#the way he always put so much thought into his character and their relationship

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Hello hello! It's your friendly neighborhood character torturer again! 😂

Wayne, your comments on this and the other timestamp have me questioning if I just straight up ditch my writing schedule and work on a timestamp for this next! And okay, it's not happening in this verse but a threesome fic with both those fellas? Thank you for putting that thought in my gutter mind cause it's now on the to-do list 😅😉

Aka Russell is okay with her tracking things not people lol. But they make such a good team! I loved how they played off of one another. If they did this all the time, they'd run Colter out of business 😂

Not me crying 😭😭 This is so sweet of him and genuinely a love letter to her in the most Russell way 🥹

These two are SUCH a solid team now. Their relationship started at full throttle and had all that intensity but now with some time? They're so locked in. I love that little scene of them before they go in to clear the building because we still get the Russell's always going to be a protective boyfriend but he actually listened to his woman and is there to support her. Gah, I love how he learned from his past mistakes there.

Right!! I completely forgot she's a doctor for a minute because of all her badass tracker skills at this point, but that's so neat! Colter should take her fucking everywhere. I'm still not over when he got shot with an arrow lmao

I love tossing in that little reminder of her medical background, for a freaking mob so she's seen a lot of shit too. Maybe she ain't a super soldier like the boys but a medical emergency? She's gonna take charge and bark orders like she's in the trenches. Honestly, I'd love to get to explore her and Colter doing a case together for real.

Omg that fucking arrow 😂 There's suspension of disbelief and then there's sending it to the fucking moon. Good on him for just walking that one off.

My poor baby 🥲 Man, Michelle, you roughed that boy up good. Now I'm even more curious what you'll do to him in that serial killer series you've got planned 😆

On the one hand, it hurts to hurt my favs. On the other, I love my whump. There's a scene in his little dark romance that makes me so giddy to think about. Although I am quiet happy to see them leaning into those darker shades of Colter in the show more!

But I love the gentle way Russell always uses with her in these situations. She's been basically been brainwashed her entire life, and Russell is slowly peeling those layers back and clearing her vision. It's so beautiful and sweet and patient and kind of him 🥺

Russell had such a weird childhood but he didn't question that he was loved, at least until after their father's death, and he was never alone unlike the reader. She's been beaten down and isolated for so long Russell is like this warm protective blanket around her and that's part of his joy is watching her come into herself.

Aww, is Colter gonna be her maid of honor? I could honestly see that with these two besties lol 💕

...Okay maybe now I have to write the wedding because the image of Colter helping the reader in the bathroom before the ceremony with her dress muttering how they'll never speak of this is now seared in my brain. 😂

Thank you so much for the comments Wayne! 🥹

M.I.A.

Summary: When Colter Shaw calls the reader for help on a job, she thinks nothing of helping out. Only he never shows up and Colter may have just become the latest disappearance in this small town. It’s up to her and Russell to work together to find him before his case goes cold like all the others before…

He's My Man Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 6,500ish

Warnings: language, kidnapping, violence, torture, mentions of death

A/N: Welcome back to more Russell Shaw! This story is considered a timestamp to He's My Man and it's highly recommended that story be read prior to this one. With Tracker coming up again soon I wanted to dive back into this world with these characters and thought this would be a fun way to check in with the gang. Please enjoy!...

________

“Thanks,” you said to the waitress who refilled your coffee. The diner was quiet, the mid-afternoon lull between the lunch and dinner crowd. You poked at the slice of chocolate pie in front of you and scrolled through your phone, an anxious feeling growing in your gut.

Colter had called last night, asking if you’d be willing to come out and act as his date at a gala event where he was investigating a young woman’s disappearance. Admittedly, you were a bit nervous to accept. You’d only been doing reward work for six months and you’d had success so far with tracking down a few show dogs, a horse, a signed Mickey Mantle baseball card and a stolen car. But you hadn’t dipped your toe into the truly hard stuff yet. People.

After Colter got you to put the phone on speaker, he and Russell had wore you down and convinced you this would be a good first run. It was Colter’s case, you were simply there to help and offer input.

Flirting with a rich playboy Colter suspected of kidnapping the missing woman while he searched the house was also up there on his request list.

It was only a three hour drive to the small town from home and Russell had an important meeting with a brewery investor at lunch so you decided to help him do some last minute prep in the morning before agreeing to catch up with Colter for lunch at a diner. Yet, it was a few minutes past three and you’d heard nothing from him since around midnight the night before.

“Fuck it,” you said, slapping down a ten dollar bill and dialing.

“Hello, hello, qark,” answered Russell, his voice cheery and bright.

“Your lunch went well I’m assuming?” He hummed. “Don’t leave me hanging. What’d you settle on?”

“He gets 5% profit sharing after the first year for five years. By then he said we’d be well established and probably wouldn’t need him anymore. He was a good guy, invited us to get dinner with him and his wife sometime.”

“That’s great, honey,” you said, turning when the bell over the door rang, pouting to find it was a pair of older men that took a seat at a booth. “You haven’t heard from Colter at all, have you?”

“No…he never showed for lunch?” You sighed. “He could have been arrested.”

“Russell,” you chided.

“He gets arrested and Reenie bails him out all the time,” he said. “I just texted her. I bet he’s sitting in the station right now because he pissed off some local power hungry…shit.”

“Shit what?” you asked, taking a big, stress induced bite of pie. 

“Reenie said she hasn’t heard from him.” Russell groaned in the background. You closed your eyes. Today was supposed to be a good day for him. The last thing you wanted was him worrying about his little brother.

“I bet he ate some bad food, puked his guts up in the airstreamer and is sleeping it off. He said he was staying at the Sunny Days Park. I’ll go meet up with him there-”

“I’m coming out there,” said Russell. You rolled your eyes. “If he’s so sick he can’t pick up a phone then he needs help and that girl he’s looking for needs help too.”

“Fine,” you said, your heart rate spiking when you stood. “He’s probably just being his usual anti-social self, right?”

“Yeah. He’s totally known for being flaky on jobs,” deadpanned Russell. “Just…I’m not going to ask you to wait at the diner for me but be careful. Keep your gun on you and you call me when you get to his trailer. I have a bad feeling.”

“Me too,” you whispered. “I’ll call you in ten, Russ.”

You’d frowned when you found Colter’s truck parked in front of the airstream fifteen minutes later. Your pout remained when you cleared the the area and the inside of the trailer, carefully tucking your gun away into the holster on the back of your jeans. “He’s not here, Russell.”

“Anything look off?” he asked through the headphones in your ears. The space at first glance didn’t look out of the ordinary. Computer and maps on the kitchenette table. Coffee mug upside down on the drying rack next to the sink. You stopped short and squatted down, cocking your head.

“There are two pairs of shoes tucked under the table. Boots and trail running shoes.”

“Okay…” You stood up and sighed. 

“Russell, I lived in this trailer for a few days and Colter is a minimalist. There are two pairs of shoes here and he only owns two pairs of shoes. So he’s walking around barefoot? That’s-”

“Not good,” sighed Russell. “Do you see any sign of struggle? Blood? Anything weird? Or missing?”

“Not that I can tell. I didn’t exactly do an inventory of his closet when…” Your eyes zeroed in on a tiny black speck in the corner. “He has a security camera.”

“Call Bobby, see if he can get the footage from a cloud server or something. I’ll call back in a few once I’m on the road.”

“Drive safe, hun.” 

“You be safe. Anything feels fishy, get to a public place and stay there until I get in.”

“I know. Love you.”

“Love you too.” Two minutes later you were on Colter’s computer, Bobby sending you a link to the 24 hour cloud account where Colter’s subscription was saved to once a day.

There were two feeds, one right over the door to the air streamer and the other a wide angled shot staring down the entire length of the trailer. You backed it up to midnight, watching Colter sitting right where you currently were, texting and finishing off his beer. He stretched and stood, putting the empty under the sink.

He hit off a light and you sped it up, Colter padding out once to get a glass of water during the night. You smiled when he got up around six, an unusually cuddly version of Colter appearing on screen. He had a blanket wrapped around his bare shoulders as he shuffled over to his coffee machine, getting a cup brewing.

It reminded you of Russell in the morning. He too had a habit of walking around with a blanket first thing. You wondered if that was a Shaw thing or a habit Colter picked up from his big brother when they were kids.

You watched Colter disappear into the bedroom, exiting in a black tight pullover along with fitted pants for running. He sat at the booth and tugged on his sneakers before knocking back his coffee. He glanced at his phone quickly and tucked it into his pocket before he was gone, the interior still. The video was motionless for another hour when Colter came back inside, a thin layer of sweat on his face. Sneakers were removed and socks tossed into the bedroom, Colter taking deep gulps from a bottle of water. He tucked it back in the fridge and headed for the bedroom when suddenly the airstream door opened. 

Three men in black masks bounded inside, one holding a bulky looking gun. Colter didn’t get more than a step in before cords shot out and you realized he’d been tased. Your heart caught in your throat as he fell to the floor hard, body rigid. His face was etched in pain as he slowly moved his arm but the men were on him fast. Punch to the face, hands zip tied behind his back, tape over his mouth. Colter was out cold when they threw a hood over his head and he was lifted off the ground by a man on either side of him. They quickly left, no one appearing until you found yourself on tape hours later.

“Colter,” you breathed out, looking out the windows, as if he’d suddenly appear safe and sound there. Shakily you dialed Russell, your head in your hands. 

“Hey. You hear from Bobby at all?” You tried to keep your breathing calm, remember the stress management techniques you’d learned in med school. 

You winced, Russell’s voice loud on the other end. “Y/N, answer me.”

“I watched the tape. Russ, s-someone took him. They took Colter right out of the airstream this morning and-”

“Where are you?” You lifted your head, Russell growling. “Where?”

“In the air-”

“Leave right now, right fucking now,” he said. You grabbed the phone, Colter’s computer and a stack of papers nearby before rushing out of there. “Are you out?”

“Yes, I’m in my car,” you said with a pant, tossing everything in your passenger seat and taking off out of the campground.

“Go back to that diner and I’ll meet you there in two hours. If anyone tries anything-”

“I know,” you sighed. “Don’t speed to get here. The last thing we need is you in an accident.”

“Diner. Two hours. Be there.”

Two Hours Later

You munched on a basket of once warm fries as you heard the bell over the door jingle. You eased slightly when Russell headed your direction, wrapping you up in a big hug. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, Russ, I swear.” You sat back in your corner booth, Russell sliding in the opposite side, getting a cup of coffee and burger for himself before you ordered dinner. “How are you holding up?”

Russell didn’t say anything, just had that look on his face he did right before he killed Owen. Honestly, you shared that sentiment. Colter had your back when you were strangers and now when you were family? Yeah, someone was going to pay and dearly.

“Bobby’s been running the video through his programs but couldn’t ID any of the guys. They ditched Colter’s phone outside the airstreamer so no leads there,” you said, passing the computer over to Russell. He watched the video, his eyes twitching momentarily before he took a long, deep breath.

“Can we trace these guys phones?” You shook your head. 

“Bobby tried. No cell activity in the nearby area before or after they…” You swallowed the lump in your throat, Russell reaching across the table and taking your hand in his. “The team’s been trying to find who took Colter while I’ve been looking into his research on the case. I figure he found out who took the woman or got real close without realizing it and that person took him.”

“Smart girl.” Russell cracked a smile, a heavy weight quickly settling back over the table. “But I have a problem with it.”

You nodded, keeping your lips sealed as his food was delivered and you got a plate of eggs and hashbrowns set down before you. “Me too. It doesn’t make sense to take him unless they wanted to know something he knows and they figured he wouldn’t crack immediately.”

“Yup. Aren’t you supposed to go to a party with him tonight?” You stopped with a forkful halfway to your mouth. Russell cocked his head. “He got an invite to that party. For two people. They must think he has a partner and that the partner knows everything Colter does.”

You set your fork down, Russell forcing a smile. “They’re looking for me. Those people are probably hurting him-”

“Hey,” said Russell, voice quiet. Gentle. “They took him because he found out something these people don’t want him to know and he didn’t realize it, not because of you. Let’s figure out what that is and then we’ll come up with a game plan.”

“Okay. Let’s figure this out.”

Forty minutes later, two clean plates and Russell making more than one odd face at the computer screen did it hit you. You slid Colter’s notebook with the name of the party over, Russell’s eyebrow quirking. “What?”

“These people don’t know who I am, otherwise I’d be gone. Colter wanted me to go to this party with him, right? Well, let’s go to the party.” Russell leaned back, closing his eyes. “Isn’t the most likely scenario that the person that took this girl also took Colter? And they clearly are powerful enough to have a few guys working for them. Let’s go to the party full of rich people and see what we can sus out.”

“Y/N.” Russell sighed, rubbing his temple with his palm. “It’s way too dangerous. Just because someone hasn’t come after you doesn’t mean they won’t. We need to figure out what Colter stumbled on-”

“This party,” you said, holding up the notebook, slapping it down. Russell clenched his jaw, relaxing after a beat. “The only research Colter did was on this girl and then there’s the party invite. He wanted to go there for a reason.”

“Alright, alright,” he said, picking it up, flipping through the pages. “How’d he get the invitation in the first place?”

“It’s a charity fundraiser. Anyone in town can go as far as I can tell,” you said. “All I know is he wanted me to be a distraction.”

“Distraction…” Russell typed on Colter’s computer, biting his bottom lip. “Party’s at some older rich dude’s house. Francis Duvel. Sounds like a real upstanding community member.”

“That’s not surprising the wealthy guy is hosting a charity event.” Russell’s eye twitched before he spun around the screen. Your eyes flickered down, reading a headline.

Duvel Industries Once Again Cleared of Safety Allegations; Whistleblower Drops Suit as CEO Vows Quality & Integrity Valued Over Profits

“I couldn’t figure it out earlier but there’s been a pattern of people going missing every so often in this town. Men. Women. Old. Young. Never kids or teens. Always adults. Your missing girl, Alexis Pearson works at-”

“Duvel Industries,” you said, flipping through a paper. “Executive assistant. You think-”

“Poor girl probably found out they were cutting corners somewhere and she said something to the wrong person.” He handed you back the computer and sure enough, all of the people that had “left” town or simply gone missing had at one point or another worked for Duvel Industries.

“How did no one figure this out before? It’s obvious what’s going on,” you said, Russell looking around. “Wait. You think…”

“Article said the local cops found no issues and never have. This charity auction is for the community including-”

“Fuck,” you muttered. “He’s got the sheriff in his pocket, likely a few more cops. No wonder Colter couldn’t just turn over what he found. He couldn’t trust them.”

“He should have called me,” said Russell, closing the computer. He shook his head, staring out at the cloudy evening sky. “I have a friend in the bureau. I could have…”

“So let’s call your friend, get the FBI up here to take a look at Duvel and in the meantime, try to find Colter and Alexis.” For the first time he looked worried and it made your heart clench. “What is it?”

“Alexis is probably already dead and when FBI agents show up at Duvel’s front door, he’s going to kill Colt and the girl if they aren’t already. Y/N, we have to find him tonight.” 

“Okay,” you said, getting up and pulling him into your side of the booth, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Screw the party. That was Colter’s plan. Ours needs to be more direct.”

“What’d you have in mind?”

“Duvel isn’t stupid enough to keep him or Alexis at a place where he’s having the whole town come to, right? So where would you hide them as a CEO?” He smiled, kissing your cheek before pulling out his phone. 

“Bobby, it’s Russell. I need the address of every property owned by Duvel Industries asap.”

One Hour Later

“How do you know it’s this one?” you asked Russell as you got out of his car. He went to the trunk, resting his head against the open thing. “What’s wrong?”

“I know because this place is isolated, it’s been under construction for years with no progress but the tire tracks we saw were fresh. It’s Duvel’s dumping ground.” He straightened up, hands on his hips. “Qark.”

He didn’t have to say it. He wanted you to stay here, out of danger. He’d wanted you away from this kind of life and said it more than once.

Russell reached inside the trunk and opened a black duffel, holding out a black vest to you. It was much smaller than the one he and Colter fit in though. You took the vest, followed by Russell handing you a thigh holster. “I thought you were going to tell me to stay in the car.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I want you to stay here,” he said, bending down to buckle the straps against your thigh, pulling it taut. He looked up with a half-smile before taking your gun from the back holster and putting it inside, tossing the other one in the trunk. 

“What are…” He zipped up your jacket all the way and pulled the vest on over your shoulders, fixing your hood before tightening the sides so the vest hung tight to your body. “Russell.”

He shrugged, green eyes nervous but gentle. “You have let me teach you self-defense, how to reload and shoot, tactics and stealth so you’d be safe doing reward work. You’ve done it all without complaint. I want you to stay at the car but I know my queen of darkness. You can do this. You told me once before you wanted me to show you how to do things, not do them for you. So let’s go do this together.”

You smiled, running your hand over the vest. “How long have you had this?”

“I bought it the first reward job you took. I figured someday you’d need it.” He put on his own gear and locked the car, inhaling deeply. “If you want to change your mind-”

“That building is massive. You can’t go in alone.” He nodded, closing his eyes. “Am I liability to you? Serious question. If I go in there with you, does it make things harder if Colter is in there?”

Russell peeled open his eyes, smirking as he planted both hands on your face and kissed you hard. 

“I always worry, qark. Whether you’re in there or out there.” He touched his forehead to yours, hot breath fanning over you. “You do not have to go in. Absolutely you do not have to. But if my girl wants to do this with me, then I’m glad I’ve got her for a partner.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, Russell lifting you up into a hug. 

“But if shit goes down, you run.” You shrugged, Russell groaning. “Alright, alright, Rambo. Follow my lead and stick close. Bobby’s going to contact my friend in two hours if he doesn't hear from us so let’s get a move on.”

“Age before beauty,” you said. He narrowed his eyes. 

“Yeah, keep it up youngin’ and next time you’re in that outfit I’ll teach you a lesson.” You glanced down to his groin, Russell growling. “Y/N.”

“Sorry.” He nodded, checking his gun before letting in hang by his side.

“Stay low and quiet. Clear your corners and don’t hesitate to use your weapon. You sure you want to go in?”

“Let’s do this.” Russell checked your gear one more time before you headed into the forest, jogging through it for a moment. You stopped at the edge when Russell held up a hand. He reached into his back pocket, revealing a small scope. You knelt by his side, looking around as he mumbled to himself.

“Good news and bad news. Good news is there’s only one vehicle and it’s a car which means most likely there’s four guys or less. Could be more but odds aren’t in favor. No cameras from what I can tell. Bad news is two outside guards. It’s going to be hard to get in.” You pursed your lips. “What are you thinking?”

“If we each get one-” 

“Y/N,” Russell scolded. You frowned, his face softening. “Those guys are huge. Odds are they grab you before you get the guy out cold.”

“Russell. I fought off Owen when I was roofied when I was younger. You have taught me so many moves. I wouldn’t risk Colter if I didn’t know that I can take out a guy that size. Trust me. Please.” He lowered his head, shoulders sagging.

“If he’s not going down, shoot him.” You agreed and then the two of you were jogging across the dark grass, coming to a stop against the concrete wall of the building. Russell pointed you forward and you went ahead of him, gun in front of you, squeezing the cold metal tight.

The guard rounded the corner quickly though, startled by the sight of you. You ducked fast, Russell’s fist flying out where your head had been. It connected hard with the guard’s jaw and he slumped against the wall, crumpling down in a heap. You stood up, Russell tapping your shoulder before stepping in front of you. After a moment the guard was restrained, tape over his mouth. Russell peaked around the corner before holding up a hand for you to stay back before he disappeared. 

Ten seconds later he returned, body slightly less tense. He nodded and you jogged over to him, keeping behind him as you went through the door and past the other out cold guard with hands and feet secured.

The building was large, some warehouse space, offices on either side. Russell sighed silently before going left. You walked backwards behind him for a few minutes as he cleared room after room after room with nothing to show.

“It’s taking too long,” he whispered. “I can’t check every room fast enough if the guards check in on a schedule.”

“I can finish the hall. Do the other side. You’re faster without me,” you murmured. Russell stared at you for five seconds then planted a kiss on your forehead.

“Be safe. I’ll be right back.” Silently, he went the way you’d came from and disappeared around the corner. You turned your attention back on the six or so offices to go with a thick swallow. Without Russell by your side, your nerves came front and center. But you couldn’t stand there forever. There was probably someone else inside and Colter wouldn’t hesitate if you were in his shoes.

You steadied yourself and cleared a dark, empty office, then another. The second to last door pushed open easily, bright light hitting you in the face. 

There was barely enough time to register Colter in a chair, someone behind him with a knife and then the man’s hand was moving fast towards his throat.

The trigger pulled hard as you squeezed it once, twice, three times. You couldn’t hear over the ringing in your ears as you did wide sweeps of the room. No one else was in there and after finding the man slumped on the ground was dead, you rushed to Colter who’s head hung low.

“Colter. Colter,” you urged. He was shaking as you tilted his chin up, a thin line of red on his throat but not deep. You closed your eyes. Fuck, a second later and Colter would have already bled out by now. 

But something wasn’t right. His clothes were wet, skin ice cold. Your eyes darted upwards when you felt cold air conditioning kick on overhead. It was only then that you noticed the dead man was wearing a winter jacket for some reason.

You checked Colter over after cutting him free, a few bruises on the face, bruised ribs from his labored breathing and you winced when you patted his shin and felt how swollen it was. You cut up his pants leg and saw the deep bruising, very highly a broken bone in there.

Another gun shot rang out nearby and you spun around with your gun, aiming at the door. Russell appeared a few moments later, sighing in relief. But his face fell when he saw Colter violently shaking in the chair, arms wrapped tight around himself.

“What’s-”

“He’s hypothermic,” you said, cutting up his pants, Colter shaking his head. “We need to get him out of these wet clothes and warmed up now.”

“Y/N-”

“Russell, he’s not stable.” You finished cutting off his pants and had his pullover halfway off. “Call your FBI friend and tell him we need a med evac to a level 1 trauma center. In the meantime, go kill the A/C and get my med kit from the car.”

“Got it,” he said, turning to leave. “I found Alexis.”

You looked over your shoulder at him, Russell smiling. “She’s roughed up but she convinced these guys-”

“I’m sorry but does she need medical attention, yes or no?” He shook his head. “Then go do as I ask.”

Russell took off down the hall, Colter’s wet clothes dropping to the ground. You got behind him and put your arms under him and around his chest, hoisting him up.

He screamed at the sudden pain in his side and leg but you could deal with that later. Right now, he was too fucking cold. You walked backwards out of the room, Colter whining the whole time which frankly scared the fuck out of you.

Colter was stoic. Tough as nails like Russell. Calm in moments of terror.

Scared, hurt, out of control Colter made you heart feel like it was being stabbed.

“S’okay, Colt. I got you. You’ll feel better real soon,” you said, dragged him down the hall and into an office you’d found a couch in earlier. You jerked when you noticed a shadow at the doorway.

Alexis was hiding halfway behind the doorframe, wide eyed at you. “I-I can help.”

“You know what a space heater is?” She nodded quickly. “Find them and bring them back here. Quickly. I saw a few in this hallway.”

She ducked away as you lowered Colter to the ground and plugged in the space heater you’d saw in there, turning it to the max. 

You found a wooden chair and kicked at it with your boot until it broke apart. Taking two long pieces, you placed them on either side of Colter’s leg and removed your vest, jacket and shirt. 

“And you said my red jacket was ugly,” you teased, laying it over his shivering form. “Too visible if I recall.”

His fingers squeezed the material so tight it started to tear, your heart breaking for him. You leaned down close, wiping the wetness out of his hair with your shirt. With a sigh you kissed his forehead, Colter mumbling something you couldn’t make out.

“I know you know you’re in shock. Everything is fine. All I want you to think about right now is a story I’m going to tell you. Okay? Just lay back and listen.” You soaked up more water with your shirt and leaned back, removing your tank top, leaving you in just a black bra. “You know Russell bought me this bra back when we went on that trip to Paris last month. I know we told you about it and you did a lot of humming like you couldn’t care less, remember?”

You shredded the tank top with your hands into strips, laying them over and under his broken leg. “I’m going to splint your leg now.”

“So there was I,” you said, pulling tight, Colter nearly doubling over as you did the few other spots quickly. “In Paris with your brother of all people and he’s bought me all these nice pajamas and lounge sets and other things you don’t need to know about when he says, let’s take a few days trip to Africa. Let’s go to the desert. Now, I don’t know about you but if you’ve never been to the desert, it’s hot as fuck.”

You made sure his leg was straight before fixing your coat on him, Colter shivering into your hand. Alexis returned with three space heaters and you quickly go them on and around him.

“When you’re in the desert, you can feel the sun prickle your skin. You know that feeling? The heat from the rays literally warming you, getting inside. It makes you so hot. It reflects off the sand, like hot sand at a beach, right back at you. It’s like you’re on a baking sheet, hot out of the oven, baked on all sides.”

Colter was still shivering but he was starting to relax, less violent shakes coming out now. 

“You ever have a sunburn like that? I bet you did. Your nose and cheeks got all red, your skin so hot. I know you Shaw boys were always outside. Russell gets these freckles when he’s out in the sun. Do you get them too? A nice hot summer day, out on the water with a warm breeze.”

Russell entered the room, kneeling beside you. “Chopper will be here in thirty.”

“Okay,” you said, Colter’s head turning to the side. “Rest up for me big guy.”

You got up and pulled Russell to the back corner, nodding at Alexis sitting on the couch. “What?”

“Russell, you should take her to the nearest hospital.” He frowned, biting his tongue though as you held up your hands. “She’s not as bad as your brother but she’s dehydrated and cold.”

“No, I need to stay here in case Duvel’s guys show up. You take her-”

“I’m sorry, are you a doctor? Do you know what to do if Colter has a heart attack? A seizure? Those are very real possibilities right now, Russell. I need to warm him up and calm him down the right way and I can’t worry about her right now. I need you to take care of her. Please.”

He closed his eyes. “Fine but I’m tossing those two guys in the trunk of their car. And put your vest back on. And keep an eye on the door-“

“Shaw.” He opened his eyes, finding you glaring at him. 

“Please help him the best you can,” he whispered. You hugged him, Russell squeezing you tight before he was moving and out the door with Alexis under his arm. Only the hum of the space heaters and Colter’s incoherent mumblings could be heard as you sat down beside him. 

“Here you go,” you said, resting the vest over his injured leg to try and give him some warmth. You held your gun in your hand as the other rested on his forehead. Fuck, he was still too cold. Slowly, he peeled open his eyes, looking so young for the briefest of moments. “I have one last idea. But it’ll hurt.”

He nodded very slowly before closing his eyes tight. “I’ll be right back.”

You jogged out to the warehouse and hit the switch to open the bay door, quickly breaking into the luxury car out front and pulling it in. You left it on and hit the heated seats to low, rushing back to Colter where he was breathing shallowly. “Come on, bud. This should help.”

He groaned when you pulled him through the halls and out to the warehouse, cursing a long string of profanities at you that felt like the closest Colter Shaw had ever gotten to going absolute ape shit.

The ache in your chest eased when he hissed at the contact with the seats and then, you swore on your life, he cooed like a newborn baby. With the heat blasting in the car and thanks to the seats warming his bare skin, he finally passed out with a smidge more color to his skin.

