joel.”

Joel doesn’t see the problem. He’s fine the way he is. But somehow, he still got roped into going when he could have used any excuse to pull out at the last second. He could have faked sick, faked busy, faked like he had anything else to do besides sit at a fancy oak table on a back porch bigger than the whole first story of his house, decorated in Yale blue balloons and streamers. 

He regretted giving into Tommy the second he pulled up in the driveway—a too-big Craftsman style place in West Lake Hills, all clean laid brick and perfectly manicured lawns. Joel couldn’t for the life of him remember why he said yes in the first place. Maybe it was the guilt of worrying his brother. Maybe for the decent catered food and overpriced beers he knew would be there when he first got the address.

What he hadn’t expected—what hit him in the goddamn chest when the door swung open after he knocked—was you.

And Christ, did you look smug about it.

It had been months ago. The only reason Joel was even in Connecticut was to meet with a client, a big time East Coast entrepreneur who wanted a new add on to his ten car garage and was fine slinging around the money to pay for a round-trip flight and a cushy hotel room.

He hadn’t planned on going to the bar that night, but after hours of back-and-forth about permits and material costs, he needed a drink. Just one, maybe two—enough to take the edge off before heading back to the hotel.

It was a shitty little dive about ten minutes from where he was staying. The beer was cold, the lights were low, and he wasn’t supposed to be making decisions with his little head. But then he saw you across the way, right in the middle of the dancefloor.

You were in a circle with a few other girls, your dress riding up higher and higher each time you’d roll your hips to the heavy bass blaring from the overhead speakers.

Joel watched you like that for a while, leaned up against the bar lazily sipping at his beer. He hadn’t planned on doing anything about it, just sat there and enjoyed the view. But you’d caught him looking, and instead of turning away and pretending not to notice, you’d smirked.

Joel should have known right then that he was in trouble.

It wasn’t long before you left your little group and made your way over, slipping on the stool beside him like you belonged there, like you’d already made your mind up about what was going to happen next. You’d leaned in close, close enough for him to catch the scent of whatever perfume you’d rolled over your throat before heading out—something rich and heady that damn near made his head spin.

“Hey, cowboy.” You’d said with a tilt of your head, the long column of your neck dewy with a light sheen of sweat he wanted to feel under his tongue. “You’ve been watching me?”

There was no accusation in your voice, just a quiet sort of amusement, like you already knew the answer.

Joel had huffed a laugh, he didn’t see the point of denying it. He was a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. “Yeah.” He’d admitted, taking a slow sip of his beer before setting it down. “What about it?”

Your eyes dropped down the length of his body, studying him, and he’d let you. Let you take your time looking, even as heat crawled up the back of his neck.

“Buy me a drink?” You’d asked, smiling up at him like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.

That was all it took.

One drink turned into two, which turned into three, and then you were leaning into his space like you were made to be there. Your index finger teasingly tracing along the collar of his shirt as you whispered something filthy in his ear that had all the blood in his brain rushing down south.

Joel really shouldn’t have let it go any further than some goddamn footsie under the bar and a few dirty words whispered over the rims of shiny glasses, he was too old for shit like that. But you were just so damn tempting—confident and sharp and pretty as all hell.

Before Joel knew it he had you pressed up against the side of his truck, giggling into his mouth, fingers tugging at his belt like you couldn't get it off fast enough. You’d tasted like the fruity cocktails he bought you and something sweeter underneath, something distinctly you, and Joel had to have more.

You let him have it too—fisting his shirt and dragging him into the backseat without a care in the world, all eager hands and breathless laughter as you straddled his lap.

It was supposed to be just that. A reckless decision with a pretty young thing as the cherry on top of his trip. A one-night deal he’d let himself have because, fuck, it had been a long time since someone looked at him like that.

Joel tried his damndest to think how he should’ve, tried not to let some one off fuck turn him all sorts of ass backwards. He tried his damndest to boot you out of his mind the next morning when he was boarding the flight back to Austin—but you stuck anyway, like a burr in his goddamn brain. 

The way you’d looked sprawled out under him, eyes glazed over with pleasure, lips parted, or the way you’d moaned his name like it was a prayer you needed him to hear. The way you’d rode him nice and slow, dragging your nails down his chest just to watch him shudder. The way you’d kissed him after, lazy and sweet, before sneaking off into the night like a goddamn thief.

Joel could've sworn he saw God that night, a smudged silhouette in the fogged up windows of his truck.

And now you’re here, standing in the doorway of some polished, high society home, looking like sin wrapped up in tulle and pearls.

Joel wasn’t a man who spooked easy, but seeing you again, surrounded by people who had no goddamn idea what you’d let him do to you in the backseat of his truck all those months ago, knocked him on his ass harder than a sucker punch.

The recognition was damn near instant, your eyes shining just as much as the sparkly sash that read “GRAD!” in big glittery letters. The initial shock gave way to a tiny, secret smile as your gaze slid up and down his body shamelessly, like this was some kind of funny inside joke. 

Joel was seconds away from turning tail, walking back down your ridiculously long driveway and getting in his truck to get the hell out of there, but then your father was walking up behind you with a big grin on his face. He clapped Joel on the shoulder roughly and introduced his “Old buddy Joel Miller from his blue-collar days!”

You were all coy smiles and wide eyes. A sugared, “It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Miller. Thank you for coming…” passing through your glossy lips.

The same lips that left shiny red smudges along the skin of his cock when you slid him down your throat, peering up at him with glassy eyes. The memory alone was enough to get heat stirring deep in his gut, and the way you looked at him now—all demure and polished, like you were some angelic scholar fresh off a podium—only made it worse.

Joel is too damn old for this.

“Very top of her class,” your father boasts, swishing his beer bottle through the air towards you flippantly. “Can you believe it? Just think of what we were doing at her age, brother. She sure as hell didn’t get any brains from me, that’s all her mother.”

Joel tries to chuckle with him, but it sounds strained, forced. He keeps his eyes facing forward, knee bouncing restlessly under the table. You’re looking at him again, hot and persistent against the side of his face. The heavy weight of your gaze practically begging him to look back. He doesn’t.

This dinner is it’s own form of torture, because of course, you just had to sit in the empty seat next to Joel—close enough that he can feel your knee bump up against his every few minutes.

He’s done a good job avoiding you until now, always walking the other direction when you waltz into the same room, not making eye contact when your gaze would sweep over the crowd hoping to catch his, trying for once in his life to be a good man.

A good man that suffers through this damn party without doing something he'll regret, that leaves at the end of the night and never has to see you again.

“Yeah,” he says, nervously starting to pick at the label of his own beer. Some snobby, imported New England brewery, probably sixty bucks a six-pack. “Good times.”

Joel can see you lean forward out of the corner of his eye, the neckline of your dress sliding down an inch as you stare at him, attention rapt. “What were you like back then, Mr. Miller?”

Joel nearly winces, his fingers tightening around the neck of his beer hard enough to turn the skin around his knuckles white.

‘Mr. Miller’ echoes in his ears lewdly, blaring like church bells. Your voice is nothing but a honey-sweet mockery, so syrupy he can nearly feel it trickling down his throat to add to the warmth settling low in his stomach. 

Your father snorts over the lip of his bottle, answering you before Joel could open his mouth. “Joel didn’t go to college, honey. He went into the trades right after graduation,” he takes a long sip, Joel feels your knee bump against his again. “That’s how we met.”

You hum, nodding your head languidly. “You’re an architect too?”

Joel shakes his head, not looking at you as he answers. “Carpenter.”

Your father launches into some story about his old work days with Joel, about how back in the day, they were “real men” with “real jobs,” but Joel can barely process any of it. He nods along absently, lets out some half-hearted chuckles when he needs to.

Joel nearly puts his knee through the table when he feels your barefoot brush up against his ankle, hiking his jeans up ever so slightly. He shoots you a glare as subtly as he can.

It’s a look so sharp, so warning, that it should be enough to make you back the hell off from whatever game you’re playing. You’re not even looking at him anymore, eyes glued to your father as you nod along to whatever story he’s telling now. 

But there’s a knowing little smile on your lips as your hand creeps beneath the table and falls into his lap, the pads of your fingers pressing against the inside of his thigh.

Joel goes still. Rigid as his breath catches on a sharp inhale.

Christ, you’re trying to kill him.

Your father’s voice pulls him out of the silent panic and heavy arousal waging a war inside of him. “How’s business, Joel?” he asks, leaning back in his chair. “You and Tommy still running things at a hundred miles a minute?”

Joel barely registers the question as your hand inches higher and higher. He can hear his own pulse pounding in his throat, in his chest, in his cock, already half-hard in his boxers from some goddamn heavy petting like a wet behind the ears teenager. 

“Yeah, we–” Joel pauses, willing his voice to steady with a quick cough to clear his throat. “We’ve been pretty busy with Summer rollin' around.”

Your father hums in agreement, cracking open another beer. “Of course, my schedule’s been a killer too this season,” he brags shamelessly, tone heavy with understanding like he and Joel are in the same boat. Only your fathers boat is a three million dollar yacht sailing for blue-print meetings with big shot celebrities and architectural digest interviews. “It’s a miracle I even had time to fly in for the party, isn’t that right sweetheart?”

Your hand slides up the length of his cock in one slow stroke, your palm grinding roughly over the tip through the tented denim.

“Yes, daddy.”

Your voice has gone all light and airy around the edges, almost melodic as it buries itself in Joel’s ears. At first, Joel thinks you’re talking to your father, but when his eyes flick over to you, you’re looking at him—your eyes half-lidded and sparkling with something dangerous as your fingers tug at the tab of his zipper.

Joel’s hand flies to your wrist, squeezing tight enough to stop your pawing at his now fully hard cock. “Alright if I use your bathroom?” he asks sharply, his voice a little too loud. He tosses your hand away and stands abruptly from his chair before he’s got an answer.

“Of course,” your father says easily, thankfully not noticing the tension at the table, or the way Joel’s trying to subtly hold his hands over his crotch. He turns his attention towards you, “Would you show Joel where the downstairs bathroom is, honey?”

Your smile only widens as you slip your sandal on and calmly stand from your own chair. “Sure,” you say breezily, but you’re not looking at your father, dark eyes still glued to Joel’s. “Follow me.”

The flowy fabric of your dress swishes behind you as you walk through the yard, Joel hot on your heels. He waits until you're both in the house, stepping through the open sliding glass door and out of view before his hand flies to your arm and squeezes hard.

Joel hears you wince softly, but you don’t try to fight your way out of his grip. He leans down closer, his lips inches away from your ear. His voice is low and rough as he grits out, “Take me to your room, now.”

You lead him through the kitchen and up the stairs silently, but Joel can still see the smug smile on your lips as you turn the corner. The need to slap that bratty shit right off your face wracks through him like thunder, anger burning hotter in his chest with every step.

You push the door to your bedroom open and step inside, barely turning to face him before Joel slams the door shut behind him and stalks past you. His eyes are dark, filled with a mix of rage and want as he stares you down.

“Do you think this is a goddamn game?” His voice is teeming with fury, the calm facade he scarcely maintained at dinner now entirely gone. “That you can do whatever the hell you please because your Daddy’s sittin' across from you?”

You bite your bottom lip, leaning against the door with your arms crossed behind your back coyly. “You didn’t bring me a present.”

It’s a taunt if Joel’s ever heard one, and it finally breaks him.

He crosses the room in three large strides, pinning you against the door. His hands on either side of your head, caging you in. Joel cranes his neck down, his face inches away from yours. He can smell your perfume this close, it’s different than what you wore at the bar—something soft and girly and sweet that has his cock straining in his boxer.

“You’re real fuckin' proud of yourself aren’t you?” he spits roughly, watching the way your pupils dilate, eyes going glossy under his intensity. “Does your old man know how much of a tramp his precious little baby girl is? That she’s got such a greedy fuckin' pussy she can’t help herself from rubbin' his buddy Joel’s cock under the table like a desperate slut.”

“Joel,” you whisper breathlessly, all the attitude draining from you at the drop of a hat the second he gets a little mean. Your eyes are stuck on his lips and, after a beat, you start leaning in, like you’ll die if you don’t kiss him.

Joel stops you with a hand fisted in your hair, keeping you still a few centimeters away from his lips. A pitiful whine falls from your slack mouth, wide eyes flicking back up to meet his with a pleading look.

“You want me to kiss you, princess?” he asks, mean and condescending. Your breath puffs over his lips, hot and needy as you nod your head as best you can. Joel laughs, dark and cool as he shakes his head slowly. “Whores like you don’t get kissed baby, they get fucked.”

It does something to you—Joel can see it in the way your lashes flutter, in the way your thighs press together, like you can feel his words between your legs. He watches the rise and fall of your chest quicken, the way your lips part as a little breathless sound escapes them, and he knows he’s got you right where he wants you.

Desperate. Squirming. Ready to let him ruin you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, low and almost reverent, but the wicked curl of his lips betrays the softness in his tone. “Bet you’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

You nod, your chest rising up to press against his with every breath.

“Words,” he demands, voice sharp as a needle. Your thighs twitch at the sound of it.

“Yes,” you breathe shakily. “I’ve been wet since you got here.”

That has Joel groaning, jaw ticking as his cock twitches heavily in his boxers, pre-come oozing into the cotton.

He doesn’t waste another second. He drops your hair to grab your shoulders, pulling and pushing until you’re tumbling onto your old bed. You let out a sharp gasp as your back hits the mattress, the force of it bouncing you a few times.

Joel looms over you, watching you, finally letting himself get a good look at the picture you make. Splayed across dainty floral sheets, chest heaving, staring up at him with need written all over your pretty face. It practically pumps off of you in waves, he can almost taste it.

Without another word, Joel reaches for his belt, his heavy gaze never leaving yours. The metal of his buckle clinks loudly in the quiet of the room, underscored by the quick pants of your breath. It snaps with how hard he yanks it out of his belt loops, the leather cracking in the air menacingly.

"You wanted this," Joel mutters, popping the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down with a sharp hiss. "You practically fuckin’ begged for it."

You make a desperate little sound at the sight of his cock finally being freed from the confines of his jeans—thick, heavy, and leaking when it slaps against his stomach. Your legs spread wider like an offering, like you need it in you now.

Joel huffs out a laugh, grabbing your ankle and yanking you down the bed, making you squeak in surprise. He climbs on the mattress, his body completely blanketing yours so you couldn’t move if you wanted to.

His hand drags down your body, over the swell of your breasts, over your ribs, the curve of your hip, until he’s gripping the hem of your dress. Joel slips his hand under the skirt, rough palms gliding up the soft skin of your thighs before gripping the meat of them hard enough to bruise.

The thought of you finding the marks tomorrow, pretty shades of purple and yellow branding your skin as a reminder of this moment, of what Joel did to you—it makes his stomach flip with a sick thrill.

It doesn’t take much for Joel to push the bunched fabric around your hips the rest of the way up, exposing the barely-there scrap of lace covering you.

He makes a sound low in his throat when he sees the little damp spot blooming along the powder blue fabric. “So fuckin’ needy,” he mutters, tracing his middle finger along the wet seam of your pussy, featherlight, teasing. “Can’t even sit through one damn dinner without beggin’ for my attention like a two-bit truck stop whore.”

You nod frantically, lips trembling, pupils blown wide as you blink up at him.

Joel tsks mockingly, raising his palm to give your clothed pussy a sharp slap that has you crying out. “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please, Joel.”

Your voice is so soft, so wrecked. And Joel feels himself get impossibly harder, his cock throbbing where it’s pressed against your stomach, blurting pre-come onto the delicate pink tulle of your dress. He can hardly wait any longer.

Joel hooks a finger into the leg of your panties, dragging them down hard enough that he hears a rip. He can’t find it in himself to care, he just pulls them far enough that they pool around your ankles uselessly.

He finally takes himself in his hand so he can drag his cock through the wet mess of your pussy, bumping it up against your hole but not giving you a damn inch. A devastating noise falls from your lips, slow and sweet as molasses, your hips buck up off the mattress, trying to take him in. He presses one heavy hand down on your stomach, keeping you still.

“Ask me for it,” Joel whispers darkly, slapping the head over your glistening clit. “Beg for my cock.”

Your fingers curl into the sheets, frustration and desire burning in the inky black of your pupils. “Please, Joel. It’s all I can think about, can only think about you,” you ramble senseslessly, voice breathless. “About you fucking me. About your cock stretching me open. Please fuck me, please, want it so bad.”

Fuck, he loves hearing you beg.

Joel grips your hips, holding you steady as he presses inside, slow at first, just enough to make you gasp, enough to let you feel how thick he is stretching you open. He curses, head falling forward as he watches himself disappear inside you inch by inch.

Your hands scramble along the length of his back, nails scratching uselessly as you try to adjust to the sudden fullness. Joel knows he’s too big, the stretch too much all at once without prep. He knows it. He just doesn’t give a damn.

“I know, it’s a big stretch ain’t it?” Joel coos, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the skin of your hips. “You can still take it, darlin’. It’s what you wanted, wanted me to lose my goddamn mind and ruin this sweet little pussy.”

You nod desperately, a loud cry bursting from your chest as he pulls you back until his hips are flush with your ass. Your velvety heat feels scalding around him, snug and perfect, like it was made for him—made for his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he stays there for a beat, buried to the hilt—forcing you really feel the full, aching stretch before he starts to move. He drags his cock out to the tip, almost all the way, before slamming forward again, knocking the breath from your lungs. “That’s it—take it all, just like that.”

Joel sets a brutal pace, fucking you so deep he swears he must be in your goddamn guts. His grip is merciless, his fingers digging into your hips as he uses them to pull you back against him, meeting every punishing thrust. The dirty sound of skin on skin fills the room, mixing with the slick squelch of your pussy as it tries to suck him back in each time he pulls out, the pretty soft gasps and moans you’re struggling to keep quiet the cherry on top of it all.