“Okay,” you sighed, resting your head against the wheel. “You’re going to be okay.”

The Next Evening

“Hey,” said Russell. You didn’t acknowledge him as you watched flames flicker in the outdoor fireplace back at home. He sat down on the couch behind you, pulling you back into his lap. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” you said, leaning your head back against his shoulder. You tucked yourself into him, Russell wrapping his arms around your body. “How’s Colter? He sleeping yet?”

“Oh, he’s annoying as hell. Little shit thinks he’ll be driving out of here tomorrow morning.”

You groaned, Russell humming. “He broke his damn leg. He isn’t driving for at least a month. He is staying with us at a minimum until that cast is off.”

“I’m not the one you have to argue with.” You sighed, Russell’s long legs shifting around to lay over top of yours. “You want to talk about it?”

Your eyes welled up, Russell sensing your tension. Your eyelids squeezed tight, something heavy boiling up under your skin.

“What’s the hardest thing? Killing someone? Or almost losing Colter?” he asked quietly. You shrugged, turning your head down to your lap. “He hurt-”

“My little brother died of hypothermia.” Russell went rigid behind you, turning you in his lap so you’d face him. Your bottom lip wobbled as he pulled you in close, his hands on your back. “The car accident…it was winter. My mom died on impact but we went down a ravine. My dad went to get help for me and my brother but it was so cold and we had no heat and Charlie was so hurt…the last thing he ever said was how cold he was.”

You looked over Russell’s shoulder at the dark lake, save for a few homes with lights on across the water.

“I don’t care that I killed that son of a bitch after what he did to Colt. But I just…” You inhaled shakily, gripping Russell’s hoodie tighter. He shushed you, rubbing his hand up and down your back. 

“He’s home with us. He’s safe,” said Russell softly. Long fingers stroked through your hair, tucking you into his neck. “I think Charlie would be really proud of you for protecting Colter like you did.”

“I should have protected him too,” you mumbled. Russell sighed, quietly embracing you. “You’re an older sibling. You understand.”

“Bullshit.” You leaned back fast, glaring at his stern green eyes. “Your dad was an amazing doctor and he left two injured kids. He was either a moron which I doubt or your brother had internal bleeding which made him say he was cold. If it was hypothermia you would have died too.”

“No, my dad said-”

“Was this before or after Owen’s fucked up mob family started drugging your dad so he had psychosis?” Your voice caught in your throat. Russell raised his eyebrows. “Sweetie, do you even know why Charlie died?”

“It was hypo…” You unraveled yourself from him, planting your bare feet on the warm deck. You gripped the couch cushions, closing your eyes, medical facts bouncing around your head. “Jesus, Russ. Why did I think…”

“Because your dad said it. He probably never even remembered he did. Deep down, he didn’t blame you so you shouldn’t blame yourself.”

You stood up, stepping in front of the fire with your arms crossed. You titled your head back, inhaling deeply. “He said a lot of mean things when I was a teenager, as I got older. But at the funeral…he was still himself. He didn’t…”

“No, he didn’t.” Russell stood behind you, curling his arms around your chest, trapping you against his strong warm frame. “So back to my original statement. Charlie, hell your parents too, I know they’re proud of you.”

“I killed a guy,” you scoffed.

“You saved a woman, helped catch a murderer, expose corruption throughout a small town, bring closure to a dozen families with missing loved ones-”

“Russell,” you groaned.

“And you saved my little brother’s life all while risking your own. We are damn proud of you, my queen of darkness.” Your head tilted backwards to look at him, Russell grinning back. “No objection?”

“Fine. You wore me down. I did good,” you grumbled. He chuckled against your ear, giving you a tight hug.

“The words every man loves to hear from his girl,” he laughed, giving you space to turn and hug him back. “You want to try sleeping?”

“In a minute. I want to check on him quick.”

“Don’t be long,” he whispered. He pressed his lips to your forehead, letting them linger. You gave him a hum and slipped inside, walking down the hall to the guest room. You cracked open the door slowly, Colter laying in bed with a frown.

“Need some pain killers?” you whispered as you entered, shutting the door behind you. 

“No,” he grumbled, glancing up at you when you took two pills out of the bottle on the nightstand. “I overheard you and Russell.”

You sat on the edge of the bed, Colter grabbing your arm. He tried to sit up, relenting when you pushed on his shoulder. “Rest. I know that’s a foreign word to you but you have to take things slow if you want to recover correctly.”

“And you need to realize this job is dangerous and I am not your responsibility.”

“No, you’re not.” You ruffled his messy hair gently, Colter pouting. “But that’s what family does for each other.”

He wanted to retort but bit his tongue, grumbling as you fixed his blankets and made him take a painkiller. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you and Russell got engaged?” You glanced down at your hand and the shiny silver band on your finger. 

“When did you notice?”

“When you shot that guy. It helped to think of something else for a bit.” You nodded, playing with the ring. “When’d he ask?”

“About a week ago. We wanted to surprise you and Dory.” His hand fell down to yours, giving it a light squeeze. “Colter, I know you have your issues with your brother but we love you. I know you’re going to hate it but you need to stay here for awhile. At the very least you need to stay with Dory if not us. You can’t be alone right now.”

“I will try to not complain too much,” he said. You smiled, leaning down to hug him. “Thank you for finding me.”

“Let’s not make a habit of it is all,” you said, getting up and pushing his glass of water closer. “Need anything else?”

“I’m good.” You went to the door, Colter clearing his throat. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“That red jacket is still fucking obnoxious.” You flipped him off, Colter cracking a smile. 

“Goodnight, asshole.” You turned off his light for him and found Russell curled up in the blankets in bed.

“How’s the patient?” he mumbled, big spooning you as soon as you were tucked under the covers. 

“He’s going to be alright.” 

“Did you ask him about being in the wedding yet?”

“One step at a time, hun.” He chuckled, burying his face against the back of your neck. 

“Try to get some rest too, qark.” You closed your eyes, nodding once. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Russ.”

___________

[jamesdeanbby]

hi, could you please write anything with johnny cade x fem! jealous (possessive) reader? if you are comfortable/interested in writing that ofc 🙏

i love how pretty your page is and how much thought you put into the characterization 💕 characters’ personalities are always so on point

────۶ৎ i'm a jealous, jealous girl

something, something, the most jealous girl with the most squittish boy!<33

warnings : reader being jealous ig, canon typical classism.

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: omg thank you sm!!!

It was a Friday night and the drive-in was packed, headlights flickering like lazy stars, cigarette smoke curling up into the moonlight. You were getting sodas, leather jacket slung halfway off your shoulder. A patch with a 'TS' stitched on it like a warning sign, Tim Shepard’s gang.

Johnny was waiting back by the hood of Dally’s car, all soft eyes and jittery hands shoved into his pockets. His hair was combed neat and he looked like a lost puppy every time you left his side.

And that’s when they came.

Two bold little 15-year-old greaser girls struttin’ over, chewing gum like they were God’s gift and twirling their hair like it meant something.

“Hey, aren’t you Johnny Cade?” the blonde one chirped, her voice like nails on glass. “You were in the paper after that fire, right? You’re kinda famous.”

Johnny shifted, squinting like he hoped they'd just dissolve into the asphalt. “Uh… I guess.”

The brunette popped her gum. “You’re cuter in person,” she said, stepping in way too close, her hand brushing his arm like she had a right.

Johnny blinked. Panic setting in. He looked around like he was searchin’ for you, like maybe if he concentrated hard enough, you’d just appear and drag him back to safety.

And oh, you did.

You saw it. The flirting. The little smirks. That one girl who touched him like she had a death wish.

You stormed over, boots hitting pavement like thunder, eyes flashing hotter than a cigarette burn.

“The hell is this?” you snapped, voice like a slap.

The girls jumped. One let out a nervous giggle. “We were just—"

“Just what, blondie? Trespassin’?” You stepped between them and Johnny, standing taller, colder, meaner. “This one’s mine, sweetheart. You touch what’s mine again, and I’ll rearrange your teeth so bad you’ll have to sip your milkshakes through your nose.”

They blinked. Stammered. Tried to act cool, but your eyes were cuttin’ through them like a knife through satin.

“I—I didn’t know—”

“You do now,” you growled, crossing your arms. “Now beat it before I give you somethin’ to cry about.”

They scurried off like rats under a porch light, and you turned to Johnny, jaw tight, fists still curled. Your voice softened, barely. “You okay, baby?”

Johnny stared at you like he was about to melt into the gravel. His voice was low, breathy. “That was hot.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smirk. “Damn right it was.”

Suddenly, Dally popped up from behind the car, laughing his ass off, cigarette dangling from his lips. “Holy hell, Cade. She wears the pants, the boots, and the knuckles in this relationship.”

“give me a break, man!”

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

I Am All In Rewatch - Episode 2x9

But if you'll notice in that scene when she came up at the end, one of the last scenes in the whole thing..and she's coming up to say, hey, you know, I still dig you and you're part of my life and you know this kind of thing, and she she's saying what she's not saying what she mean. She's saying what she means without having to be direct about it. So, um, and I'm fixing a watch. I had a tiny little watch screw driver. I had it face open. How does Luke know how to fix a watch? Couldn't fix a toaster, right. Exactly what is he doing, like with an intricate piece of jewelry that is very complex? How is he in the watch fixing a damn watch?...So this is a choice that you make, because I remember making this choice. And I'm not saying that this was a genius choice. It was just a choice because they always tell you in acting school the genius is in the choice, right, And that's the mark of you know, an actor or an actress. What choices are you making? Now I I could have been without that watch. I could have been with many other diner like things. A watch is not a diner like item at all. And I said to myself, and here's here's a perfect example of somebody overthinks. Here's a but here's a perfect example somebody overthinking something trying to make a point that nobody got. And I don't know if they got it or not. But Props came to me and says, what do you want to be doing in this scene? Because if you know, it's a big kind of important scene. I said, And I should have said you know, there are any number of things I could have done that would have maybe been a better choice than trying to fix an intricate piece of jewelry that happened to be a watch. Um, I could have been doing nothing. I could have been wiping. I could have been doing the Ketchup bottles. I could have been, you know, with my receipts...I thought to myself, in my actor brain, it's either the best or the worst choice I think I ever made, uh was Luke doesn't know what time it is because his watch is broken. Luke doesn't know what time it is with Lorelai. He doesn't know what time it is in his life with her, and he wants to fix the watch because she if she's running around with young guys and not having deep experiences, then what the hell is wrong with me? I need to fix my watch and be so I can know what time it is. That was the thought process. So I thought of it symbolically and I thought, you know, get me a watch. I'll fix a watch because he doesn't know what time and I didn't tell them in the prop department because Luke didn't know what time it is and they decided to keep it in...It's not bad on a certain level. It's kind of genius right?...Anyway, there you go, that's just a fun...Well, you know, I he became very relaxed, and he's smiling and looking down and being a little bit shy. He was in love again because he fell out of love. I don't know if he fully fell out of love. But it was like, is this girl just ridiculous and like, am I just know what? Like he was confused for that episode. Yeah, I think I think his ego took a hit and he sort of came back. You know, guys, guys can be delicate creatures. -Scott

[heir-of-the-chair]

Lowkey hyperfixating now and I’ve come to the devastating conclusion that Jacob the main character of Water For Elephants… doesn’t really have a character arc

[yanderedrabbles]

Christine - A Yandere Short Story

Based on Christine by Stephen King After your boyfriend's death, you're eager to sell his vintage Mustang. The car reminds you far too much of him and worse than that, it feels oddly alive. The only problem? Your dead boyfriend isn't ready to let go. Tags: Male Yanderes x Fem Reader, Horror, Character Death, 12k words Taglist: @mel-vaz

When your boyfriend died, you and Christine were the only witnesses.

All through his funeral, you kept thinking of ways to get rid of her. You were being paranoid and you knew it - she couldn't speak even if she wanted to. But having her around put you on edge, made you grit your teeth until your jaw ached.

After the wake, you approached your boyfriend's parents and asked if you could have her. They were pale and shaken, reeling from the suddeness of death just as much as from grief. His father nodded like a sleep walker, his voice older than his years.

"He would have wanted you to have her. She's yours."

His mother squeezed your shoulder. "I can't imagine what you're going through, dear. Whatever his faults, my boy loved you. I know that."

You managed a smile, managed to thank them through the tears that were suddenly falling. But your mind was on Christine. Always on Christine.

You were the last to leave the funeral parlour. You tried to tell yourself it was a coincidence, but deep down you knew the truth. You were scared. Scared of Christine, scared of your too quiet townhouse, scared of the dreams that would come when you closed your eyes.

It was early evening and the streetlights were coming on in the narrow tree lined avenue outside the funeral parlour. When you stepped out, goosebumps crawled across your arms.

She was waiting for you.

Christine. Your boyfriend's 1969 Mustang, cherry red and entirely rebuilt.

She was directly under a streetlight and her paint gleamed. The light reflected off her windshield so you couldn't see inside, but for a second it seemed like someone was already sitting behind the wheel.

You squeezed your eyes shut. When you opened them, the shadow driver was gone.

Christine. For most of your relationship, you loved her just as much as your boyfriend did. She was a labour of love and you felt it every time you sat in her passenger seat.

But things were different now.

You walked towards her cautiously. It was ridiculous to be scared of a car, but you were.

When you opened the driver side door, you almost expected to see your boyfriend. Despite the funeral, the wake, the late morning call to please come and identify a body down at the morgue, you still expected to see him. Light green eyes looking up at you, half smile that was half teasing and half lecherous.

The seats were empty.

You slid behind the wheel, your breathing shaky. You almost never drove Christine. Not that your boyfriend didn't offer. It was just that you liked riding passenger - liked looking over and seeing your man with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, liked seeing the muscles flex in his forearm when he steered.

The car still smelled like him. That was the first thing you noticed. Despite being impounded for a week while the cops did forensics, despite the valet scrubbing and steaming the seats to get the blood out, it still smelled like him.

You rested your head against the steering wheel, closed your eyes and sobbed for the first time since the night you killed your boyfriend.

When you put Christine up for sale, the calls started coming in almost immediately. It wasn't surprising - she was in incredible shape, she ran like a dream, and her white leather upholstery was original.

At first, you thought you'd be able to sell her before the month was up. The buyers would look under the hood and whistle in admiration.

But something always changed when they took her for a test drive. You couldn't understand it - she would drive perfectly but by the time you got home, the buyers were almost always frowning at you, or worse - not looking at you at all.

No matter how fanatic they were at first, no one wanted Christine.

You dropped the price and then dropped it again, but still no takers. The car spent all winter in the garage. You'd turn her on to idle every few days, clean off any dust and check that the mice weren't nibbling at the wiring, but you never stuck around for long.

It hurt to leave her locked away - your boyfriend poured so much of himself into her - but it hurt even worse to drive her. Whenever you were behind the wheel, you could feel the gaping emptiness of the passenger seat, could still see the bloodstains.

It was on the first warm day of spring when someone finally bought her.

Colt Guilder called you when you were just about ready to give up on selling her. You were literally about to take down the ad when your phone rang. The voice on the other end was deep, with a slight southern drawl that immediately reminded you of your boyfriend.

"Can I come and take a look today? I wouldn't want to impose ma'am, but I'm in a hurry to see her before anyone else gets a chance to buy her."

Her. Even the older buyers didn't really call cars 'her' anymore.

"Sure. You can come by this afternoon."

You were sitting on the porch steps when he pulled up, a jug of iced tea and your novel abandoned next to you. He stepped out of his Jeep, a tall man in blue jeans and boots, and you felt your heart lurch. Something deep inside you told you that this was the man who would finally take her off your hands.

He smiled at you as he approached and for a second you wanted to warn him away. Wanted to tell him the truth about Christine.

"Howdy ma'am. I'm real happy you agreed to meet me so last minute."

You smiled at him and shook his hand and bit back the truth. Oh, how you would come to hate that decision.

When he pulled up, Colt wasn't expecting the Mustang's owner to be a pretty little thing in a sundress. He was a gentleman, his mama raised him right, but even he had trouble keeping his eyes on your face and not letting them wander lower.

His hand swallowed yours when he shook it and it was hard not to notice the softness of your skin. Whoever rebuilt the Mustang, it wasn't you. You had the hands of a lady, not a mechanic.

"The car is out back. Keys are waiting for you. She's been serviced pretty regularly and my... my boyfriend built her up himself."

You started for the garage and he fell into step behind you. You were so much shorter than him - it was kind of cute to see your head bobbing in front of him. Like a pixie in a sundress.

"How come your man ain't the one to sell it?"

He wasn't surprised you had a boyfriend. Hell, he'd have tried his luck if he could. No doubt other men had the same idea.

"He... he passed away a few moths ago."

He cringed. Nice going, Colt. Bringing up painful memories only three sentences into conversation. Must be a world record.

"I'm so sorry ma'am. I had no idea."

You shrugged. "It's fine."

He was about to say something else when Christine came into view. Her grille was a newly buffed silver and her deep red paint caught the spring sun.

He gave a low whistle. "Pictures don't do her justice."

You smiled at that, but edged out of the car's direct line of sight. Neither of you consciously noticed it, but you approached the car like you would an animal. Slightly from the side so it couldn't charge at you.

"Mind if I take a look under the hood?"

"Be my guest."

He popped the hood and let out another low whistle. Without even looking past the surface level stuff, it was clear your boyfriend knew how to build an engine. The Mustang looked almost new.

"How long did this take?"

You leaned against the garage door and crossed your arms.

"A long time. He bought her a few months after we started dating. She was gonna be scrapped - looked like a total rust bucket."

He raised his eyebrows. If that was true, the body restoration alone must have cost a fortune. Did you realise how valuable a vintage ride like this was worth?

"Y'know, just from looking under the hood, I can tell you could get at least three times as much as you're asking."

If his uncle heard him sabotaging himself like that, he'd have given Colt a whack on the head. Truth was, he wanted the car. Wanted her so bad he would have taken out three separate loans to afford her.

But he wasn't a monster. It wasn't fair to buy something so fine from a girl who might not understand its true worth.

You raised your brows, more surprised at his honesty than at his statement.

"I know she's worth more. But I'm in a hurry to get rid of her. And well..."

You looked away. "People find the car a bit strange."

It was his turn to be surprised. He couldn't see any red flags in her upkeep or her paintwork. Maybe it was a deeper issue.

You pushed yourself away from the wall and nodded at the door.

"Keys are waiting for you. Take her for a drive and decide for yourself."

The interior was just as well taken care of as he expected - a tough job when the upholstery was mostly white. The keys had a tag attached with a name engraved in metal.

"Christine?"

"It's what we call her. It was a joke at first but the name sort of stuck."

You slid into the passenger seat and tugged your seat belt across your chest. He glanced at you out the corner of his eye and -

'Silly thing, doesn't she know better than to get into a car with a stranger twice her size?'

He shook his head, like that could dislodge the idea. He wasn't that sort of man, wasn't some kind predator with a mind full of filth.

'It would be so easy. You're so much bigger than her, so much stronger. You want her. Why not just take what you want?'

Where the hell was this coming from? He might have a guilty thought every once in a while, but he was always quick to squash it down. It wasn't like him to think something so...forceful about a girl.

He turned the key and the engine roared to life. And it really was a roar. V8 engine growling so loud he could feel the vibration through the steering wheel.

Oh baby, he was sold on her right then and there. The devil himself couldn't have outbid him. What little boy didn't dream of a car like this? Didn't spend his childhood looking through magazines and brawling over matchbox versions?

The clutch was smooth as butter as he cruised down your driveway and turned onto the main road.

God, he wanted to gun it. Floor the gas and find out for himself just how powerful old school muscle was.

He looked over at you, about to ask if you knew exactly what your boyfriend did to the engine. You were looking out at the passing trees, your hair stirring in the slight breeze from his open window.

'She looks like she belongs here, with you.'

It was another foreign thought, something he wouldn't expect of himself. But it was true. The Mustang would have felt empty without you - in your sundress and white sneakers, you completed the picture. Your boyfriend must have rebuilt the car just for you, as a way to keep you next to him. Colt wasn't sure why he thought that, but somehow he knew it was true. Whoever your man was, he put so much of himself into this car that Colt almost felt like he was right next to the guy.

You turned to him, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress.

"What do you think?"

"She runs sweet as apple pie."

You felt your heart stutter. Your boyfriend used to say the exact same thing.

"You alright there sweetheart? You look a little pale."

"Sorry. Just a little car sick."

Car sick was right - you were sick to hell of this damn car and the way it played with your emotions.

"C'mon, I know a diner just off the highway. We can stop for some fresh air and a bite to eat. You'll feel better in no time."

You didn't have time to protest before he switched lanes and turned onto the highway.

The diner he took you to really was just off the highway, a retro looking spot railed off from a steep cliff.

"How did you know about this place?"

He shrugged. "I must have heard about it from someone."

Strange. Colt didn't think he'd ever seen the place before, much less heard about it. But when you looked at him with that slight hint of panic, that sudden fear, somehow he knew this was the place to bring you.

He climbed out and opened your door for you before you had a chance to do it yourself.

"You know this place?" he asked.

If anything, you looked even paler than before. "Yeah. My boyfriend and I used to come up here pretty often."

He frowned, annoyed at himself for somehow making this even worse. "We can go somewhere else if you want."

"No!" You took a deep breath. "No, this is fine. I just need a moment away from the car, that's all."

He led you to a picnic table near the edge of the cliff. Far below you, the main road clung to the cliffside and disappeared into the trees.

"You just sit pretty and I'll grab us some chow."

You smiled up at him. "Thanks Colt. Really. I know this is probably eating into your day."

He waved it away. "Trust me, this is a much better way to spend the weekend than what I had planned."

It was true. He'd wanted to see the car and somehow that turned into lunch with a pretty girl at a table with one hell of a view. Maybe Christine had some good luck about her. Maybe all of this was just meant to be.

When he stepped into the diner, he was greeted by jukebox country music and the smell of good, strong coffee. He didn't bother to look at the menu. Somehow, he knew exactly what to order.

"I'll have a banana spilt, some fries and a toasted sandwich." He smiled at the elderly waitress. "Please and thank you Agnes."

"Sure thing sugar."

He frowned. How the hell did he know the waitress's name?

Must have seen her name tag, right? That made sense. Must have been a half second, subconscious glance.

When she handed him his change, he dropped his eyes to her lapel. No name tag. No label. Not even a necklace with her initials on it.

It was a warm spring day but he still shivered. Something strange was going on.

No, don't be ridiculous. Agnes was a common name, a vintage diner kind of name. That was probably why he said it. His mind must have just made a lucky guess. There's no way he could know her name when he didn't even know about the diner until he pulled up.

Unless... it wasn't him that knew her name. Maybe it was someone else, something else speaking through him.

"C'mon Colt, don't be an idiot," he muttered to himself.

"You say something sugar?"

He jerked his head to the side, his heart lurching. Just the waitress, just Agnes, looking at him with raised brows.

"No ma'am. Just thinking out loud."

"Alrighty then. Here's your order. Be careful not to spill the chocolate sauce. It's hell to clean up."

"Yes ma'am. Thank you ma'am. Have a good day."

He was stupidly happy to step out of the restaurant. The place must have been getting to him. Why else was he suddenly so superstitious?

"You doing okay Colt?" you asked.

He grinned at you. "Just dandy sweetheart. I got you a banana split and some French fries."

"Oh! That's perfect, thank you."

See? Nothing strange at all. He had a sweet ride and a sweeter girl waiting for him. Why worry about some weird diner?

He sat down across from you and unwrapped his sandwich. Behind you, Christine looked at him with a shining chrome smile.

"Listen, you can get a whole lot more for a car that fine. But if you're willing to let her go for the price in the ad, I'll buy her today," he said.

You froze, a fry halfway to your mouth. He really wanted her? He wasn't coming up with some lame excuse or hurrying off with a mumbled apology?

"Done," you said, a bit too quickly.

You were finally getting rid of Christine. No more nightmares, no more tip toeing around the garage like you were scared she might notice you, no more unwanted memories every time you laid eyes on her.

You were burying your past like it should have been buried on the day of your boyfriend's funeral.

He offered you his hand and you shook it, a genuine smile on your face.

"She's all yours." And thank God for that.

Colt drove you home and followed you into the house to collect the car registration papers.

You frowned at your empty desk drawer. You could have sworn you left the documents right here...

You popped your head into the living room where Colt was waiting.

"Give me a second. I think I left them upstairs."

"Sure. I'm in no hurry."

He wandered around your living room while you were gone, too keyed up to sit still. It was a neat, modern room with art on the walls. The big bay windows opened onto the front yard and the driveway where Christine sat waiting for him.

Part of him still couldn't believe it. She really was his dream car. The sort of ride all his work buddies would be green with envy over.

He leaned against the windowsil and then quickly looked down when his hand brushed something metallic.

Picture frames, the small kind that usually sat on a desk. He picked one up, the frame cool against his skin. It was a picture of you and someone he guessed to be your boyfriend. Both of you were in formal wear - you in a deep red evening gown and him in a tailored tux. Christine was parked in the background, her red a compliment to your dress.

Your boyfriend was handsome in a rough cut sort of way, his hair swept back and a tattoo just peeking out of his shirt. He was looking directly at the camera while you looked up at him, his arm curled tightly around your waist.

Colt frowned. There was something about the man's expression... a kind of possessive meanness. He seemed the type of guy to start a fight and then finish it no matter what, a real tough customer.

And the way he held you... some might call it loving but Colt found it more proprietary than anything else.

'Mine. My girl, no matter what. Try and take her from me and I'll show you a world of hurt.'

Colt put the picture down with a frown and scanned the others. Out hiking on the mountains, at the beach, holding a huge bouquet while he kissed you. A perfect couple except... except for the way he looked at you. Sweet, yes. But somehow dangerous, in the way rattlesnakes and cougars were. Fine if they weren't disturbed, but tread on their territory and there'd be hell to pay.

He moved away when he heard you coming down the stairs. You were a little flushed, a little out of breath, but you grinned at him and waved a stack of papers.

"Finally found them! Just need to sign the change of ownership forms and she's all yours."

He watched you as you searched for a pen, your sundress swishing 'round your thighs. He didn't like your boyfriend - dead or not, he seemed like one mean bastard - but seeing you so happy, so flushed with life and hope and joy, Colt found he could almost understand the other man. If you were his girl, he'd hold you just as tight.

You finally found a pen and he scribbled his signature on the dotted line.

"Well, seems like you're the proud new owner of a 1969 Ford Mustang. Congratulations."

He carefully took the papers from you, his fingers brushing yours. "Real good doing business with you sweetheart."

You lead him out to the car, going through the list of things he'd need to do to properly register the car as his. Real cute of you, to think he didn't know it all already.

He slid into the driver's seat and when he touched the wheel, he felt that same sense of power. And under it, a strange feeling of being not quiet alone in the car.

You stood outside his window, running through a catalogue of spares and repairs that he might want to check out. If he had to guess, you seemed nervous.

He leaned back and smiled at you. "It's alright y/n. I ain't changing my mind. Deals done, remember?"

It was the first time using your name and it sent a small bolt of electricity jolting through him.