It’s so loud, a symphony of lewd sounds bouncing off the walls enough that Joel would be worried that someone might overhear if your house wasn’t such a maze.

Joel watches you writhe beneath him, your back arching, hands grasping at his shoulders, his arms, his hair, desperate for something to hold onto as he fucks into you with ruthless precision. Every thrust sends a shockwave through your body, makes your breath hitch, your legs trembling where they’re locked tight around his waist.

“Poor thing,” he mutters, voice a low rasp in your ear. “Too dumb to talk now, huh? Just layin’ here, takin’ it like a good little whore.”

Your eyes roll back in your head when he tilts his hips, the new angle forcing his cock to rub up against your sweet spot with every thrust. “Joel–”

Joel leans over you, breath hot against your ear as he mutters, “This what you needed, baby? Needed Daddy’s friend to hike your pretty dress up and fuck you good and hard like this?” He speeds his hips up fast enough to get the bed shaking on its frame. “Actin’ like a spoiled little brat all night just so I’d drag you up here and teach you some fuckin’ manners?” 

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck—” Your words slur together, breathy and high-pitched, your fingers twisting in his hair as he keeps up that relentless pace.

Joel reaches up to snatch your jaw in a tight grip, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. “Open your mouth,” he growls, fingers digging into the meat of your cheeks meanly. When you don’t, too fucked out of your mind to listen, he shakes your head back and forth like a bad dog. “Open it.”

The command breaks through the pleasure filled haze clouding your mind, and your mouth falls open obediently. Your slick lips parting enough for Joel to see the enticing pink of your tongue. A groan claws its way out from deep in his chest, and he leans down close to spit into your mouth.

Your moan is a high, choked whine as your eyes flutter shut, your pussy squeezing around his cock impossibly tighter. 

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ swallow,” he says, fucking into your clenching heat harder. “Hold it right there.”

You open your eyes to stare up at him like he’s some kind of God, your lashes clumped together and glossy with unshed tears—gaze glazed over with a kind of bliss that makes something dark and satisfied wriggle to life in his chest.

“Good girl,” he mutters, barely above a whisper, but the words hit you like a sack of bricks. Your walls squeeze around him, and he groans low in his chest. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you even wider so he can watch the way his cock disappears into your puffy pussy, shining with your slick every time he pulls out. “Look at that. Fuckin’ made to take cock, aren’t you?”

You moan around closed lips, nails digging little crescent moons into his shoulders so hard that he can feel his shirt ripping under the force of it. Joel can tell you’re getting close, your whole body trembling violently as the coil of your orgasm winds tighter and tighter.

“Go ahead and swallow for me, baby girl.” Joel needs to hear you, needs to hear you say his name when you come on his cock. “Wanna hear that pretty voice.”

The sound of you swallowing is music to Joel’s ears, his hips stuttering as he watches your throat work.

“Please,” you gasp, fat crocodile tears rolling down your cheeks. “Need to come, need you to make me—”

“Yes,” he hisses, his thrusts turning sloppy for a beat before he regains his rhythm. “You gonna come for me, baby? Gonna soak my cock nice and good?”

His words push you right over the edge. Your entire body tenses, pleasure rolling through you in a white-hot wave as your climax crashes over you, stealing your breath. You sob Joel’s name, thighs shaking uncontrollably, body shuddering beneath him as you clench down so fucking tight he can barely move.

Joel groans, his jaw going slack as he watches you fall apart, losing himself in the feel of your pussy milking his cock. He grits his teeth, hips snapping erratically as he chases his own release. 

“Fuck—gonna fill you up, baby,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Gonna fuck you full of me, make you mine.”

With one last thrust, Joel spills inside of you. He buries himself as deep as he can go, warmth flooding your core as spurt after spurt of come paints your insides, thick and hot. His body shakes with the force of it, a deep, guttural moan falling from his lips as he rides out his orgasm.

Joel just stays there, panting, his forehead resting against yours.

For a moment, both of you are too overwhelmed to move. You just lay on the mattress tangled together in the aftermath, breaths mingling, bodies slick with sweat. Joel smooths his hands up your sides, grounding himself as you both come down from the highs of ecstasy.

When you finally stop shaking, Joel pulls back just enough to look at you, to take in the wrecked, spent look on your face. He brushes his knuckles over your sweaty cheek, softer than before. “Still think I didn’t bring you a present?”

You let out an amused huff, pushing your hands up under the back of his shirt so you can trace the column of his spine with gentle fingers. “Trust me, it’s the only present I’m getting that’ll be worth a damn. Money can’t buy this, Miller.”

Joel chuckles, low and smooth as warmth blooms in his chest. He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder. “You earned it, baby.”

mini nat's note: thank you so much for reading! mwah.

[captainjonnitkessler]

Look, I'm not gonna pretend that I don't get it, when it comes to AI. But it's like this:

In most parts of the US, a residential electrician works only on houses and apartments. They use romex wire, that yellow cable stuff. You run it from the panel to wherever it's going, staple it to the studs, then make up both ends. You need to know basic electrical code but mostly it's pretty simple. A fast learner could be a decent residential electrician inside a month.

I, on the other hand, am a union industrial electrician. I work primarily in hospitals, factories, and research labs. Most of our wire is run in steel conduit that has to be hand bent on the job, which is an art form in and of itself. We work with much higher voltages, much heavier wire, much more complicated equipment, and we need to know much more of the code. Our apprenticeship is 4-5 years and that's only enough to scratch the surface of everything an industrial electrician might do.

And yes - I absolutely get a little defensive when unknowing people compare me to a residential electrician. There's absolutely a knee-jerk impulse to declare that they're not *real* electricians, that they're merely a pale imitation of what I do. But I fight that impulse because it's a *bad impulse*. Resi still takes skill and work, it's just different than mine. We're both electricians. And it's better for us to work together to improve working conditions for all workers than to get into pissing contests about whose job is more "real". And both our jobs are in increasing danger due to the proliferation of low voltage systems that the average homeowner can install and repair without hiring a professional.

So yeah, I do get it. But it has been very, VERY insulting over the last year to hear people repeatedly say "AI was supposed to replace blue collar jobs, not *my* job! My job is ~special~ because it has ~humanity~!"

Your job is not special. It's not more important than my job and it's not more fulfilling to you than my job is to me. And I don't get to insist that everyone start building homes with steel conduit just so less skilled people can't be electricians, and I don't get to yell at people for hiring a handyman to replace an outlet for $50 when my time would be worth $200.

I absolutely understand the instinct that AI art can't be real art because people who use it didn't "earn" it, or that automating art is uniquely damaging in a way automating other jobs isn't because it's "supposed" to be about human expression. But please actually think about what you're implying and who you're throwing under the bus when you say shit like that, and whether it actually holds up to your other values or if it's just a knee-jerk reaction you need to examine.

[clockwayswrites]

Fresh Birb! Part 32

masterpost

“Thanks for the excuse to get some fresh air,” Danny said. He sounded grateful enough that Jason felt a little bad for using the ‘stroll around the yard’ as an way to gather some intel.

“Hey, trust me, I get how overwhelming the manor can get,” Jason said, “and there are a lot of us in house right now. It’s easier in small doses for sure.”

“I could see that,” Danny agreed. “But there’s also something nice about the full house. It’s all very… alive feeling.”

The words were more melancholy than they should be. They were more like how Jason, who knew the feeling of death all too well, might say them. It brought troubling thoughts to mind.

“Yeah, that can be nice about it. Sure is quieter if I’m not here or at Roy’s,” Jason agreed after maybe too long a moment.

“Is Roy that much more talkative when it’s just the two of you?”

“Oh, no. Well, yeah, but it’s more about his little girl, Lian. She’s three and a half and an absolute handful most days. She’s also at that age where she’s pretty much narrating her own life in half understandable babble so there’s just a lot of constant noise.”

Danny chuckled. “I bet. Stayed with a friend for a bit when I was between jobs and stuck there for a few months by a non-complete clause. Her one kid was that age at the time and the oldest five. I didn’t know just how much everything there was when having kids that age. It made me actually feel a little sorry for my parents.”

“You the youngest, oldest, or middle?”

“Youngest. I’ve got one older sister, Jasmine,” Danny said. “You could sorta say there’s a half a sibling too. I basically grew up with my best friend and there were some weeks I spent more time at his house than ours.”

“That close to him?” Jason asked.

“Yeah. That and it was easier, sometimes, to not be at home.”

“Oh.”

That implied some unfortunate things that Jason hadn’t quite been expecting. Danny seemed pretty well adjusted. He was even good at handling Damian, but Jason supposed that maybe part of that was because Danny had been through his own issues.

Danny just shrugged. “I have a life long friend out of it. We don’t see each other in person much these days since we’re on other sides of the country, but we still talk plenty.”

Jason gave a soft hum and, a beat later, asked, “What made you end up in Gotham of all places?”

“Wayne Enterprises, actually,” Danny said. “The rep in the industry as place to work is unparalleled really, especially for what I want to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Help people,” Danny said, honestly and with a crooked little smile. “Which I know sounds cheesy, but I really wanted to create things that help people. It’s not like I mind making a better cellphone battery or anything, but it’s nice to know that I get to work on things that help not just with the little, everyday issues but also the big, life changing ones. The fact that those things get to help the city I live in too is a real plus.”

“Gotham has a way of getting to you like that,” Jason said.

“Yeah,” Danny replied softly, gaze in the direction of the Gotham sky line.

And then a scream split the air.

Not a human scream, thankfully, but a repeated screech that had both of them starting and looking around for the source. The screech turned to a warbling clucking as Jerry emerged from behind the landscaping. His tail was high and spread, his wing tips brushed the ground, and he was looking almost shockingly colorful.

“A turkey?”

“Damian’s.”

“Damian has a turkey,” Danny said slowly.

“And a cow,” Jason said. “Cat, dog, a few snakes. He tried to keep a rat but Alfred stopped that pretty quickly.”

Danny rubbed at his temple. “This is why he knew how to take care of wings, isn’t it?”

Jason tried not to smile. “That came up, huh?”

“He’s been sending Bruce information about it,” Danny answered.

Jerry made another loud warble and struck what Jason could only describe as a pose.

“So… does he do this often?”

“His name is Jerry, and nope,” Jason said and pulled out his phone.

Jerry strutted closer to Danny, tail feathers shaking.

“Oh… oh,” Danny said with the tone of someone for who horrible realization was dawning. “Can you, ah, talk him down?”

“I’m afraid I’m morally obligated to film this,” Jason said somberly. He couldn’t hold back his smirk any longer.

Danny shot him a withering look and started to back up towards the Manor. “Really.”

“Really. Good luck.”

“Well, fuck,” Danny said and then took off running.

Jerry followed at top speed with a scream.

Jason sent the video to Bruce. ‘You have competition.’

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 1: March 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: 

....Do not expect particular quick updates on this, because it's a beast of a story. Also: kinda Charles bashing, but not really? You'll see.

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

A Bar in Montecarlo: 

Max had come to the bar for a quiet drink, not to get his world flipped upside down. But then he spotted her.

She was standing at the counter, waiting for her drink, all soft confidence and effortless elegance. The kind of woman who didn’t need to try to turn heads—she just did. And Max, never one to let an opportunity pass him by, slid up beside her with his most charming smirk and opened his mouth. 

And because apparently, he had actually listened the last time Lando told him all about the absolutely horrible Pick-Up-Lines that he had tried with middling success…that was what came out of his mouth.

“Excuse me,” he said smoothly, “but do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?”

She turned, amused—

And Max nearly choked.

Because he knew her.

His brain scrambled for a second before his mouth caught up. “Oh, shit. You’re Charles’ little sister.”

Her entire expression changed. The amusement faded, her jaw tightening. “Wow,” she deadpanned. “That’s one way to ruin a moment.”

Max grimaced. “That’s not what I—”

She picked up her drink and turned fully toward him, raising a brow. “I do have a name, you know.”

He nodded quickly, recovering. “Right. Isabelle.”

“Good job,” she said dryly. “Want a gold star?”

Max huffed out a laugh. “Look, I just wasn’t expecting you. I see a beautiful woman at a bar, and my instinct is to flirt. Then I realize she’s my colleague’s little sister, and I panic.”

Her lips twitched. “And?”

“And… I’m still going to flirt with you,” he admitted, grinning. “But properly this time.”

She tilted her head, intrigued. “Oh?”

Max leaned in slightly. “Can I buy you a drink, Isabelle?”

She pretended to consider. “That depends. Are you going to keep calling me Charles’ little sister?”

He placed a hand over his heart. “I solemnly swear never to utter those words again.”

Her lips curled in the slightest smirk. “In that case, sure. Let’s see if you can impress me, Verstappen.”

Max had never been one to back down from a challenge. And something told him this was a challenge he’d never want to walk away from.

Max flagged down the bartender, ordering another round for both of them. Isabelle took a slow sip of her drink, watching him over the rim of her glass like she was trying to decide if he was worth her time.

He liked that. Liked that she wasn’t falling over herself just because he was Max Verstappen.

“So,” he said, leaning against the bar, “what exactly would impress you?”

She hummed, tapping a finger against her glass. “A conversation that doesn’t involve my brothers.”

Max smirked. “That easy?”

“You’d be surprised how many people fail that test.”

He could imagine. Charles was everywhere in the racing world, and by extension, so was Isabelle. It must be exhausting, always being seen as an extension of someone else.

Max took the challenge seriously. “Alright,” he said, shifting toward her. “Tell me something about you that has nothing to do with your family.”

She studied him for a moment, like she was assessing if he was genuine. Then, after a beat, she said, “I work in architecture.”

Max blinked. “Really?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why do you sound surprised?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I never thought about what you do.”

She smirked. “That’s because you’ve only ever seen me as Charles’ little sister.”

Max winced. “Okay, fair. But I’m interested now.”

“Are you?” She tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. “I have heard your name at work before.”

Max frowned. “You have?”

“Oh, yeah,” Isabelle said, taking another sip of her drink. “Apparently, you’ve been house hunting. One of my colleagues nearly had a meltdown over the idea of designing a place for Max Verstappen.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “Wait… which project?”

She bit back a smile. “A penthouse. You toured it a few weeks ago.”

Max suddenly knew exactly which one she was talking about. He had liked the place, but something had held him back from committing.

Now, though?

Now, he was very seriously considering signing the papers just for an excuse to see her again.

He leaned in, watching her reaction closely. “And if I were to, say, buy that penthouse?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Then I’d know you had good taste.”

Max grinned. “That’s it?”

She shrugged. “That, and I’d probably have to endure my colleagues freaking out for at least a week.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, then. Guess I have some decisions to make.”

Isabelle rolled her eyes, but he caught the way her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile.

Yeah. He was definitely buying that penthouse.

Max drummed his fingers against the bar, pretending to think. "Alright, so let’s say I do buy that penthouse. Hypothetically."

Isabelle gave him a knowing look. "Hypothetically."

"Would I get a personal consultation?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "That’s not how it works."

"But if I had, I don’t know, questions about the design, or maybe some concerns about the layout, I’d need someone to talk to, wouldn’t I?"

Isabelle swirled the last of her drink in her glass, watching him with an amused glint in her eyes. "Max, are you trying to say you need my number for professional reasons?"

He grinned, tilting his head. "I mean, what if I need an expert opinion? You are the only architect I know."

She sighed in mock exasperation, but he could tell she was entertained. "I really shouldn’t encourage this."

"But you want to," Max countered, smirking.

Her lips twitched, and after a moment’s pause, she reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. "Fine. Give me yours, I’ll text you."

Max typed in his number so fast that she actually laughed. She typed something in her phone. 

A second later, his phone buzzed with a new message.

Unknown Number: Congratulations on your completely unbiased, definitely not suspicious real estate decision.

Max chuckled. "So, what happens if I text you about things that aren’t penthouse-related?"

Isabelle lifted her glass to her lips and said, before taking the last sip, "Guess we’ll find out."

And just like that, Max Verstappen knew he was completely screwed.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

(Unknown Number): Hey, it’s Max.

(Unknown Number): Verstappen.

(Unknown Number): Just in case you know a lot of Maxes.

Isabelle: I don’t.

Max: Good. Would hate to have competition already.

Isabelle: Already?

Max: What can I say? I like you.

Isabelle: You barely know me.

Max: That’s true. But I’d like to change that.

Isabelle: …That was smooth.

Max: Was it?

Isabelle: Surprisingly, yes.

Max: Noted. I’ll add it to my very short list of smooth moments.

Isabelle: Very short?

Max: Tragically short.

Isabelle: I don’t know if I believe that.

Max: I promise, my sister would confirm it.

Isabelle: You have a sister?

Max: Victoria.

Isabelle: Right, I think I’ve seen her before.

Max: Probably. She’d probably like you, by the way.

Isabelle: Oh?

Max: Yeah. She has a good instinct about people.

Isabelle: And what does your instinct say?

Max: That I really, really want to see you again.

Isabelle: You’re very direct, aren’t you?

Max: Is that a bad thing?

Isabelle: No. Just… unexpected.

Max: Well, I can be subtle too.

Isabelle: Can you?

Max: Definitely. For example, I could subtly ask what you’re doing tomorrow night.

Isabelle: …Very subtle.

Max: Thank you. So?

Isabelle: I might be free.

Max: Good. Then I’ll subtly ask if you’d like to have dinner with me.

Isabelle: Are you always like this?

Max: Only when I really like someone.

Isabelle: …Dinner sounds nice.

Max: Perfect. I’ll send you the details.

Isabelle: Looking forward to it.

Max: Me too.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: I met someone.

Victoria: …Okay?

Max: And I think I’m in love.

Victoria: MAX.

Victoria: You literally just met her??

Max: Yes.

Victoria: And you think you’re in love?

Max: Yes.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Victoria: Max.

Victoria: WHAT.

Victoria: HOW.

Victoria: WHY.

Max: I don’t know, Vic. I just know. I met her tonight and I just…I just know.