'Her name is mighty sweet, ain't it? Meant to be said oh so softly, meant to be savoured.'

You looked at him like you felt it too, your cheeks just a little warmer than before.

Oh Lord, what sort of bastard was he? Feeling this way about you when your boyfriend was in the ground for scarcely half a year? You were probably still mourning, still nursing your broken heart. He should be a gentleman and leave you alone, shouldn't take advantage of your vulnerability. He should be a good man.

'You'd be an idiot to let her go.'

The thought streaked through his mind. It almost didn't feel like his own idea. Wherever the thought came from, it wasn't wrong. He really would be an idiot to not ask you out when he had a chance. He got lucky with the car - prize piece like this would have been snatched up in a matter of hours. If he didn't ask you out, if he didn't push his luck for the second time, the same thing might happen with you.

"How 'bout I take you out to dinner later this week? As a thank you."

You looked unsure, your eyes jumping down to the car keys like you were expecting an objection.

"Please? I know Christine must mean a lot to you. I'd feel a whole lot better taking her off your hands if I could thank you properly."

You bit your lower lip and he found his eyes drawn to the sight of it. Please say yes please say-

"Yes, I think I'd like that. But no later than eight, okay?"

YES! He rubbed a palm across his jaw to hide his smile.

"I'll bring you home early, promise."

"I'll hold you to that, cowboy."

Oh god, he wanted to melt when you called him that. It was so silly - big guy like him getting butterflies over a sort-of kind-of date.

'Atta boy. You ain't gonna regret it.'

He was too distracted watching you walk away to realise the thought wasn't his own.

That night, you slept without dreaming. For the first time since your boyfriend's death, you didn't see his face when you closed your eyes.

You woke up the next morning expecting to be relieved. Christine was gone, wasn't that exactly what you wanted?

Yes, but...but what happens next? You weren't an idiot nor were you unduly superstitious, but Christine didn't feel like a normal car. Maybe that's what happens after a violent death - things change, the blood seeps through the fabric and poisons the aura, or the energy, or whatever the hell you wanted to call it.

You made yourself breakfast but couldn't eat more than a few bites.

Okay, try and be logical. It was probably just your guilt playing tricks on you. You loved Christine and you loved your boyfriend, so it was only natural that you'd feel terrible about selling her. That's all. Blood and death can't change the nature of an inanimate object, no matter how violent or grisly it might have been.

Right. Just your guilty conscience. No need to work yourself up.

Across town, Colt slept through his alarm. He was dreaming, a sweet little fantasy of cruising down the highway on a brilliant summer day. You were next to him, your sundress even shorter than before, smiling at him and running your hand up his thigh.

You were his girl. His and his alone. He could feel the certainty of it in every part of him. You loved him, you stood by him, you did everything you could to support him, you were his.

Christine purred through her gears and he pushed the gas a little more, eager to get home. He would show you exactly how much he appreciated you - inch by inch and kiss by kiss.

"I love you darlin'. I need you to know that," he said. His voice didn't sound like his own. It was raspier, with an edge of meanness that not even love could soften.

You looked at him, smiling all soft and sweet. "I know. I've always known."

Colt jerked awake, smiling and shivering at the same time. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, disoriented and feeling like a stranger in his own body.

"One hell of a dream," he muttered.

'Not a dream cowboy. A memory from someone long dead.'

He ignored the thought, his mind already focused on the day ahead. He'd driven Christine home yesterday, but left his Jeep parked outside your house. He could either get one of his buddies pick it up or take a taxi over and get it himself.

Was it even a choice? He wanted to see you again. If he had to pay an ungodly amount for an Uber, he would.

Should he call you before showing up at your door? What would be a good time to see you? He didn't want to show up too late and catch you in a rush to leave.

'She'll be awake by now. But she'll only leave for work after twelve.'

How did he know that? Did you mention it yesterday?

He climbed out of bed and half stumbled to the bathroom. As the steam clouded up the mirror, he thought of his dream. And what might have happened if he'd stayed asleep longer. Maybe your hand would wander further up his thigh, and then...

He lathered up his fist and took hold of himself. He was already hard from just the thought of you. Your sundress looked so damn flimsy. He could probably yank it off you with just one hand.

He groaned, his forehead pressed against the tile. Picturing your hand dwarfed by his when you shook on the sale; how soft your skin was, how good it would feel if you touched him just like this.

'Fucking yourself like a dog at the thought of her.'

He agreed. You really were turning him into a dog.

You were sitting in your living room, trying and failing to read your novel, when he knocked on your front window. You struggled to smooth down your hair while you scrambled for the door.

"Hi Colt! Came to pick up your Jeep?"

He was wearing blue jeans again today, with a tight wife beater that showed off arms thick with muscle.

"Yes ma'am. Thought I'd stop by and see if you needed anything."

That made you smile. How often does someone go out of their way to check up on a stranger?

"I don't think so. But I've got some fresh orange juice and donuts, if you'd like to come in."

He smiled at you and for a second his gaze dipped down past your chin. "There's nothing I'd like better."

He took up a lot of space at your kitchen table, but you found it comforting. The room felt too big without your boyfriend to fill it.

You flipped open the box of donuts and he picked out the mint chocolate one.

"Never really liked the mint ones," he told you, "But I've got an awful craving for one right now."

"Oh I never liked them much either. It was my boyfriend who was the die-hard mint fan."

He looked away from you, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "It must be hard for you. Losing him so suddenly."

"It was. It is. Everyone keeps telling me it gets easier, but it hasn't. Up until last night, I dreamt about him everynight."

"Dreamt of him?" he asked you suddenly, his eyes intense.

"Yep. Every single night. It was like I was reliving my memories again and again."

He looked a bit perturbed at your statement, but you put it down to him feeling awkward about the conversation. Death is never a fun or casual topic.

"So how's Christine treating you?"

"Like a dream. I was thinking of taking her down the coast next weekend. All open road and sea air." He paused, seeming to weigh something up in his mind. "Why don't you join me? The morning after I take you out to dinner. We can pack a picnic and have lunch at the cape."

"That sounds incredible." You looked down at your hands, slightly uneasy but not sure why. Your boyfriend spoke about doing that once. A mini road trip with the windows down and the sea breeze in your hair.

It's not that strange that Colt had the same idea, right? Everyone knew the coast road was a long, quiet stretch. Perfect for putting Christine to the test.

"You're gonna love it," he said. "I'll even make my world famous tiramisu."

You raised a brow. "You know how to make tiramisu?" Big guy like him didn't really seem the patisserie type. Did he have a cute apron with bows on it too?

He pointed his donut at you, blue eyes twinkling. "Not just any tiramisu. World famous."

You snorted out a laugh and for the first time in months, you kitchen felt like a happy place.

He dreamt about you again that night. Christine was parked in a dark corner on the edge of a cliffside hiking trail. He could hear waves crashing far below. It was nighttime, with the full moon outlining your face in silver and shadow.

He was in the driver's seat and you were straddling his lap. You were wearing a sweater and a cute pleated skirt that seemed oh so short with the way you leaned over him.

"You've been ignoring me," you accused him. You were pouting in an adorably petulant way. He looked at your lips - red and slightly swollen - and knew that he'd just been kissing you.

"I haven't been ignorin' you sugar. I've just been busy."

He spoke with that same raspy voice that somehow wasn't his.

"Too busy to say hello or drop by for dinner?"

You shifted in his lap and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from groaning. Oh, you damn tease.

"I'm filthy and tired after work sweetheart. You wouldn't want me."

You frowned, going from slightly annoyed to full blown angry.

"I always want you, you idiot. I'm not scared of a few stains. I like it when you come home smelling like the workshop. I like it when you're dirty from work." You tugged at his collar. "I like you. Why don't you get that?"

'Because you're too good for me.' He almost said it. It was on the tip of his tongue and it was only some dull instinct that kept him quiet. How couldn't you see it? You were everything he wasn't. You were educated and kind and selfless. He was just some bastard from the wrong side of the tracks.

He wanted to impress you. He wanted to be worthy of you. Fixing up the Mustang was just the start of it. He didn't care that it took him all summer and pretty much all of his pay cheque to do. He wanted a ride that he would be proud to pick you up in.

And it still didn't feel like enough. Nothing ever felt like enough.

He looked away from you and stayed silent.

You sighed and brought your palms up to his cheeks, gently turned his face back to yours. "I like you. I'm dating you. I want to spend time with you, no matter how grouchy you are. Okay?"

He should be a gentleman and let you go, shouldn't take advantage of your kindness. He should be a good man.

"Okay," he said and leaned forward to kiss you.

He wasn't a good man. He wasn't a gentleman. He was going to hold onto you for as long as he could.

Colt woke up with a snarl, slamming his fist on his alarm so hard the clock face cracked.

"I didn't want it to end, goddammit."

He rubbed his hand over his face. The dream felt so real. He could feel the late fall chill, could smell your shampoo and taste your cherry lip gloss. He wanted to go right back to sleep and fall back into that wonderful fantasy.

He scowled and threw the covers off. Dreams could wait, work couldn't.

All through the day he was snappish and irritable. One of the apprentices messed up an order and he snarled at them to stop being so fucking useless and fix it. His coworkers shot each other looks behind his back. He was behaving entirely out of character but both him and his buddies were helpless to stop it. It was only when he got home at the end of his shift that he realised why.

He wanted to dream about you again.

There wasn't any guarantee that he would. Dreams weren't exactly scheduled network programming. But somehow he knew it would happen.

He ended up going to bed before eight, a world record for someone who usually only considered sleeping when it was well past midnight.

He was right. He did dream of you.

You were in a bikini this time, lounging on a lawn chair in the backyard. You had sunglasses on and there was a slight sheen of baby oil on your skin. Your phone was on shuffle and pop music was blaring from the speakers.

You weren't expecting him and he kept his steps real quiet as he approached you. He kept expecting you to hear him and shoot up, and he was slightly annoyed when you didn't. What if he was a serial killer or some sick pervert, sneaking up on you while you were so vulnerable? Did you have no spatial awareness?

He made it all the way to the back of your chair and you were still totally oblivious. There was a magazine and a glass of ice tea on a small table next to you. You were softly humming along to the music.

He took a minute to just admire you. Your body stretched out and entirely at his mercy. His girl, his gorgeous girl.

He leaned down until his lips were right next to your ear.

"Hey there sugar. You miss me?"

You shot up with a shriek, your sunglasses flying. You whirled on him, grabbing your magazine like thirty pages of glossy Cosmo was going to help you fight off an attacker.

Your eyes narrowed when you recognised him and you smacked his chest, hard.

"You asshole! You gave me a heart attack!"

He couldn't help but smirk at the sight of you so riled up.

"You're lucky it was me and not someone else. Not everyone has such noble intentions."

"Yeah right. Was it your noble intention to scare the living daylights out of me?"

He held up his palms in a placating gesture. "Just teachin' you a lesson sweetheart. I was standing there for a good few minutes and you didn't notice a damn thing."

He cast a critical eye across your backyard. "I reckon some high wooden fencing would do the trick. 'Bout seven feet high, sunken flowerbeds on either side like trenches to make it even harder to get a leg up."

"I don't want a fence."

He ignored you, already mentally calculating how much lumber he'd need. "A nice light coloured wood. Pine maybe. Will match your house much better."

You sat back down, the fight draining out of you as your adrenaline dissipated. "What are you doing here? Did you get off work early?"

He narrowed his eyes but you didn't seem to notice. "Why? Don't want me around?"

That shocked you enough that you twisted around in your chair to look at him.

"Of course I want you around! Don't ever imply otherwise. This is a lovely surprise." You paused. "Near heart attack aside of course."

It was funny how easily you could calm him down. One sentence was all it took to get him smiling again. He leaned forward and hooked one finger under the strap of your bikini top.

"I haven't seen this one before. New?"

You blushed and looked down. "Mm-hmm."

"It's cute. But..."

You glanced up at him, suddenly self conscious. "But what?"

He grinned wolfishly. "But...you would look so much better without it."

He tugged at the bow holding your top up. The strings unravelled and fell down your back. The bra cups started to slip down too, and his eyes were glued to their steady fall.

He was going to teach you a whole 'nother lesson about wearing such a skimpy outfit where anyone could see you. Show you exactly what sick, twisted bastards would do to your body. Teach you a lesson you won't forget, so maybe, just maybe... you'd learn to be more cautious around men like him.

Colt woke up with a hunger like death. His cock so hard it was actually throbbing. He didn't feel well rested, despite having slept more than he had in two weeks.

It played over and over again in his mind. The strings unravelling, your bikini top sliding off... Always stopping right at the good part, the part he most wanted to see.

He got ready for the day with a savage efficiency. Bolting back his protein shake without even tasting it. He didn't realise it, but he'd started counting down the days until he could see you again. Just two more days. Two more nights of dreams and then you'd be there in the flesh and he could finally - finally what? He shook his head to clear away the dirty thoughts that were crowding him.

He was being a real bastard. Thinking about you, dreaming about you, when he had no right to. You hadn't shown any romantic or physical interest in him. You were clearly still grieving your man. He needed to get himself under control - what you needed in your life was a friend, not another man to obsess over you.

He forced himself to take a cold shower. Forced himself to avoid thinking about you. And to especially avoid thinking about the you from his dream.

'Good luck with that buddy. I used to be so tired I was falling asleep on my feet and I still couldn't get her out of my head.'

Work was thankfully busy that day and he threw himself into it with every feverish ounce of energy he had. Whenever his thoughts wandered towards you, he would find something else to do. He didn't eat anything at all and he didn't even notice getting hungry. He took on an extra shift and finished long after the sun went down, his muscles a hurting mess and his head not much better.

Christine was the last car left in the parking lot, sitting under a streetlight like she was waiting for him. He found his steps unintentionally getting slower the closer he came to her.

In the dark and lonely emptiness of the parking lot, she didn't feel like a normal car. If anything, she seemed to be watching him. Her headlights like eyes and her grille a silvery gash of a smile.

If he had to guess, he'd say the car was almost unhappy with him.

"Because I'm thinking about her?" He asked as he climbed behind the wheel. Immediately, he felt stupid and superstitious for talking out loud.

'Because you aren't thinking about her.'

He'd driven Christine to work the last few days despite not wanting to cause unnecessary wear and tear. Being in the car, driving it, was still a thrill.

Not tonight though.

He felt on edge, wanting to get out as soon as possible. She purred to life with the same thrumming power as always but his throat was tight with a nervousness he couldn't explain.

The inside of the car was suffocatingly quiet. He turned on the radio and old school rock 'n roll poured out.

'Just the sort of thing her boyfriend used to listen to,' he thought to himself. And then he laughed a stuttering, barking sort of laugh because there was no logical way he could have known that.

'Take it easy big guy. You and I are just gonna cruise. That's all.'

A nice cruise. Yeah, that sounded good. Calm his nerves, get rid of the nameless dread that was building all day. He relaxed into his seat, the streetlights crawling past in a hypnotic line of bright and dark.

He didn't notice when the radio dial moved on its own and the station changed from rock 'n roll to country. The singer sounded awfully familiar. His voice a kind of husky rasp. He was singing about his girl, his pretty woman, and he was singing about the grave and he was singing about the dark that waited.

'Oh,' he thought to himself dully, 'That's the voice I keep hearing in my dreams.'

When he finally reached home, it was two in the morning and the petrol gauge showed an empty tank. He'd somehow driven enough to eat through a full tank of gas. A drive that should have taken twenty minutes took five hours.

He got out of the car on legs that felt numb and cold. He couldn't remember driving. He couldn't remember the strange music or the even stranger passenger that rode with him. In his mind, there existed the clear cut memory of leaving work and climbing into Christine. Then there was nothing but a long, grey blankness that was tinged with a muted terror.

He collapsed into bed still in his work clothes. By morning, his mind would have stitched over all those things too terrible to contemplate. He would wake up feeling groggy and confused, and probably put it down to the strain of a long day.

Colt slept after driving with the dead and didn't dream.

On the day before your date, he found an engagement ring under the passenger side carpet.

He had no reason to look there, no reason to pull the carpet up by its seams. But he did it anyway and his reward was a silver and diamond band with blood dried in the crevices. There was an engraving on the inside and he had to take it out into the sun to try and read it.

'Mine. Forever and always.'

He shivered despite standing in the bright midmorming sun. Most rings would say 'yours' instead of 'mine.' He had no doubt that the change was entirely intentional. Your boyfriend was staking his claim on you - not just with the ring but with the intention behind it.

He looked at the brownish red stains and knew in his heart they were blood. Your boyfriend's blood.

Colt didn't know how the man died, but looking at the ring, he felt sure that it was bloody and far from natural. How would a blood stained ring end up in Christine? If the guy had been in accident sure. But the car was in perfect condition. The ring shouldn't have been there.

Unless he was murdered. Soaked in blood and tossed around during the struggle, the ring probably got pushed under the seam of the carpet. It was a sealed off spot and even a forensics team might miss something that small.

It was an outlandish and macabre theory to be basing entirely off one mysterious engagement ring. If he stopped to think about it, he would no doubt be able to poke a dozen separate holes into his theory.

Somehow, he knew it was true. The same way he suddenly knew Christine wasn't just an ordinary car and that his dreams about you were far from natural.

He felt a queer prickling all across his nape. He wasn't the type to scare easily, but this... This frightened him. He didn't feel alone anymore. He felt like if he looked up at the rear view mirror, he'd see someone in the back seat. No, not just someone. He'd see the dead man who owned the car before him.

He'd see the man who wanted to marry you.

He sucked in a sharp breath and forced himself to let it out slowly. He wasn't a superstitious man. He didn't let fancies of ghosts and ghouls affect him. But even he couldn't deny the way he felt. His gut was telling him something was terribly, terribly wrong.

He climbed out of Christine like a man scared of waking a sleeping bear. He didn't even bother to grab the keys.

He couldn't explain any of it. Not the dreams, not the thoughts that felt like someone else, not the prickling certainty that a man died right where he'd been sitting.

He got into his his Jeep and pulled out of the driveway, his eyes on Christine the entire time. Like she'd somehow roar to life and slam into him.

He didn't know where he was driving to until he parked. A bar across town, a real rough spot that on most days even he wouldn't want to stop at. But today wasn't like most days.

The place was dark and the folk sitting around weren't exactly the friendly sort. He settled at the bar and ordered a tequila without really thinking about it.

Funny. He used to hate tequila.

It went down like fire, and he shuddered. He wanted to laugh. What else was a mam supposed to drink when the world didn't make a lick of sense anymore?

"Give me another one." His voice was raspier somehow. Even though that never happened when he drank vodka or whiskey.

There were mirrored shelves opposite him and he caught sight of his eyes. A pale green. He tossed back his second shot and tried to tell himself it was just a trick of the light.

He wasn't sure who to talk to. Not the Sheriff's Office. Yeah officer, there was a man murdered in my car and now I can't stop dreaming about his girlfriend didn't exactly scream unimpeachable sobriety.

And not the pastor either. Father, I'm being haunted by filthy thoughts and I'm not sure if they're my own. He doubted the old man at his mother's church was qualified to deal with that sort of thing.

But he couldn't keep quiet either. He had to tell someone about it. If they called him crazy at least it was an acknowledgement. At least it was better than being dead drunk and being scared of his own eyes in the mirror.

Who could possibly know anything about it? Oh. Of course.

He fumbled his phone out of his pocket and almost threw it across the room when it wouldn't turn on. He charged it every night, goddammit.

"There a pay phone somewhere 'round here?" he asked the bartender.

The man jerked his face at the side door that lead to the back parking lot. Colt stumbled out - swaying on his feet far worse than two drinks should warrant.

It was late afternoon. He shaded his eyes and tried looked at the sun like it was deliberately lying to him. He arrived at midday and he couldn't have been in there for more than twenty minutes. How the hell was it this late?

'Time moves differently when you're dead cowboy. You should know that by now.'

The payphone was in the shadow of the bar and he shivered when he stepped out of the sun. Wrong. It was all wrong and he didn't know how to fix it. Why was the voice still in his head when Christine was all the way across town? Why did he still feel life he wasn't quiet alone?

It was only when he had the receiver up against his ear that he realised he didn't know your number. Shit.

He leaned his forearm against the payphone and rested his forehead against it. Could he maybe get a taxi and show up at your house? He scoffed. Yeah, that would go well. Showing up dead drunk just to say he knew you liked short skirts in fall and that he dreamed of pulling off your bikini top. He'd be lucky if you only mildly tazed him.

Fuck. Okay. Home again. Sleep it off. Charge his phone. Call you in the morning and try not to sound too crazy. He could manage that.

He called the taxi company listed in the phone book. Half wondering if they were still in operation. When it finally connected, the call was thick with static.

"Yeah?" The man's voice was raspy and standoffish.

"Can I get a cab at Ronnie's on Westside?"

The man laughed. "Oh you must be a real tough customer to be drinking there. Didn't think you'd have the balls cowboy."

Colt wanted to cuss him out. What kind of fucker answers the phone and insults you less than two sentences in? He squeezed the receiver until he felt he could control his voice.

"Yeah. I'm a real mean guy. So can I get my cab or not?"

"Oh, I'll send you a ride alright." There was a mocking tilt to his voice. "Best fucking ride you'll ever take. Just sit pretty. You'll know when it's for you."

The skin on the back of his neck crawled. He hung up without another word.

The streetlights were coming on and the gold of sunset was giving way to the awful in-between greyness of twilight. He waited for his ride.

You came home to find flowers on your doorstep. A bouquet of white roses. You froze. There was only one man who sent you flowers and he was cold and dead for the better part of a year.

You picked the card up by the edge and flicked it open.

Hope you didn't forget our date. See you soon dollface.

-Colt

Oh. You laughed, ridiculously relieved. Of course.

Dinner tomorrow night with the cowboy. You took the roses inside and hunted around for a vase. Was it actually a date? He'd said it was a thank you dinner, but it wouldn't hurt to dress up a little. Do your makeup a bit fancy, maybe wear your new heels. It'd been months since you'd gone out, had a nice dinner with a friend. This could be good for you. Just one more step back into normalcy.

The clouds were starting to gather and as evening came on, they broke with a shudder of thunder.

You curled up on your couch, all the lights on. It was going to be a bad storm. The first really awful one in almost half a year. You tried not to, but it got you thinking about that night. The night your boyfriend proposed to you. The night you killed him.

You closed your eyes and tried not to see it, but the memories followed you even past the darkness. You couldn't run from them for long.

It was cold outside, rain drumming on Christine's roof. Sharp, constant. Your boyfriend was in the driver's seat, buckling his belt. A lazy, satisfied smirk on his face.

You liked it when he looked at you like that. Satisfied. Mellow. It never lasted long, but in the few minutes after fucking you, he would agree to just about anything.

"I'm drunk on you baby," he'd said once. "Heads all woozy. Would do anything for you. Fucking anything."

Christine's windows were all fogged up, and you traced little hearts on the glass. To be honest, you felt a little drunk on him too. Heart still pounding, head reeling. Cunt still fluttering and full. He was so good at reading you, at fucking you just how you needed it. No man before him could make you come so hard, or do it so easy.

"I got something to ask you, baby."

You turned to him, hand reaching out for his and pulling it into your lap.

"Yes?"

He rubbed a thumb across your knuckles. He wasn't looking at your face, just down at your interlinked hands.

"You're my girl, yeah?"

"Obviously. I love you."

"And you ain't going to leave me?"

"Never."

He sighed. Managed to raise his eyes to meet yours. You weren't used to seeing him nervous. Usually he'd just bull doze his way through a conversation, not stopping until he got what he wanted. This was...new. It made a whole new crop of butterflies start up in your stomach.

"Will you marry me?"

You froze. What? Where was this coming from? You loved him. You cared about him. But marriage? That was such a big step. Such a grown up thing.

"I've got money put away. And Christine. I can put a deposit down on a house by the end of the month. Can pay for a nice wedding too. All white and frilly, like you want."

"I..."

"You don't got to worry 'bout your student loans neither. We can pay 'em off a whole lot faster if we're together. You can even go back to school if you want. Get that second degree you're always talking about."

"I...can't."

You pulled your hands away from his. Looked away from him.

"I love you. I really do. But it's too...much. We're too young. I... I just don't want to rush into things and make a mistake."

He was quiet. Awfully, dangerously quiet. His hand was still in your lap and you could feel when he clenched it into a fist.

"Is there another man?"

"What?"

You whirled to face him, suddenly angry. How could he even suggest...

"I haven't touched another man since the day you asked me out."

He wasn't smiling anymore. His green eyes were narrowed, mean.

"Who are you fucking? Which bastard is it? Huh?"

"No one! There's no one else. I just don't want to get married and make a -"

"Mistake? You think I'm a fucking mistake?"

You flinched. His voice was even louder in the closeness of the car. It made your ears throb.

His fist uncurled and he grabbed your hand, hard. Yanked you towards him so your upper body was sprawled across the gear shift.

"Was it a mistake to fuck me? A mistake to say you loved me?"

"No! That's not what I-"

He cut you off with a hand around your throat.

"You want to leave me. That it? You're going to fucking leave me?"

You pulled at his fingers with your free hand but it was useless. His grip was getting tighter the angrier he got. Your head felt all swollen, your nose and throat burning.

"Please just -"

"No! No fucking please. No changing your mind at the last minute. You ain't gonna be my girl? Ain't gonna be my wife?"

He pulled you towards his face, his lips barely brushing yours.

"If you won't be mine, then you'll just have to fucking die. It's me or no one else, baby. I told you that, all those months ago."

You scrambled for some way to get loose, but you were in an awkward position and he had all the leverage.

"I fucking warned you. I told you that if you dated me you couldn't ever leave. I knew I was going to fall in love with you. Hell, I was half in love before you even said hello. I tried. But you just didn't listen, did you?"

Your hand brushed something cold and metallic in the centre console. His switch blade. He usually kept it in his back pocket to help with work. Oh, and he kept it sharp. You grabbed it, more on instinct than anything else.

Your head was pounding and your heartbeat was pulsing in your ears. But the rain was somehow worse. Falling so loud you thought you'd never get the sound out of your head.

You tried to plead with him again, reason, beg, whatever it took. But when you tried to speak he just closed his fist even tighter and your words died in your throat with a shudder.

Oh god, he was really going to do it. He's eyes were wild, mad with something beyond reason. He'd seen reason in the rearview mirror about a hundred miles ago and now he was headed straight down the highway of fucking insanity.

How? How could the man you loved be choking the breath out of you?

Because he loves you. Because he'd rather see you dead than lose you. Because you were too damn blind with love to notice how dangerous he is.

White starbursts bloomed across your vision. Little fireworks to celebrate your brain dying.

You stabbed him.

You didn't fully mean to. You were half mad with fear, half dead in his grip. Not sure what you were doing until you felt the blood.

The switchblade sunk straight into his neck.

You didn't even pull it out. Just left it there and scrambled back when his grip on you loosened, your chest heaving. You throat and eyes and nose all felt swollen. Your lungs burned like fire.

He reached up and touched his neck. Looked down at his fingers like he couldn't believe the blood was his.

You might have tried to save him then. Might have come to your senses and called the ambulance, might have stripped off your shirt and tried to stop the bleeding.

But a knife in his throat apparently wasn't enough to stop him. He looked at you and there wasn't anything rational left in him. He reached for you again, hands curled like claws. He was dying and all he wanted to do was take you with him.

You screamed. So loud that it made your own ears ring.

You grabbed the knife and pulled. You didn't realise it was acting like a stopper until his blood splashed on you. Hot, stinking of metal. It sprayed across your face, got into your mouth and nose, soaked the whole front of your shirt.

You scrambled for the door handle and fell backwards out of the Mustang. Landed on your ass and pushed yourself away.

He was halfway over the passenger seat by then, hands still reaching, mouth pulled into an ugly snarl.

You kicked the door shut.

It slammed with a bang and mercifully blocked him from view. Your turned onto your knees, pushed yourself to your feet and ran.

The rain was coming down so fast that it stung your skin. You didn't rightly know where you were going. Only that it was away.

You still don't know how you made it home. You were a twenty minute drive away and it was too dark to see more than three feet in front of you. Must have been luck. Must have been fate.

When you got home, you were shaking so hard you couldn't even open the door for a good five minutes.

You stripped off your clothes right there on the doorstep and threw them in the trash. Switch blade too. You don't know how you managed to hold onto it during that wild, reckless run.

You took a long shower. Sat under the hot water with your knees curled to your chest. Too scared to cry.

At some point, the better part of your brain must have taken over. You vaguely remember burning the bloodstained clothes. Remember taking a drive and throwing the bleached switchblade out the window.

And when the call came a few days later, to please come down and identify a body, you were calm enough to not give yourself away.

If it was anyone else, maybe the cops would have tried harder. But your boyfriend was a rough man from the rough side of town. They gave you looks of sympathy but shook their heads behind your back.

Guy like him had it coming.

When it was all said and done, you and Christine were the only ones who knew the truth.

Colt waited all evening for a cab that never came. And when the storm started, he was annoyed enough to consider driving home on his own. He'd only had two shots. And that was a few hours ago. He'd be fine. Folk got away with worse all the time.

He left the bar with his jacket over his head and his eyes darting down the road. The rain was sheeting and he had to scramble to make it to his Jeep without getting totally soaked.

Wet and hungry and still a little drunk, Christine didn't seem like quite so big an issue. He was just jumping at ghosts. Tequila got his thoughts all twisted up, that's all.

Driving was miserable. Even with his headlights on bright and his wipers cranked all the way up, he was having real trouble seeing the road. The yellow line was the only thing he could properly rely on.

When the headlights showed up behind him, it took him a while to notice them getting closer.

"Guy's got a death wish, driving so fast in this weather."

The driver behind him was gaining quickly. Colt expected them to try and overtake, but they didn't. Just got closer and closer. A car's length away. And then half. And then almost kissing his bumper.

"Why is this dude so up my ass?"

He hit the gas, but the guy behind him didn't care. Just picked up and kept coming. Revved it a little and Colt could hear the engine even through the rain. Some kind of muscle car. A loud, growling thing.

Almost like a...Mustang.

His whole back suddenly felt icy. It couldn't be. Christine was back home, keys still in the ignition. Even if someone did steal her, why the fuck would they track him down? Must be another muscle car, with some ego tripping asshole behind the wheel.

He told himself all that and more, but his foot pressed harder on the gas.

And still the Mustang kept coming.

The speedometer crept upwards. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty.

Too fast for the narrow roads, and sure as hell too fast for a rainy night like this one.

A curve was coming up soon, the road ringed off with guard rails. He could see the reflectors glinting orange at him. Shit.

He took it wide, drifting into the opposite lane. He could feel his tires slipping a little and he hit the breaks just enough to steady the Jeep.

The Mustang didn't have any trouble with the curve. Stayed in its lane and gained a little more speed, so that when they were straight again, its hood was in line with his trunk.

Good. Maybe now the fucker would finally overtake him.

He couldn't see the car clearly. The headlights were bouncing right off his side mirrors. He couldn't even make out the silhouette of the driver.

Screech.

The Mustang's hood scraped against the side of his Jeep. The whole car lurched to the side, tires slipping.

"Fuck!"

Colt gunned it again, trying to out race the mad man. But whoever was behind him had no intention of letting that happen. They kept pace with him, blocking him from getting back in his lane.

Lightning flashed and Colt looked in the mirror just in time to see the car properly.

The thunder was loud enough to drown out his scream.

The car trying to run him off the road was none other than the 1969 cherry red Mustang that should have been sitting in his yard. Maybe he could have accepted it as a coincidence. Someone else had the exact same car as him and just happened to be driving like an asshole. Maybe he could have accepted that.

But the car didn't have a driver.

He saw it clear as day. The lightning glared straight through all the windows and there wasn't a single person in that car.

Impossible. This can't be real. There's no fucking way.

He could almost hear the laugh.

'Do I got you scared cowboy?'

Colt didn't have time to answer. The road was merging into the cliffside, and the wall of rock kept him trapped. There were lights coming straight at him, the blaring of a horn as whoever it was tried to warn him.

He slammed hard on the brakes. Christine shot ahead and at the last second he managed to edge back into his lane. The headlights roared past, the huge semi exhaling a spray of water and smoke.

It would have flattened him, even in his Jeep.

Christine's tail lights were a pair of glaring red eyes in the rain, until suddenly they weren't. Gone.

Colt slowed the Jeep, parked on the shoulder.

The rain was drumming on the roof and his hands were shaking. He got out of the car, water soaking through his shirt almost immediately.

The paint on the back door was scratched off in huge swathes. The metal was dented.

He climbed back behind the wheel, mind teetering on the edge of something past sanity. The world wasn't sane anymore. Nothing was.

He heard the growl of the Mustang through the rain. No headlights this time, just the whine of tires on slick tar.

Where?! Where was she?!

Christine slammed into the Jeep head on. All Colt saw was her red face and silver smile in the glare of his headlights before his whole world was filled with the grinding of steel on steel. His head slammed backwards, the whole car shuddering.

The airbags came on, blinding him.

Christine didn't stop after hitting him. He yanked the hand break up but she kept pushing forward, edging his car closer and closer to the edge. He felt it when the guard rail scratched against his bumper.

An ugly scream of metal, but the rails held. Christine didn't seem to like that. She pulled back, her tires shrieking as she got ready to slam forward again.

Colt jumped just before she hit the Jeep. His seat belt was almost the death of him. It wouldn't release and he couldn't see the catch in the dark. He must have had at least one lucky star though, because the door wasn't too mangled and he managed to kick it open just in time.

He landed hard, on his hands and knees.

Metal shrieked. Christine slammed into the Jeep hard enough to send it through the rails. He turned just in time to see his car go tilting off the road and down into the dark.

For a second, he thought he might have made it. Maybe she didn't notice him. Maybe it was all over.

Christine pulled back and her headlights washed over him, still on his hands and knees. One of the lights was hanging loose from the crash, making her look lopsided. The rain was still coming down hard and the droplets were gold in the light between them.

She revved.

Colt scrambled to his feet and ran straight for the guard rail. He jumped.

It wasn't a sheer drop. It was instead a steep slope, thick with shale and slippery with water. His knees buckled under him and he ended up on his back, half rolling and half sliding down the embankment. His palms were bleeding and as he fell, the gravel lodged itself in his open skin.

He couldn't see where he was headed. Could only try and and protect his head and brace for impact.

His slide ended with a boulder. He slammed into it his ribs first. Heard a crack before all the air was knocked straight out of him.

He could see the headlights way up above him, cutting through the rain.

At least she can't follow me down here.

True. Christine couldn't follow him.

But that's when Colt saw him. The driver. Coming to stand in front of the headlights, the silhouette of a man.

The silhouette stepped through the gash in the railing left by the Jeep and dropped out of the light.

Colt knew he should run. He could hear the shale slipping as the other man came down. Controlled. Measured. Nothing like his own tumble.

But he couldn't move. Everything hurt. Breathing sent sharp spikes of pain all across his chest.

"Well, well cowboy. Look at you."

The voice was low and raspy, mean. He knew that voice. Had been hearing it in his head and in his dreams and was fool enough to think it was his own.

His eyes were getting used to the dark. He could just about see the stranger. Tall, wearing jeans and a leather jacket. There was dirt thick on his boots, in the folds of his clothes. Not the black shale of the slope, but a reddish clay.

Kind of like in the cemetery.

No, he realised as the stranger squated down in front of him. Exactly like the cemetery. It was grave dirt he was seeing.

He was looking at a dead man.

The stranger might have been handsome once, but now one cheek was filled with holes. Ugly, clustered together things that showed his teeth. His other cheek was a mass of white. Worms, tiny little worms wriggling in and out of his face.

Colt wanted to scream. And vomit. And then scream some more.

There was a dark hole in the stranger's neck and when he moved it oozed a sticky, thick kind of blood.

"You know why I'm here?"

Colt didn't really notice it at first, but his voice was different. Thicker somehow. Like his vocal cords were packed full of dirt and blood.

Colt coughed and his whole chest hurt so bad he thought he was dying. Something was definitely broken. He'd be lucky if there wasn't internal bleeding too.

"Let me guess. Came to punish me for my sins?"

The dead man laughed.

"Not yours, no. Don't give much of a damn about you. I'm here to get what's mine."

The pieces were clicking together in his head.

"Your girl."

"My girl," your boyfriend agreed.

He reached for him, the nails on his hand either blue or totally ripped off. His skin filled with holes that showed pale white tendons and ugly pink flesh.

That was when the adrenaline really kicked in. Colt shoved at the man with one hand and pushed himself up with the other. It was like touching a carcass at the butcher. Cold. Limp. Just a piece of meat. No human should ever have to feel a body in that state.

He made it to his knees before the bastard hit back. Your boyfriend kicked straight at his jaw and Colt's head flew backward, smashed into the rock behind him. He dropped back down like a stone.

"Why you gotta be so fucking difficult, hmm?"

Colt was too out of it to pull away. The man reached for him and the skin of his hand was crawling with bugs. He grabbed his collar and dragged him up.

"Just gonna go to sleep for a little while cowboy. Maybe you'll wake up. Maybe you won't. Either way, I've waited too fucking long to let this chance go."

The corpse kissed him. Or more accurately, pressed his open lips against his and breathed.

His lips were cold and stiff and utterly beyond human. The taste was rancid. Worse than the worst thing he'd ever had. Metallic like blood, sweet like rotted meat.

Colt fainted.

The rain drummed down. Christine sat on the roadside and waited, her hood and paintwork back to normal. In bed, you tossed and turned in the hands of a nightmare.

The thing that was Colt Guilder opened its eyes.

It was your phone that woke you up. Your ringtone blasting even through your dreams.

You fumbled for it, eyes squinted against the brightness.

"Hello?"

The call was thick with static. Still, you recognised the voice. Would know it even from beyond the grave.

"Hey beautiful. Did ya miss me?" 

[sabertoothwalrus]

Ace Attorney: Trials in Paradise 🌅

— an AA7 fan concept —

Initial Premise:

Since it’s designed for the Switch 2 (and thus made for a larger screen), the game will almost always have 2-3 characters on screen at a time, and will feature dozens of unique interaction animations between all sorts of character combos.

There has been another 7 year timeskip.

The old judge retired, and the new judge is his granddaughter!

The jurist system is featured.

This concept is heavily based around these designs.

The characters would have multiple outfits throughout the game, which become unlockable costumes, much like the DLC costumes of DD, SoJ, and TGAA games.

While this is way too specific to truly be a "prediction" of what aa7 could be, I tried to keep it (mostly) realistic to what I thought could actually be in an ace attorney game!

📦 Case 1: Turnabout Homecoming

Trucy left the nest and Phoenix doesn’t like living alone anymore, so Phoenix is moving into Edgeworth’s house. Apollo— who recently got his driver's license— was driving the moving van, and was accused because a body had been found in the vehicle. The true killer was one of the movers. I like the idea that you'd have to look through boxes for evidence, maybe the murder weapon was hidden within their belongings.

Defendant: Apollo Defense: Phoenix Weird Girl: Edgeworth Prosecutor: Diana Payne (Winston’s daughter) Detective: (drumroll…) Godot!! Witnesses: Larry (he was helping with the move), Leslie (one of the movers) Victim: Bee(another one of the movers) Killer: Anne(third mover)

(rest of the cases and a lotttt more art under the cut ↓ )

🎢 Case 2: Rollercoaster Turnabout

Maya and Pearl are on vacation at Blue Badger Land. Pearl is accused of murder after a body is found on an unpopular attraction that only Pearl enjoys going on. As an aside, Gumshoe is retired from detective work, and now works as a dog trainer. He trained Armando's service dog, Spot O'Coffee. Wendy Oldbag also serves as a witness, but she's pretty old at this point. Her memory has become fuzzy with age, and her testimonies begin to mix up information from other trials (which will be little references to previous games).

Defendant: Pearl Defense: Apollo Weird Girl: Maya Prosecutor: Klavier Detective: Godot Witnesses: Gumshoe (and his kids, Callum & Beau), Wendy Oldbag, Ride Operator Victim: Ride Safety Inspector Killer: Park Manager

💍 Case 3: My Love, Turnabout

Klavier has arranged a collab performance between Trucy and Lamiroir. Hugh Dini, Trucy's assistant and boyfriend, is accused when his stunt double is found dead. Hugh is very cagey about his alibi, but it's because he was planning to propose and didn't want Trucy to know yet. Franziska takes this and spins it into a jealousy plot, and insinuates he killed his stunt double out of envy. Because Hugh is actually pretty shy, he has a habit of not speaking up, which only incriminates him further. A twist in the case is revealed during a cross-examination when it turns out the "gold band" the witness is referring to wasn't Hugh's engagement ring, but instead about a gold bangle. This immediately puts Apollo under suspicion, until Phoenix drops a hint that someone else (Lamiroir) has a gold bracelet as well. The truth about Trucy and Apollo's sibling relationship is revealed when Athena finds an unexpected emotion in Phoenix's mood matrix, and Lamiroir decides it’s time to break the news.

Defendant: Hugh Dini Defense: Athena Weird Girl: Phoenix, Apollo (← steps in when Phoenix has to get cross-examined) Prosecutor: Franziska Detective: Ema Witnesses: Lamiroir, Trucy, Hugh Dini Fangirl Victim: Hugh's Stunt Double Killer: Jealous Trucy Stan

🏝️ Case 4: The Getaway

This one isn’t a traditional case.

After Manfred Von Karma divorced his first wife, Bianka, he moved to Europe, and his previous home was left uninhabited until his eldest daughter, Karla Von Karma, discovers she has inherited it. She decides to turn the beachside property into a bed & breakfast, and invites her half-sister Franziska and adoptive brother Edgeworth to give the manor a trial run and let her know if it’s suitable for visitors. Edgeworth brings along Wright Anything Agency, because… why not treat them to a break?

But of course, their vacation quickly takes a turn when they find a literal skeleton in the closet.

Not all of the rooms in the estate had been searched. Manfred’s study has a large, padlocked safe, and Karla hadn’t gotten around to hiring a locksmith to open it for her. Phoenix tries “0001” for the hell of it, and the only thing more surprising than that combination successfully opening the safe is the body folded up inside.

They can’t imagine the killer was anyone other than Manfred Von Karma, but— since he’s already been executed— they’re not sure if a trial even needs to be held. They need to investigate the situation to determine with absolute certainty it was, in fact, Von Karma, because otherwise they’d need to find a new suspect. Obviously, the group of criminal justice lawyers aren’t not going to get to the bottom of it.

Except Apollo, who has decided he wants nothing to do with solving the murder. He came on this trip for a vacation, dammit, and that's exactly what he's gonna do. He heads back outside to the beach, and leaves everyone else to the investigation.

The first mystery is figuring out when the murder happened. The police arrive, and Ema estimates that the remains are about 30-40 years old, which is around the time the Von Karma family moved out. Since Manfred & Bianka had divorced in 1999, they start to wonder if Manfred had even still been residing here when the murder took place, but the body is found with a train ticket dated for January of 2002. A time period that just so happens to line up with the one singular vacation Manfred took during his entire career— to recover from a gunshot wound that he couldn’t even trust a doctor with knowing about.

The body is wearing a housekeeper's uniform, and they identify her as Ophelia Falsch. They conclude that she was killed because she had discovered Manfred’s injury, and he wanted to eliminate the witness. They think they have the case over and done with, but then Ema comes back with the dental analysis. She explains there was no dental record of an "Ophelia Falsch", but the teeth did match Bianka Von Karma.

This raises some questions. Why was Bianka dressed as Ophelia? Was there a more personal reason Manfred could have killed his ex-wife? Could Ophelia have been involved as well?

Since the murder happened so long ago, they don't even know where to begin with finding witnesses. Karla was 18 at the time of the murder, and had just moved out, so she wasn't present. Edgeworth, of all people, is the one to suggest an unconventional idea: why not ask Von Karma himself?

The manor is in a remote location that's only accessible by train or boat, and since it's late, Maya won't be able to get there until the next morning. In the meantime, they check up on Apollo, only to find him getting scolded by a woman about having his chair on the beach. She explains that she's Karla's daughter, Angelika Von Karma, and that she's impassioned about marine ecology. She just discovered the beach had become a nesting site for an endangered species of sea turtles, and is worried about disrupting it.

The next morning, Maya arrives, and Phoenix and Edgeworth hold a mock trial in the foyer. Manfred is channeled, but is uncooperative, so they try... a different method. Phoenix and Edgeworth perform a reenactment of how they think the murder happened, while Trucy and Athena watch Manfred to see if they can glean any information based on his reactions.

Manfred breaks down and confesses to the murder, but is telling the truth when he says that he didn't know the victim was Bianka; he did, in fact, think he had killed a housekeeper who found out about his gunshot wound. After this, his spirit is released.

As puzzling as this is— who was Ophelia, anyway?— they can't do anymore investigating because Karla has become very upset. The whole ordeal has caused long-repressed emotions to resurface. She's always felt a little bit resentful towards Franziska because their father left Bianka for Franziska's mother, Levina, and always felt like she had her family taken from her. On top of that, Manfred had done everything he could to get full custody of Karla in the divorce, and she never saw her mother again. She's angry that that wasn't enough— he'd gone and killed her too.

Karla and Franziska get into a big fight, and the whole trip ends up cancelled.

🚂 Case 5: Turnabout Train Car

They all board the train to head home. The mood is really awkward and it's kind of a bummer. Since the train is only way out of the area, Karla has to board as well, albeit in another car.

And because nothing is ever easy, there’s a murder on the train.

The victim was the owner of the train, Diesel Porter. He was found in his private sleeping room, and the only other room on that train car was being occupied by Karla, so naturally, she is accused.

Since Ema and the police are already on the train, they’re able to take control of the situation until the train makes it back to town. The Wright Anything Agency isn’t allowed to investigate the crime scene much, so they opt to interrogate the other odd passengers.

They get a helpful tip from the train’s bartender that Cole Porter, son of Diesel Porter, had been making plans to build a resort. They also find out that the train company had been losing money, since they weren’t getting many passengers.

The next day in court, Phoenix claims Cole killed his father to inherit the company, but Cole denies it because, why would he want to inherit a dying company? And Phoenix turns it around by bringing up the resort plans and how he wanted to build it on Karla’s property. He couldn’t just kill Karla, because then they’d have to take care of Angelika and Franziska too, so they needed Karla to feel like she had no choice but to sell it.

The trial goes to recess and Cole is apprehended for questioning, but at that moment they get word that someone else has just been murdered on the train— the bartender from before.

Phoenix goes back to the train investigate and boards when it’s stopped on the mountaintop station. While he’s investigating the train’s caboose, Cole’s wife, Electra, detaches it from the rest of the train. Cole and his wife were in cahoots! Phoenix is sent hurtling backwards down the mountain in the runaway car, and manages to pull the emergency brake just before reaching the bottom. He’s ended up back by the manor, and calls to have a boat sent to pick him up.

While he waits, he finds Angelika is still here studying the turtles. She gives him permission to go inside the manor again to investigate. He finds the deed to the house, along with an old photo that has a letter written on the back. It’s addressed to Bianka from Levina (Franziska’s mother).

The case is solved when Phoenix proves that both Cole & Electra Porter were involved in the murders. The land becomes protected by the government in order to keep the sea turtles safe, since they are endangered.

After the trial, Phoenix shows Karla and Franziska the letter he’d found. It turns out Levina hired Bianka as a housekeeper under the alias “Ophelia” so that she could still see her daughter Karla. The photo depicts a teenage Karla playing with a baby Franziska. Levina and Bianka had a good relationship, and had made efforts to keep their families together.

Karla and Franziska apologize to each other, and agree to get along better.

Defendant: Karla Von Karma Defense: Phoenix Weird Girl: Athena & Apollo Prosecutor: Franziska Detective: Ema & Godot Witnesses: Train Conductor, Old Passenger, Tain Bartender Victim: Diesel Porter Killer: Cole & Electra Porter

💃 (DLC) Case 6: Turnabout Runway

Klavier has been invited as a guest judge for a fashion tv competition. He invites Pearl (and Apollo) to the shooting as an apology for accusing her for murder & because of their shared interest in fashion. "Lip sync for your life" but literally.

Defendant: Lady Killer Defense: Athena Weird Girl: Pearl Prosecutor: Blackquill Detective: Ema Witnesses: ensemble of drag queens/models, Klavier Victim: Taxi Macabre Killer: Paul Rue

[bloodibambiidoll]

Buy Me Presents ⟡˖ Boyfriends!Dad!Rafe x reader ⟡˖

𐙚 Your boyfriend sucks. But his dad? Well, he’s not so bad…𐙚

(Heavily inspired by the book “Birthday girl” by Penelope Douglas and the song “Buy Me Presents” by Sabrina Carpenter. It’s my lil bday gift to myself. Shout out my luv @cameronwillow for beta reading for me.)

Age gap(Rafe is early 40s Reader is mid 20s), Rafe is your Bf’s dad (duh! It’s the whole plot), Reader has a tramp stanp and nipple piercings, Male masterbation, Mutual pining(so so much pining), Thoughts of cheating, Actual cheating (not by Rafe or R), Jealousy/possessiveness Spanking, Pussy eating, Unprotected sex, Biting, Choking, Size kink, She’s a looong one, buckle up!! 18+MDNI!!

You love your boyfriend, you really do. And he isn’t a bad boyfriend. He just isn’t necessarily a good boyfriend either. The easiest way to put it is that he’s neglectful. In every sense of the word. It’s not out of character for him to forget to pick you up from your late night shifts at the bar you work at. He is constantly forgetting your plans, or just flat out ditching them in favor of hanging out with his friends. He never cleans up after himself unless you ask, and even then the chances are slim that he will actually do it. You’re pretty sure he doesn’t even know how to turn on the dryer. Why would he need to? He knows if he leaves the piles of dirty laundry long enough you’ll get sick of it and wash them yourself. And last but certainly not least, he is the least financially responsible person you’ve ever met. He misses work to the point where he gets fired from every job he’s ever had. He spends all his money on partying and eating out. And now? He’s screwed you out of your apartment that he hardly even pays for since he’s always late on bills.

He decided that having a fucking rager on a Tuesday night in your small apartment complex instead of picking you up from your double shift was a bright idea. You ended up having to get an uber home, which you absolutely couldn’t afford and by the time you made it home your place was trashed and your boyfriend was out front being hauled into a cop car. Apparently when your landlord asked him to shut the party down he got all agro and started screaming and arguing that it was his house and he can be as loud as he wants. And when your landlord didn’t agree? He punched him in the face. So he called the cops and they took him down to the station to cool off. This wasn’t the first time he was asked to break up a party like this, but it was the last. Your landlord evicted him and even though he hardly paid you still couldn’t afford it without even that small amount of help.

He ended up calling his dad from the police station to come bail him out and of course he did. He always does. That’s why Caleb Cameron can’t account for a single goddamn thing in his life, he always has daddy’s money to bail him out. That’s why you are where you are now, staying with his dad, for the foreseeable future. After Mr. Cameron bailed Caleb out, he offered you both a place to stay at his house. His nice house that he built. Which you of course tried to decline.

But after much convincing from both Cameron men, you agreed to move in while you save money to get another place on your own. His dad doesn’t need help with any of the bills but he asked that you and Caleb keep up on the chores and take turns making dinner every night. You’ve been here for a few weeks now and so far you’ve been doing everything. Caleb hasn’t even picked up a single sock off the ground.

Mr. Cameron or “Rafe” as he’s asked you to call him several times now, isn’t bad. He’s been very kind and generous to you since the moment you met him. Which wasn’t until the other day. Caleb never wanted to introduce you to him. You’ve seen him around and of course you know of Rafe Cameron, this island isn’t very big. But from what you can tell their relationship isn’t the best so you’ve never actually had a conversation with him up until now.

He’s been easy to coexist with though. He’s surprisingly low maintenance. Rafe spends most of his day working with the guys on his construction team and then he comes home and showers. If you aren’t working a late shift you always have dinner ready. He comes downstairs in fresh sweats and pops open a beer. Then you, him, and Caleb all eat together. At least you’re supposed to, Caleb was only here the first night you moved in, he’s spent every other night out. Leaving you and his dad to eat dinner together alone.

Tonight is one of those nights. Caleb went out to the bar with his friends, even after you told him you were making his favorite dinner for him. He left before it was even done. Rafe will be home anytime now though. You’ve noticed he’s usually home around five thirty so you have dinner ready and kept warm by five. You made chicken parmesan from scratch and it’s in the oven set to warm while you sit at the shiny marble kitchen island, doom scrolling on your phone. You hear a key in the lock and you hate that ears perk up. The door opens and you hear keys being dropped in a glass bowl before footsteps sound toward the kitchen. It takes him a few seconds to come into view because you also hear him unlacing his work boots, but when he does? You can’t stand that your stomach swoops at the sight of him.

Not only is Rafe generous, successful, cleans up after himself without being asked, he’s always on time and he always asks how your day is. He’s fucking gorgeous. His piercing blue eyes make your skin heat each time they’re on you. His messy mullet seems like he’s been cutting it for years, which there’s just something charming about. Like he could have someone do it for him but he’d rather just do it himself because it’s cheaper and easier. Not that he’s hurting for money. His dad might have cut him off and left him with nothing but once he found out he was having Caleb he refused to be like him. He built his own construction company from the ground up and worked odd jobs to get to that point so his son would never want for anything. His personality just makes him even more frustratingly sexy. It doesn’t help that his thick arms that always seem like they’re going to burst out of his t-shirts are covered in tattoos and his smile, god his smile, it gives you butterflies from your stomach down to your pussy. He always looks particularly edible when he gets off work though.

“Hey, Caleb here?” Rafe walks into the kitchen wearing dirty work jeans and a carhartt coat, his face has a few smudges on it and he really tests your strength when he pulls the jacket off. He’s only wearing a tight white tee that’s just as dirty as the rest of him, his broad chest and thick arms on display. You feel like you’re going to go insane when he reaches up to run his fingers through his hair and it causes his shirt to ride up and show a sliver of waist. You finally pull your eyes away from his body to meet his own and he has a brow raised in your direction. God, how long have you been ogling him? Hopefully he didn’t notice. Fuck.