Victoria: You’ve known her for one night.

Max: Yes.

Victoria: Max.

Max: Vic.

Victoria: Oh my god, you’re serious.

Max: Very.

Victoria: You’re actually gone for her already.

Max: Completely.

Victoria: …Okay.

Max: Okay?

Victoria: Yeah.

Victoria: I mean, I think you’re insane, but if anyone deserves to fall stupidly, recklessly in love, it’s you.

Max: …Thanks, Vic.

Victoria: You deserve to be loved, Max.

Victoria: For who you are. Not because you’re Max Verstappen, two-time world champion, but just because you’re you.

Max: …

Max: I think she sees me that way.

Victoria: Then hold onto her.

Max: I plan to.

Victoria: Is that why you’re texting me at midnight like a lunatic?

Max: …I may have also just bought that penthouse.

Victoria: MAX.

Victoria: YOU HAVE BEEN UNDECIDED ABOUT THAT PENTHOUSE FOR MONTHS.

Victoria: AND NOW YOU MEET A GIRL AND SUDDENLY YOU’RE BUYING IT???

Max: Her architecture firm is working on it.

Victoria: This is why people say Libras are intense.

Max: That’s astrology nonsense.

Victoria: SAYS THE MAN PLANNING A WHOLE FUTURE AFTER ONE CONVERSATION.

Max: I have a good feeling about it.

Victoria: MAX.

Max: What? You just said I deserve to be loved.

Victoria: YES, BUT I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D LOSE YOUR ENTIRE MIND OVER IT.

Max: Too late.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Victoria: You are actually the most ridiculous person alive.

Victoria: But if she makes you happy… then I’m happy for you.

Max: She does.

Victoria: Then that’s all that matters.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Emergency. Crisis. Disaster.

Emilie: That’s a lot of words. What happened?

Isabelle: I have a date.

Emilie: And that’s a disaster because…?

Isabelle: Because it’s with Max Verstappen.

Emilie: …

Emilie: I’m going to need a second.

Emilie:

Emilie:

Emilie:

Emilie: Okay, I’m back. WHAT???

Isabelle: We met at a bar. He asked me out. I said yes. And now I don’t know what to wear. Focus. Help.

Emilie: We met at a bar, he asked me out, I said yes—DO YOU HEAR YOURSELF???

Isabelle: EMILIE. FOCUS. OUTFIT.

Emilie: Right. Okay. Where is he taking you?

Isabelle: Some fancy restaurant. Not too fancy, but still expensive.

Emilie: God, of course. Okay. Simple but elegant. A dress that makes it look like you didn’t try too hard, even though you absolutely did.

Isabelle: Black dress?

Emilie: Obviously. And heels. You own some ridiculous ones. Wear those.

Isabelle: You are suspiciously good at this.

Emilie: Because I have taste. Now, more importantly—DO YOUR BROTHERS KNOW??

Isabelle: …

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: No, they do not.

Emilie: WHY NOT???

Isabelle: Because I don’t want to deal with it.

Emilie: You are dating CHARLES LECLERC’S BIGGEST RIVAL. YOU DON’T THINK THAT’S WORTH MENTIONING???

Isabelle: One date does not mean I’m dating him.

Emilie: YET.

Isabelle: I don’t think Charles would care.

Emilie: …That is the saddest sentence I have ever read.

Emilie: You don’t think Charles would care.

Isabelle: No.

Emilie: Are we talking about the same man??? The one who holds grudges against people for bad karting races from 15 years ago??

Isabelle: I am saying that I am basically invisible in my family, and therefore, he will not care.

Emilie: THAT IS SO DEPRESSING.

Isabelle: It’s just reality.

Emilie: No, it’s tragic. And when Charles inevitably does care, I am going to be so smug about it.

Isabelle: He won’t.

Emilie: He will. And when he finds out from Twitter instead of you, I am going to remind you forever that I was right.

Isabelle: Fine. If he does, I will buy you dinner.

Emilie: And?

Isabelle: And I will admit you were right.

Emilie: Good girl. But first, we need to make sure Max Verstappen is absolutely floored when he sees you tonight. Let’s pick out your dress.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: HELP.

Max: I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO WEAR.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Max: I’m serious, Vic. This is important.

Victoria: It’s one date.

Max: Exactly! First impressions matter. What if I wear something stupid?

Victoria: You wear team merch 90% of the time, so that’s a real possibility.

Max: NOT HELPING.

Victoria: Okay, okay. Where are you taking her?

Max: Nice restaurant. Fancy-ish but not too fancy.

Victoria: Alright. Dark jeans, nice shirt, jacket. Clean shoes.

Max: That’s it???

Victoria: Yes, you’re not walking a red carpet, Max.

Max: What if she thinks it’s boring?

Victoria: If she’s going out with you, she probably already knows you’re a little fashion-challenged.

Max: Wow.

Victoria: I’m just saying, if she agreed to a date, she clearly likes you. Just wear something that fits and isn’t Red Bull merch.

Max: I feel like you’re underestimating the stress of this situation.

Victoria: I feel like you’re underestimating the fact that she already said yes.

Max: …Good point.

Victoria: Obviously. Now go find a shirt that isn’t a team polo and try not to overthink it.

Max: No promises.

Victoria: You’re impossible.

Max: And yet, you still love me.

Victoria: Unfortunately. Now go. And don’t text me from the restaurant freaking out.

Max: No guarantees.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: Well????

Isabelle: Well, what?

Emilie: Isabelle. Do not play dumb with me. How did the date go??

Isabelle: …It was really nice.

Emilie: THAT’S ALL YOU’RE GIVING ME?

Emilie: I want DETAILS. Did he show up looking stupidly handsome? Was he nice? Did he make you laugh? Did you kiss him??

Isabelle: Yes, yes, yes, and Yes.

Emilie: YES??

​​Isabelle: I kissed him.

Emilie: !!!!!

Emilie: Details. Now.

Isabelle: It was after our date. He walked me to my door, and I just… kissed him.

Emilie: You just kissed him?? Who are you and what have you done with my overthinking best friend??

Isabelle: Shut up. I didn’t even think about it. I just did it.

Emilie: And???

Isabelle: And then he kissed me back.

Emilie: …That better not be the end of the story.

Isabelle: It was soft. And slow. And he cupped my face like I was something precious.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Emilie: Isabelle, my love. My dearest best friend.

Emilie: You’re done for.

Isabelle: … I know.

Emilie: And how did he look after?

Isabelle: Like he was trying very hard not to kiss me again.

Emilie: Oh, you’re so doomed.

Isabelle: I know.

Emilie: Tell me everything.

Isabelle: He was already at the restaurant when I got there, which was sweet. He pulled out my chair for me. He was nervous, which was insane to me because, you know, he’s Max Verstappen.

Emilie: Boy has driven through Eau Rouge at full speed, but a girl makes him nervous. I love this.

Isabelle: He kept looking at me like I was the most interesting person in the world. Like he actually wanted to hear everything I had to say.

Emilie: I love him already.

Isabelle: You love him?? Emilie, I might actually be in trouble here.

Emilie: Uh oh.

Isabelle: …He sent me flowers.

Emilie: WHAT.

Emilie: When???

Isabelle: They just got delivered.

Emilie: EXCUSE ME.

Emilie: You go on ONE date with Max Verstappen and wake up to FLOWERS???

Isabelle: Apparently.

Emilie: What kind?

Isabelle: Peonies.

Emilie: Belle.

Emilie: He is so in love with you.

Isabelle: It was one date.

Emilie: AND???

Emilie: The man sent you flowers the morning after like he’s starring in a romance novel.

Isabelle: Maybe he just does that?

Emilie: Girl. Be serious.

Emilie: Did he say anything with them?

Isabelle: There was a note.

Emilie: AND???

Isabelle: It just says ‘Last night was perfect. Can’t wait to see you again. – Max’

Emilie: I’M GONNA SCREAM.

Emilie: Max Verstappen is courting you.

Isabelle: Courting is a strong word.

Emilie: He sent you flowers. He is so gone for you.

Isabelle: …Maybe.

Emilie: So… second date?

Isabelle: Saturday.

Emilie: GIRL.

Isabelle: I know.

***

Isabelle Leclerc’s Instagram Post

Comments:

@/emilie_abadie: 👀👀👀

@/F1GossipQueen: That’s a very ‘I have a thoughtful boyfriend’ kind of flower arrangement.

↳@/paddockprincessx: Soft launch era????

@/leclercsiblingtea: If Charles doesn’t know who sent these, I need his live reaction immediately.

↳@/monacogossip: Why do I feel like this is someone wildly unexpected?

↳@/redbullsimpclub: Place your bets now, I’m saying it’s a paddock guy.

↳@/f1shenanigans: If this is from an F1 driver, I am losing my mind.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: Thank you for the flowers. They are beautiful.

Isabelle: And for yesterday. I had a really nice time.

Max: I’m glad you liked them. 

Max: What’s your favorite flower? For next time.

Isabelle: Snowdrops.

Max: Snowdrops?

Isabelle: Yes?

Max: I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone whose favorite flower is snowdrops.

Isabelle: That’s a shame. They’re beautiful. And they bloom in the cold, when nothing else does.

Max : Like you, then.

Isabelle: …Are you trying to be charming, Max Verstappen?

Max: Is it working?

Isabelle: Maybe.

Max: Good.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen

Sophie: So… Victoria told me something interesting.

Max: She needs a new hobby.

Sophie: Max.

Max: What?

Sophie: Are you in love?

Max: …Maybe.

Sophie: After one conversation?

Max: No! After two conversations.

Sophie: Oh, well, that’s much more reasonable.

Max: Mom.

Sophie: Max.

Max: Look, I just know that it’s different. I’ve never felt like this before.

Sophie: That’s a big thing to say.

Max: I know. But I can’t explain it. It just makes sense.

Sophie: So how did the date go?

Max: …It was perfect.

Sophie: Now we’re getting somewhere.

Max: She’s funny, she’s smart, she actually listens when I talk about racing—like, really listens. And she doesn’t care about the other stuff. The money, the fame. None of it. She just likes me.

Sophie: That’s important.

Max: I know.

Sophie: So when do I get to meet her?

Max: When she doesn’t think I’m a crazy person for how fast I’m falling for her.

Sophie: I hate to break it to you, Max, but you bought a penthouse because her firm is working on it.

Max: …

Sophie: That’s what I thought.

Max: It’s a very nice penthouse.

Sophie: Of course it is.

Max: So you’re not going to say I’m insane?

Sophie: Oh, you are insane. But you’re also my son. And if this makes you happy, then I’m happy for you.

Max: Thanks, Mom.

Sophie: Now tell me, do I need to start planning a wedding?

Max: Goodbye.

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale) 

Arthur: Dinner at Maman’s, Saturday, usual time?

Charles: Yeah, I’ll be there.

Lorenzo: Me too.

Isabelle: I can’t make it, I’m busy.

Arthur: What’s Maman making?

Charles: Probably something with pasta.

Lorenzo: Didn’t she say something about lamb last time?

Arthur: Oh yeah, I think so.

Isabelle: Have fun!

Charles: See you all Saturday.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: Hey, if I were to ask for date advice, purely hypothetically…

Victoria: Oh my God.

Max: What?

Victoria: You NEVER ask for advice. This must be serious.

Max: It’s not that serious.

Victoria: You literally bought an apartment because of this girl.

Max: …That’s unrelated.

Victoria: Sure it is.

Max: So… hypothetically… if I needed some guidance, what would you suggest?

Victoria: Are you actually asking for advice, or are you just hoping I’ll make it easier for you by giving you a list of things not to do?

Max: ...

Victoria: That’s what I thought. Give me a second.

Victoria: Okay, here’s your DO NOT list:

Do not talk about tire degradation.

Do not mention iRacing, no matter how good your last stint was.

Do not wear a Red Bull hoodie.

Do not check F1 news during the date.

Do not turn the date into a competition.

Do not text me mid-date if you panic. Figure it out.

Do not propose.

Max: …That last one was unnecessary.

Victoria: I’m just covering all bases.

Max: I wasn’t going to propose.

Victoria: Good. Then this should be easy for you.

Max: The Red Bull hoodie rule feels unfair.

Victoria: Max.

Max: Fine. No Red Bull hoodie.

Victoria: Thank you.

Max: …Can I at least wear the cap?

Victoria: Max.

Max: Alright, alright. No cap.

Victoria: Proud of you. Now, go be normal.

Max: No promises.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: Hypothetically. If you were taking someone on a second date. What would you do?

GP: …Why are you asking me?

Max: Because you’re married!

GP: And?

Max: That means you’ve successfully dated someone.

GP: That does not make me a dating expert.

GP: Also, since when do you ask me for relationship advice?

GP: Who is she?

Max: …

GP: Max.

Max:

GP: MAX.

GP: WHO IS IT.

Max: Isabelle.

GP: Isabelle who?

Max: …Leclerc.

GP:

GP: MAX.

GP: CHARLES LECLERC’S SISTER?!?!?!?!?

Max: Yeah, she doesn’t really like being called that.

GP: MAX.

GP: DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH?

Max: Not particularly.

GP: HOW DID THIS HAPPEN.

Max: I met her.

GP: OBVIOUSLY.

GP: Where?! When?! How long has this been going on?!

Max:  A few days.

GP: And Charles doesn’t know???

Max: I don’t think he notices much about her.

GP: Okay, that’s a whole other issue, but back to you.

GP: Do you have any self-preservation instincts?

Max: She’s nice. I like her.

GP: THAT IS NOT THE POINT.

GP: Do you realize the incident this could cause?

Max: If I wanted overreactions, I’d have texted Victoria.

GP: I AM REACTING APPROPRIATELY.

GP: What does Victoria think?

Max: She said, "You deserve to be loved."

GP: …Well, that’s suspiciously sentimental.

GP: But also, Charles is still going to kill you.

Max: You’re being dramatic.

GP: AM I?

Max: Are you helping or not?

GP: I AM TOO BUSY PROCESSING YOUR TERRIBLE LIFE CHOICES.

GP: Okay. Okay. Deep breaths. Let’s focus.

GP: You need a second date idea.

GP: That does not result in Charles Leclerc murdering you.

Max: I think you’re overestimating how much he pays attention to her.

GP: That’s between them. I am concerned for you.

Max: You’re being dramatic again.

GP: No, I’m being realistic.

Max: …I’ll deal with that when it happens.

GP: Unbelievable.

GP: Alright. Date ideas.

GP: What did you do for the first one?

Max: Dinner. Talked a lot.

GP: What does she like?

Max: Horses.

GP: Horses.

GP: You’re dating someone who likes horses.

Max: Yes?

GP: I feel like that’s relevant information I should’ve had sooner.

GP: Have you ever been near a horse, Max?

Max: Not really.

GP: Okay, no horse-related dates yet. You will get yourself killed trying to impress her.

Max: She’d find that funny.

GP: I wouldn’t.

GP: Let’s keep it simple. Somewhere quiet. Private. Where you can talk.

Max: I was thinking that too.

GP: What about a picnic?

Max: A picnic.

GP: Yeah. You get some good food, go somewhere nice, and just relax. No stress.

Max: Where am I supposed to find a picnic spot?

GP: You have a balcony, Max.

GP: You literally have a balcony with a view.

GP: Just set something up there.

Max: …That’s actually not a bad idea.

GP: Wow. Praise from the great Max Verstappen. I’m honored.

Max: Don’t get used to it.

GP: Okay, what kind of food does she like?

Max: She ordered pasta on our first date.

GP: That’s a start. You could order from the same place.

Max: Or I could cook.

GP: You could what?

Max: I can cook, GP.

GP: Since when?

Max: Since I lived alone?

GP: Okay, sure. But can you cook something that won’t poison her?

Max: Wow. Faith in me is at an all-time low.

GP: Just making sure she survives the night.

Max: I’ll make pasta. It’s simple.

GP: Fine. But don’t experiment. Stick to what you know.

Max: What do you think I’m going to do? Try molecular gastronomy?

GP: I wouldn’t put it past you.

GP: Okay, what else… You need drinks. Dessert.

Max: She likes red wine.

GP: Get a good wine, then. And dessert?

Max: She mentioned liking raspberries once.

GP: So get her something with raspberries.

Max: Got it.

GP: And what about ambiance?

Max: …

GP: Max.

Max: What?

GP: Do you even own candles?

Max: …Victoria gave me some once.

GP: Use them.

GP: And put some effort into setting the table.

GP: You know, for someone who acts like they don’t care about romance, you’re actually putting effort into this.

Max: …She’s worth the effort.

GP:

GP: Damn.

GP: Okay.

GP: You have to survive Charles finding out.

Max: I told you. I’ll handle it.

GP: Yeah, yeah. Just keep me updated.

Max: Sure.

GP: And if you need actual advice, ask Victoria.

Max: I did ask Victoria. She just sent me a list of things not to do.

GP: What was on the list?

Max: "Don’t talk about tire degradation. Don’t mention iRacing. Don’t wear a Red Bull hoodie."

GP: Solid advice.

Max: She also said, "Act normal."

GP: That one might be harder for you.

Max: Wow.

GP: Just being honest.

GP: So, do you have everything planned?

Max: Yeah. I think so.

GP: Good. Now all you have to do is not mess it up.

Max: Thanks for the vote of confidence.

GP: Any time.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: Soooooo... how was the date?

Isabelle: Good.

Emilie: …That’s it? "Good"? You had dinner with Max Verstappen, a man who has clearly lost his mind over you, and all you have to say is "good"???

Isabelle: Fine. Great. Amazing.

Isabelle: Happy?

Emilie: Better. But I’m gonna need DETAILS.

Isabelle: We had dinner, talked a lot, and then I stayed over.

Emilie:

Emilie: EXCUSE ME???

Emilie: YOU STAYED OVER????

Isabelle: Yes.