“Oh, uh- no, he went out.” You let out a small sigh and shrug your shoulders trying to play it off like you don’t care. Like you didn’t make his favorite meal because you’ve hardly had any time together recently. Like you didn’t hope you could eat together then snuggle up and watch a movie together, maybe fuck. But apparently whatever party he went to tonight held priority over his own girlfriend.

“Mmm, he seems to go out a lot, huh?” Rafe chuckles and his lips quirk into a small smile but you can see the sadness in his eyes. Caleb is avoiding him and you both know that. But it’s not like him ditching you to go out is a new occurrence. “Well, I’m gonna go shower.”

“Kay, dinner is ready whenever you’re done. I waited to eat.” You don’t respond to his question about Caleb, you both know the answer, it doesn’t need to be said. His eyes linger on you for a moment and you don’t miss the way they flash to your thighs in your little sleep shorts momentarily before he turns and exits the room. You hate that just the smallest attention from him has your skin tingling. You’re just lonely, that’s all it is. He’s your boyfriend’s dad, you can’t have a crush on him. It’s just a fleeting attraction. You’re not blind, the man is walking sex. And it’s been almost two weeks since you’ve been fucked.

Around twenty minutes later Rafe comes downstairs and grabs his beer like he always does. Then he wanders into the dining room where you have the table set with dinner dished up. There’s an empty plate in front of the chair beside you in case Caleb decides to come home. But you know he won’t. Which makes it all the more hard to not drool over the way his dad is wearing grey sweatpants and a tight black tank top like it isn’t the sluttiest outfit a man could possibly wear.

Rafe could say the same about you though, sitting there in your little pajama shorts and a cropped tank top with a tiny zip up hoodie that you have unzipped halfway so it’s hanging off one of your shoulders. Smiling up at him from his dining room table that has never been set a day in its life up until you moved in with a warm meal prepared for him after a long day. It’s something he’s always wanted, someone to come home to, someone that cooks him meals that aren’t take-out or from the microwave. And he hates how sweet and full of life you are. He hates it because he loves it. You blast music and dance around while you clean. You bring the kind of noise to this house that was otherwise so quiet sometimes he felt like any sound he made bounced off the walls. And you’re so fucking pretty it almost hurts.

Especially because he can never have you. Not only is he old enough to be your father, you’re his son’s girlfriend for fucks sake. But that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy your presence. Especially if Caleb isn’t going to. He loves his son with all his heart but just in the short time you’ve been here he’s noticed he isn’t very attentive with you. He wishes that didn’t disappoint him and also fill him with something that is tinged with jealousy that he pushes away immediately. He just doesn’t like to see his son taking a woman like you for granted. If he had someone like you? He’d worship at her feet and do anything he could to make her happy. He really needs to find a way to control these thoughts he’s been having about you because it seems like they intensify the more time he spends around you and he can’t let a small attraction that he can tuck away in the back of his mind become anything bigger than that. Not with you. He’s just getting older and more lonely every year and you’re beautiful, easy to talk to, and living in his house, wearing those little tank tops and tight yoga pants. It’s just some minor lust, that’s all.

“I made chicken parm and there’s uh - mashed potatoes and sauteed veggies.” You gesture to the food on his plate as he sits down in the chair across from you.

“Thanks, looks good.” Rafe clears his throat and cuts a piece of chicken from his plate, bringing it between his lips with a groan that has you clenching your thighs. “Damn, that’s delicious. This is Caleb’s favorite, right?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I’m sorry he’s not here.” You sigh and look down at your plate, pushing some food around with your fork. Mentioning the lack of your boyfriend’s presence has another wave of disappointment washing over you. You’re starting to wonder why you even get your hopes up anymore.

“You don’t need to apologize for him, he’s a grown man.” Rafe’s expression hardens slightly, he can’t help it. You made Caleb his favorite dinner and he flaked on you? Not only is he disappointed as his father but he also can’t believe any man would take your sweet gestures for granted. He’d die to have someone be this attentive with him. “I’m sorry he isn’t here.”

“Ha! He’s a grown man, you don’t need to apologize for him.” You throw his words back at him with a smirk and it makes him chuckle, the tension in the air starting to dissipate.

“Well, you got me there.” Rafe runs his hand over his head turning sideways under the guise of having to stretch but really he’s hiding the little smile that you keep seeming to bring to his face. Rafe thinks it might be a little too giddy to be coming from your boyfriend’s dad.”For what it’s worth, this is really good, thank you. I appreciate you cooking.”

“Yeah, no problem, just paying my dues.” It’s your turn to pretend to stretch. The words he said were so simple, but to you, they held so much meaning. To be appreciated for something you do, isn’t something you get very often. “I’m - um- I’m glad you like it.”

“Yeah it’s really good.” He pokes the veggies on his plate with his fork and gives them a look of disdain that has you hiding a chuckle behind your hand. You’ve noticed he tends to eat around the healthy stuff you serve him. “But I could do without these veggies though.”

“I’ll make a healthy eater out of you, you’ll see.” You give him a playful glare that he returns with a smile he doesn’t bother to hide this time. “It’ll be good for your heart, old man.”

“Wow! I am not that old.” Rafe brings his hand to his chest in mock offense and it sends you both into a fit of laughter.

“Mhm, whatever you say old man. Let me know if you need help getting up the stairs after dinner!” You lean forward on your elbows and laugh and it takes every bit of willpower Rafe has to not linger on the way your tits bounce at your motions.

“You’re funny, I like talking to you.” You hate that the way he says that makes your body heat because you know he doesn’t mean it like that. And you shouldn’t want him to.

You really need to stop relying on Caleb for rides. This is the third time now that he’s forgotten to pick you up from your two AM shifts and you don’t really have many other options. Your coworkers already left you to lock up for the night, your sister isn’t answering her phone and you’ve never been able to rely on your dad for a single thing in your life. You wish you had friends to call. Or money to get your own car. You groan and throw your head back in frustration when your boyfriend’s phone goes to voicemail for the fifth time. You could call an uber but you’re really trying to save money to get out of Rafe’s hair sooner rather than later. Rafe, he would pick you up. But do you even want to call him? He’s definitely asleep, since he gets up at the crack of dawn everyday for work and do you really want to open that door?

The two of you have been getting along really well the last few weeks, settling into coexisting with one another. You honestly spend more time with him than you do your boyfriend at this point but he’s already done so much for you and you aren’t sure if you want to push it. You could sleep here, on the couch in the office and hopefully Caleb will get back to you by morning. But you really want to take a shower. And if you uber it’s really just setting you back on saving so in the long run it’s going to put Rafe out even more anyway. Fuck it. You click on his contact and it only rings twice before he answers.

“Hello?” Rafe’s sleepy voice says your name and you can’t help but wonder if that’s how he’d sound moaning in your ear while he pounds his - you’ve gotta stop. “Everything okay?”

“Hi, Rafe.” You take in a shaky breath, god you hate asking people for help. “Um, everything is okay, it’s just - is Caleb home?”

“Is he not with you? I thought he was picking you up tonight.” You hear rustling, like he’s getting up out of bed. “He’s not here. He hasn’t been home since this morning unless he came home when I was at work. Are you okay?”

“No, uh - he’s not with me.” You clear your throat and let out a dry, half hearted, chuckle. “He was supposed to pick me up, he must’ve just gotten caught up, maybe his phone died or something. I can’t get ahold of him could you -”

“I’m coming to get you. Stay inside, keep the doors locked.” You hear his belt clanking as he hurriedly gets dressed on the other side of the line. “I’ll be there in ten.”

Seven minutes later you hear Rafe’s pick-up idling outside and your phone is dinging with a text that he’s here. You aren’t sure how it's possible that he got here so fast, considering his house is in a nice suburb outside figure eight and the bar you work at is on the cut, but you don’t question it. You lock up the bar, walk over to the curb, and hop in Rafe’s truck.

“Hey, I’m so sorry. I didn’t have anyone else to call and -” Rafe chuckles but it’s not one of those charming ones you’ve come to know, he seems irritated and now you really wish you would’ve just slept in the bar.

“Don’t, be sorry.” Rafe shakes his head as he puts the truck into gear and pulls off toward his house. “I’m sorry that my son left you hanging like that.”

“Oh, it’s okay.” You wave your hand and try to brush it off with a smile, maybe ease some of the tension. But Rafe’s hands just tighten on the steering wheel causing his knuckles to whiten and he breathes out hard through his nose. Maybe you really fucked up by calling him.

“No. It’s not. It’s unacceptable.” Rafe grits out. He’s trying to not be unreasonably angry but the way he’s watched his son basically neglect you has been grinding his gears more and more everyday. And now he forgets you at one of the sketchiest bars in town in the middle of the night? You were alone, it seems like your coworkers already left. Anyone could have decided to try and break in, what would you have done if he didn’t come?

He hates that it makes him feel animosity toward Caleb, that jealous feeling that’s tinged with possession growing more and more the longer he’s around you. He would never forget you. If it was up to him you wouldn’t work in that bar at all and he’d take care of all your needs and desires. Rafe is old school, he wants a pretty woman to come home to, to cook for him and let him eat her pussy every night before bed. Someone who will keep him in check and make him laugh when it counts. The way the two of you have been living together kind of feels like that, excluding the sex parts. Lines are starting to blur for him and maybe he just really needs to get laid. It’s been over a year now.

“If you ever need a ride, call me. I’ll be there.” You don’t argue, there’s no point. This man is as stubborn as you and if you try and disagree you’ll just go back and forth till one of you caves. And you have a feeling it would be you. His voice holds a finality that just has you nodding in agreement before the two of you fall into comfortable silence for the rest of the drive.

Okay, Rafe seriously needs to get laid. He feels like he’s living in a never ending intro to a porno. He isn’t sure if he’s ever been more thankful or if he regrets ever putting that in the ground hot tub out back but he feels like he’s being tortured. It’s mid November so the pool is covered but the hot tub is free game and you’ve definitely been taking advantage of that. He should be glad, it’s the first time it’s getting real use since he built it but the fact that you go in it nearly every day means you’re in a bikini nearly everyday.

You have a few different ones but the one you’re wearing right now while you walk through the kitchen. You have a pink towel that you definitely brought with you from home thrown over your shoulder and the little platform slides you’re wearing are the only other thing on your body. The baby pink straps of the bikini hug your curves perfectly. The little triangles barely cover more than your nipples and he can see that they’re pierced through the thin material. The bottoms are practically a thong, showing off that little angel wing tramp stamp tattooed on your lower back. Hardly something you think that a girl would wear around her boyfriend’s dad, but he’s starting to think you’re doing it on purpose.

Things have been different between the two of you this last week. Caleb went on a ski trip with his friends and didn’t even bother to invite you. It’s not like they’re your friends, anyway. So it’s just been you and Rafe for the last five days. There was a night that the two of you ordered chinese food and you showed him what a “christmas horror movie” is. Which he really enjoyed. He’s not huge on movies but he can’t deny that he loves a good horror movie.

You laughed and joked together. Playfully teased each other over your food orders and ended up just ordering twice as much food. You both sat maybe just a little too close and your arms brushed every once in a while. It was almost like you both got more brave after that, letting glances linger a little longer than necessary. His hand on the small of your back when he passes the kitchen. Flirty banter. And your outfits somehow seem to be getting smaller and smaller by the day.

His cock pulses as he watches you bend over in your little swimsuit to grab a water bottle out of the fridge and he doesn’t advert his gaze fast enough because when you stand up straight and look over your shoulder at him there’s this mischievous little glint in your eyes and a smug smirk painted on your lips. You turn his way and rest your palms on the marble countertop he built himself and it almost makes your tits spill out of what little material is covering them. He’s going to lose it.

“You gonna get in with me yet, old man? Or are you still too boring?” You tilt your head to the side with a bright smile and your voice is so saccharine he feels like he’s gonna get a goddamn toothache. He can’t go in the hot tub with you though, his control is slipping more and more everyday and being that close to you, wet, in that bikini, seems like a recipe for disaster.

“Guess I’m still too boring, little girl.” Your little ongoing inside joke of teasing each other about your ages makes him chuckle because he’s not really old, he’s only forty two. And you’re certainly not a little girl, you’re a sexy young woman. Too sexy. And too sweet and thoughtful. And you’re fucking funny and quirky. And he hates how bad he wants you.

It’s getting harder to chalk it up to lust the more time he spends alone with you. But he still has hope that he’s just lonely and horny because he can’t like you, you’re his son’s girlfriend for god's sake. Even if Caleb doesn’t treat you like you’re even his girlfriend at all. He’s barely seen him the entire time you’ve lived here. He’ll hit up one of his old booty calls tomorrow, it’s saturday and every woman on this island is just dying for a chance with Rafe Cameron. The only problem is he doesn’t like any of them. He doesn’t have to like them as people to get this pent up energy out though.

“Suit yourself, have fun being old and boring.” You shrug and send him a wink. You let your eyes travel from his face down his body before turning on your heel toward the door. He holds in a groan at the sight of your hips swinging, your ass jiggling in that tiny material. He was already half hard but that sent him over the edge. He needs to take a cold fucking shower.

Rafe runs his hands through his hair, letting the cool water cascade down his back. He lets out an exasperated sigh because truly this isn’t doing shit. He’s fucking cold, still hard, and he can’t stop thinking about what would happen if he did go in the hot tub with you. Was it just a friendly invitation because he built it and you think he needs to relax more? You definitely think that, but the look you gave him said there was more to it than that. The look in your eyes always does. Like you’re saying something to him without saying it and he’s pretty sure he looks at you the same way. It can never be more than just teasing, more than walking that line. You’re off limits and he knows that. But that doesn’t stop him from wanting you and what nobody but him knows can’t hurt, right?

Rafe lets his mind wander. He imagines what it would be like if he took you up on your offer. He’d get in with you and sit as far away from you as you could. You’d probably talk because even though Rafe isn’t a big talker, it seems to come easy with you. He thinks about the way the water would make your tits float in that little top and how little tendrils of your hair would fall free from that clip you have in and stick to your skin. He can see that little cheshire smirk you always give him and that mischievous look in your eyes is just straight up naughty now as his mind has you inching closer to him by the second.

You’d press yourself against him, your beautiful tits that he knows are probably so soft pressed up against his arm as you look at him with pouty lips and tell him how bad you want him. He’d grab your hips and pull you into his lap to straddle him and wandering hands would turn into heated kisses while you grind down on his cock. He would finally take that top off and get to see your tits, grab them, suck them.

Rafe grabs his throbbing cock and squeezes the base before pumping it in his hand. He groans in his chest as his head falls and his fantasy continues. In his mind his hand travels between your legs and pushes your bikini bottoms to the side, rubbing your clit a few times before thrusting two fingers knuckle deep in your wet pussy. You’d let out the prettiest moans while he pushes you to the edge with his fingers. And then you’d beg for his cock and he’d fuckig give it to you. The pace of his hand on his cock picks up and his breaths grow shallow as he imagines his hand is you, sliding his dick into your wet heat while you moan his name. You start to ride him and Rafe feels his stomach tighten. The imaginary you’s tits bounce beautifully in his face and it has his cock throbbing in his hand as he spills cum down his wrist.

He pants, the you filled haze he was in starting to fade as he comes down from his high. He turns and washes himself while he tries to shake the regret setting in. He really needs to get you out of his system.

You sigh as you use a damp towel to wipe down the bar, going through the motions of your closing duties. Caleb got home from his ski trip today and you wish you were more excited. You haven’t seen him yet since he got back while you were at work but he’s supposed to pick you up tonight. You told your sister you might need a ride, just in case. You hate that you feel like you can’t rely on him anymore. It wasn’t always like this, he used to be attentive and loving toward you, you used to be best friends. As time went on though, he got comfortable and lazy until it got to this point. You used to get butterflies and count down the seconds until you saw your boyfriend again and right now your stomach just feels like it’s filled with a pit of snakes.

He left you for an entire week, without even so much as an invitation because “he figured you wouldn’t want to go”. He left you the entire week alone in the house with his dad and if you and Rafe didn’t get along so well that would’ve been incredibly awkward. God, Rafe. You hate that the snakes in your stomach start to morph into butterflies at the thought of him. But the instant guilt that washes over you has another round of snakes swallowing the fluttering bugs whole.

These thoughts and feelings you’ve been having toward Rafe have only increased more and more over the last week. You’ve had fun with him. He’s easy to be around and surprisingly funny. You’ve grown comfortable around him and adjusted easily to living in the same space as him. Maybe a little too comfortable. You made yourself cum to the thought of him twice in a row last night. It was the first time you gave in and let your mind wander there but you haven’t cum as hard as you did in a long time. He’s just so fucking sexy and there for you. You’re just lonely, that’s all. At least that’s what you keep trying to tell yourself.

Despite your lack of faith in him, Caleb did end up picking you up from work and he even stopped at your favorite dinner for late night fries and milkshakes like you used to. You laughed together and you remembered how hot he was. His wavy blonde hair, his soft green eyes and charming, boyish smile. It’s almost like you forgot what he looks like from how little you’ve been around him lately. Everything felt better than it has in a while. Not great, but good. You had hope that maybe you and him could get back to normal up until he had you on your back with your legs spread.

Caleb isn’t bad in bed, he’s not the best ever but he’s always satisfied you. He doesn’t go down on you as much as you’d like and no matter how much you ask he won’t be rough with you but the sex isn’t bad. Tonight though? No matter what you did you couldn’t get out of your head. You usually love the way Caleb shoves his face in your neck and moans in your ear but something about it just felt like he was trying to avoid looking at you and the weight of his body as he thrusted deep into you almost felt suffocating. You were wet, you wanted to cum, but your brain wouldn’t let you. That was until Rafe’s face flashed into your mind and no matter how hard you tried to push him out it was like he barricaded himself there. You imagined it was him on top of you instead and it’s embarrassing how fast you came after that. Caleb wasn’t far behind you, spilling into the condom before pulling out of you and rolling over on his back. That was another thing, you were on birth control and no matter how much you begged him to cum inside you he wouldn’t. He said “it wasn’t worth the risk.” He fell asleep shortly after that and even though it was almost four in the morning you couldn’t shut your mind off. So you get out of bed and wander downstairs to the kitchen for a midnight snack.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you round the kitchen corner to see Rafe sitting at the island. Your hands fly up to cover your chest on instinct because all you’re wearing is a tiny silk nightie. You didn’t expect him to be up. God, did he hear you?

“Rafe! Hi! You scared the shit out of me.” You let out a breathy laugh and try to act normal. Your hands find the hem of your nightgown and tug, willing it to cover more of your ass. But that only pulls it further down your tits and the way Rafe is looking at you right now is making you want to melt into the ground. He’s never looked at you so hungrily but he also looks kind of pissed off. “I didn’t expect you to be up, sorry!”

“Huh, well, I couldn’t sleep.” Any hope that he didn’t hear you diminishes in that moment. “If you’re going to get railed under my roof at three in the morning the least you can do is try and be quiet.”

“I-” Your entire body warms and your words get caught in your throat. He really just went right out with it, didn’t he? He couldn’t just pretend it didn’t happen like a normal person? “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? Me too.” Rafe chuckles almost condescendingly. “I have to be up for work in an hour and I’ve spent the last forty five minutes listening to your fake moans until you finally came.”

“Mr. Cameron.” You gasp at the brashness of his words. Why does he sound like a jealous boyfriend and not someone who’s angry at a loss of sleep? “I don’t think that’s really appropriate… I’m sorry if we woke you up but-”

“No.” Rafe’s tone makes your body tingle with anxiety and something else you try not to dwell on as you watch him push himself up from his seat and round the kitchen island in a few strides. He stops only inches in front of you, his large frame looming over you. It’s only now you realize he’s in nothing but a pair of black, low to the hips sweatpants and it’s blindingly apparent that he isn’t wearing any underwear. “You know what’s inappropriate? Moaning so loud your boyfriend’s dad can hear you from down the hall… Or is that what you wanted?”

He drops his voice to a low whisper at the last part and you’re completely stunned by his words. Especially because he’s not wrong. A small part of you hoped he’d hear you. You didn’t expect this reaction though. Your words are caught in your throat for a minute too long and you know the way you’re looking up at him with your thighs clenched and your eyes blown wide gives you away. And when he smirks down at you, you know you’re caught.

“It is, isn’t it?” Rafe leans down further into your personal space, his plush lips just barely grazing the shell of your ear. “Naughty girl.”

Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest and you’re at a complete loss for words. You’re starting to think you fell asleep and you’re dreaming. Rafe pulls back, his eyes feel like they’re setting your skin on fire as he looks down at you like he wants to bend you over this counter right now. But, he doesn’t. His large hand grazes your shoulder as he reaches out to push your hair back and after giving you a final once over from head to toe he takes a few backwards steps before turning on his heel and going up the stairs. What the fuck just happened?

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You can’t believe Rafe is here and with Hollis Robinson, of all people. Her being here isn’t irregular, she comes in here every week to hang all over the different blue collar men. You guess she’s just trying to go for something the opposite of her last husband, midlife crisis and all that. But why does she have to be here with him. There’s no way he didn’t agree to come here just to piss you off. At first you weren’t sure if he just had a naturally flirty nature and maybe you were just thinking too much into it because like you’ve been beating into your own head you’re just lonely. But after last night in the kitchen? And now this? You’re starting to think there’s more to it.

Especially since you want to walk over there and claw Hollis’ eyes out of her skull for how she’s looking at him. And the way he keeps looking over at you over her shoulder with a smug fucking grin painted on his face says a lot. This is payback for last night and if he wants to play that game? You’ll bite. You pull your tiny black tank top even further down, revealing the top of your red bra and you pull up your low rise jeans up slightly more on your hips so they hug your ass. You make sure your tattoo is still on display though, you’ve noticed him looking at it.

“Can I get you guys a refill?” You lean down and rest your palms on the table with a wide smile on your face and you can’t help but press your elbows together to show off your tits even more. The charming smile Rafe was throwing Hollis’ way falls the minute he lays eyes on you. He came here in hopes of riling you up and gauging your reaction to see if this was all in his head but now he’s the one feeling like clawing someone’s eyes out.

He’s picked you up a few times but he’s never come inside the bar and he can’t believe that this is where you work. It’s not particularly dirty but it’s definitely a dive bar, the kind of place guys like him and bikers on the road stop for a beer. If he was the kind of guy that went to bars, that is. But what’s really getting to him is how every set of male eyes in the building follow you wherever you go. They’re like bees to honey to the way you walk around with that sweet smile, swinging your hips. He wants to wrap his coat around you and haul you out over his shoulder so no other man can see you. But you aren’t his, so he needs to play it cool.

“Sure, honey. Another martini, dry.” Hollis barely spares you a glance and wave of her fingers before going back to drooling over Rafe.

She’s sitting in the chair next to him but she has it pulled so close she might as well be in his fucking lap. Her heel clad foot swings back and forth, hitting his calf every few passes and you want to break it off. She rests her chin on her folded hands as she gazes over at him with the biggest fuck me eyes you think you’ve ever seen.

“And a Coors Light for you, right? In the can.” You let your eyes flash from Rafe’s to his lips for just a split moment before locking eyes with him again. You wet your bottom lip with your tongue and then pull it between your teeth and Rafe has to literally stop himself from groaning at the sight. Hollis hasn’t solicited a single reaction out of his body the entire night, but every time he looks at you his cock gets just a little bit harder. His plan is completely backfiring on him.

“Yeah, thanks, angel.” The nickname catches you both off guard. It makes his eyes blow wide as he takes in a deep breath through his nose. He’s been holding that back for some time now but it’s true, you are an angel. Your bright eyes, the way you care for him and that little tattoo. A naughty little angel with horns, that is. And even though your insides are melting, you paint on a smug smirk, not backing down from this fight.

“You got it, babe.” You throw him a wink, just catching the way his eyes widen slightly before flicking your hair over your shoulder and turning on your heel toward the bar. You make sure to swing your hips extra because you can feel Rafe’s eyes on you. You love knowing you’re getting to him, maybe not as much as he does to you. But you’re getting a reaction and that fills you with pride you shouldn’t feel.

You make Hollis’ martini without hardly even looking, most drinks have become second nature to you after working here for three years. You peak over at Rafe after grabbing his beer and you immediately see red. Hollis has her leg thrown over his lap while she presses her tits against his big arm that you want to latch onto with your teeth and never let go. Rafe looks half interested in what she’s saying, at least. Especially when he looks over at you and fucking smirks. Yeah, you’re gonna ruin his fucking night. What if he plans on bringing her home? You don’t think you can stand to hear him fucking her from down the hall. Even the thought makes you want to puke and you wonder if that’s how he felt the other night.

That might be wishful thinking though. You paint on your sweetest smile and walk back over to their table, placing their drinks on the table. You make sure to lean over Rafe close enough that your tits graze his other arm. A silent display of possession that nobody but Rafe notices.

“Here’s your drinks, enjoy!” You turn like you’re going to walk away before quickly turning back around. “Actually, I meant to ask, how long will you be here? I kind of need a ride home.”

“He’s busy, I’m sure you can find someone else to take you ho-” Hollis tries to shoo you away but Rafe cuts her off, pushing his chair back enough that her leg falls from his lap.

“When are you off?” Hollis scoffs and detaches herself from him, sitting back in her seat. Thank god. You can’t help the small smirk you send her way.

“In an hour, I’m not closing tonight.” Your eyes lock with Rafe’s crystal blue ones and you can tell he knows what you’re doing. Yet you don’t care. And he’s still letting you do it, so. “If you don’t mind hanging around until then.”

“Actually, I was thinking about heading out soon.” Hollis shoots you a look before resting her red manicured hand on Rafe’s bicep as she looks over at him almost desperately. Pathetic. “You wanna come to my place? Have a glass of wine, get cozy?”

“I would, but I think it’s best I make sure she gets home safe.” Rafe barely spares her a glance while he shuts her down and she visibly deflates. You would feel bad if you didn’t want to rip each one of her thickly mascara lined eyelashes out of her head.

“Aww, really?” Hollis pouts as she tips her head to the side to try and get Rafe to look at her but he doesn’t. His eyes stay on you. “I think we will have a good time, I’m sure she can find another ride, can’t you?” She looks at you like you’re going to be her wingman and take one for the team or something. Too bad you don’t feel like sharing. Even if he isn’t yours and probably never will be. He’s not going to rub it in your face at your place of work.

“Actually, my ride fell through.” You cross your arms to push your tits up and set your lips into a pout. Rafe feels like he’s going to fucking lose it any second. You never ask him for help, so he knows you're jealous and it’s making his cock uncomfortably hard. “I can probably swing an uber if you’re busy though.”

“No. I’m taking you home with me.” With him. You like the sound of that. “Go do your stuff. I’ll wait.”

“I know what you were doing in there, I’ve been around the block a few times, little girl.” Rafe grits at you as pulls out of the bar parking lot. He waited for you to get off. Hollis left before he did, not without asking him to go home with her again, of course.

“And I know what you were doing in there, old man. Just because I’m younger than you doesn’t mean I’m oblivious.” You roll your eyes and put your doc’s up on his dash. It makes him groan as he reaches over to knock them back down. “Umm, rude.”

“I’m rude? And ruining my date isn’t?” Rafe scoffs.

“Oh, don’t play dumb. You didn’t want to be on that date and we both fucking know it, Rafe.” You roll your eyes and shake your head and Rafe really wishes he wasn’t driving right now so he could finally spank that attitude out of you. He has half a mind to pull over but he has to keep reminding himself you’re not his. “You would have never gone there if I didn’t work there, don’t act like that wasn’t why. Don’t pretend you didn’t want to see my reaction.”

“She asked to go there, you’re just overthinking it.” Rafe shakes his head as he turns onto the main road toward his neighborhood.

“No. If I was overthinking it, you would’ve left with her and not me. Don’t try to make me feel like I’m making shit up in my head, you were blindingly obvious about it.” His big hands tighten on the steering wheel causing the veins to pop out. You want to slobber all over them and feel them inside you. “You were trying to make me jealous and it worked, so what now?”

“Now? Nothing.” Rafe chuckles dryly and you can see his jaw tense. “We go home, you go to bed and I’ll do the same. Nothing can happen and you know that.”

“But you aren’t saying you don’t want it to.” You press the issue, you aren’t letting it go that easily.

“God damn it.” Rafe breathes out through his nose and says your name sternly. “Stop. Just stop. This can’t be a thing. No more of this shit that happened tonight. We go back to coexisting the way we should and if I want to go on dates you’re just going to have to get over that because you are my son’s fucking girlfriend, jesus.”

“Yeah, whatever, tell yourself that all you want.” You lean back in your seat with your arms crossed, turning away from him to look out the window. “You know it’s more than that but go ahead and keep lying to yourself.”

“It’s what I have to do, okay?!” Rafe snaps and slams his hand on the steering wheel before regaining his control. He runs his hand through his hair as he takes a deep breath. He isn’t the guy that loses his temper at the drop of a hat anymore but you’re so god damn frustrating it makes him feel like he’s going insane. “Now please, just let it go.”

“Fine. But I know you feel this thing between us.” You laugh dryly, your throat feeling tight from rejection even if you know you’re right. “But I’ll drop it and let you live in your little land of denial.”

“Thank you.” Rafe sighs and you both fall silent for the remainder of the drive, only the sound of the local rock station playing quietly in the background.

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You curse under your breath as you toss your keys down on the table by the door and rip your coat from your body. All the other times Caleb has forgotten to pick you up were just mildly annoying in comparison to this. Considering it’s your fucking birthday. You don’t think he even remembers. He didn’t say anything to you this morning before you left for your day shift and he hasn’t texted you all day. He did say he would pick you when you managed to momentarily wake him up though. You hoped maybe he had a surprise planned for you when you got off but you aren’t even sure why you let the thought cross your mind. It feels like he doesn’t even care about you anymore.

As much as Rafe wants to deny that there’s something between you, he gives you more attention than your own boyfriend. Caleb was out all night, so, was he passed out hungover this morning. But when you went downstairs there were doughnuts and coffee from your favorite bakery sitting on the kitchen counter. There was a pink balloon tied to the coffee and a little note in front of it that read “Happy Birthday, angel. -R.C.”

Rafe was already gone for work when you woke up so you haven’t had a chance to thank him yet. You hate that you’re more excited for him to be home than you are to see Caleb. You know he’s here somewhere because his car is out front, you assume he’s upstairs gaming with his headset on and his phone on silent. Or he’s asleep. You sigh deeply as you walk over to the box of doughnuts still sitting on the counter and pull one from the box. You take a bite before looking out the kitchen window and when you do you nearly choke.

Caleb isn’t gaming, and he’s not asleep. But he is out back in the hot tub with his “friend” Jessica. Ass naked. Fucking her from behind with her top half bent over the ledge. You feel like you’re going to be sick as you watch her mouth fall open in pleasure. Caleb pulls her hair, yanking her head back before you watch him land a smack on her ass as he fucks her roughly from behind. He’s never fucked you like that. It was always so vanilla and lackluster. Watching him fuck her like you’ve asked him to fuck you a thousand times is like a knife to your heart. Tears prickle the rims of your eyes But you don’t want to cry because you’re sad, no, you’re fucking pissed. You slam your hand down on the counter in frustration, crushing the glazed treat you’re still holding against the marble. You take a deep breath, readying yourself, and then you walk out the back door.

“Well, isn’t this just fucking rich.” You chuckle dryly as you walk across the back patio to the hot tub and Caleb and Jessica’s eyes flash toward you, their movements halting. “You know, you’ve gotten me some pretty shit presents over the years, Caleb. But being so balls deep in some other bitch that you forget my birthday entirely really takes the fucking cake.”

“Babe!” Caleb backs away from Jessica with his eyes blown wide, pulling out of her and leaving her to stand there trying to cover herself. “It’s not -”

“It’s not what it looks like, really Caleb?” You scoff and you can’t even help but laugh. “You’re a fucking idiot. There’s no talking your way out of being a cheating fucking whore when I saw it with my own two eyes.”

“Hey! Listen, I’m really sorry I didn’t -” Jessica’s voice is strained and nervous as she pulls herself from the hot tub and reaches for her clothes that are discarded on the ground.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch. You know exactly what you did. Everyone in your little friend group knows me and Caleb are together. Don’t disrespect me by lying to my face.”

You take a few hurried steps towards her and she flinches, making a smirk spread across your lips. Good. She should be scared. She’s lucky Caleb isn’t worth an assault charge. You send your pathetic excuse for a boyfriend a glare. “How long?”

“Since the ski trip…” His head hangs low between his shoulders and you can’t believe he has the audacity to be pouting right now. But he’s always been selfish.

“Oh? So this has been going on for weeks? And I bet all your little friends knew, huh?” Caleb opens his mouth to answer but you cut him off. “Were you all just sitting around laughing, knowing I was oblivious? You disgust me.”

“Babe -”

“I’m not your fucking babe! Shut up! I’m tired of hearing your god damn voice, Caleb!” You shriek and stomp your foot in frustration.

“Whoa, what the hell is going on out here?” The sound of Rafe’s voice sends an icy hot chill all through your body. God, how much of that did he see?

“Dad, don’t worry about it. Just go inside, this is none of your business.” Rafe loves his son with all his heart and even if Caleb doesn’t realize it, everything he’s done in his life has been for him. But right now? He has never been more disappointed in his entire life.

Rafe didn’t see everything but he got home around the time you were calling Caleb a cheating whore. That combined with the fact that there was a random girl scrambling to put her clothes on while his son stands naked in the hot tub doesn’t make it hard to tell what is happening.

“There’s yelling going on in my house, I think that’s my business.” Rafe is almost at a loss for words. He feels frozen. He would never abandon Caleb but the fact that he did this to you fills him with rage. The fact that he took you for granted was one thing, but cheating on you? It makes his blood boil. If it were anyone else they’d be getting their ass beat right now.

“I think I’m just going to go.” All three of their heads whip towards you at your words. Rafe looks distressed, Jessica looks guilty as hell and Caleb has a mixture of both painted on his face.

“No, you stay. I’ll feel like shit knowing you’re sleeping on your sister's couch when you’ve been pulling my weight around here anyways.” Caleb pulls himself out of the hot tub and pulls his swim trunks on before walking toward you. It makes you take a step back.

“You can stay with me, if you need.” Jessica squeaks out and it makes you belly laugh. You really are such a fucking joke.

“You don’t have to leave, either of you. We can work something out.” Rafe looks over at his son, so fucking disappointed in him but he doesn’t love him any less and he doesn’t want him to leave. But he really doesn’t want you to leave either, he’s really come to love you. Well, he loves having you around. He doesn’t love you, he can’t. But god the longer he’s around you he wants to love you so badly. Especially right now, he can see you shaking from here. He can see the angry tears threatening to fall from your eyes and he hates it. He wants to grab you, pull you into his chest, and protect you from the world.

“I won’t force her to be around me after this, dad.” Caleb sighs as he pinches his nose before locking eyes with you. “Just stay here, okay? I want you to stay where you have space. You seem happier here. I’m going to go get some stuff to get me through a couple days and I’ll come back for the rest later on. Come on Jessica, we’re leaving.”

“Listen, I’m really sorry I never meant for you to find out like this.” Jessica sends you an apologetic look.

“Ha! I don’t give a fuck about your apology, bitch. Get out of my sight before I beat your ass.” You take a threatening step toward her and she hurriedly runs toward the back door with Caleb in tow. He sends you another sad glance before walking inside, leaving you alone with Rafe.

“God, what the fuck just happened!?” You let out an aggressive deep breath as you flop down on one of the patio chairs. You groan and throw your head back, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes.

“Are you okay?” The sound of Rafe’s voice inches from you makes you jump as your eyes shoot toward him. He’s crouching in front of the chair with a concerned look on his face and god, you want to jump into his lap and have him hold you so badly. Even when Caleb literally cheats on you, you can’t get these thoughts of Rafe out of your head. If anything they’re just increasing by the second.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. You should go check on Caleb, tell him he doesn’t have to go.” You clear your throat to stop the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. “Once I calm down a bit I’ll go get my shit together and get out of your hair.”

“No.” Rafe’s voice is stern but not angry and your entire body heats when he rests his big hands on your knees so you’ll look at him. “I don’t want you to leave. I love my son so damn much but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed in him right now. I’ll never force him to leave but if he wants to go, I think maybe it’s for the best right now.”

“Yeah, but even if he leaves there’s no reason for me to be here if he and I aren’t together, Rafe.” You sniffle, wiping your nose and under your eyes with your hoodie sleeve. You refuse to let him see you cry.

“There is a reason, doll.” Rafe squeezes your knees slightly in a comforting manner as he looks up at you so sincerely you could almost melt. “I want you here. I like having you here. Not just because you help out around the house or because you make delicious food. I like you, I like your presence and being around you. I don’t like to talk much, I can’t stand small talk, but it comes easy with you.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Rafe. You have no obligation to me, I can’t just freeload off of you.” You sigh and Rafe can’t help it, he glances toward the house to see if Caleb is looking but the blinds are closed so he leans up on his knees and takes your face in his hands.

“I know I’m not fuckin’ obligated but I want to help you. I want you here, please?” Rafe’s voice breaks at the end and he hates that he sounds so desperate. But that desperation tells you all you need to know. He’s saying it without saying it. Rafe wants you. And now that Caleb gave you the ultimate fuck you, what’s really holding you back from having him aside from your own moral compass? He’s still Caleb’s dad. On the other hand though? Fuck Caleb and his feelings.

“Okay. I’ll stay.” Your voice is small and you swallow deeply as Rafe continues to hold your face in his big, calloused hands.

“That’s my girl.” Rafe grins at you and places a kiss on your forehead and for a second you forget who Caleb even is. He’s never touched you this much and now you never want him to stop. You want to feel his lips and hands on every inch of your body. “Sit tight, okay? I’m gonna go make sure Caleb is okay and see if he needs any help.”

You sigh and look up at the sky. The sun is setting, kissing the tops of the trees as the cold midwinter wind whips through your hair. You’d probably be freezing in your little work outfit if you weren’t so filled with adrenaline. Are you really gonna stay here with Caleb’s dad? Especially when you know how badly you want him? You know the answer is yes, against your better judgement. You’ve tried to push your feelings down, tell yourself they were based on loneliness and circumstance. But the fact that you just watched Caleb cheat on you and you were more sad about the fact that you’ll have to move away from Rafe is very telling.

You want Rafe. You want his kind gestures. You want the banter you have when you order take ou and watch cheesy horror movies on nights you were left alone. You want the way his lips look extra plush and the way his mullet looks all messy when he first wakes up. You want the possessiveness and the protectiveness. You want to jump his bones when he gets home in his work clothes all covered in mud. You want to eat dinner and shower together and fuck before bed. You want him to fuck you on every inch of this house actually. You want him so bad you can’t even deny it anymore. You want him so bad it almost hurts.

You let yourself sit with that information until you hear the front door shut and Caleb’s car pull out of the driveway. You’re finally starting to get cold so you take a deep breath and push yourself up from the chair to face the music.

As you approach the back door you realize the lights in the kitchen are off, which is odd for this time of day. Did Rafe go to bed to avoid having to interact with you? You wouldn’t blame him, part of you wants the same. You just want to sink in bed and sleep for a week. But when you open the door your hand flies to your mouth with a gasp.

The room is illuminated by candles that are lit on top of the prettiest cake. It’s shaped like a heart with pink and white frosting and your name is in the middle of it, written in pretty, frosted cursive. If that wasn’t enough there’s a little box with a bow sitting next to it and the greatest present of all is the man standing behind them. Rafe still has his navy work shirt with the logo for his company on and he has this lopsided, boyish smile painted on his face that makes your stomach erupt with butterflies. This man is a dream.

“Rafe, I- you did this for me?” Your words nearly get caught in your throat and tears prickle your eyes for an entirely different reason than they have all night. “No one has ever… No one’s ever done anything this nice for me before.”

“I know. That’s why I did it.” Rafe smiles at you sweetly as he scratches the side of his neck before running his hands through his hair. “Don’t go getting all teary eyed on me before you even open your gift, angel.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything…” Your voice is barely a whisper and you hardly trust it as you approach the counter and pick up the little box. At first glance you’d think it was jewelry but when you pull off the bow and open it up there’s a keyfob inside. “What is? Rafe, you did not buy me a car!”

“No, yeah, I did.” Rafe chuckles and comes around the other side of the counter to stand no more than a foot away from you. “You deserve it.”

“Rafe, I can’t accept this. You have to take it back.” You push the box toward him but he just stops your hand, pushing it back toward your chest.

“Well, I’m not taking it back. So if you don’t drive it, it’s just going to sit in the garage collecting dust.” He splays his hand across your chest, holding the key and your hand in his larger one as he looks down at you almost lovingly. It fills your heart with hope you’ve been refusing to let in. Rafe tucks your hair behind your ear and presses a kiss to your temple. “Let me do this for you.”

You can’t help it, you throw yourself into his arms with a squeal and he catches you easily with an arm around your waist. You’re tired of denying yourself his touch, it is your birthday, after all. Rafe chuckles and squeezes you to his chest before setting you on your feet in front of the cake.

“Make a wish, birthday girl.” He wraps his arms around your waist and tucks his chin against your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world and you know exactly what you’re going to wish for. More of this. More of him. For as long as he will have you. You lean forward and blow out the candles before letting your body rest against Rafe’s with your head tilted back so you can look up at him. “What did you wish for?”

“Can’t tell you, it won’t come true.” You giggle and spin around in his arms and he takes your face in his hands. Rafe thinks you’re the most beautiful girl in the world and he can’t pretend he doesn’t anymore. He needs you. He wants to kiss you so bad and you surprise the hell out of him by throwing your arms around his shoulders and smashing your lips against his own.

The kiss starts off tender, almost nervous. But it quickly turns heated when his big hands grip onto your waist and pull you flush against him. He groans against your mouth and you use it as an opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth and tangle it with his. You stand there making out, your hands wandering any part of each other they can reach. Rafe’s hands slip lower and slide just under the bottom hem of your skirt, grazing your ass. You

bite down on his bottom lip and Rafe pulls back to look down at you.

“Fuck, we really shouldn’t…” Rafe breathes out through his nose and bites his lip, his actions contradicting his words because his hands travel higher up your skirt and grip onto your ass possessively.

“Do you care?” You raise an eyebrow at him as you grind your stomach against his rock hard cock and scratch the back of his neck with your pointed nails.

“Fuck, not anymore.” Rafe loops his arms around your thighs and you jump up so he can carry you to the couch. He tosses you over the arm and gets on the couch behind you with his legs bracketing yours. He leans over your body so his lips are brushing the shell of your ear. “The first time I fuck you is gonna be in my bed but I’ve been waiting so long to spank that bratty ass and eat that sweet little pussy I need to do it right fucking here.”

Rafe leans back and pushes your little Jean mini skirt up over your ass to reveal the tiniest little pink thong he’s ever seen. He lands a harsh smack on your ass and it causes you to yelp and jolt forward. He gives the other the cheek the same treatment before bringing his hands down on both at once.

“So fucking perfect. Knew you would be, baby.” Rafe runs his fingers over your slit through the lace of your panties, feeling your sticky wetness. “And so fucking wet.”

He gathers some on his fingers before pulling away and marveling at the way it glistens in the low light. He hooks his arm around your neck and holds his fingers to your lips. “Suck.”

You take them into your mouth and swirl your tongue around them, tasting yourself mixed with Rafe’s salty sweat. It shouldn’t taste as good as it does but it makes you hum around his fingers as your eyes roll back.

“Been thinkin’ bout this all day, everyday, since you moved into this house, angel. You’ve been thinking about it too, haven’t you?” Rafe shoves his fingers down your throat causing you to gag as drool pools into your mouth before he pulls them out and spanks your ass with his wet hand, causing it to sting extra.

“Yes, daddy. Everyday. Want you so bad.” You arch your back and wiggle your ass and Rafe feels like he’s going to bust in his pants like a thirteen year old boy.

“Oh, baby, I don’t think you know what you just did.” Rafe chuckles as he grabs onto your thong and pulls it down to your knees, locking them in place. “You want me to be your daddy? Alright. But that means I get to beat this little ass red for the way you’ve been teasing me.”

“Yeah?” You glance over your shoulder at him with that mischievous look you always flash him in your eyes and a naughty little smirk painted on your lips. “Do you fucking worst, daddy.”

Rafe gives you that lopsided grin that makes your stomach do flips before spanking your ass hard. The skin immediately turns red and you don’t have time to process before he spanks you in the same exact spot even harder. He gives the other cheek the same treatment and then rotates back.

“That’s my good little girl.” Rafe rubs your reddened ass and then spanks you again and again. “Not such a brat now, huh? Just needed that attitude beat out of you?”

“I don’t know, I think you might have to fuck it out of me.” You giggle and wiggle your sore ass which only earns you another round of spankings, leaving you a moaning mess. He leans down and bites down hard on your asscheek as two fingers slide through your dripping folds.

“Don’t worry, doll. I’m gonna give you the best dick of your fucking life. But first, I’ve gotta taste this god damn pussy.” Rafe admires the growing bruises and the bite mark on your plump ass before grabbing your cheeks and spreading you open so he can run his tongue along your slit to your pulsing clit.

He swirls his tongue around it a few times before sliding it back down and thrusting it into your hole. Rafe flicks his tongue inside you and hooks his arm around your thigh so you can’t wiggle away.

“Oh, fuck! God, yes, daddy.” You whine and grind back into his face and when his thumb finds your clit you’re embarrassingly close. Your body subconsciously tries to run away from the mind blowing pleasure but Rafe only brings his free hand to the small of your back and uses it to pin your upper half down.

“Quit wiggling and let me devour this pussy, brat. Be a good girl and stay still for daddy, yeah?” Rafe mumbles against your pussy, the vibrations sending your eyes to the back of your skull. “Need you to cum for me, baby.”

Rafe unhooks his arm from your leg so he can thrust two fingers knuckle deep in your pussy while his lips latch onto your clit. He curls his fingers against your sweet spot and rolls his lips around your aching bud and that’s all it takes to have you seeing stars. Pleasure wracks your entire body as you shake beneath him. He sucks and fingers you through your orgasm until you’re over sensitive and your top half is limp with your arms dangling off the arm of the couch.

Rafe leans back to admire you and his cock feels like it’s going to burst. Your hair is cascading over your face as you lay limp across the couch with your ass arched in the air. Your crop top is pushed up showing off the curve of your back. Your butt is red and covered in his hand prints and the bite mark is already starting to bruise. Your little skirt is framing your hips perfectly and your pussy is all puffy and dripping creamy, white.

“I know I said I’d take you to the bed, baby girl, but this pussy just looks so god damn irresistible I’ve gotta have her right now.” You hear the metal of his belt clanking and the sound of his zipper before you feel the fat head of his cock slapping against your ass. He grips his shaft as he runs his tip through your dripping folds and then he uses your wetness to lube his cock. Rafe pumps himself a few times before lining up with your entrance and pushing inside you in one, unforgiving thrust. You both moan in unison as he bottoms out, his balls grazing your clit.

“Oh my god, I’m so full.” You whine as your walls clench around him and Rafe pulls his hips back until only his tip remains before slamming his cock back into you and starting up at a brutal pace. He grips onto your hips and fucks you like a man possessed. He’s entranced by the sight of your ass bouncing back against him while your creamy pussy coats his cock as it swallows him whole over and over again.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight, baby. This pussy is so perfect, fuck, even better than I ever could’ve imagined.” One of Rafe’s hands grips onto your throat and pulls you up so your back is flush against his front and the new angle pushes him even deeper inside you, making your pussy flutter around his cock. He grabs your hand with his free one and presses it against our belly where you can feel his cock bulging from inside you. “Feel that? You’re so fuckin’ full of me.”

“Yes, daddy, you’re so fucking big.” You gasp when he slams his hips up into yours so hard the sound echos off the walls and then he pulls almost all the way out and does it again and again, fucking you rough and deep. Rafe squeezes your neck as he pushes up your crop top so he can grope your tits and pinch your pierced nipples.

“Oh, Angel, I’ve just been dying to see these. The way you prance around in those little bikinis has been driving me insane. Let daddy see those pretty tits.” He pulls out of you and you whine at the loss. He grips onto your hips and flips you over so you’re straddling him.

Rafe leans back on the couch and runs his hands down your body before tracing up your stomach so he can graze his fingertips over your pert nipples. He circles the little bars that have hearts in the middle with a groan.

“Oh, fuckin’ look at you. Never seen anything more god damn perfect in my life.” Rafe leans forward to take a nipple in his mouth and it makes you cry out.

“In all your years, right, old man?” You giggle when he pulls back with a glare and grips onto your hip so he can lift you onto his cock, the feeling of him filling you again makes you nearly go cross eyed. “You getting tired yet?”

“I thought I fucked that little attitude out of you, huh?” Rafe plants his feet flat on the ground so he can thrust up into you while using his grip on your ass to bounce you on his cock. The sight of your tits in his face has him twitching inside you.

“I think it’s gonna take more than once, actually?” You smirk up at him and Rafe is fucking gone. He’s obsessed with you. “Can your old man knees keep up?”

“Baby, it’s so cute that you think I can’t keep up with you.” Rafe flips you onto your back and grips onto the back of your thighs as he kneels on the couch in front of you so he can pound into you harder and deeper than ever. “Rub your pussy for me.”

“Fuck, daddy, I’m so close.” You moan loudly as you bring your finger to your slick clit and rub circles on it. Rafe grips onto your throat and pins you to the couch cushion as he continues to plow into you. “Want you to fill me up, please?”

“Yeah? I’ll give you my cum as soon as you give me one more. Cum for daddy, sugar.” Rafe squeezes your throat as his dick hits your g-spot and your fingers rub your clit just right and it has euphoria washing over your body. Your pussy is like a vice grip around him and the pretty little moans you’re letting out as you come undone for him has Rafe spilling inside you. He doesn’t know if he’s ever cum this much in his life as his cock continues to pulse inside you and fill you with ropes of his cum. You lay pliant beneath him as you look up at him like he hung the stars and it fills him with pride, “Yeah, that’s my good little girl.”

“I’m fucking obsessed with you.” You breathe out and saying it outloud feels like the biggest weight off your shoulders. “I’ve wanted you so fucking badly, Rafe.”

“God, baby.” Rafe grabs your face in his hands and runs his thumbs along the apples of your cheeks. “I’m so god damn I’m obsessed with you too. Now that I’ve had you, I never wanna let you go. I’m addicted.”

“Yeah? Well you never have to. I’m pretty sure I’m going to have an attitude and tease you about your old man knees until the end of time.” You giggle when he throws you a playful glare and it makes a wide smile break out onto his face. “But who knows? Maybe I can be tamed one day, looks like you’ll just have to keep fucking me to find out…”

“I think I can manage that, angel, starting now.” Rafe leans down and kisses you sweetly before gripping onto your hips and standing up to throw you over his shoulder. “I’m gonna fuck you on every inch of this house, starting with my bed.”

In that moment you think to yourself that maybe sometimes birthday wishes really do come true. You both know shit is complicated, but right now you don’t care. You finally have him, and you’ll figure it out together.

Tagging mooties: @cxrrodedcoffin @starkeysprincess @rafeyscurtainbangs @cameronsprincess @sturnioloshacker @eddiesxangel @that-sarcastic-writer @rafesangelita @nemesyaaa @moonlightseranade 🤍

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ If you made it this far, thanks for sticking around for all 13k words!! I put my blood, sweat, tears, pussy, heart, soul into this. I hope you enjoyed !! DILF!Rafe moodboard ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Divider by @anitalenia

[pearlywritings]

New day - same you

synopsis: morning routine with them and other sweet moments

pairing and characters: Argenti, Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Dan Heng, Gallagher, Gepard Landau, Jiaoqiu, Jing Yuan, Loucha, Sunday, Veritas Ratio (separately) x reader

tw: established relationship (marriage/dating), fluff, halovian!reader in Sunday's, halovians have back wings here, foxian!reader in Jiaoqiu's (and his part is written before 2.5)

word count: ~4k words

Argenti

With Argenti it almost feels like competition - who's going to be the first to awake and marvel in the morning beauty of their sleeping lover. He, with his flashy but sincere words and loving kisses all over your wrists, and you, with your soft touches and quiet murmurs of the declarations of love.

The fog of the dream is hard to fight through this particular morning - Argenti stayed up way past midnight to fix the “One and Only’s” engine and practically fell into your embrace after the shower, worming his way under your lax arms. His body clock, however, is sending alarms to his brain, pushing him to wake up, stimulating the thought of opening his eyes and having a blessing of witnessing your angelic face.

Which is gone as soon as it appears. You, awake, and still holding your lover in your arms, tug him a bit closer and let his face nestle into the crook of your neck. As a fellow Knight of Beauty there is no hate in your heart for the broken engine that kept Argenti busy tonight, but it doesn't mean you can't dislike it and let him sleep a bit more. It's not like you two are rushing anywhere.

When your tender hand is laid upon his head, lovingly patting and threading fingers through the heavy locks of crimson hair, the knight feels bliss. His mind is sedated and willingly enters the gates of another dream, just as sweet as your presence.

This morning you may not have your share of compliments, breaking the little ritual, but it's more than alright. After all, the beauty of the proper rest is a nice alternative.

Aventurine

No matter what day it is - Aventurine is always the first one to wake up. An occupational hazard, if you could name working for the IPC this way. However, the one of the Stonehearts despises leaving the bed without you, and even more despises waking you up before your alarm clock goes off.

Aventurine is a busy man, who is used to starting his days with calls and messages, managing to have at least three little ‘meetings’ throughout his morning routine. And he can’t have you waking up from his voice taking a sharper edge in the conversation with one of the partners. So you reached a compromise - you sleep with earplugs and he gets to hold you in the morning while on the phone, waking you up with some nudges and kisses once the time comes.

He loves to see your sleepy but absolutely lovesick eyes after he pulls you out of the dream and lets you rest onto his chest with his arm around your body a bit longer, until this exact call is over.