Emilie: As in "I fell asleep on the couch watching a movie and went home in the morning" stayed over, or "I am now intimately familiar with Max Verstappen's bedsheets" stayed over???

Isabelle: …

Emilie: ISABELLE.

Isabelle: Nothing happened. 

Emilie: Oh my god.

Emilie: OH MY GOD.

Isabelle: I swear, nothing happened. It just got late and…

Emilie: This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Isabelle: I’m so glad MY love life is giving you entertainment.

Emilie: You don’t understand. I’ve been waiting for you to have an actual romance for YEARS. YEARS, ISABELLE.

Isabelle: You make it sound like I was living in a cave.

Emilie: Emotionally? Maybe a little.

Isabelle: Rude.

Emilie: True.

Emilie: But seriously. How do you feel?

Isabelle: …I don’t know. It’s weird.

Isabelle: He likes me. Like, really likes me. And I’m not used to that.

Emilie: Then get used to it, babe. Because that man? He’s already gone for you.

Isabelle: You think so?

Emilie: I KNOW so.

Emilie: Now tell me: does he have nice bedsheets, or do I need to stage an intervention?

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

GP: Well???

Max: Well, what?

GP: Don’t play dumb. How did it go?

Max: …

GP: MAX.

Max: It went well.

GP: That’s it? That’s all I get after coaching you through this?

Max: What do you want me to say?

GP: I want details. Did she like the food? Did you talk about tire degradation anyway? Did she laugh about your terrible jokes?

Max: She liked the food. No, I did not mention tire degradation. Rude.

GP: Growth. I’m proud of you.

Max: Thanks.

Max: The cats love her.

GP: …THE CATS?! MAX. That is NOT the update I was looking for.

Max: No, but it’s important. They don’t just like people.

GP: I was expecting romance, maybe a ‘we stayed up talking all night’ or ‘she laughed at all my jokes’—and you’re giving me ‘the cats love her’??!

Max: It means a lot! Jimmy and Sassy were literally fighting for her attention. She was just sitting on the couch, and they both climbed into her lap like she was their owner.

GP: …Okay, I’ll admit, that’s kind of a big deal. You’re in love, aren’t you?

Max: I mean… yeah.

GP: I knew it. The cats knew it. Everyone knew it. Charles is gonna lose his mind.

Max: That’s a problem for future Max.

***

[wolfythewitch]

●|￣|＿

I need the help of someone autistic about Christianity

Does God ever appear before people like literally, or do they only hear his voice/see a bright light or something/communicate via proxies like jesus

I have no idea what I am doing

- sincerely, a poor uni student who's not even culturally christian (the closest I got to a church sermon was my nana's funeral at 8yo, and they gave us pocket bibles I doodled in during the sermon bc I was bored)

As far as I know, yes and no? there is no physical form of him described. As in, he has appeared to various people to speak to them, but it's never described what he looked like, only that he appeared. And also its said that anyone who has seen him face to face cannot live

13 So she named the Lord who spoke to her, ‘You are El-roi’;[a] for she said, ‘Have I really seen God and remained alive after seeing him?’[b]

This one does mention her actually having seen god, though there are some translation footnotes saying that she saw his back

18 The Lord appeared to Abraham[a] by the oaks[b] of Mamre, as he sat at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day. 2 He looked up and saw three men standing near him. When he saw them, he ran from the tent entrance to meet them, and bowed down to the ground. 

So in this one, Abraham does immediately recognize him as god (and his angels), but God had taken form of a man

24 Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. 25 When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he struck him on the hip socket; and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him.

28 Then the man[b] said, ‘You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel,[c] for you have striven with God and with humans,[d] and have prevailed.’ 29 Then Jacob asked him, ‘Please tell me your name.’ But he said, ‘Why is it that you ask my name?’ And there he blessed him. 30 So Jacob called the place Peniel,[e] saying, ‘For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved.’

Again, he takes the form of a man

2 There the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire out of a bush; he looked, and the bush was blazing, yet it was not consumed. 3 Then Moses said, ‘I must turn aside and look at this great sight, and see why the bush is not burned up.’ 4 When the Lord saw that he had turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, ‘Moses, Moses!’ And he said, ‘Here I am.’

Here he appears to Moses as a burning bush. Though, it's not like super clear whether he took form of the burning bush or if it's just like a proxy

22 Then Gideon perceived that it was the angel of the Lord; and Gideon said, ‘Help me, Lord God! For I have seen the angel of the Lord face to face.’ 

This one is probably the most common, but here Gideon meets god through an angel. This also happens to Samson's parents, Mary and Joseph, and the shepherds in the gospel, etc

24 Then King Nebuchadnezzar was astonished and rose up quickly. He said to his counsellors, ‘Was it not three men that we threw bound into the fire?’ They answered the king, ‘True, O king.’ 25 He replied, ‘But I see four men unbound, walking in the middle of the fire, and they are not hurt; and the fourth has the appearance of a god.’[e]

In the footnote, "appearance of a god" can also be translated as "son of a god".

12 and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. 13 When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, ‘What are you doing here, Elijah?’

Here he shows up as a voice to Elijah, and I believe he also does this to Moses? HOWEVER

11 Thus the Lord used to speak to Moses face to face, as one speaks to a friend. Then he would return to the camp; but his young assistant, Joshua son of Nun, would not leave the tent.

This is the only one I can find mentioning speaking face to face. This one is interesting specifically because there are several verses (like Gideon's) mentioning that no one could see God's face and live. And further down the chapter it says this

17 The Lord said to Moses, ‘I will do the very thing that you have asked; for you have found favour in my sight, and I know you by name.’ 18 Moses said, ‘Show me your glory, I pray.’ 19 And he said, ‘I will make all my goodness pass before you, and will proclaim before you the name, “The Lord”;[a] and I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and will show mercy on whom I will show mercy. 20 But’, he said, ‘you cannot see my face; for no one shall see me and live.’ 21 And the Lord continued, ‘See, there is a place by me where you shall stand on the rock; 22 and while my glory passes by I will put you in a cleft of the rock, and I will cover you with my hand until I have passed by; 23 then I will take away my hand, and you shall see my back; but my face shall not be seen.’

So I think face to face here more on implies the level of intimacy between the two, as opposed to a literal face to face. The closest people have seen God might have been his back (?)

[kenyummy]

✰ 04. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 04. fantastic four.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: had to wrack my brain to remember what math i was learning in seventh grade LMAO . sometimes i forget damian is just a little guy in like seventh to eighth grade. crazy. and please let me know if there's any mistakes with pronouns/gender!!! i want to keep this open to everybody so im always trying my best ❤️

also ive realised how chopped harry is in the comics after taking my rose coloured lenses off. basically he and mj have their look in the ultimate spiderman TV show (in my eyes anyway, i kind of just described their appearance based off tgat lmaooo)

prev. ✰ masterlist ✰ next.

School has never felt so bland for you. Sure, it was never your favourite thing in the world—except for maybe biology—but you'd think that discovering a whole new world in your last year would make it a little more interesting.

It didn't.

It's been three weeks since you crash landed here in Gotham. The most you'd gotten from your family was an awkward "how are you" occasionally, and a lot of staring.

You'd only shown yourself as Spidey a few times to the public, but never stayed for those pesky news reporters shoving their microphones into your face. You'd never liked interviews, anyway.

The only highlight of your long days were MJ and Harry. You'd gotten over the initial shock of Harry being in love with you—convincing yourself that it really wasn't you he liked; it was this world's original you. (Though—that fact still lingers in the back of your mind whenever you talk).

Apart from that, school truly was uneventful. Your kooky art teacher was the only one of whom you actually liked, and it seemed the education here was rather lax. Uncaring. Not good for your future, surely—but you wouldn't have a future here, and you're sure this [name] Wayne will be just fine.

Speaking of schooling—the people here really seemed to hate the Gotham Prep kids. More than what a petty rivalry should be—it was pure malice.

Harry was especially adamant about this.

"They're all dumb, entitled rich kids who use daddy's money to get whatever they want, you know." He stabs his fork into a dry cut of chicken violently. Then points, accusatory, at MJ—who already presents a sneer to him. "And don't you start lumping me in with them—you know I'm not like that."

Her face twists, but soon she grins cheekily. "Okay, fine. Yeah, you're totally not, otherwise nobody here would like you one bit. And who doesn't love Harry, huh?"

"Oh, be quiet," But still, he smiles—damn his head is big. He glances over at you. You're picking around at your soggy broccoli with a frown. "Hey, [name]. Don't two of your brothers go to Gotham Prep?"

You look up at your ginger friend, head tilted to the side before it clicked. Oh, right. Tim and that young boy—Damian, if you remember correctly. Tim barely ever went to school if your diary was still accurate, and Damian had little choice but to.

(Doesn't seem like he'd be the social butterfly type, though.)

"Yeah, they do." You nod, still fiddling around with that vegetable.

"Not that I'm not glad that you're here—but why don't you go to school with them?" MJ leans forward in her seat. "I mean, isn't it easier for siblings to go to the same school?"

Your eyes widen for a second.

There's a few ways you can go about this.

One—you tell them everything you know about your other self. About how you never felt included enough to ask. How you never spent time with them. How it always felt like everything and everyone else was more important than you. How you suffered silently—begging for their attention for years like a house pet becoming a stray.

Two—you could tell them you have absolutely no idea because you have none of your memories of anything from the past years of this life—how you don't even remember all your siblings names half the time.

Or three, and your personal favourite—you can just lie.

It doesn't take a serial genius to figure out which one you chose.

"I guess I just didn't like the rich private school vibe they had going on." A smile falls over your lips. "Plus—you guys were coming here, so it gave me even more of a reason to attend, you know?"

You're not entirely sure that's true. But—if these two were anything like the Harry and MJ you know—then this would probably be right.

Judging from their smiles, your detective skills haven't failed you yet.

"Man!" MJ lolls her head back, groaning. "Can't believe I'm friends with two rich kids who get to choose which school they want—the beat down public or sleek rich private."

"Don't go dissing this school just because you're jealous of their uniforms," Harry snickers, pressing his index finger into MJ's cheek. She huffs and slaps him away.

"Silence, nepo baby. Your dad is basically Lex Luthor if he wasn't bald."

Harry looks more confused than offended at her comment, "Okay, but my dad isn't an evil mastermind plotting against a red and blue suited superhero."

You press your lips together thinly and look to the side, eyes focused on anything but him. Oh, Harry—if only you knew.

Damian Wayne had never truly seen the point of highschool.

Raised by assassains all his life—he had little room, time, and desire to learn about all this nonsense. While he enjoyed arts and fine literature—he couldn't find it within himself to care about the American Revolution, or whatever other ridiculous thing happened in history.

His maths teacher was absolutely, indubitably pathetic. Always on his phone as he assigns mountains of homework (because he never bothers to explain the complex materials they're given) on the latest subject—whether it be those blasted simultaneous equations, or to factorise useless monic trinomials. Even calculating tax and interest on the stupidest of cases.

Damian found himself sitting in the corner of his class in silence, staring down, bored, at the book in front of him. He truly hated math. There's so much real work to be done—crime to fight, plotting organisations to take down.

But his father, as always, is unmoving in his conviction that school is important. For Damian especially, anyway; Drake can skip as often as he likes because he's a senior already. Truly, ridiculous.

For Damian, and—oh.

You.

Bruce always seemed especially insistent on you two going to school. Even when everyone but him knew you skipped every few days and simply come home to wait.

Wait for what? For them?

His brows furrow. Suddenly, the black and white equations on the sheet blur and he zones out. Thinking.

You always did. From the day he'd walked into the manor, you were always there. Unconsciously, he'd notice it. A trait of a good assassin is that they can spot everyone in the room.

A trait of a great assassin is that they can spot everyone inside and watching.

Always, you were watching. Those pitiful stares. Desperate like a unloved pet. If he cared a little more (if any at all), he would've felt sorrow for your state.

Always wanting, but never asking. Never taking. Simply waiting for it all to come to you. He would never understand it. He would never understand you.

He would never understand how somebody could allow themselves to be so weak.

Like everybody else—when he first entered the manor, he proposed to fight you. Assuming—being the child of his father, like he was—you were worthy. That you were strong.

He doesn't know how he could've been so wrong. You immediantly reacted, gasping and clutching your face. He'd nicked it with the edge of his blade after he unsheathed it. You looked at the blood dotting your fingertips, then back at him, eyes wide.

Immediantly, Bruce rushed to his side and pushed him behind his larger, imposing figure—telling you to not interact with him because he's different to regular people. Different to you.

He watched you storm off from behind his father's legs; anger practically blaring off your figure.

Later—he happened to overhear you and Grayson talking quietly. Telling you to not be too hard on Damian, because he's troubled. That he's had a difficult life. At first—he was a tad offended—but that offence could not compare to the absolute fury burning in your eyes.

Though, it all melted away when Grayson's hand ruffled your hair. Like a little kid, you stared up at him, soft and starry-eyed as you unconsciously murmured you'd forgive your new little brother.

Damian dry-heaved. You were so goddamn weak.

So weak, and so normal. Everything you did was completely regular. You were on the same wavelength as the civilians he saved from burning rubble. The same as people who walked down the street, talking about their favourite Justice League member. Who cowered in fear in front of villains—to be saved by those heroes. By him.

You were nothing, and yet everything he could never have been.

(What child does not long for normalcy?)

Damian always thought you were rather helpless, regardless of how regular you were—and seeing you with that bullet lodged in your shoulder—he was right. Not being able to dodge something like a bullet—there was no wonder you never become a vigilante. There was no wonder you needed to be protected.

... Though—he began to think back.

Who did? Protect you; that is.

Whoever it was, they did a pretty awful job at it.

Damian strums his fingers against the hardwood table rhythmically. Face blank but mind running rapidly.

It couldn't have been Todd. No—he seemed to be in a frazzled state of mania when carrying your bleeding body in your arms. Perhaps he too, believed you were safe with the rest of his family.

(Oh how wrong Todd was—he looked livid.)

... Grayson?

No. When he's not in Blüdhaven, he is almost always with the other vigilantes within the family. Not here nor there, and certainly not close enough to protect you.

Not Drake. He never cared enough, despite everything. Not Cain, either. Though the silent protector type—she had too much on her plate to worry about you as well.

Gordon and Brown had their own families to worry about.

And his—your father? The Batman? There was no time for a regular child like you in the Batman's life of vigilantism. Whom he sworn to protect in his crusade now lay bleeding out in his great failure's arms.

...

Did you truly have nobody?

...

Damian couldn't really imagine it. He'd always assumed you had many friends to fill the void that yoir family left with their civilian clothes. ... Perhaps you did. He wouldn't know.

You are his only half sibling. In this world, only he is truly your brother, and you are his only older sibling. Does that not give him the slightest of responsibility?

He'd always been taught to keep everybody at arms length—even his own family. The whole world is out to get the Demon's grandson, then he must fight it. But his father taught him differently.

To protect those who cannot protect themselves—to keep those he cares about safe at any cost.

What of you? He does not care for you in the way an ordinary sibling should. Seeing you so weak, defenceless against him—must mean you trust him in some way.

(It's hard for him to fathom being able to feel so unprotected in a world he was taught was trying to extinguish him at every turn).

Regardless of how you don't belong—or how frosty you act toward your youngest brother—he has a duty.

No matter how hard you try—you can never sever the blood you two share. The others do not have this duty—but he does, because in the end, you are his. None of the others bothered, so Damian must.

You are everything he could never be, he has realised. But in the end, you are blood. It runs thicker in the veins than any water, and that is one of the most important things to Damian.

Seeing that same blood—his blood—spill out of you carelessly—that is a sight he will never bear witness to again.

Damian was the first one out the door as soon as the bell chimed in his ear. His bag slung tightly around his shoulders and textbook under his arm; he rushed into the familiar sight of a sleek, large car.

He shuts the door as he climbs into the backseat (Bruce said he was still too short to sit in the front, much to his son's displeasure). "Hello, Pennyworth."

Alfred glances back at him through the rear view mirror. "Good afternoon, Master Damian. How was school?"

"Same as usual. A waste of time." He clicks his seatbelt shut as the car begins to move. Alfred only hums, keeping his eyes trained on the road.

"I'm unsurprised to hear you say so. I do hope you understand why exactly, you are enrolled in school, however. And why Master Bruce is so adamant about your attendance."

Damian knows. He's always known, because it has been drilled into his head like a mantra. Talia and Ra's Al Ghul weren't math teachers—and most of his time really was spent training and sparring to be the best he could be.

He was not illiterate, nor stupid. Rather smart, actually. However, he didn't exactly learn algebra and chemistry with the League of Assassins.

He grumbles. "I know, Pennyworth. Father cannot seem to stop reminding me that all these things are far more important than stopping the endless wave of crime in Gotham."

If he weren't on the road—Alfred surely would've given him a nasty look. "Master Damian, please—your sincerity is positively slaughtering me."

Damian rolls his eyes, opting to stop this fruitless conversation and look outside the windows instead. At the outside world—the sky already paling to deep auburn shades as they drive through the endless roads.

He watched all the cars moving past; hurrying to get to their destination. Each with their own story and reason for being there. Every single one with their own thoughts and worries. Some with children, others with pets, and some with piles of groceries.

All with their own, individual lives. Including him.

A bus, too. It stops for a moment at a sheltered space, then drives away, leaving a few people standing under the shade.

An elderly lady with a man, presumably her son, walking away with her. A woman with frizzy red hair and freckles dotted over her nose. A few schoolkids—some his age, some older. Clearly from the public school on the other side of Gotham, if only to judge from the scantily clad clothes some of the older students wore—

Wait, is that you?

He sits up—the car slowly coming to a stop at a red light. His eyes don't leave your figure as he presses his nose against the window; observing.

You look around at the people that pass by you—gripping your bag close to your side and rushing into the nearest alleyway.

He waits for a few moments. This red light feels rather long—but what feels longer is watching and waiting for you to come out of that alleyway.