Then you’d take your sweet time in the bathroom and then, as you are cooking breakfast and he is on the phone again, the man would cling to your back with his chin on your shoulder and one arm wrapped around your waist. Then he’d keep talking with you on his lap, keep talking with his hands busy with the dishes, keep talking as you pack his and your lunches. He’d be having the fourth or the fifth call by the time you are all dressed up and smoothing some invisible creases on his clothes, but he’ll always put the caller on hold to get his ‘good morning’ with a kiss and ‘have a wonderful day’ with another kiss.

But don’t be fooled - he does all that only because you explicitly expressed that you don’t mind. Just one word of yours - and he’ll swiftly finish the call, turning off his phone and giving you so much attention that by the time you both leave for work, you're gonna be affectionately sick of him.

Blade

It’s ten more minutes, the swordsman reminds himself after a quick glance at the wall clock and back to your sleeping figure. Nowadays, the Stellaron Hunter doesn’t deny you the request of staying in bed with you even if he can’t sleep normally and stays awake many hours through the night. After some nagging from you he even stopped getting in bed with his clothes on, opting for the sleeping pants and shirts you’ve bought for him to match most of yours.

Blade is leaning back on the headboard with a pillow squeezed in between as one hand, wrapped in bandages, resting on his thigh, while the other is carefully caressing the side of your head. It’s hard to believe that someone is able to snooze so peacefully next to a man like him, let alone, pressing their face into his thigh with arms wrapped around his leg.

And ‘peace’ is what Blade cherishes the most during the mornings spent with you. He makes you feel safe. You make him feel relaxed. His body next to yours is the fruit of your successful worming into his heart, your body next to his is his sanctuary. The man’s mind is at ease and he more often than not falls into the light slumber, dreamless, yet lacking nightmares too.

You crinkle your nose under the more prominent touch of his fingers across your face, and Blade stiffens. It’s still three minutes more, he doesn’t want to wake you up earlier than that. Yet at the same time, something inside him is burning with the strongest yearning of seeing your eyelids sliding up and the prettiest drowsy eyes looking up at him with so much adoration, that his heart starts bleeding like pierced.

The Stellaron Hunter looks at the clock again. One more minute. Maybe tomorrow morning he’ll let you both sleep in. Maybe it’s because you are not in any of the upcoming scripts. Or maybe it’s because he’d like to try cuddling once more.

Boothill

When in his travels, the cyborg doesn't sleep in the usual sense of this word. The correct way to describe it would be ‘recharge’, hiding somewhere in the secure corner, not even lying down, just sitting comfortably enough and letting his systems cool off and eyes plus brain rest.

When he is back home to you however… He literally starts whining and complaining if you take too long to join him in your shared bed.

Boothill always asks you to sleep in panties/shorts only. Not because he is a pervert (though he indeed can touch or lick or suck a time or two), but because in his absence he missed the heat and softness of your skin so much, that he immediately takes the little spoon position, burying his face into your chest and keening on the feeling of your fingers scratching his scalp and playing with his hair.

He loves falling asleep to the tender thumping in your chest, and even more so he loves waking up to the very same sound. It reminds him that he isn't alone in this world, that even with all the losses he experienced he still has someone to adore and treasure. He always hugs your waist a little tighter upon awakening and presses a long kiss to the valley in the middle of your chest, closing his eyes and focusing on the deep breaths you release. It feels like heaven. It is home.

Plus, he loves your confident morning behavior, when you don't bother putting on a shirt after getting out of the bed and walking around the house still mostly bare, playfully swatting his hands away when he reaches to you with grabby motions. Well, given he sometimes walks around completely naked, he has nothing to accuse you of.

Dan Heng

Dan Heng isn’t particularly fond of you sleeping in his room. Not because he guards its contents akin to a dragon that fusses over its treasures or because he doesn’t want your body pressed close to his, no. Simply because his ‘bed’ is hard. And, admittedly, the mattress is not big enough to fit two people comfortably.

But you, oh you, are always so sweet about it and reassure him that you love the close proximity it brings, and that you are ready to deal with the slight body ache in the morning, understanding that Dan Heng himself is more at ease while staying in his own ‘den’ (he is working on it).

Mornings usually start with you on top of him - even in his unconscious state the man still worries about you, so he’d rather have you use him as a pillow (and, as you once teased him, he’d use you as a weighted blanket). Next, you’ll be swift to leave his side, throwing his coat on and quietly tiptoeing to the kitchen.

Usually, by the time you return, your boyfriend is already awake, but still staying under the blanket, waiting for you. He gratefully accepts a steaming mug with a calming herbal tea and you peck his cheek, flopping next to him with your own mug in a hand. You are sitting quietly, shoulders touching and knees bumping, while you are sipping on your drinks and chasing away the remnants of sleep.

Dan Heng smiles when you wiggle your feet under the blanket and put your head onto his shoulder, and as he turns his head to kiss the top of yours, securing a tender end to your special morning ritual, the man thinks he is indeed healing. And that’s what he cherishes about mornings with you most.

Gallagher

Gallagher takes extra long showers in the evenings after his shifts, because he doesn’t want to bring the smell of alcohol, cigarettes and anything else of the bar’s patrons to your bed. He doesn’t want you to grimace first thing in the morning and push him away, complaining about the stink. He’d much rather have your body tightly pressed against his, maybe face squished into his chest, arm thrown over his waist and legs stuck between his.

Gallagher loves just lazing in bed with you, as you are both awake. Loves rubbing his cheek against yours and hearing you reprimand him lightheartedly for the stubble. And yet, you never move away, welcoming his big palm resting on your hip, fingers lightly digging into fat and dragging you even closer to him.

Today you, however, throw a leg over his body and swiftly climb on top, immediately settling onto his chest like many times before. It’s because you know he has a night shift and you don’t plan to let him go until at least lunch. And your lover is strong, he can throw you off using just one arm or by simply turning his body under yours, but he does none of this, all because he absolutely adores your little sparks of possessiveness.

His heavy hand lowers onto your head, gently ruffling your hair, to which you grumble, poking his side with a single finger, only to scratch him lightly with all five a second later. Oh how deliciously he shivers and even a following pinch to your ass is unable to wipe a pleased smile off your face.

He’ll tell you stupid stories from the night before at the bar, share the worst jokes his patrons slurred and admit the teasing Sioban put him through once again, because ‘the old dog was glancing at the clock, counting the minutes till running home to you’. And you’ll be laughing. And he’ll be laughing too.

Gepard Landau

The Captain of the Silverman Guards is obviously the man of schedule. He wakes up at the same time, he wraps up his morning routine in the same period of time, and he leaves the house at the same time.

Every morning the man is trying his hardest to get out of the bed as sneakily as he can, because otherwise there are chances of waking you up and his heart cries when you follow him around wrapped in the blanket while whining that it’s so cold to be out of the bed and his warmest embrace (yes, you’re sometimes faking it, but come on, your golden retriever of a boyfriend is warm and comfy to cuddle with).

Can never deny you, when you squeeze yourself past him in the hot shower, explaining that yes, you are cold, and yes, it’s saving water (obviously not to admire your handsome lover and steal a couple of morning kisses from him).

You are still sleepy as the water is gushing on your body, which is held in place by two strong hands on your hips. Gepard can’t take his eyes from your cute droopy expression and smiles softly when you lift your head to let the water splash against your face. He doesn’t like it when you sacrifice your sleep in the mornings, but he can’t lie to himself that he loves spending these moments with you either. He gently brushes your wet locks away from your cheeks and forehead, leaning down to plant a small peck on your chin.

A cheerful ‘hooray’ is coming out in bubbles due to the water getting into your mouth, but you don’t care, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face into his chest instead. Oh Qlipoth, let this poor man be not that obvious with the raging blush from the new mark blooming under his uniform while leaving the house

Jiaoqiu

Waking up with the rays of rising sun to throw on an embroidered robe and get to the kitchen to cook another delicious breakfast for you and him is indeed a pleasurable and relaxing part of the healer’s morning. However, much more than that he enjoys wondering in his head who’s going to wake up hugging whose tail the evening before, just to arise the next morning and see if his guess is right.

Opening his fanged mouth in a big yawn and squeezing still shut honey golden eyes even more, Jiaoqiu starts his day with a nice full body stretch. Something soft gets into his mouth and immediately jerks, provoking an abrupt puff of air released from the male’s lungs. There is a dissatisfied mumble somewhere close to his collarbones, and when heavy eyelids slide open, the foxian catches just the swift motion of your ears pressing back against your head.

He can't help but smile softly, leaning down and kissing the top of it (his own pink ear slightly twitching as you quietly murmur in delight), then moving back and looking down to assess your sleeping positions.

Face to face and legs tangled together, your bodies lay closely to each other. With your nose buried into his neck and arms wrapped around his frame, Jiaoqiu, to his greatest disappointment, notices both your tails peacefully resting on the mattress behind your backs.

What a pity… Now it means you won't be helping him comb through his fur to make it look presentable and he won't be doing the same to you… Unless…

As the clawed hand carefully reaches behind you with a clear intention to mess up your tail and sly eyes crinkle in mischief, Jiaoqiu is truly ready to start his morning routine even to the extent of your complaints.

Jing Yuan 

Jing Yuan is a true connoisseur of soft things. He has the fluffiest carpets back at home, silkiest fabrics for clothes, his bed is like one big white cloud, and his pet is a lion with a huge mane. Not to mention his beloved, who has the softest thighs to nap onto in the whole universe (he has never compared to others, but he is a firm believer).

The General has been having trouble waking up in the morning for a while now. Alarm clock? Ignored. Mimi’s nudges and complaining groans? Ignored too. Your loving voice and tender kisses all over his face? Careful, he is the Dozing General, not the Weak one - you are very much at risk every time to be dragged back in bed in your husband's embrace.

And that little fight you put up every morning to get him from under the blanket and send him off to the bathroom is his favorite part. Just like today.

If anyone was to walk into your bedroom, they'd see a strange image of your strained form being hunched and jerking backwards, trying to rip your arm from an iron grasp, and just a single hand visible in the mess of pillows and blankets, holding onto your wrist and trying to pull you back onto the bed.

You swear, the man hasn't even opened his eyes, relying solely on his other sharp senses to effortlessly catch you when you tried to flee after kissing him good morning.

It's pointless to remind him of the meeting today - he'll get there in time either way, but you still try to hold your ground and win this fight of stubbornness.

Jing Yuan laughs, when with a loud gasp you fall onto his swiftly sitting up figure and are immediately thrown back onto the bed with his sturdy body pinning yours underneath. He loves the heat of your face he feels when his cheek is pressed to yours. He adores when you wiggle under him, refusing to admit that this display of his strength didn't leave you hot and bothered. And he is absolutely smitten when eventually you let out a long exasperated sigh and wrap your arms around his shoulders, admitting your defeat, agreeing to sleep for a little bit more.

Loucha

The merchant is too used to the feeling of loneliness in his travels. Getting out of a hardly couple-of-days-familiar bed, grabbing a pin from a nightstand table to fix a quick messy bun and, swiftly stopping by the bathroom to freshen up his sleepy face, the man drags his feet to the kitchen.

Oil is sizzling in a pan, as the man throws the cut vegetables in it, grabbing a spatula. He is barefoot, still in his sleep wear and long locks of golden hair hanging in messy waves to his shoulder length. It’s the sight that is hard to resist, and as much as you’d love to keep watching your lover, so uncharacteristically unkept and cozy, the need to get closer to him gets too strong. As your arms encircle his waist and lips press to wherever you can reach, Loucha doesn’t fight a soft smile. Yes, on some of his trades he’s on his own, but your presence is such a sedative to his soul and mind.

You ask him what he is cooking and he answers, letting you duck your head under his arm, so you could see for yourself, and then offers you to choose something extra if you so desire. Giving him your response, you immediately suggest helping, but he declines, carefully prying one of your hands from his stomach and lifting it to his lips, murmuring how he doesn’t want your pretty fingers to get all tired and dirty in the very morning.

But you are a little stubborn, so when he lets you go, you stay behind his back and reach for a simple jade pin, heroically holding the whole mass of his hair, and take it out, letting the heavy waves cascade down his back. The fingers he’s just been so worried about, bury into the locks, brushing out the knots, dividing in parts and then twisting them one around another, collecting his hair into a nice, but simple braid.

The merchant is used to spending his mornings alone. But admittedly he loves you being by his side and your adorable little gestures much more.

Sunday

It is a well-known fact that the halovian has OCD and his prior commitment to the Order only proves it more strongly. Admittedly, ever since he’s been released from Gopher Wood’s clutches and left Penacony, he’s been getting better: less paranoid, less twitchy, more forgiving to not only ones around him, but himself. He’s been working on abandoning some of his habits, going as far as styling his clothes in a kind of mismatched yet still smart manner. And still he’s having a hard time not to fuss over his appearance.

While sleeping, Sunday is restless. Having been sharing a bed with him for a long time, you’ve been a witness to all - thrashing from side to side, kicking off and then dragging back the blanket, both head and back wings flapping in sleep, messing equally his feathers and hair (sometimes yours too).

But you are understanding. You are gentle, when you offer the miserably looking man your hands and tug him out of the bed, walking him to the huge mirror and asking him to sit down in front of it. Your hands are soft and careful, as they are grooming his wings, rearranging the feathers correctly, removing broken ones, fluffing up the beautiful plumage that reminds of the night sky.

And sometimes, Sunday wants to cry. It’s so intimate, it’s so sweet, it’s something he was used to doing on his own, but here you are - doing it for him, cooing lovingly and pressing tender kisses to the smaller wings protruding from the back of his head, making them tremble slightly and the milky skin of his cheeks - flash with crimson.

And you trust him to do the same for you! His hands are shaking, his breath is hitching while you keep encouraging him to clean up your wings after sleep, being nothing but patient as the morning sun arises.

The ex-head of the Oak Family used to say that patience is a virtue, but in the dawn glow of your bedroom it turns into his paradise.

Veritas Ratio

No matter what your sleep schedule is, Veritas is always the first one to wake up. Sitting up he reaches for his nightstand drawer, tapping the phone’s screen to stop the alarm clock’s ringing. His other hand automatically reaches for the black-furred critter, nestled onto his lap, to gently pat its soft ‘shell’, receiving a quiet content chirp. Once done with the phone, the man turns to the other side of the bed, reddish-pink eyes lowering to your still sleeping form, with another critter snoozing under your arm. One more is spotted at the end of the bed.

Every single morning Veritas witnesses the same view - well, maybe your sleeping pose is different, or the placement of your ‘cats’ on the bed, or how much of the blanket you've either stolen from him or on the contrary thrown at him… still it's always you, him and your recently adopted pets.

And every single morning your lover can't help but take some minutes from his work out session and dedicate them to simply sitting in bed next to you, observing, doing his own little research. Today he notes how you've moved slightly onto his part of the bed, head occupying both yours and a small part of his pillow. Then his gaze moves downwards, noticing the covers being pulled down your waist and feet peeking from under the blanket. That's so you - feeling stuffy and hot yet still moving closer to his body.

Carefully, not to disturb you and give a couple of more minutes to rest, Veritas bends down and kisses your cheek, testing another hypothesis of his - would you smile in your sleep, upon feeling the touch of his lips on your skin?

He is surprised, when you open your eyes, staring back at him in a haze. Sensing your awakening, the orange critter practically zooms from under your arm, then onto the man’s pillow and off the bed, disappearing somewhere in the hallway. But he hardly pays attention to it. No, his eyes are glued to yours and that sweet smile that tugs on the corners of your mouth as you reach forward to circle his neck with your arms.

Yes, his thinks contented, closing his eyes, another hypothesis of his has been proven right.

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 19: June 2024 - Part 1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

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

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

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

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent

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

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Pascale)

Pascale: Arthur, darling, don’t forget to pack your jacket for Montreal. It’s still chilly in the evenings.

Charles: It’s Canada, not the North Pole.

Arthur: I HAVE a jacket. You think I’m five?

Pascale: You never pack socks. I am allowed to worry.

Charles: Speaking of packing, who stole my hoodie?

Arthur: You left it at my place. 

Charles: Anyone want to do dinner after the race weekend? I think I’m staying a few extra days.

Arthur: Yes! Let’s do something simple. Pizza night?

Lorenzo: I’m in.

Arthur: I’m not paying.

Charles: No one asked you to.

Pascale: Isabelle, do you still have that panna cotta recipe from Mémé?

***

If her family noticed she was avoiding them, Belle didn’t care.

She wasn’t answering texts. She wasn’t returning calls. She wasn’t engaging in their attempts to “check in.” Because checking in should’ve meant something before they forgot her birthday. Before she had to celebrate Charles’ win while pretending that it didn’t sting that not a single one of them had thought of her.

So she ignored them.

Instead, she focused on work, throwing herself into her projects with meticulous precision. Deadlines were met early, site visits were scheduled without hesitation, and her inbox was clear before lunch. 

And when she wasn’t working, she was at the stables.

Her horse—her horse—was the one thing she allowed herself to fully indulge in. She spent hours at the barn, grooming Fleur, talking to her like she could understand every word. In some ways, Belle thought he did. Fleur huffed at her when she was tense, nudged at her pockets when she forgot treats, stood steady beneath her hands when she just needed a moment to breathe.

She could feel the foal kick against her hands when she brushed her, nudging her like he or she was already telling Belle, Hey, I am here!. 

The quiet routine of it soothed her. Mornings spent at the barn, afternoons dedicated to architecture plans, evenings curled up with Max.

Belle had always been the one to reach out first. The one who swallowed her pride, who made the first move, who convinced herself that things didn’t hurt as much as they did. She had spent years pretending that being forgotten, being an afterthought, didn’t matter.

She wasn’t pretending anymore.

Max was watching her, concern evident in the way he leaned against the counter, arms crossed but not in frustration—just waiting. Because he knew she wasn’t okay. And Belle hated that she couldn’t just brush it off, hated that the words I’m fine stuck in her throat like splinters.

So she said nothing.

“Belle.” His voice was gentle, coaxing. “You can’t avoid them forever.”

She let out a humorless laugh, setting her bag down with more force than necessary. “I’ve spent my whole life being easy to ignore. Why should it be any different now?”

Max frowned. “That’s not—”

“They forgot my birthday, Max.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, sharp and raw. “All of them. My brothers. My mother. They were so busy celebrating Charles that not a single one of them thought about me. Not for a second.”

He stayed quiet, letting her speak.

“I was standing right there,” she continued, voice shaking. “Smiling, hugging them, celebrating with them—and not one of them realized.”

Max’s jaw tensed. He had realized. He had held her that night, had felt the way she trembled when the weight of it all became too much.

“I kept thinking—this is it. This is the moment one of them is going to remember. But they never did.” She swallowed, shaking her head. “And now they’re texting me like nothing happened, like I’m just supposed to let it go because that’s what I always do.”

Max stepped closer, reaching for her hand. “You don’t have to let it go.”

Her fingers curled around his, gripping tight. “I don’t know how to talk to them without feeling like I’m screaming into a void.”

He squeezed her hand, grounding her. “Then don’t talk to them. Not until you’re ready. Not until you want to.”

***

Text Messages: Alexandra Saint Mleux & Charlotte Di Pietro

Charlotte: Okay. We never actually solved the Isabelle dating mystery.

Alexandra: Because it’s unsolvable. She’s a vault. I think even Charles doesn’t know.

Charlotte: Especially Charles doesn’t know. That man wouldn’t notice if she got married in front of him unless she handed him the bouquet and told him to hold it.

Alexandra: He’d probably ask why she was dressed up and where the catering came from.

Charlotte: Anyway. New tactic. We include everyone. Even the cursed options.

Alexandra: This is going to end in slander.

Charlotte: And that’s why we’re friends.

Charlotte: Charles – her brother. Illegal. Next.

Alexandra: Carlos – Has a girlfriend. Also I feel like he treats her like he treats his baby sister. 

Charlotte: Lando – is single. But is also too loud and too twitchy…

Alexandra: Put him on the list of possibilities regardless. 

Alexandra: Oscar – too sweet. He’d ask for permission to hold her hand. Also has a girlfriend. And Belle and Lily are friends. That would go against every girlcode. 

Charlotte: George – Carmen would kill her. 

Alexandra: Lewis – strong contender. They’re both calm. They like dogs. She could thrive in that quiet glam lifestyle.

Charlotte: And he has major “treat her like a queen in private, say nothing in public” energy. She’d eat that UP.

Charlotte: Okay. Now. Are you ready?

Alexandra: Oh no.

Charlotte: Fernando.

Alexandra: CHARLOTTE.

Charlotte: Think about it. Dominant. Mysterious. Daddy issues magnet. She likes men who speak softly but could ruin you.

Alexandra: And he would call her “bella” and offer her an espresso without saying a word. That’s dangerous.

Charlotte: She’d pretend to be annoyed by the attention and then buy a silk robe for his apartment.

Charlotte: I’m just saying. He has retired situationship energy. She’d never admit it, but she'd love it.

Alexandra: Lance Stroll -No.

Charlotte: Why not?

Alexandra: She’d get whiplash from how inconsistent his energy is. One day he’s moody spa dad, the next day he’s a TikTok e-boy in tactical fleece.

Charlotte: She’d spend half her life trying to figure out if he’s okay and the other half hiding his outfits.

Alexandra: Agreed. Logan Sargeant…Honestly I don’t think she ever even talked three words with him? 

Charlotte: Can’t see it either.  Alex Albon - also has a girlfriend. Isabelle doesn’t poach. She’s got morals.

Charlotte: Max Verstappen- …I mean it’s Max Verstappen. Power couple. Silent and intense. They’d communicate via eyebrow raises and telepathy.

Alexandra: Too risky. She would never do that. Also, Charles would die. Like actually. His soul would leave his body. And doesn’t he also have a girlfriend?

Charlotte: But isn’t Isabelle weirdly close with his sister?!

Alexandra: I think that’s only because they understand how it feels to have a brother in F1, right?

Charlotte: Sergio Pérez - too married. 

Charlotte: Daniel Ricciardo -  Too loud. Too chaotic. Too… Daniel.

Alexandra:  Agreed. 

Alexandra: Yuki Tsunoda– she’s too introverted for that kind of chaos. She’d cry trying to keep up with his snack schedule.

Alexandra: Zhou Guanyu – also a real option. They’re both elegant, soft-spoken, and I’ve seen her actually laugh at something he said. A real laugh.

Charlotte: That’s practically a proposal in Isabelle language.

Alexandra: And he’s calm enough not to flinch when she’s in her “I will disappear to the mountains with a book” era.

Charlotte: I want this one to be real. I could live with Zhou as my unofficial brother-in-law.

Charlotte: Valtteri Bottas -  He has a mullet and a calendar of his own butt. It’s not happening.

Charlotte: Nico Hülkenberg – too tall, too German. Married. 

Charlotte: Kevin Magnussen– Also married. 

Alexandra: Pierre Gasly – Charles would actually kill him. And Kika would fight Belle for even trying to flirt with him. 

Charlotte: Esteban – Also has a girlfriend, no way. 

Alexandra: Okay. Final contenders:

Zhou

Lewis

Lando

Fernando “surprise daddy issues” Alonso

Charlotte: Do you think she’d go that rogue?

Alexandra: Honestly? Apparently she once dated a sculptor in university who thought emotions were “bourgeois illusions,” so… yes.

Charlotte: God, she would be Alonso’s beautiful mystery woman.

Alexandra: She’d show up to a race weekend in his Aston Martin hoodie and say it was a gift from a friend and never elaborate.

Charlotte: And Charles would just go, “I didn’t know you liked green.”

***

“I got married.”

Simone blinked once. “That’s a strong opener.”

Belle smiled faintly. “Surprise.”

Simone leaned forward just a little, resting her notebook on her lap. “Want to walk me through that one?”

Belle exhaled, tilting her head back against the cushion. The ceiling fan turned lazily above them. Everything smelled faintly of lavender and old books.

“It wasn’t planned,” she said. “Well, not by me. I mean, Max proposed. And we’d talked about getting married, eventually. But then after everything with my birthday and the race and… all of it, I just didn’t want to wait anymore.”

Simone nodded, quiet and listening.

Belle picked at the label on the water bottle. “So we got married at city hall. The next day. Just our closest people. No announcement. No drama. No press. Just… us.”

“And how did that feel?” Simone asked gently.

“Like peace,” Belle said. “Like a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. I didn’t feel invisible. Not for one second.”

Simone smiled softly. “That sounds like something worth holding onto.”

“It was,” Belle said. Then, after a pause, “It is.”

She sat in the quiet for a while, her gaze drifting to the window. A breeze moved the curtain like an exhale.

“But it came right after…” She hesitated. “They forgot my birthday. All of them. Charles. Arthur. Lorenzo. Maman. I was in the garage all day, and not one person remembered.”

Simone’s expression didn’t change, but Belle could feel her listening more intently.

“I didn’t want to be upset about it. It was Charles’ race—his first win in Monaco. I didn’t want to make it about me. But I stood there, in Ferrari red, and I felt like I didn’t exist.”

Her voice stayed even, but there was a rawness beneath it. “Carlos remembered. He asked me if he should tell them. I said no. Because if you have to remind people you exist, what’s the point?”

Simone waited a beat before responding. “That’s a very old wound, Belle.”

Belle looked down. “Yeah.”

“And how do you feel about marrying Max right after that?”

Belle gave a soft huff of breath. “Grateful. He reminded me I mattered. That I was seen. And it wasn’t because I asked for it. He just… knew.”

Simone nodded, watching her closely.

Belle was quiet for a beat. Then she blinked, shook her head a little, and murmured, “Sorry. I feel weird. Lightheaded.”

Simone straightened slightly. “How long have you felt like that?”

“I don’t know.” Belle pressed the water bottle to her cheek. “Since yesterday? Maybe the day before. Just a little dizzy. I figured it was stress or adrenaline. But it’s not going away.”

Simone raised a brow. “Are you eating? Sleeping?”

Belle nodded. “Yeah. Not perfectly, but enough. I had an iron deficiency a few years ago. Anemia. Maybe it’s that again.”

“I think it would be a good idea to get it checked,” Simone said gently. “Sooner rather than later.”

Belle nodded slowly. “I will. I promise.”

Simone smiled. “Good. You don’t need to power through everything, Belle. Not alone.”

Belle looked down at her hands.

“I’m not alone anymore,” she said softly. “That’s the part I forget.”

And for once, saying it out loud didn’t feel like tempting fate.

It felt like the truth.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, and Kimi Räikkönen)

Carlos: it’s been A WEEK ONE. WHOLE. WEEK.

George: You’re kidding.

George: I thought for sure someone would realise by now??

Oscar: They haven’t. Max said she hasn’t heard a single thing from any of them.

Daniel: I’m starting to believe they genuinely think Belle sprang fully formed into existence.

Lando: like Athena but in heels and with perfect emotional regulation

Carlos: I’m losing my mind. HIS OWN SISTER??? he FORGOT??

Alex: That’s actually unbelievable. I’m offended on her behalf.

Daniel: What do you MEAN the entire Leclerc family has just… ghosted her birthday like it never happened???

Carlos: No text. No call. No retroactive Instagram story with a cupcake emoji. NOTHING.

Sebastian: I can feel my blood pressure rising.

Nico R.: I am this close to sending Pascale an anonymous calendar.

Sebastian: Have they ever remembered without her prompting?

Oscar: Nope. Historically, Isabelle Leclerc was the family reminder system.