You never do.

Even as the car begins to move once more, driving past the intersection, he crawls as far back as possible to even get a glimpse—but you never show.

Just today, he had decided to be the one to take up the mantle and protect you. Just today, during a boring math class, he has decided that since you are his blood, he must keep a helpless civilian like you safe.

And now you're gone. Are you dead, or something?

(Deep down, his stomach twists at the thought.)

"Pennyworth, pull over." Hid voice is more taut than he had imagined. "Now."

Alfred looks back, glancing at the streets around. He doesn't question the young boy, simply doing as he is asked and pulling over to a deserted parking area.

When he has parked the car, he turns around and sees Damian slipping his Robin mask on—somehow already fully suited up.

His eyes widen, "Master Damian, what—"

"I have something to do. Let Father know I will be back home late."

Opening the door, Damian rushes out and pulls out his grappling hook, swinging onto the nearest building's roof and looking around.

He spots the alleyway you'd run into. It is still. Absolutely no movement nor any looks from passer-bys. He rushes across the roves towards where the dark side seeped into the crack of the buildings.

Maybe you'd taken another way out?

But looking at the alleyway now, it's more like a dip between the buildings to stand in more than anything. It was blocked off on the other side.

So where...???

He drops down, landing on his soles and squinting as he stares around into the dark. There's nothing.

No people, nor bodies, and certainly not anything to indicate anybody was ever here.

Except...

He glances at the wall. Theres a white cocoon-esque oval webbed to the wall. Those same webs he'd seen all that time ago—from that spider. That would show up then leave immediantly. Never staying for longer than they had to.

Dodging all of his and Batman's attempts at asking who you were, and what you were doing in Gotham. Always swinging away into the distance before they could be subdued.

Now, he stares at their ball of webbing and wonders if it truly is an arachnid he's dealing with.

He pokes it, looking it up and down. Then, he sees it. Through the small holes in the webs and the translucent, silk-like material—he finally sees it.

Your bag.

He tears off the webbing faster than he can think, getting the sticky substance stuck to his gloves and clothes; he barely even notices it. He grabs your bag and stares it, swallowing hard.

His mind buzzes with an unfamiliar staticky feeling and he suddenly feels sick to his stomach. Despite all the noise in his ear—his brain is able to comprehend one singular question.

... What did that arachnid do to you?

Clothed fingers digging deep into the leather fabric of the bag—clearly worn down and fading. Old. He would get Father to purchase you another. ... When he sees you next. Because he will.

His jaw clenches hard.

Damian throws the bag over his shoulder and grapples up—swinging onto a building roof and running across.

Running for what, he isn't sure. But what he is sure of, is that once he gets his hands on that arachnid, it will not be kind.

To find out what happened to you—that is his duty as your blood sibling.

He decides that in this life, he will be your protector. In the next, if he is ever given a chance to be normal like you—he will become a doctor. Or perhaps a painter. Or a poet. Maybe he will ask you to help him decide when he finds you and that arachnid.

... Yes, that sounds good.

You cut through the cool wind as you swing through the city. Grinning widely underneath your mask—you don't think you've ever been so happy since you landed here.

You're sure nobody will take your stuff. Even if they do, you could always just get whatever else you needed again. You were far too excited to dwell on the small stuff right about now.

Landing on a rooftop, crouched—you walk down the wall of the apartment complex, and look around for civilians. As he told you—the streets around the back of the building were practically deserted.

You count the amount of rooms from the side, up and down.

"Row 5, Apartment block... 2..." You hum, and nod to yourself.

You tap your necklace and the nanobots all crawl off your body, leaving you in your regular clothes. You land safely on the balcony of the room you were given.

You smooth out your flared jeans and take in a deep breath. Then, you bring up your knuckles, and knock.

The glass screen door opens before you can say fantastic.

A small pair of arms wrap around your torso and knock you backwards—you fall on your ass and let out a loud laugh.

"Spidey!!! [name]!!!"

"Is that who I think it is?!" You tease, eyes squinted upwards and the young kid buries into your stomach. His giggles are muffled by the fabric and he squeezes you so tight you'd be inclined to choke—if it wasn't you. "Frankie!! How's my favourite Richard?"

"I can't believe you'd say that, [name]. That hurts." A familiarly sweet voice speaks.

"Sue!" You grin, taking in the sight of the blonde and her husband by her side. You get up—Franklin stumbles behind you—and crash into her arms.

She chuckles, patting your back and smiling down at you, "I missed you too, [name]. You always manage to find yourself in the strangest situations, don't you?"

Reed cradles his chin, "Well, we were technically the cause of this distortion in reality, Susan—"

But seeing the expression on both your and his wife's face; he stops himself. Only smiling sheepishly. "My apologies. It's great to see you again, [name]. I didn't think we'd find another familiar face in a different universe."

"You're getting better at this, Reed." You lift yourself from Sue's comforting cradle and grin brightly up at him. "I didn't think I'd see all of you guys again, either. When you all disappeared for so long—I was wondering if something bad happened."

"Hah! Ta us? You kiddin'? Ya more bug-brained 'den that spider that bit ya!"

"Ben!!!" You go flying toward the rock-encased man and wrap your arms around his comfortingly tough neck. He spins you around and lets you down with a loud laugh.

"'Ey kid, how're ya? Heard ya tackled ol' matchstick 'ere outta the sky!" He slaps his rocky chest laughing—in the corner of your eye, Johnny stands behind him, unimpressed.

He walks up beside you, swinging an arm around your neck and snarks, "Yeah—well, Spidey's always been known for catching people off guard, huh? Creepin' up when you least expect it."

"You're making [name] sound like a villain, Unc!" Frankin, who had found himself attached to the side of your shirt, sticks out his tongue.

Johnny recoils, face falling in pure horror as he dramatically points at the young boy, "UNC??!! I... I'm an Unc now...??? I'm not even 19! I can't be an Unc!!!"

You burst out into laughter at the genuineness of Johnny's expression, watching as he freaks out about being "old". Sue and Reed roll their eyes—while Ben is there with you, laughing his ass off like he'd just gotten a home run on Yancy Street.

Franklin looks at your laughing expression and starts giggling along—jumping up and down beside you with sparkling eyes.

"Stop laughing, [name]! We're the same age!" Johnny points, accusatory. "If I'm an Unc, you're a...!"

"Doesn't matter. I'm cooler than Uncle Johnny anyways, right Frankie?" You grin, picking up Franklin as he cuddles into your neck.

"Mhm!" He nods eagerly.

Johnny sends you a blazing glare, lips pouted out. "You and me. We're—" He gestures to the two of you. "—gonna have some issues, here. Okay. Everyone knows I'm the cool Uncle."

"No, that's Benny!" Franklin points to Ben.

The look on Johnny's face shifts into utter disbelief—Ben falls out of his chair laughing wildly.

"Gosh, I missed you so much, kid." You pull at one of Franklin's cheeks and chuckle. He stares at you in awe for a few seconds, before hugging the side of your head and giggling.

"I missed you too!"

That same warmth fills each crevice and pore of your body, as you huddle close to your dear friends and let yourself feel at home for this small moment.

Meanwhile, in the dark of night, a pair of azure eyes watches, sharp and unnerving in the back of your skull.

You notice it. Of course you do. Your mind is tingling with that buzz—but you want to enjoy this night of nothing but home, even if only once.

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[luvbabydoll]

more to love — simon “ghost” riley

simon “ghost” riley x chubby!fem!reader

the gym had never been your favorite place.

it was hot, crowded, and full of people who made it look easy—like lifting weights and running on treadmills was second nature. meanwhile, you were here, struggling with a machine that looked like it was built for torture rather than exercise.

you adjusted the seat, tried to grab the handles, then frowned when they felt too far away.

frustration bubbled up in your chest. maybe you were just doing it wrong. maybe you shouldn’t even be here.

“need a hand, love?”

the deep, accented voice startled you. you turned—and immediately regretted it.

because holy shit.

the man standing behind you was massive. tall, broad-shouldered, built like he could snap the machine in half with one hand. he was dressed in all black, a hoodie pulled up over his head, a skull mask covering the lower half of his face. and yet, even with all that, his presence alone made heat crawl up your neck.

“i—uh—” words? gone. brain? empty.

his eyes flicked down to the machine, then back to you.

“you’re set too far back.” his voice was gruff, like he wasn’t used to talking much. “lemme show you.”

before you could protest, he reached past you, adjusting the seat effortlessly. his arm barely grazed yours, but it was enough to make you hyper-aware of how close he was.

“try now.”

you swallowed hard, nodding, trying to ignore how warm your face felt as you reached for the handles again. this time, it fit better.

“better?”

you nodded again. “y-yeah, thanks.”

he huffed, stepping back, arms crossing over his chest. “good. no point in doin’ it if you’re just gonna hurt yourself.”

at first, that was all it was. he’d spot you now and then, offering the occasional correction, always watching with that unreadable gaze. sometimes, if you did something right, he’d murmur a quiet "good girl," and it sent a shiver down your spine every time.

but then, he started noticing things.

the way your shirt rode up when you stretched, the peek of soft skin at your waist. the way your thighs pressed together when you sat down to catch your breath. the way you avoided looking in the mirror, adjusting your clothes like you were trying to hide yourself.

and it pissed him off.

because, fuck, how did you not see what he saw?

one day, you were tugging at your shirt again, mumbling something under your breath as you glared at your reflection.

ghost heard it.

“quit that.”

you froze, looking up at him, wide-eyed.

he stepped closer, his voice dropping low. dangerous. “ain’t gonna stand here and watch you tear yourself apart. not when you’re the prettiest thing i’ve ever laid eyes on.”

your breath hitched. “i—”

but he didn’t let you finish. he grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward the locker room—empty, because it was late—and backed you against the wall.

“y’know what i see when i look at you?” his gloved hand trailed down, fingers brushing over your belly, gripping at the soft flesh with something close to reverence. “i see somethin’ perfect.”

then his mask was up just enough for you to see his mouth, and before you could process it, he was biting.

your belly. your thighs. your love handles. he had his hands on you, all over you, pressing you against the wall as he nipped, kissed, worshiped every inch of soft skin he could reach. he growled between bites, “so fuckin’ soft,” and, ‘could spend all night right here.”

and when you tried to protest, tried to tell him you weren’t—

he growled. actually growled, sinking his teeth into your thigh before pulling back, lips curling into something almost smug.

“don’t wanna hear another word about it,” he muttered. then, hoisted you up—like it was nothing—and carried you over to the bench.

“now. y’gonna let me sit you on my lap, or you gonna make me take you home first?”

[bbokicidal]

So Bitter, So Sweet. .:. SKZ [H.JS]

Genre : Smut Pairing : Han Jisung x Fem!Reader Warnings : Dom!Jisung, Sub!Reader, Hate Sex, Hair pulling, PinV (wrap it, folks), pussy spanking, bruising

Kinktober Day 5 of 10 : Hate Sex w/ Han

Word Count: 4K

This was supposed to be Day 5 of Kinktober 2024 but I had discontinued the series due to personal reasons at the time. So... Here, have it 5 months later.

“I actually have a presentation for media studies I have to work on tonight, so I really can’t…”

Chris blinks at the comment about a presentation. Media Studies? He had that class with you and he was pretty sure you didn’t have a presentation for that class. There wasn’t even class today, what were you talking about? His brow crinkles in confusion and his nose scrunches up as he looks over at you, opening his big fat mouth and blowing your cover. “I don’t think we have a– Ngh!” His sentence is cut short when your hand collides with his abdomen, knocking the wind from him enough to shut him up. It was too late, though; He’d spilled too much.

“..So… you’re lying just to get out of coming to the party.” Minho’s eyes slowly drag from where his friend is doubling over at your side to you instead. “Is there a reason you don’t want to go or are you just one of those types of people?” He knew you weren’t but he asked anyway.. You’d come to parties he had held before so what was keeping you from coming to this one? It was Halloween - Basically the biggest parties of the year, other than New Years, were held on Halloween!

“I don’t like Jisung.” Your answer is plain and simple. You hadn’t liked Jisung since you met him. He played so sweetly with the boys; Kissed their cheeks, helped them with homework, and he was all smiles and laughs when he was with them. But as soon as you came around he would shut down and his precious little eye smile would turn into a glare pointed in your direction - which led you to assume that the dislike was mutual.

Jisung blinks heavily beside Minho, brows both cocking upward as if he’s surprised by the statement. He stares down at his hands, twisting a ring to fit right on his finger. “Let me just go fuck myself,” He comments shortly after and Changbin shifts on the other side of him, eyeing the younger man as if silently trying to get him to back down. “What the fuck did I ever do to you?” Jisung looks directly at you then, not shying away from the heavier conversation.

You scoff as if finding it ridiculous that he doesn’t know. Is he playing dumb, or is he actually an idiot? “You’re an asshole every time I’m around you. You won’t even look at me half of the time and when you do you just sit and brood. And either way - I don’t need a specific reason to dislike someone. Maybe I just hate your face.” That was… one of the biggest lies you had ever told. Jisung was far from ugly; He has big round eyes, soft cheeks, soft features in general really and he looked like a prince who had stepped right out of a Disney movie. He was gorgeous, actually, but you’d never say that to his face given his ugly personality. All of that, all of his behavior towards you, had simply ruined his image for you. “Remember last week?”

“Last week? Oh, God - You’re still whining about that?” Jisung’s eyes narrow over in your direction, his glare as heavy as your own. 

You scoff once more, anger bubbling in your chest. Chris reaches to rest a hand gently between your shoulder blades, ready to guide you away if the situation turns left. “You poured alcohol on me just because you could - right after I said I was going to talk to a guy I like. That was a dick move, Han!” You point a finger at the man and he smirks at your heated demeanor. Chris’ hand becomes guiding, giving a gentle push to steer you away from the three men before Jisung had a chance to bite back at you. 

He offers a shaky smile to the three, keeping his eyes directed towards Minho and Changbin in hopes he can clear this up at least a little while Jisung calms himself down. Or… tried to. “I’ll.. figure something out with her, okay? Expect us to be there.” Chris chuckles, his voice wavering with uncertainty before he fumbles quietly with the last bit before he walks away with you. “There’snopresentation.”

Minho gives a heavy sigh as his eyes draw to Jisung who seethes between himself and the third, blinking slowly at the younger. Jisung glances up and glares, his snarl looking almost like a pout on plush lips. “She drives me crazy sometimes-! I never poured anything on her on purpose.”

“I can tell,” Minho’s eyes rolled. “You need to tone it down. There’s no reason for you two to have this bad of a relationship with each other. Maybe you should’ve just explained that to her when you had the chance?”

“She never gives me an opportunity to clear it up,” Jisung scowls. “She’s ridiculous.”

Changbin claps a hand on the younger’s back before moving it up to grip at the nape of his neck, giving a subtle squeeze as he pushes Jisung forward to keep walking. “You almost laughed at her anger - right in her face. Don’t think you’re making the best impression.” When Jisung turns to bite back at that comment, Changbin forces him to face forward and keep walking by the grip he had on the other’s neck. “Ah; Keep walking. We’re not having this discussion right now. You two need to talk it out. I’m not involved.”

“I can’t believe you don’t know how to tie a tie.” Your fingers laced carefully through the small knot you had created with the carefully sewn fabric, pulling it through and tightening it with care. The tie sits neatly against the white button up Chris wore, contrasting so perfectly yet matching with the long coat he had on over top. “Aren’t you like twenty five or something?”

“Twenty-six.” Chris smiles, his lips forming a straight line and quirking up at the corners that makes his cheeks dimple heavier than normal. It makes you smile as well, the sight of his face squishing of its own accord. “And I do know how to tie a tie; I just wanted a pretty girl close to me.” His eyes drop from where they had been looking over your head to peer right at you instead. You sigh out a soft laugh through your nose and give a small shake of your head. Ever the flirtatious one, you knew Chris meant nothing by it; He was always calling you pretty, always sticking close to your side, always protective. You were his best friend so of course he was always going to be showering you with compliments; You did the exact same thing. 

As you take a step back and pivot on your heel to look, Chris lets his head tip in the mirror. “What exactly are you supposed to be, again? A businessman?” Your eyes drag over his choice of clothing and he giggles at the assumption, shaking his head in a manner that makes his hair fall down into his eyes. The one white contact made him a little scarier than usual.

“I’m a sexy vampire!” Chris exclaims as if it should be obvious. He turns to look at you, extending his arms and then giving a little turn just to show off. He giggles shortly after when he realizes you’re laughing at him, one hand pressed over your mouth in adoration. You had the stupidest yet cutest best friend in the world. “Can’t you tell?”

Your giggles subside as you answer him, keeping one hand pressing to your lips while you look him over. “Aren’t vampires usually wearing, like, Victorian era clothing or something? The shirts with the ruffles, the high waisted pants… I’ve never seen a vampire in a suit before, I don’t think.”

“Okay, well then I’m a sexy vampire in a suit.” His head turns back to the mirror and he smiles, pushing the little fangs he wore over his bottom lip with a grin. Stupidest yet cutest. “You’re ripping on my outfit but what are you?”

You had just tugged your jacket on as you looked over, listening to him question your own outfit. “A sexy nun; Duh.” He should’ve been able to tell by the veil you wore but apparently that one white contact took away some of his vision. Which also explained why he nearly walked into the doorway on his way out of your dorm, smoothing his hair back to play it off while you laughed. “Go, go.” You shoo him out into the hallway, turning to shut and lock the door behind you as you took your leave.

The drive to the party is short, given it’s only on the other side of campus - but Chris insists on driving you two because he doesn’t want you walking in the chilled night air wearing that outfit. You’d be cold even with your jacket and he can’t subject you to that! So he hops in the car, heats the seats and carefully navigates his way down a few blocks before finding a parking spot across the street. The two of you peek out the driver’s window to look at the house the party is being held in. Minho had snagged one of the nicer, smaller places on campus and all he had to do to get it was find three willing roommates to move in with him; Changbin, Hyunjin, and Jisung.

The windows of the house are flooded with lights colored orange, red, white, and green while music pounds at the walls and threatens to bring them down. The outside is decorated with Jack-o-lanterns and leaf bags colored orange with faces on them, a skeleton dressed in red lingerie sitting in a lawn chair (by Hyunjin’s doing) and a fake Ghostface from Scream sitting on the steps leading up to the door just to scare away any kids who might want to approach. The front door is covered in Caution tape in a rather messy manner but… you have to admit, the decoration job isn’t horrible. From afar, that is; As soon as the two of you approach the house you end up finding out that someone had shoved a fleshlight between the legs of the skeleton in the lawn chair, and you aren’t sure if that makes the decorating job better or worse.

Stepping into the house, you shrug off your jacket to carefully drape it over a chair nearby that has clearly been taken over by other jackets, hoodies, and even a few blankets people had just wrapped around themselves and ran in. Chris keeps his on because he swears it’s a part of his costume and important to the outfit - and after a small bicker back and forth about it you decide to give in and just go get a drink to start off the night. You end up meeting up with Changbin and Jisung in the kitchen, Changbin’s hand holding a solo cup full of a clear liquid on ice while Jisung’s double fisting two different beers and sipping from them continuously as they talk. 

“Oh look, it's a discount Rob Zombie. Glad to see you here.” You greet with a sarcastic smile, looking away from Jisung to Changbin who chuckles at your comment on Jisung’s outfit. He’d worn a black and white striped long sleeve under a black tank top that hung off his body and proved to be someone else’s he had stolen and cut up for the costume. His jeans were a bit flashy with their belt chains hanging off of his hips, clinking together any time he moved where he stood. He even threw on a choker and a longer necklace with a pendant hanging off of it. And the stupid, pretty black gloves he wore with the rings all over his fingers… 

“I need a drink. Something, anything.”

Jisung’s gaze lowers and he glares as you already shit on his outfit when you’d only just arrived. “I’m a rockstar, actually? Jesus fuck,” He growls out the last bit, turning away and leaving the kitchen. He rounds the island and wanders off to find other people to talk to, seemingly no longer interested in conversing with Changbin when you are around.

Changbin extends his arm with a small smile, one corner of his lips perking upward. He watches as you take his drink right from him and take a few large sips, grimacing at the taste. “It’s… sour.” 

And Changbin nods, chuckling at your realization. “Yeah, it’s made with sour. That’s the whole point.” He holds out his hand to take it back whenever you feel like you’re done with it, your expression less than pleasant as you click your tongue and hand it back to him.

Yet every time you returned to the kitchen, you found yourself mixing Whiskey and Sour into a cup together to get another feeling of that sweet, sweet buzz. It fucked you up fast and that’s how you liked it, even if you were being cautious and pacing yourself. Though you’d spent the last few hours dancing with Changbin, chatting with Minho in a quieter corner and even finding Hyunjin on the couch and sitting in his lap during a small game of Truth or Dare, you managed to always come back to Chris.

Minho had retired for the night and gone upstairs to his room, Hyunjin was still sitting on the sofa now talking to a rather pretty little blond in a black cat costume that hugged him just right, and Changbin was… well, he was somewhere - all over the place, if you were honest. Chris leaned back against the counter as he watched you sip from the fourth drink. You looked pretty well-off despite having so much alcohol in your system. “You came in here kind of hot earlier.”

“Thank you.~” You coo against the rim of your cup, sipping again from the drink as Chris bursts into laughter.

“No - No. I meant coming in hot as in coming in fiery. You ripped into Jisung right away, you know.” He comments, clarifying his statement with a small shake of his head and a bright, gummy smile that showed all of his teeth. He’s always so smiley around you and he really can’t help it.

Your smile falls. “Oh.” You deadpan the reply and Chris almost regrets even talking about Jisung at all. Though, now that you thought about it, you hadn’t seen him since you had first arrived - and roasted him like an oven roasted chicken when you walked into the kitchen. “Yeah. He deserves it, though! His costume isn’t even that cool - He just looks like himself. You know, an emo twink.” You set your cup down on the island behind you and sigh out, turning away with a lazy tip of your head. “I’m gonna go use the bathroom.”

“Don’t fall in,” Chris quips with a smile as you walk away from him, unable to help the corny line of goodbye.

Your walk to the bathroom is short, given that it’s right around the corner and just before the stairs. Your hand finds the doorknob after a bit of tipsy fumbling and as you push it open, you’re met with a sight you’d never expected before in your life.

Jisung stood leaning back against the sink, his jeans pushed down to just above his knees while one hand jerked at his cock - hard and leaking and slick with precum that he’d already smeared over his length. His face is flushed and only grows deeper in color when he sees you push open the door to the bathroom, his lips popping apart - slick with spit and drool dripping down his chin as he looks over. “Either get in or shut the fucking door.”

You’re quick to step in - mostly because you panic. Even if you don’t care for him, it’s a little ridiculous to expose his entire cock to the world outside. So you enter the bathroom with flushed cheeks and lingering eyes. Your state of slight intoxication refuses to let you pull your gaze away from the way his hand still strokes over his cock even with you in the room. Your weight shifts to one side and the moment you pull your eyes away he decides to open his mouth. “Fuck, I hate how sexy you look in that stupid costume.”

His comment makes you squirm, your thighs pressing together to try and hide the way your pussy drips at the sight of him alone. And now he was admitting that he thought you looked sexy? You shift against the door and Jisung reaches out to gently pull you closer with his free hand, laying it against your waist while you take the few steps to reach him. He looks you over up close before sighing out, his thumb sliding over his tip just to tease himself a little. “You want it?”

Jisung chuckles at the way you nod feverishly at his question. Yeah, he was fucking annoying, and yeah his face made a bit of anger swell in your chest even if he was really fucking hot in the moment - but he was just straight up offering his dick to you and you couldn’t say no to a guy with big glossy eyes and a leaking cock. He shifts away from the counter and steps in behind you instead, pressing your hips forward to the edge of the sink. You gasp out and reach out to support yourself, your hand laying on the mirror to leave prints behind as Jisung flips up the bottom half of your dress to lay it over your back. He sighs out in admiration at the sight of the black lace that hid beneath it, hooking one finger into it to tug it aside and see what he really wanted to get a look at.

You peek up into the mirror just in time to see Jisung dipping down behind you and a rush of excitement shoots through your veins. You’re under the assumption he might eat you out a little before he gets to the main ordeal - but Jisung isn’t that nice and he still dislikes you even if you look damn sexy in that tight dress and cute little veil. He spits directly onto your pussy after using his thumbs to spread your lips for him, leaning in soon after to use his tongue and make sure you were plenty wet for easy access as if you weren’t dripping already. Jisung stands back to his full height to look down at your hole, both of his hands gripping at your hips as he lines himself up. His spit clings to your clit before dripping onto the floor between your heels just as his cock slips into you with ease.

You sigh out in admiration at the feeling, eyes rolling back into your head with the way he fills you up. It’s unfair how fucking hot he is considering he’s an asshole to you any time he has the chance. Your hand pushes heavier on the mirror as he starts up a steady rhythm, his cock sliding against your gummy walls with the most sinful sounds bouncing off of the bathroom walls; The wet squelch of your pussy forming to his length as he pushes into you harder when he realizes you can take it - that you want to. “Fuck – Mnh, Ji –”

Jisung glances up at you through the mirror, his hair clouding his vision as it fell into his eyes. He peeks down almost immediately after however, reaching down between your bodies to pull up his shirt as it kept falling down and getting in his way from feeling your skin on his own. He tucks the fabric of the striped shirt between his teeth before he chuckles, his eyes turning back down to where the two of you connect - and as you look at him through the mirror you swear you’ve never seen something so fucking hot in your life. His skin was slick and glistening with a thin layer of sweat which meant his hair was beginning to stick to his face, and with his shirt tucked between his teeth his mouth had formed a small scowl. You could’ve swore you heard a couple quiet growls coming from his throat, too, while he fucked into you harder than before.

Your body rocks against the sink as you hold onto the wall to keep yourself steady, moans flooding from your lips that spur Jisung on to fuck you harder, faster. He reaches with one hand to grab onto your shoulder, pulling you with every thrust so you met him halfway and you whined as you felt his tip prodding at your walls, pushing further each time he pushed into you. Jisung used his free hand to grip at your hip, bruising his fingerprints into your skin as evidence he had been there - been in you. His hand slips lower until he can hoist your thigh up, pushing your leg onto the counter so he can stand even closer to you and sink his cock further into your walls. 

“Ohh - Fuck! Fuck, ‘m gonna come –” Your stutters of release make Jisung glance up, dark eyes staring through his hair as he watches your expressions in the mirror; Your eyes closed, head tipped back, fingers curling against the mirror as your orgasm hit. Jisung’s eyes darted back down to watch you squirt around his cock, slowly pulling out before pushing back into your pussy just when you had thought he’d called it quits. He huffs out, his movements rapid but messy now as he chases his own release. He slumped forward a bit and ended up moving his hand from your shoulder to your hair, his fingers tangling in that thin veil to keep a tight grip on you. Well - that, and he’s always wanted to pull your hair when you got on his nerves.

His breathing is labored and ragged as he lets go of his shirt, the fabric falling down while he spills ropes of cum into your walls to claim you as his own. That’s how he thinks of it in the moment at least. Jisung pulls out shortly after, his cum leaking from your slit and dripping down onto the tile flooring of the bathroom. He reaches down, using two fingers to push it back into your cunt while you whine at the feeling. “God, you’re so noisy,” Jisung huffs out, straightening up and glancing at you as his hand meets you again with a slap to your pussy. 

You jolt the first time and relax the second, his hand stilling against your entrance to carefully rub against you and get you to ease up, your body slumping against the countertop in exhaustion. 

He peeks down and watches as both his cum and your slick cling to his fingers as he pulls his hand away, strings connecting his skin to your own. He usually wouldn’t even think to come inside of someone, but with you it was just another form of proof he’d been there. Something for you to think about when he pissed you off in the following days.

And Minho usually wouldn’t care that people had fucked in his bathroom as he often found evidence of it after the parties he held, stumbling tiredly into the room to piss and find meds that would hopefully cure his hangover migraine; But handprints on his mirror? Really?

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix @hwangjoanna

[thebestsetter]

Thinking about you and Rin (failing on) hiding your relationship.

You and Rin are two very discreet people. You don't really see the need for the media to meedle about your personal life. That's why you decided - together - that your relationship should not be shown to the public.

Anyway, he figured that, one way or another, people would find out about it. He just didn't think it would have nothing to do with his - growing - fame.

"'Day 14 of filming this cute couple on the train until I get a partner'" you read outloud, while his head was in your lap and your hands caressing his hair "Wait a sec... they kinda looks like us!"

"Impossible" Rin mumbled, burying his head deeper into your thighs

"But it does!" You said, and stopped the movements in his hair - which earned a desatisfied growl from him - "Look!"

His eyes hurt a little from the shift of light, but he eventually saw the video - and immediately straightened his back and sat on the bed "It's us."

"Told you so!" You also sat straight - after sticking your tongue out at him -, hands on his shoulder while he clicked on the profile that posted it "Wow. There are MANY videos of us."

"I'm gonna sue this bastard for using our image without our knowing consent."

"Rinnie, maybe there's no need to go that far!" You snatched the phone from his hands, to which he replied 'Hey!' "Listen, you have a lrovate account, right? That basically no one follows but me and your - I don't know - ten friends?"

"Nine, actually" he corrected "But yeah, I do. Why?"

"You should comment on the video using that account, so no one knows it's you and the person filming will leave us alone! Something like: 'Hey, I'm the guy from the video. Please stop using me and my girlfriend's image without permission'. That should work"

"...that's actually smart" Rin deadpanned, staring at you

"Duh, obviously it's smart. I AM smart." You smirked

"'right, I'm gonna do what you said" He said, shoving your smirking face aside

"Thanks, Rinnie! Hopefully they'll understand that we want privacy and just stop"

"Oh, don't worry. I'll make sure they will" he muttered lowly

"What did you say?" (You heard him the first time. You were just surprised.)

"Nothing. Good night, my love."

"...goodnight Rin"

Maybe you should've worried Rin was planning something from the last sentence - and by the strategic use of pet names - because MAYBE then you wouldn't wake up and find out that not only he wrote the comment from his PLAYER ACCOUNT - the one the team tags on posts and sponsorships use to talk about him -, but it was not as (let's say) peaceful as you had planned it to be.

Itoshi_Rin: Leave me and my girlfriend alone, fucker.

Okay. You SERIOUSLY needed to find him before his PR team. They were going to kill him.

The second you stepped out of your house and noticed the stares following you and even a reporter - who appeared out of NOWHERE - stopped to interview you, you realized.

You did want to find him before his PR team. But not because you wanted to save him.

You wanted to kill him first.

So, uhm... I'd like to consider this as a 1.2k commemoration post!!! Thank you all 🫶🫶🫶

[theminecraftbee]

If Cleo hadn’t known Joe for longer than either of them have known Hermitcraft, she might be concerned about Joe having an argument with himself about which of his six contingency boltholes to hide the two of them in and discuss plans. She might be even more concerned about how blatantly questionable several of them are—she didn’t even know Etho had an attic, let alone one Joe knew how to break into and had hidden a bed in. However, Cleo’s known Joe since longer than either of them have known Hermitcraft, and frankly this is an impressively minimal amount of bafflingly designed anxiety-induced disaster prep for him, so she just lets him guide him into the room and sits cross-legged on the floor.

“No one ever remembers that the overworld smells different,” she says with a sigh.

“For example, here it smells like Etho’s socks,” Joe responds. “Why does he keep socks in the attic, Cleo? I still haven’t figured it out!”

Cleo snorts. “He’s a very strange little man.”

Joe shakes his head. “No, no, if he were a strange little man, I’d know. That’s what I am!”

“No, you’re a strange little puppet these days. Entirely different.”

“Oh, right.”

The two of them sit in silence for a bit after that. Cleo just breathes. They are supposed to be dead or exiled, and they are not. “Supposed to be dead but they’re not” is like, Cleo’s entire thing as a zombie, and Joe’s entire thing as a person, so that’s not what’s making Cleo’s heart race. Maybe Joe’s right; maybe it is the smell of socks. Maybe, though, it’s that the world is different colors. Everything isn’t the same awful grey and red, stretched out endlessly across the horizon.

A fuzzy puppet hand is placed on her own. Cleo looks down.

“Sorry I couldn’t talk to you the whole time. I was being hunted for sport,” Joe says.

“What? No, don’t answer that. Scar. That was obvious. Don’t know why I bothered asking.”

“Doc also kind of wanted to?” Joe says. “But as we both know, Doc’s really bad at making threats that are actually actionable. It’s sort of embarrassing. Cub, also, although Cub and I were mostly engaged in psychological warfare. It’s kind of a shame he exiled himself; who else has an appropriately complex relationship with fireworks and comic sans?”

Cleo snorts. “Never change, Joe.”

“I can’t promise that. To live is to change,” Joe says solemnly.

“Walked into that one,” Cleo says.

They both fall silent a little longer.

“The fact you called me at all, uh. Texted me. Kept me company. Fought a dragon? The drop shipping? I—”

“If my best friend goes mad from loneliness I’m not a very good friend,” Joe says.

“Still, thanks,” Cleo says. “Thank you. It was—thank you.”

“Anyone would have,” Joe says, and all at once Cleo is laughing and sobbing into their hands. Distantly, they can hear Joe panicking; he’s never been very good at other people’s emotions. It’s just—nothing, for days, and everything now, and the edges of their sleeves are still singed from Grian’s attempt to render it all pointless, and Joe’s right here, and Joe’s right here, saying:

“It’s alright, Cleo. I mean, it’s not, there’s an authoritarian government that isn’t letting me play Permitmaster. But it’s okay, for some definition of that, I think—”

“They really wouldn’t,” Cleo manages between choked breaths.

“What?” Joe says.

“You said it’s what anyone would do and they really wouldn’t,” Cleo says.

“…really?” Joe says, and he sounds so idiotically baffled and so exactly like Joe Hills, constant in Cleo’s life since before either of them knew what a Hermitcraft was, that she breaks down into sobs again. Distantly, she recognizes that this is a symptom of having ridden a horse across the nether roof for enough days in a row that her ability to emotionally regulate snapped a little. Immediately, though, she can’t stop thinking about how lucky she is.

Joe smiles, strangely kind for a puppet, and leans his entire felt body against her. He stops talking for the moment. Cleo knows it’s more that he’s probably panicking internally than out of any desire for silence, but…

She’s really, really lucky.

By some miracle stroke, they’re both left alone long enough for Cleo to pull herself together, and then, to the sound of distant fireworks and sirens, they escape Etho’s attic, laughing.

Together they really are going to be so annoyingly unstoppable.

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 2: April 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: 

...I am definitely blown away by the reception this story got. I did not expect that AT ALL, so thank you very much...and here you have Chapter 2! Warnings: we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Bad Real Estate decisions, Max being a simp for his girl, discussion of former toxic relationships...I think that's it? If I missed something, let me know.

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

"Isabelle," Max murmured against her lips, his hands firm but steady on her waist.

She barely heard him. Not when he kissed her like this—slow and deep, his thumb brushing over her hip, his body warm and solid against hers. She curled her fingers into his shirt, pulling him closer, tilting her head to kiss him harder. When he groaned softly, she took it as encouragement, pressing up against him and reaching for the hem of his shirt.

But just as her fingers grazed the skin of his stomach, Max caught her wrist, pulling back slightly.

"Wait."

She blinked up at him, lips parted, breath uneven. "What?"

His hands slid from her waist to her arms, a soothing touch. "We don’t have to rush."

Isabelle frowned. "I know we don’t have to. But I want to."

Max exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "I don’t want you to think this is just about that."

She froze, her mind stuttering over his words. "What?"

He studied her carefully, thumb rubbing small circles into her skin. "I like you. A lot. And I want you to know that I’m serious about this."

Isabelle stared at him, something in her chest tightening. No one had ever said that to her before. Every other boyfriend had been eager, had expected, had—

She swallowed. "You don’t… want me?"

Max’s expression softened, his grip on her tightening just slightly, like he wanted to anchor her in place. "Of course I do," he said, voice low, almost reverent. "I just don’t want you to think that’s all I want."

Her breath hitched.

She had never been anyone’s priority. Never been someone who wasn’t easy to forget, easy to leave behind. But here was Max, the most wanted man on the grid, telling her he wanted her—but not just her body.

Something like disbelief flickered in her chest. "You’re serious."

Max huffed a quiet laugh, brushing his nose against hers. "Very."

Isabelle swallowed again, her throat tight, and let herself relax into him. She let herself believe him.

"Okay."

Max smiled, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. "Good."

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: Max.

Max:  Good morning, Schatje.

Isabelle: Don’t start. Did you actually buy that penthouse?

Max: Yes.

Isabelle: And did you demand that I be the only architect allowed to work on it??

Max: Yes.

Isabelle: Do you have any idea how bad this looks?

Max: What’s bad about wanting the best?

Isabelle: MAX.

Isabelle: Do you know what people at work are saying now??

Max: That I have excellent taste in architects?

Isabelle: They think I got this project because of Charles.

Max: … What?

Isabelle: Oh yeah. The rumors are great. Apparently, I’m here because I’m a Leclerc, not because I actually worked for it.

Max: … That’s stupid.

Isabelle: Tell that to my coworkers.

Max: You think I’d let Charles pick my architect?

Isabelle: No, but they don’t know that.

Max: Then tell them.

Isabelle: Oh sure, that’ll go well. “Actually, my brother had nothing to do with it, my boyfriend just demanded that I be the only one allowed to work on his project.” That sounds so much better.

Max: Ok, maybe that doesn’t help.

Isabelle: You think??

Max: I just wanted to work with you.

Isabelle: Yeah, and now people are whispering about nepotism and favoritism and how I’m only here because of my family name.

Max: They clearly don’t know you.

Isabelle: I KNOW. But it’s still frustrating. I’ve worked my ass off, Max. I didn’t want my name getting me jobs. I wanted my work to.

Max: And it has. That’s why I picked you. Not because of your name. Because I trust you.

Isabelle: You could have given me a heads-up, you know.

Max: And you would have said no.

Isabelle: That is not the point.

Max: But would you?

Isabelle:: …

Max: That’s what I thought.

Isabelle: You really bought that penthouse just so I could design it?

Max: I bought that penthouse because I liked it. But I only wanted you working on it.

Isabelle: You’re impossible.

Max: And you’re brilliant.

Isabelle: Thank you.

Max: Always.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: You are NOT going to believe what Max did.

Emilie: That sentence could mean literally anything.

Isabelle: He bought the penthouse. THE penthouse. The one we talked about once in passing.

Emilie: …Okay, that’s insane, but also, congrats? You love that place.

Isabelle: THAT’S NOT THE POINT.

Emilie: Oh, I think it is.

Isabelle: He also demanded that I be the architect working on it. Wouldn’t sign anything unless my name was on the project.

Emilie: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Isabelle: It’s not funny!

Emilie: No, it absolutely is.

Isabelle: People at work are already saying I only got the project because of Charles!

Emilie: Oh. Yeah, I can see that.

Isabelle: Which is wrong. Because I didn’t get it because of Charles. I got it because of my boyfriend, which is somehow worse.

Emilie: You say worse. I say deeply, deeply romantic.

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: Isabelle. 

Emilie: Your rich, lovesick boyfriend is out here spending millions just to have an excuse to see you every day, and you’re MAD?

Isabelle: I AM TRYING TO BE PROFESSIONAL.

Emilie: He is trying to wife you.

Isabelle: I hate you.

Emilie: No, you don’t. Now tell me—when’s the housewarming, and how much champagne should I bring?

***

Instagram Story – @/isabelleleclerc

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: You CANNOT keep doing this.

Max: Doing what?

Isabelle: Abusing your “professional client” status to drag me to fancy lunches.

Max: I’m not abusing anything. We have important business discussions to conduct.

Isabelle: You mean the penthouse where you’ve approved every single one of my plans without question?

Max: Exactly. We need to make sure I have no doubts.

Isabelle: You just want an excuse to take me to a Michelin-starred restaurant.

Max: And?

Isabelle: That’s not how professional client-architect meetings work.

Max: It is when I’m the client.

Isabelle: Max.

Max: You don’t have to say yes.

Isabelle: …

Max: But you want to.

Isabelle: That’s not the point.

Max: Just think of it as me paying you for your excellent work.

Isabelle: That’s what your actual payments are for.

Max: But those aren’t fun.

Isabelle: MAX.

Isabelle: People at work already think I got this job because of Charles. Now you’re making it worse.

Max: First of all, you got this job because you’re brilliant.

Max: Second, if they think that, they’re idiots.

Max: Third, I booked a table with a view.

Isabelle: Max.

Max: Don’t pretend you don’t want to come.

Isabelle: That’s not the point.

Max: You didn’t say no.

Isabelle: …

Max: I’ll see you at one.

Isabelle: I officially regret ever mentioning my favorite restaurants to you.

Max: That was your mistake, not mine.

Max: But I’ll make it up to you with dessert.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: You will not believe what Max is doing.

Emilie: Oh, this is already good. Go on.

Isabelle: He’s using the penthouse project as an excuse to take me to fancy lunches.

Emilie: …And the problem is???

Isabelle: Emilie. People at work already think I got this job because of Charles. If they find out I’m going to Michelin-starred restaurants in the middle of the day with a client, I will NEVER hear the end of it.

Emilie: Okay, but is he actually talking about the penthouse during these lunches?

Isabelle: He pretends to for about five minutes. Then he just orders my favourite foods for me and acts like we’re on a date.

Emilie: …So you’re saying you’re mad because your boyfriend is taking you on nice dates and feeding you good food?

Isabelle: THAT IS NOT THE POINT.

Emilie: Oh, I think it is the point.

Isabelle: I just—he’s impossible!

Emilie: What restaurant was it this time?

Isabelle: Le Louis XV.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle:

Emilie: You are sitting here complaining to me after being wined and dined at ALAIN DUCASSE’S RESTAURANT???

Isabelle: I AM TRYING TO BE PROFESSIONAL.

Emilie: Shut up and tell me what you ate!

***

Isabelle laid out fabric swatches on the table, neatly arranging them in rows. “These are the options for the curtains,” she said, keeping her voice professional. “I’ve chosen materials that complement the lighting and textures in the space while also being durable.”

Max picked up a swatch at random, turning it over like he’s actually considering it. “Yeah… so which one do you like best?”

Isabelle sighed. “That’s not the point, Max.”

“But it kind of is,” he countered, leaning back in his chair. “You know what looks good. I trust you.”

She exhaled, trying to keep the conversation on track. “My job isn’t to pick what I like, it’s to give you the best options based on your preferences and the space—”

“My preference,” Max interrupted, “is to not think too hard about curtain fabrics. So, tell me, which one would you put in your own place?”

She pressed her lips together but eventually pointed to a light cream fabric with a soft texture. “This one.”

Max immediately nodded. “Perfect. We’ll go with that.”

“That’s not how this works,” Isabelle protested.

“It is now.” He grinned, tapping the swatch like the decision is final.

She gave him a look but moves on, pulling out samples for the kitchen backsplash. “Alright, for the tiles—”

Max smirked. “What do you like best?”

Isabelle groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “You are impossible.”

Max chuckled, thoroughly enjoying himself. “I don’t see the problem. You have good taste. I want my place to look good. This seems like a win-win situation.”

Isabelle lifted her head, giving him a flat look. “Max.”

“Yes?”

“You are literally paying me to make these decisions for you based on your preferences, not mine.”

Max shrugged. “Yeah, but my main preference is trusting you.”

She stared at him, unimpressed. “That’s not how this works.”

“It is when I’m the client.” His grin was infuriatingly smug.

Isabelle sighed, shaking her head, but she couldn’t quite hide the small smile creeping onto her face. “Fine. But if you hate something later, I’m telling everyone this was your fault.”

“I won’t hate it,” Max said easily, glancing at the tile samples. “So… which one would you use in your own kitchen?”

Isabelle groaned dramatically. “You are impossible.”

Max just smirked. “You already said that.”

Isabelle rubbed her temples like she’s trying to ward off a headache. “You know, most clients want a functional, cohesive design that suits their lifestyle.”

Max leant back against the kitchen island, watching her with amused eyes. “And I want a functional, cohesive design that you think looks good.”

“That’s not—” She exhaled sharply. “Okay, fine. I’d go with the marble option for the counters. It’s classic, it won’t date badly, and it works with the natural light in here.”

Max nodded like that’s exactly what he was going to pick anyway. “Perfect. Marble it is.”

Isabelle narrowed her eyes. “You’re just agreeing with me so I stop arguing with you.”

“Maybe.” He grinned. “Or maybe I actually value your opinion.”

She huffed, flipping through the fabric swatches again. “Alright, what about your bedroom curtains? Darker shades are better for blocking light in the mornings.”

Max hummed, looking over the options. “Which one do you like?”

“Max.”

“What? You just said you’re designing for functionality. You clearly think one of these is the best choice.”

She muttered something under her breath, then points at a deep navy fabric. “This one. It’ll keep the room dark, and it’s not too heavy for the space.”

“Done.”

Isabelle levelled him with a suspicious look. “You’re making this way too easy.”

Max shrugged. “I told you. I trust you.” He gestures around the penthouse. “Besides, I plan to spend most of my time here with you. Might as well make sure you don’t hate it.”

She stilled for half a second, but then rolls her eyes like she’s not affected. “Professionalism, Max.”

Max just smirked, reaching for another set of samples. “Alright, Miss Leclerc, what’s next?”

Isabelle pointedly ignored the way her stomach does an annoying little flip at his words and refocuses on the task at hand. She flipped open her notebook, determined to keep things professional. "We still need to finalize your living room furniture. You said you wanted a sectional, right?"

Max nodded, leaning slightly over her shoulder to glance at her notes. "Yeah, something big enough to stretch out on. And for the cats."

She glanced up at him. "And for guests?"

Max blinked. "I mean, sure. If I have guests."

Isabelle sighed. "Do you ever think about designing your space for other people?"

"I am thinking about other people," he countered easily. "I’m thinking about you. You like to sit in the corner with a book, so we should get one with a deep chaise. And you like soft blankets, so whatever fabric we pick needs to feel nice."

She stared at him for a beat too long. "You—" She shakes her head. "You notice a lot more than you let on."

Max shrugged. "I like watching you."

Isabelle blinked rapidly and turned back to her samples before he could see the flush creeping up her neck. Professionalism. She needed to focus.

"Okay," she said, clearing her throat. "Fabric choices for the sectional—"

Max leant forward, already grinning. "Which one do you like?"

Isabelle groaned, slamming her notebook shut. "You are impossible."

Max just laughed. "I’m making sure my designer is happy with her work. That’s important, right?"

"That’s not how this works."

"Sure it is," he said breezily, nudging her shoulder with his. "If you think this place should feel like me, then I think it should feel like you, too."

Isabelle gripped her pen a little too tightly. "You’re insufferable."

Max grinned. "And yet, here you are."

Isabelle exhaled slowly, flipping through the swatches with more force than necessary. “Fine. You want my opinion? This one.” She pulled out a deep green fabric, soft under her fingers. “It’s comfortable, durable, and it won’t clash with anything else.”

Max reaches out, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. “It’s nice.” Then he grins. “You just like it because it’s your favourite colour.”

She paused. “That is not why I picked it.”

“Sure,” he said, clearly unconvinced. “But I remember you said you like green because it reminds you of home. And I want you to feel at home here.”

Isabelle’s fingers tighten around the fabric. “Max—”

“So, green it is,” he cut in before she can say anything else, grabbing the sample and setting it aside. Then he leans back, smug. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You have to stop doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Acting like this apartment is for both of us.”

Max tilted his head. “Well, you are spending a lot of time here.”

“That’s because I’m working.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, unconvinced. “And when the project is done?”

Isabelle pressed her lips together, not wanting to answer that question. Because the truth is, she didn’t know. She didn’t want to think about finishing this penthouse and walking away.

Max must have sensed her hesitation because his expression softened. “You know, you don’t have to leave when it’s done.”

She swallowed, trying to ignore the way her heart pounds. “Max.”

“I’m just saying,” he said, voice light but eyes serious. “I don’t mind having you around.”

Isabelle forced herself to focus back on her notebook. Professionalism. Boundaries. She had to remember them.

But as she moved on to the next decision—choosing dining chairs—she couldn’t  help but feel like she’s already losing that battle.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Max is going to drive me insane.

Emilie: What did he do now?

Isabelle: He refuses to make a single decision about the penthouse. Not one.

Emilie: Oh, this is going to be good.

Isabelle: I showed him flooring samples, and he just said, “Which one do you like best, schatje?” I asked him about the kitchen walls, and he went, “I trust your taste.”

Emilie: He’s so in love with you, it’s actually disgusting.

Isabelle: EMILIE, I NEED HIM TO HAVE AN OPINION.

Emilie: He does. His opinion is that your opinion is the only one that matters.

Isabelle: That’s not how this works! He’s the one who has to live there!

Emilie: You will be the one living there with him, if he gets his way. He’s just pretending it’s not obvious.

Emilie: He’s setting up your future home together and letting you build it exactly the way you want. That man would let you paint the walls hot pink if it made you happy.

Emilie: He’s letting you pick everything because he wants you to feel at home.

Emilie: Tell me I’m wrong.

Isabelle: I hate you.

Emilie: No, you don’t. Now, if you suggested, hypothetically, that the whole kitchen should be neon green, how fast do you think he’d say yes?

Isabelle: He wouldn’t even hesitate.

Emilie: This man is whipped.

Emilie: He’s so gone for you. It’s actually hilarious.

Isabelle: This is a nightmare.

Emilie: Just be glad he’s not insisting on Red Bull colors.

Isabelle: I take it back. It could be worse.

***

Instagram Story – @/isabelleleclerc

****

"I think I’m falling in love with him."

Isabelle hadn’t meant to say it out loud. It just slipped out, quiet and uncertain, as she sat across from Emilie at their usual café.

Emilie, mid-sip of her drink, slowly set her cup down and arched an eyebrow. “No shit.”

Isabelle groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “I mean too fast,” she muttered. “It’s too fast.”

Emilie leaned back, unimpressed. “Define ‘too fast.’”

“I don’t know.” Isabelle exhaled, sitting up and fiddling with the edge of her napkin. “It’s like—I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For something to go wrong. For him to change.”

Emilie just stared at her for a long moment before sighing. “Belle. He’s treating you better than your own family ever did. That’s not ‘too fast.’ That’s just right.”

“That’s not—” Isabelle started, but Emilie held up a hand.

“Let’s review,” she said, counting on her fingers. “He listens to you. He remembers things you like. He makes time for you. He prioritizes you. That’s the bare minimum of what you deserve, Belle. And you know damn well you’ve never had it before.”

Isabelle swallowed hard.

Emilie’s expression softened. “Look, I get it. It’s scary when someone actually cares about you, especially when you’re used to being the afterthought. But Max? He’s not going anywhere. And you? You’re not falling too fast. You’re just finally being caught.”

Isabelle exhaled, staring down at her coffee.

“Also,” Emilie added, smirking, “you’re absolutely screwed, because I think you’ve been in love with him for weeks.”

Isabelle groaned again, and Emilie just laughed.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Emilie. I think something is wrong with Max.

Emilie: Oh god, what happened??

Isabelle: He just gave me flowers.

Emilie: …And???

Isabelle: There’s no occasion. No reason. He just handed them to me and said, “Thought you’d like these.”

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: And then he pulled out my favorite wine. Already chilled. Already opened. Just there.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: AND THEN he sat with me. No phone, no distractions, just me. He asked about my day. Actually listened.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: WHY DO YOU KEEP SAYING MY NAME.

Emilie: Because you’re being so stupidly loved and acting like it’s a problem.

Isabelle: I just don’t know what to do with it. I feel like I should be doing something in return??

Emilie: You are. You exist. You let him love you. That’s enough.

Isabelle: But I’ve never—no one’s ever—

Emilie: I know. But this is what it’s supposed to be like.

Isabelle: …It feels weird.

Emilie: You’ll get used to it.

Isabelle: Will I?

Emilie: Yeah. And then one day, it won’t feel weird at all. It’ll just feel like love.

Isabelle: …Huh.

Emilie: Huh, she says. Like I haven’t been telling her this for years.

Isabelle: Shut up.

Emilie: Nope. Now go drink your fancy wine and let your boyfriend adore you.

Isabelle: …Fine.

Emilie: That’s my girl.

***

Instagram Post – @/isabelleleclerc

Comments:

@/arthur_leclerc: ??? From who?

@/charles_leclerc: Since when do you get flowers??

@/emilie_abadie: 👀👀👀

@/F1GossipQueen: OMG IS ISABELLE SOFT LAUNCHING A BOYFRIEND???

↳@/paddockprincessx: We are watching this situation VERY closely.

@/leclercsiblingtea: The Leclerc brothers seem deeply unsettled by this turn of events. 

@/lorenzotl: Be honest. Did you buy these for yourself?

***

Isabelle wasn’t trying to snoop.

She was just tidying up a little while Max was in the kitchen—because, frankly, he lived like someone who was always on the road (which he was). That’s how she spotted the iPad on the coffee table, screen still on. She had only glanced at it in passing, but then something caught her eye.

French lessons.

Her first reaction was confusion. Then amusement. Then something warmer, something that made her heartbeat do something a little ridiculous in her chest.

“Max?” she called out, picking up the iPad.

“Yeah?” His voice floated back from the kitchen, followed by the sound of the fridge opening. “Do you want some water?”

She walked in, holding up the iPad like it was evidence in a trial. “Are you secretly moving to Paris?”

Max turned around, brow furrowing. “What?”

She waved the iPad at him. “Since when are you learning French?”

His face did not do a good job of hiding his guilt. His eyes flickered to the screen, then back to her, and he shifted on his feet like he was debating snatching it out of her hands. “Oh. That.”

“Yes, that.” Isabelle crossed her arms, fighting a smile. “What’s the story, Verstappen? Career change? Planning to start giving post-race interviews in French?”

Max sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I live in Monaco. Figured it was time I actually learned, you know, the main language people speak here.”

Isabelle narrowed her eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“What?” He shrugged. “It makes sense.”

“It does make sense.” She took a step closer. “Except you’ve lived in Monaco for years and have never cared before.”

Max glanced at the iPad again, like it would somehow save him. When it didn’t, he exhaled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Fine. Maybe I had another reason.”

Isabelle raised an eyebrow. “And that reason is?”

His ears were turning pink. “You.”

She blinked. “Me?”

“You switch to French when you’re with your family,” he muttered, looking anywhere but at her. “Or when you’re distracted. Or when you get really excited about something. And I—I wanted to understand you better.”

Oh.

Oh.

Isabelle stared at him, warmth flooding her chest. “Max…”

He sighed again, clearly bracing himself for teasing. “Look, if you think it’s stupid—”

“I don’t,” she interrupted, her voice soft. “I think it’s… really sweet.”

Max relaxed slightly, still wary. “Yeah?”

She smiled. “Yeah.” Then she nudged him. “Okay, say something.”

He groaned. “Now?”

“Yes, now.”

Max hesitated. Then, after a deep breath, he said—slowly, carefully—“Je veux tout comprendre de toi.”

I want to understand everything about you.

Isabelle’s breath caught.

She looked up at him, and suddenly, the teasing was gone. Her heart was thudding, her fingers itching to reach for him. “Max.”

He shifted again. “Did I say it wrong?”

She shook her head. Then, without thinking, she leaned up and kissed him.

Max made a startled sound but recovered quickly, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer. When she finally pulled away, his grin was dazed.

“So,” he said, slightly breathless. “That was because of the French, huh?”

She laughed, tucking her head against his shoulder. “Guess you’ll have to keep practicing.”

Max tightened his hold on her. “Done.”

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Max is learning French.

Emilie: ???

Emilie: Like YOUR Max? The one who has lived in Monaco forever and has survived just fine with English and Dutch?

Isabelle: Yes!!!

Isabelle: I found his iPad open with some French lesson on it, and when I asked, he said he lives in Monaco so it was about time he learned.

Emilie: That… does make sense.

Isabelle: But then I pressed him, and he admitted he’s actually doing it because of ME.

Emilie: Oh.

Emilie: Ohhhh.

Emilie: Isabelle. He’s in LOVE love.

Isabelle: I don’t even know what to do with this information.

Emilie: Girl, you kiss him stupid, that’s what.

Isabelle: I already did that!!!

Emilie: Good. Keep doing it.

Emilie: Good for him. He’s putting in the effort. He’s out here grinding on Duolingo just to impress.

Isabelle: That’s what’s shocking me the most… Nobody has ever done that for me before.

Emilie: Well, he’s not just anybody, is he?

Isabelle: No. He’s Max.

Emilie: Exactly. And Max Verstappen? He doesn’t do anything halfway.

***

Text Messages:Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: Need your help.

GP: If this is about strategy on a Monday at 11 in the evening, I’m hanging up.

Max: It’s not.

GP: Then what?

Max: Isabelle’s birthday is coming up. I need a gift.

GP: …You do realize just because I’m married, I’m not a fountain of romantic wisdom, right?

Max: Who else am I supposed to ask?

GP: Literally anyone else?

Max: You’re the only one I trust not to be an idiot about this.

GP: I feel like that was a compliment and an insult at the same time.

Max: Just help me.

GP: Alright, what are you thinking?

Max: Something personal. Not just perfume or a handbag.

GP: Already doing better than most.

Max: That’s a low bar.

GP: True. Jewelry? Something meaningful?

Max: I was thinking emeralds. Her birthstone. And it matches her eyes.

GP: …Wow. You’re actually in deep.

Max: Not the point.

GP: Sure, sure. Bracelet? Necklace? Something she can wear every day?

Max: Yeah. Probably a bracelet.

GP: Go for it. But just so you know, if you keep setting the bar this high, you’re making the rest of us look bad.

Max: Not my problem.

GP: Yeah, that tracks. Let me know what you pick.

Max: Will do. Thanks.

GP: Anytime. Just remember, I’m charging a consulting fee next time.

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: This is Max. Isabelle’s Max.

Emilie: …Hello, Isabelle’s Max. To what do I owe the honor?

Max: I need help. It’s about Isabelle’s birthday.

Emilie: Go on.

Max: I need Isabelle’s wrist size.

Emilie: …What.

Max: Her wrist size.

Emilie: That’s it? No explanation? No context? Just casually asking for her wrist size like that’s a normal thing?

Max: Yes.

Emilie: I don’t trust you.

Max: That feels unnecessary.

Emilie: UNNECESSARY? MAX, I HAVE SPENT YEARS FIGHTING A LOSING BATTLE AGAINST HER FAMILY’S COMPLETE INABILITY TO GET HER A DECENT GIFT.

Max: …

Emilie: Charles once got her a Ferrari-branded umbrella. ”In case you ever come to a race and it rains.”

Max: …

Emilie: Arthur once got her a stuffed animal from an airport gift shop, because he nearly forgot entirely one year. Just straight-up forgot Belle had a birthday.

Max: …

Emilie: Lorenzo got her candle last year. A SINGLE. GENERIC. VANILLA. CANDLE. SHE DOESN’T EVEN LIKE VANILLLA; SHE GETS HEADACHES FROM IT.

Max: That’s actually embarrassing.

Emilie: Thank you. But I’m not done.

Max: Oh no.

Emilie: Their mother gave Isabelle a cookbook.

Max: That’s… not the worst?

Emilie: It was a diet cookbook.

Max: …

Max: What the hell.

Emilie: EXACTLY.

Max: And you’re saying this happens every year?

Emilie: EVERY. YEAR. Max, I have a Google Doc. I have an entire spreadsheet dedicated to “How to Make Sure Isabelle Actually Gets Something Nice.” I am fighting for my life out here.

Max: Not anymore.

Emilie: Wait.

Max: Attachment: Image of three emerald bracelets

Max: I’m thinking emeralds. It’s her birthstone. Matches her eyes.

Emilie:

Emilie:

Emilie: MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN.

Max: What.

Emilie: YOU ALREADY PICKED OUT OPTIONS???

Max: I was narrowing it down.

Emilie: NARROWING IT DOWN. LIKE A FUNCTIONING HUMAN MAN. LIKE SOMEONE WHO ACTUALLY PUTS THOUGHT INTO GIFTS. LIKE SOMEONE WHO KNOWS HER FAVORITE GEMSTONE AND HOW IT MATCHES HER EYES.

Max: …Yes?

Emilie: DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW INFURIATING THIS IS FOR ME. I HAVE BEEN CARRYING THIS FAMILY.

Max: So you don’t know her wrist size?

Emilie: FIFTEEN CENTIMETERS. 

Max: Appreciate the help.

Emilie: Oh, and just for future reference—her ring size is 50.

Max: …

Max: Just for future reference?

Emilie: Just saying. You never know.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1GossipQueen: 🚨 UM. Just saw Max Verstappen in a jewelry store in Miami. He was looking at bracelets and asking about emeralds.

@/OversteerAndTears: Not me immediately googling “Max Verstappen girlfriend emerald jewelry” like I’m gonna find something.

@/SoftForMax: Max Verstappen. In a jewelry store. Asking about emeralds. Who is she.

@/F1GossipQueen: He was so serious about it too. Like asking the salesperson about different settings and cuts.

@/CheckeredHeart: SETTINGS??? DIFFERENT CUTS?!?!

@/F1GossipQueen: Yes!!! And he was like, “She likes emeralds, but I want something subtle.” Like WHO, MAX??

@/FastCarsAndDrama: “She likes emeralds.” SHE??? I’M GONNA THROW UP.

@/MaxIsMyGOAT: So we’re just casually learning that Max Verstappen not only has a girlfriend but knows her jewelry preferences well enough to mention them in a store???@/OrangeArmy82: Maybe it’s for his mom or sister. We don’t know it’s for a girlfriend.

[mysteryshoptls]

2025-2026 Player Birthday Login Message Lines

These are all the messages that you get from the boys when you log in on the birthday that you set in-game from 18 Mar 2025 to 17 Mar 2026! For those that want to hear them, you can find them in the Archive, under the tab その他　→　監督生バースデー⑤. (This will not be in your game archives until the birthday you set passes.)

You can find the 2021-2022 Birthday Login Message Lines here! You can find the 2022-2023 Birthday Login Message Lines here! You can find the 2023-2024 Birthday Login Message Lines here! You can find the 2024-2025 Birthday Login Message Lines here!

HEARTSLABYUL

Riddle

Happy Birthday, [Yuu]. It may only be a small token, but I've prepared a gift for you. Here is a spare tie. I'm sure you won't get yours dirtied often, but there is always the chance. In order to follow the rules and dress appropriately, you should make sure to carry it on you at all times.

Ace

Oh, there they are. Heeey, [Yuu]. You free? Let's go play some b-ball. Why...? I mean, today's your birthday, right? I thought I'd celebrate you in my own way, is all. Come on, let's go, we gotta get moving 'til our stomach growls. There's another bit of "fun" to look forward to after, too.

Deuce

[Yuu], Happy Birthday. I went and rented a blastcycle for you today. I just thought it'd be nice to let my hardworking friend feel the breeze on their face for once. Might be a good change of pace, don't you think? Don't worry, I'll drive totally safe. Here, get on the back. Once you're ready to go, we're off!

Cater

Happy Birthday! Thanks for all the work you do as a prefect. Don't you get tired from working so hard? That's why I got.... this! Some bath salts recommended by yours truly! The rose petals inside are super cute, and the fragrance really helps to soothe your soul～ Tell me what you thought later!

Trey

[Yuu], Happy Birthday. I was actually thinking of heading to a café today, want to come with? Apparently the sweets there are made by a first-class pâtissier. Aren't you curious how it'll taste? You think I'm just wanting to taste it for myself? ...Haha, no way. I'm just trying to celebrate you for your birthday.

SAVANACLAW

Leona

I thought it was sounding pretty rowdy, but I see it was just 'cause it's your birthday. Good for you. Huh? You want to eat lunch with me because it's your birthday? That's a pretty strong demand from a little herbivore like you. Well now, what sort of delicious meat will you treat me to, hm...? You're extending an invitation to me, of all people, so I'm expecting a lavish feast.

Jack

Happy Birthday. I'm just saying that as a fellow schoolmate. It's not like I'm looking to get along, or anything. Hm? The candy jar you got as a gift won't open? Fine, hand it over. ...There you go. I'm pretty nice for someone who doesn't want to get along...? What's that supposed to mean? Don't get ahead of yourself, just 'cause it's your birthday.

Ruggie

[Yuu]-kun, Happy Birthday～ Feels like you're growin' a bit more with another year under your belt. Oh yeaah, you should totally show off how mature you got. For example, maaaybe you can treat me to something. You'll buy me a lil' snack? Sheeheehee, thaaaanks～ This is why it's great havin' cute lil' underclassmen like you.

OCTAVINELLE

Azul

[Yuu]-san, a very Happy Birthday to you. ...Whatever is the problem? You have a concerned look on your face. You haven't finished your homework? Even though the party is right around the corner? Well, isn't this a predicament. Allow me to embody the spirit of compassion and assist you. Not to worry, proper compensation can be discussed at a later date... Right?

Jade

Happy Birthday. I've prepared a present for you. Here you go. This is a patch of moss that I cultivated and separated out just for you. Also, here is a booklet on how to care for it. Please show me how well your moss has grown six months from now. ...You absolutely won't allow it to wither and die, now, will you?

Floyd

Shrimpy-chan, Happy Birthday～ Here ya go, I brought a cake just for you. ...Eh, the cake inside's a mess? Ohhh right～ That might be 'cause I dropped it earlier. So? There somethin' wrong with that? It's not like the taste'll change. Eat it already, c'mon.

SCARABIA

Kalim

Happy Birthday! Pheeew, I'm feelin' so excited. Makes me wanna dance! Oh yeah, wanna dance together at your birthday party later? ...Ahaha, you don't gotta know what moves to make! I'm just gonna dance for you with all my best wishes, so that'll be fun enough!

Jamil

Happy Birthday, [Yuu]. Are you ready to be completely mobbed by everyone in the spirit of your birthday? Eh, you're not? Hey, that's why I'm always telling you to be prepared for any... ...Mm, maybe I shouldn't nag like this on their birthday of all days... Ugh, fine, I'll get you ready. First, we have to do something about those clothes, got it?

POMEFIORE

Vil

Happy Birthday. You seem to be having a grand time. Perhaps you didn't need my well wishes? Of course that couldn't possibly have been the case. That's why I've made my way here before heading to my club. I have a present to hand to you, as well. You should be grateful that I took the time for you like this. Keep on striving for perfection.

Epel

Happy Birthday! It's about your present, but... Wanna come with me to pick something out at Foothill Town? I was looking into a bunch of stuff, but I don't really know what's really in right now... You sure? Great! Then let's go right now! I'm really looking forward to shopping with you!

Rook

Happy Birthday, are you enjoying your special day? Your beauty still astounds as another year passes! This is my present to you. I made sure to thoroughly prepare something that you are guaranteed to love. As a hunter, I cannot allow my aim to be off the mark, after all. Hurry, please open it. I want to hear your thoughts as soon as I can.

IGNIHYDE

Idia

Happy Birthday... ...Eh, you have a favor to ask me? Ugh, that's worse than having to give a present... I'll at least ask, but... what is it? You want me to tell you what computer I recommend? I mean, I build my own... EH, YOU'RE INTERESTED IN BUILDING YOUR OWN COMPUTER TOO!? Suuuure, of course I'll teach you! I gotchu, whether it's air-cooled PCs, liquid-cooled PCs, or anything else you want! When it comes to personal builds, I'm your man～!

Ortho

Today's your birthday, right? Happy Birthday! I have a present for you, too. Here you go, DVD of movies! I searched through all the reviews online and compiled all the most popular movies in each genre. Once you're finished watching everything, I'd love to verify your impress... Wait, I mean, I'd love to chat about what you thought of them!

DIASOMNIA

Malleus

Happy Birthday. In celebration, I've prepared some ice cream. Why did I choose this? Because I remember being elated, myself, when served this in the past. I can only hope you feel the same. ...You are? Well, wonderful.

Silver

Happy Birthday. Is there anything you'd like as a gift? You'd like to train with me? A spectacular attitude... Of course, I do not mind at all. However... The celebratory atmosphere may lead to me being more spirited than usual. Let me know if it becomes too difficult for you.

Sebek

Hey, human! You're looking more lax than usual. Do you not think you're letting yourself go too much, simply because it is your birthday? You're surprised I remembered? Well, obviously I did, my memory is much better than yours, after all! I won't say this is an offering for your birthday, or anything... But I should feed you something that'll put some muscle even on a weak human like you. Follow me!

Lilia

[Lilia pops out from the ceiling] HAPPY BIRTHDAY, [YUU]! Kheehee, a good reaction, indeed. Birthdays should all be about surprises. It seems like my little tactic was a big hit. I've got a present and some cake waiting for you, too. Basically, the plan was to treat you after giving you a little shock like that.

OTHERS

Grim

Happy Birthday, [Yuu]! C'mon, hurry and get ready to go! As the boss of the Gastronomy Club, I made you some real good food! I threw in a ton of leaves and roots, too! You're a real lucky hench-human, huh! Myahaha!

Crowley, Crewel, Trein, Rollo and Fellow do not have new lines. Theirs are repeated from last year’s.

Crowley

Ta-daaa! What do you suppose this could be? That’s correct, it’s an exchange coupon for use at the Mystery Shop! You have been a consistent helping hand, so… This is a special gift for you. Happy Birthday. Incidentally, that is only worth 500 madol (5 Thaumarks). It cannot be exchanged for something pricier than that. Please don’t hold it against me.

Crewel

It seemed rather rowdy in here, but now I see it was just you, pup. Are you excited simply because its your birthday? I see, well, in that case, I have a special present just for you. As for what it is… It is a special alchemy homework assignment. You should be happy; you’ll be able to improve your skills even further with this, don’t you think? Haha, Happy Birthday.

Trein

I hear it is your birthday today. Do continue to put forth your best effort in your studies as a student of academia. Allow me to gift you with some words of wisdom instead of a present, as someone who has been on this mortal coil slightly longer than yourself. Merely aging another year does not a mature person make. However, time spent on fruitful endeavors will always be of benefit to your growth.

Rollo

Whatever is the matter, [Yuu]-kun? There is a strange glimmer in your eyes… …Ah, I see. Today is your birthday. A present? Hmph. I hardly think that it should be something you request of others… But no matter. Indeed, birthdays should be treasured. However, what would be an acceptable gift…? I am afraid I’m rather unaccustomed to this. I would hope I do not disappoint you with a poor gift choice.

Fellow (EN: Ernesto)

Oh, my, hello there, my learned scholar! I’ve been searching, and finally, I’ve found you! I was fervently hoping to wish you well for your birthday. Here, your present. ...As fellows lacking in magical abilities, we should get along together, don'tcha think? Happy Birthday! Fwahaha!

Requested by @butterflyremix.