George: So now that she’s gone radio silent…

Lando: They’re just drifting through life like brainless goldfish.

David: The woman literally held that family together with calendar invites and emotionally intelligent sighs.

Fernando: They have lost their lighthouse. They are adrift in darkness.

Nico R.: Honestly, it’s kind of poetic.

Carlos: no. it’s INFURIATING. i saw her that day. she was STANDING THERE. in the garage. in red. 

Carlos: And she told me not to say anything. Said she “didn’t want a pity cupcake.” I think about that sentence every night before I sleep. 😠

Daniel: My blood pressure rises every time I remember this.

Oscar: She’s being so graceful about it and I hate that for her.

Sebastian: She deserves better. I hope Max gives her the world.

Lando: He gave her a horse and a wedding. He did okay.

Lewis: I think we need a plan. A coordinated operation.

Oscar: Operation: Make Charles Realise He’s a Disaster?

Alex: That might take longer than we have.

George: Can we start a countdown clock?

Alex: How long do we wait before Charles realises?

George: End of the season. Final race. Then we riot.

Fernando: Or we leave clues like a scavenger hunt. See how long it takes him to get to: “YOU FORGOT HER BIRTHDAY.”

Lewis: And when they finally do remember?

Oscar: Too late. She already married the only man who actually treats her like she matters.

Carlos: damn right she did.

***

Gianpiero Lambiase had been through a lot with Max Verstappen—championship battles, rain-soaked qualifying sessions, angry radio rants, and more tire compound debates than he cared to remember—but nothing could’ve prepared him for this.

The meeting was already running five minutes behind schedule, which—by Red Bull standards—meant it was practically a full-blown rebellion. Christian was flipping through his notes with a sense of purpose usually reserved for press briefings and budget cap discussions. Helmut was sipping black coffee like it owed him money. Checo was leaning back in his chair; and poor Gemma from PR was already clutching her notepad like it was a life raft.

GP sat with his tablet open, notes prepped. 

Max was… Max. Legs kicked out under the table, hoodie on, the faintest hint of smugness clinging to him like tire rubber after a street race.

They made it through power unit updates and marketing commitments before Christian asked, “Anything else we should know before we head to Canada?”

Max sipped his coffee. “Yeah, actually. I got married.”

Silence.

Utter, complete, stunned silence.

Gemma dropped her pen. Christian choked on his coffee. Checo looked like he’d just been told the sky was blue—zero reaction. Helmut blinked so slowly GP briefly considered calling a medic.

GP didn’t flinch.

Because, of course, he already knew.

Christian blinked. “You… what?”

Max nodded. “Married. Last week.”

“To whom?” Christian asked slowly, voice rising like a man realizing he’s stepped into a minefield.

“Isabelle Leclerc,” Max added, like he was announcing a new cat.

Gemma made a noise that GP could only describe as deeply managerial despair.

The room exploded.

“CHARLES’ SISTER?!” Christian yelped, almost standing.

Helmut Marko didn’t speak. He just turned his head, very slowly, and stared at Max like he was an alien.“You’re telling me… you married Charles Leclerc’s sister?”

Max nodded like they were discussing tire strategy. “Mhm.”

Gemma actually put her head down on the table.

“To clarify,” GP said calmly, “he’s not joking.”

“YOU knew?” Christian turned to him, utterly betrayed.

“I’m his race engineer,” GP replied, deadpan. “He tells me everything. Whether I like it or not. And I was the best man.”

Gemma made a small, distressed noise and began frantically flipping through her calendar. “Do we—do we have photos? An announcement plan? A press strategy?! Oh my God, do they even know in Maranello?”

“No,” Max said calmly. “We haven’t told anyone outside a few people. We like our privacy.”

GP didn’t even flinch.

Checo raised a hand. “I knew.”

Christian whirled. “You also knew and didn’t tell me?”

Checo shrugged. “I like my life. Also Belle looked beautiful in white.”

Helmut still hadn’t blinked. “And Charles?”

Max smiled, utterly unbothered. “He has no idea.”

Christian looked like he was about to combust. “You MARRIED Isabelle Leclerc, and Charles doesn’t know?!”

GP finally looked up. “You should’ve seen the garage in Monaco. She was invisible to them all weekend.”

That shut the room up.

Gemma put her head in her hands.

“Don’t worry,” Max said, far too cheerfully. “We’re going to post something soon. We just wanted it to be ours first.”

Christian sat back down like his soul had left his body.

Helmut finally spoke, voice low. “Just make sure we beat Ferrari in Canada.”

“Obviously,” Max said.

“I’m adding a press briefing to the schedule,” Gemma muttered, already reaching for her iPad. “And a PR damage control plan. And possibly a defibrillator for when Charles finds out.”

“I’ll bring snacks,” Checo offered.

Christian slumped back in his chair. “Next time, just send a memo.”

GP simply took another sip of his coffee and updated his notes:

Action Items:

Tire compounds

Charles may attempt murder – suggest more security in hospitality

Of all the chaos they’d weathered over the years, this might’ve been the most entertaining.

And somehow, exactly what he expected from Max.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo)

Arthur: Mum just sent me this video of a duck in a raincoat.

Charles: I love that duck.

Lorenzo: Wait send it here.

Charles: He’s precious. His name is Biscotte.

Lorenzo: I’d die for Biscotte.

Arthur: We should get a duck.

Lorenzo: We cannot get a duck.

Charles: You sound just like Isabelle.

Arthur: Where is she, anyway? Haven’t seen her in like, weeks.

Lorenzo: She’s probably fine. You know how she is. Independent.

Charles: Yeah. Classic Isabelle.

***

The examination room was cool, almost too quiet, and Belle’s fingers twisted together in her lap as the doctor tapped something into the computer.

It had started as a check-up. Just routine. She hadn’t even told Max she was going—he had left for Canada, and she didn’t want him worrying over what she was sure was just her old anemia flaring up again.

The dizziness had crept up slowly—barely-there lightheaded spells, then the bone-deep fatigue, the occasional shortness of breath that made her pause halfway through brushing her hair. All things she’d felt before, years ago, when the iron levels had dropped low enough to make walking up a flight of stairs feel like climbing Everest.

She wasn’t worried about the dizzy spells. Not really.

She chalked them up to everything else: exhaustion, stress, not enough proper meals, the emotional fallout of a birthday that had quietly broken something inside her, and—most likely—a return of her old anemia. That had always been the explanation before.

Until the doctor, a middle-aged woman with a kind voice and gentle hands, glanced at her latest blood test results and hummed quietly to herself.

Belle shifted in her seat. “Is it bad?”

“No, not bad,” the doctor said, clicking through a few more pages. “Your iron is a little low again, but there’s something else. These hormone levels…” She looked up with a smile. “Have you taken a pregnancy test recently?”

Belle blinked. “A what?”

The doctor laughed softly. “I’m guessing that’s a no.”

“I came in because I thought I needed more iron.”

“You might,” the doctor said gently. “But these levels are more consistent with someone in the early second trimester. I’d like to do a quick ultrasound, just to check.”

Belle was still frozen when the nurse came in and helped her onto the examination bed. Still blinking in disbelief when the gel hit her skin. And completely silent when the screen next to her flickered to life with soft static… and then, suddenly, a tiny form.

And a heartbeat.

A heartbeat.

The doctor smiled again, reassuring and calm. “Well,” she said, adjusting the probe slightly, “there’s your explanation.”

Belle stared at the screen. The curve of a head. The flicker of movement. A little person, whole and real and—God—already so much bigger than she would’ve thought.

“You’re measuring right around twelve weeks,” the doctor continued. “Healthy heartbeat. Everything looks very good.”

Belle’s hand drifted hovered just above her own stomach like she was trying to connect the dots between what she was seeing and what her body had kept quiet for nearly three months.

“I didn’t know,” she said quietly. “I had no idea.”

“It happens,” the doctor said, kind. “Especially when the signs are subtle or easily mistaken. You’ve been under a lot of stress?”

Belle let out a hollow laugh. “You could say that.”

“Well,” the doctor said, pulling off the gloves, “Congratulations, Mrs. Verstappen.”

Belle just stared at the screen, the tiniest flicker of a heartbeat echoing through the room like a secret being whispered for the first time.

Twelve weeks.

Twelve weeks of carrying a life she hadn’t even known was there.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

So she did neither.

She just pressed a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes.

Twelve weeks.

Her heart was still racing, her brain still catching up—but even through the shock, something bloomed warm and steady in her chest.

A heartbeat. 

A beginning.

A family.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Belle: Can you come over tonight?

Emilie: Of course. Do I need wine, sugar, firewood, or to hide a body?

Belle: Just you. Maybe chocolate. But mostly you.

Emilie: 👀 I’m bringing brownies and a hug and zero questions until you’re ready.

Belle: Thank you. I just… yeah. I need you.

Emilie: On my way as soon as I finish work. And I swear I won’t interrogate you (until at least the second brownie).

Belle: Fair.

***

Belle sat on the couch, knees drawn up beneath her, a soft throw blanket pooled in her lap despite the mild spring air drifting in from the open window. Her fingers twisted the corner of the fabric absently. Across from her, Emilie sat cross-legged, a steaming mug of rooibos tea cradled in both hands, watching her with quiet concern.

Belle didn’t look up.

Didn’t breathe in a different way.

Didn’t preface it with a sigh or a story.

“I’m pregnant,” she said.

The words hung in the air, crisp and absolute, like the crack of thunder before the rain.

Emilie blinked. “I—wait. What?”

Belle raised her eyes, slow and steady. “Twelve weeks.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then:

“Twelve weeks?!” Emilie nearly dropped her mug. “Belle! How—?”

“I thought it was anemia again,” Belle said, voice steady, almost clinical in its explanation. “I’ve been tired. Dizzy. It’s happened before. I booked a check-up just to be cautious, and then…” Her breath hitched. “The doctor said it was normal in pregnancy. And then there was… an ultrasound.”

Emilie’s face softened, mouth falling open slightly. “Oh.”

“I saw everything,” Belle whispered. “There was a heartbeat. Just… fluttering away. A baby.” She paused. “My baby. Ours.”

Gently, Emilie placed her mug on the coffee table and reached over, her hand brushing over Belle’s in quiet support.

“Have you told Max?”

Belle shook her head. “He’s in Canada. I couldn’t tell him over the phone. Not this. It’s too… big.”

Emilie nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s not a FaceTime conversation.”

“He’ll be back in a few days,” Belle murmured. “I keep thinking I’ll feel ready by then.”

“And do you?”

“No.” A pause. Then: “Yes. A little.” She smiled faintly. “We talked about it, before. Not in any serious planning way. Just… someday. After everything settled. But we weren’t trying.” Her hand drifted unconsciously to rest over her stomach. “I think part of me always hoped it would happen anyway.”

Emilie’s thumb moved gently over Belle’s hand. “You’ve always wanted this.”

Belle nodded. “And now it’s here. And I don’t know if I’m terrified or just… in awe.”

“You’re both,” Emilie said softly. “And that’s okay. You’re allowed to be.”

“I just needed someone else to know,” Belle admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Before him. Just… someone who could sit with me in this and not panic.”

Emilie’s smile was wobbly, but warm. “I’m doing my very best not to burst into tears or scream into a pillow, so you’re welcome.”

Belle laughed—a soft, wet sound—and wiped at her eyes. “You’re doing great.”

“You’re going to be a great mum, Belle.” Emilie’s voice didn’t waver. “And Max… Max is going to be ridiculous about it. Protective. Soft. Maybe a little panicked. But happy.”

Belle leaned into her, resting her head on Emilie’s shoulder. “I hope so.”

“He loves you,” Emilie said. “He’ll love this, too. It’s you. It’s his. That man would rebuild the planet if you asked.”

Belle closed her eyes and let herself breathe.

She wasn’t alone.

She never had been.

And when Max came home, she’d tell him.

The rest?

They’d figure it out together.

***

Instagram Post: @/f1hq

Comments: 

@/f1girlie: imagine marrying max and not telling the world. 

@/paddocktea: red bull pr team needs a drink and a nap IMMEDIATELY

@/f1lore: sooooo is this the soft launch or the chaos launch??

@/weheartgp: somewhere GP is just sipping his tea like he’s known for months. because he HAS.

***

Nico Hülkenberg was halfway through his second espresso when he spotted Kevin Magnussen exiting the Haas hospitality with his usual determined stride and a very distracted-looking PR intern trailing behind him.

Nico grinned.

“Hey, by the way,” he said cheerfully. “Did you know Max is one of us now?”

Kevin paused, raising an eyebrow. “Us?”

Nico tilted his head innocently. “The married ones. He got hitched.”

Kevin blinked. “Wait—Max Verstappen is married?”

“Yep,” Nico said, popping the “p” with far too much glee. “Secret wedding in Monaco. City hall. Small guest list. Lando dropped the photos like a grenade on the group chat. I’m still emotionally recovering.”

Kevin stared at him. “You’re kidding.”

“I never kid about matrimony, Kevin.” Nico leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like they were conspiring in a back alley. “It gets better. Wanna guess who he married?”

Kevin gave him a look. “Some model I’ve never heard of?”

Nico beamed. “Charles Leclerc’s little sister.”

Kevin actually stopped walking. “What?”

“Oh yeah,” Nico said. “Apparently she’s been dating Max in total secrecy for over a year. Nobody knew. Not even Charles. Especially not Charles.”

Kevin blinked. “So Charles doesn’t know his colleague is now his brother-in-law?”

“Correct,” Nico said, clearly delighted.

Kevin ran a hand over his face. “Oh my god.”

Nico sipped his espresso. “Welcome to Canada. The drama is international.”

Kevin exhaled. “I need a drink.”

“Oh don’t worry,” Nico said, already walking again. “The next group chat explosion is just hours away. I can feel it.”

And with that, they disappeared into the paddock chaos—two dads, too much gossip, and a rapidly approaching press session neither of them were emotionally prepared for.

***

Press Conference Transcript – Canadian GP

 Participants: Max Verstappen (Red Bull), Lewis Hamilton (Mercedes), Nico Hülkenberg (Haas), Lance Stroll (Aston Martin), Pierre Gasly (Alpine), Oscar Piastri (McLaren) Moderator: Tom Clarkson

Tom Clarkson: Okay, gentlemen. Thank you for being here. Let's get started. First question comes from Emily Zhang at The Race.

Emily: Hi everyone. This question is for Max—there’s been a lot of buzz this week because people spotted you wearing a ring. Are congratulations in order?

(Max looks up calmly, shifts slightly in his seat. Oscar stares straight ahead like he’s seen this movie before. Lewis bites back a smirk. Nico Hülkenberg snorts into his water bottle.)

Max: Uh… yeah. I got married.

(Pause. Lance blinks. Pierre visibly chokes on air.)

Pierre: You what?

Lance: Wait, seriously? Like, married married?

Max: Married married.

Lewis: (grinning) About time someone noticed.

Tom: Okay, wow—so this is breaking news?

Oscar: Not for all of us.

Tom: Right. Okay, so… Max, who’s the lucky person?

(Max raises an eyebrow and doesn’t answer. Lewis covers a laugh with a cough.)

Nico: I mean, should I tell them? I feel like I should tell them.

Pierre: Wait, wait—you knew too?!

Oscar: I was at the wedding.

(Lance audibly gasps.)

Pierre: Oh my God. What is happening.

Max: I just like to keep my private life private. That’s all.

Tom: Okay, okay, I have to ask—do you plan to make a formal announcement?

Max: Eventually. Maybe. Depends how nosey you all get.

Lewis: Don’t look at me. I kept the secret. Like a vault.

Nico: I, on the other hand, told Kevin Magnussen immediately. Because this is cultural.

Tom: …Cultural?

Nico: We, the Married Drivers™, must stick together.

Max: I didn’t realize this came with a club membership.

Nico: There’s a newsletter. You’ll love it.

Pierre: Wait wait wait—who did you even marry??

Max: Next question?

(The whole room erupts into chaos.)

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/f1teaaccount: MAX VERSTAPPEN JUST SAID "YEAH I GOT MARRIED" IN THE MOST CASUAL WAY POSSIBLE. DURING A PRESS CONFERENCE. OSCAR WAS AT THE WEDDING. PIERRE IS HAVING A LIVE MELTDOWN. I NEED A MINUTE. 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

@/f1files: Max Verstappen casually breaking the internet mid-press conference and then saying “Next question” like it’s someone else’s problem is the most Verstappen thing I’ve ever seen.

@/chaosinthepits: Lewis Hamilton being smug. Nico Hülkenberg declaring a Married Drivers™ club. Oscar sipping his coffee like this is season 6 of a show he binged in one night. And Max? Max is just sitting there like he didn’t cause a media earthquake. Peak F1.

@/ferns_and_flags: me: trying to work max verstappen: married married also me: clears my schedule to investigate who tf the mystery spouse is

@/leclercsbiceps: pierre gasly's descent into madness upon hearing "i was at the wedding" from oscar deserves an emmy this is theatrical cinema #f1 #canadiangp

@/tifosipanic: Not Lance Stroll gasping like someone just spoiled the end of Titanic 😭😭😭 I love this sport.

@/formulawtf1: max: "I got married." lewis: grinning like a proud older cousin nico: "there’s a newsletter." oscar: "not for all of us." pierre: actively combusting this press conference has more plot twists than Drive to Survive #F1

@/wagsanonymous: me at 3am putting together a suspect board of all women max verstappen has ever spoken to in the past five years 🧵🧵🧵

@/journaldupitlane: MAX VERSTAPPEN IS MARRIED AND WE DON’T KNOW TO WHO F1 TWITTER IS ON FIRE I REPEAT 🔥🔥🔥

@/slowpitstop: “Max: Married married” “Pierre: WHO” “Max: Next question?” AND THEN HE JUST MOVES ON?? sir this is not a soft launch this is a strategic war tactic

@/oscarstanclub: Oscar Piastri has officially become the F1 Gossip Bestie™ he KNEW. he ATTENDED. he’s just sipping tea and watching chaos unfold like a pro

@/beyondthegrid: dear @F1 release the wedding photos. or the drivers' group chat logs. ideally both. sincerely, everyone

@/vettelismyco-pilot:

Lewis Hamilton saying “I kept the secret like a vault” with a grin should be illegal. I’ve never trusted a man more.

@/estebanoconstan: Pierre: “Who did you even marry?” Max: “Next question.” ME: screaming, crying, throwing the entire WDC leaderboard.

@/wheelsequalfeelings:  Okay but what if Mrs. Verstappen is Isabelle Leclerc. Just hear me out.

Private ✅

Gorgeous ✅

Speaks French✅

Likes Horses ✅ Coincidence? I THINK NOT.

@/gridgossipgirl:  Theories so far on who Max Verstappen married:

Isabelle Leclerc

A secret childhood friend who lives off the grid

A Red Bull engineer who’s been hiding in plain sight

That girl he looked at for 0.5 seconds in Austria 2023

Himself, for tax reasons

@/piastrivision: Oscar “I was at the wedding” Piastri refusing to elaborate is the most powerful move I’ve seen this year.

He knows. He’s watching the chaos. He’s THRIVING.

@/gridwivesanonymous: Okay but Max wearing a wedding ring, dropping “I got married,” and then pulling a Next question? is a level of chaos we were not prepared for.

It’s giving: she’s untouchable. 

@/itsyasminmf: My favorite part is Max being so calm. Like, “yeah I’m married.” No further explanation. No photos. No name. No vibe check.

Who is she??

Where did she come from??

Does she know the power she holds??

***

Charles Leclerc had been weirded out since he arrived in Montreal.

It wasn’t anything obvious—no one was throwing punches or shouting across the paddock—but there was a definite chill in the air. People were polite, yes. Just… distant.

Carlos barely nodded at him that morning in the garage. Alex made a joke during the drivers’ briefing, but his eyes hadn’t flicked toward Charles once. Even Lewis had given him a smile that felt more strained than usual.

And Daniel? Daniel Ricciardo, who normally greeted everyone like a long-lost relative, had given him a thumbs-up from a distance and then walked off like he had somewhere better to be.

It made Charles feel like he’d walked into a conversation halfway through and everyone had forgotten to tell him the plot.

“You’ve noticed it too, right?” he asked Pierre later, in the Alpine hospitality.

Pierre looked up from his espresso. “The weird vibes?”

“Yes! Everyone’s being so—so strange.”

Pierre squinted. “Maybe they’re just grumpy. Travel hangover or something.”

“Carlos barely spoke to me,” Charles said. “Carlos. He gave me a nod.”

Pierre raised a brow. “Okay, yeah. That’s definitely weird. Did you say something dumb in a press conference again?”

“I—non! I have no idea. Everyone’s being all secretive. Like I missed a group chat.”

Pierre leaned back in his chair. “You think it’s about you?”

Charles gave him a look.

Pierre nodded. “Okay, fair.”

There was a pause, the sound of engines in the background, mechanics shouting somewhere beyond the fence.

“Oh, also,” Pierre added, like an afterthought, “did you hear Max got married?”

Charles blinked. “What?”

Pierre sipped his coffee. “Yeah. Quietly. No media. I think only a few drivers were invited. No one knows who the girl is, though.”

Charles frowned. “Max? Married?”

“Mhm.”

“And no one knows who to?”

Pierre shrugged. “Some say it’s someone he met through racing. Others think it’s someone from his childhood? I don’t know. It’s weird how no one’s said anything.”

Charles rubbed his temple. “Why is everyone suddenly getting married and giving me the cold shoulder at the same time?”

Pierre grinned. “Maybe it’s karma. Did you forget someone’s birthday or something?”

Charles scoffed. “No!”

***

Esteban Ocon had absolutely no intention of eavesdropping.

In his defense, Charles and Pierre weren’t exactly whispering. They were sitting two tables over in the Alpine hospitality area, sipping espresso like it was a wine tasting, and talking with that animated, slightly too-loud energy that came from a mix of jet lag and general Ferrari drama. Esteban was halfway through a protein bar and minding his own business when Charles’ voice shot up in pitch like he’d just been electrocuted.

“Max? Married?”

Esteban blinked.

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to tilt his head slightly, but something in Pierre’s very casual, very smug, “Yeah. Quietly. No media. No one knows who the girl is though,” caught his attention.

Max Verstappen. Married.

And apparently to someone so top-secret that even Pierre Gasly didn’t have a name? That was either the most carefully managed PR move in Formula 1 history—or something else entirely.

Esteban took another bite of his bar and stored the information in the mental folder marked “Paddock Chaos,” which was currently bursting at the seams.

Later, in the Aston Martin hospitality—peaceful, air-conditioned, and full of cucumber water—Esteban leaned toward Lance Stroll and casually said, “So, apparently Max Verstappen got married. I overheard Charles and Pierre talking. Charles looked like he’d swallowed a wasp.”

Lance paused mid-scroll through his phone. “I heard,” he whispered, sounding like he had seen an alien. “Max admitted it in the press conference. No one knows to whom.”

There was a long pause.

Then a voice behind them: “Yes, we do.”

Esteban turned—and immediately felt like he was twelve again and caught doing something he shouldn’t.

Fernando Alonso stood there, arms crossed, eyebrow raised like he’d been waiting his entire career for this moment.

“You do?” Esteban asked, cautiously.

Fernando just nodded. “Max married Isabelle Leclerc.”

The silence was immediate. Lance’s mouth fell open. Esteban blinked like someone had slapped him.

“Isabelle?” Lance said, voice almost cracking. “Charles’ sister Isabelle?”

“Mm,” Fernando said, looking entirely too satisfied. “The quiet one. The one who brings Charles coffee and vanishes into walls.”

Esteban just stared. “Does Charles know?”

Fernando tilted his head. “Do you think we’d be having this conversation if he did?”

“Oh my god,” Lance muttered.

Esteban could feel the chaos building like a weather system. “Wait—so Max married Charles’ sister, and no one told Charles?”

Fernando smirked. “Let’s just say… the Canada GP is going to be memorable.”

And with that, he walked off, leaving Esteban and Lance to sit there in stunned silence as the paddock spun on without them.

Esteban blinked. “I really didn’t mean to eavesdrop this hard today.”

***

Zhou Guanyu had seen a lot in Formula 1.

 Petty rivalries. Heated debriefs. Drivers throwing silent tantrums in hospitality. But nothing—nothing—prepared him for the strange, simmering weirdness between Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz on the Thursday of the Canadian Grand Prix.

He’d noticed it in the paddock first.

 Carlos, standing stiff near the Ferrari motorhome, arms crossed, chewing through a conversation with his engineer like it personally offended him. Charles, twenty feet away, pretending to be very absorbed in his phone, except his jaw was tight and his responses to the press were… terse.

Too terse.

 Even for Charles.

Zhou didn’t consider himself nosy. But he was a driver, and therefore professionally attuned to weird vibes.

So when he found himself beside Oscar Piastri and Logan Sargeant near the McLaren espresso bar a few hours later, he didn’t waste time.

“Okay,” Zhou said, keeping his voice low. “What the hell is going on between Charles and Carlos?”

Oscar glanced up from his coffee. Logan nearly choked on his protein bar.

“What?” Oscar asked, too casually.

“They’re being weird,” Zhou said. “Weirder than usual. Did they fight? Did Charles forget Carlos’ birthday? Did someone dent the other’s scooter?”

Oscar sighed and looked over both shoulders. “I shouldn’t say anything.”

Zhou raised an eyebrow. “So you know something.”

Oscar hesitated. “It’s… not public.”

“That’s never stopped you before,” Logan added helpfully.

Oscar gave him a look. Then, under his breath, he said:  “Charles forgot Belle’s birthday.”

Zhou blinked. “What?”

Oscar lowered his voice even more. “Like. Fully. Forgot. The whole family did. On race day. In Monaco.”

Zhou stared. “He forgot his sister’s birthday… at his home race?”

Oscar nodded grimly. “She was in the garage. Literally standing there in Ferrari red. And they didn’t say a word. Carlos was the only one who remembered. And he didn’t even say anything until after the race because Belle told him not to.”

Zhou blinked. “Wait—then why’s Carlos mad now?”

Oscar shrugged. “Because it’s been over a week and they still haven’t remembered. Not one of them.”

Logan muttered, “That explains the ice vibes.”

Zhou dragged a hand down his face. “Okay, but… why do you know all of this?”

Oscar coughed into his coffee. “I… may be in a group chat.”

Logan stared. “A group chat?

Zhou’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of group chat?”

“A support group for emotionally traumatized drivers who’ve witnessed Belle’s family be completely unaware that she exists,” Oscar deadpanned. “It’s also basically an emotional early-warning system for when Charles is about to get throttled.”

Zhou stared at them. “You people need hobbies.”

Oscar sipped his coffee. “We have one. It’s watching Max Verstappen become the most unproblematic romantic lead of 2025.”

Zhou blinked. “Wait. Max is dating Belle?”

Oscar grimaced. “No, he married her.”

“Oh no,” Zhou muttered. “Oh, no.”

And just like that, Zhou understood:

 Something deeply unhinged was happening under the surface of the paddock—and he had officially fallen headfirst into the softest, most dramatic subplot of the season.

Logan looked like he’d just been hit by a rogue space hopper. “That’s… that’s insane.”

“Everyone else knows,” Oscar added. “Lewis. Checo. Even Fernando.”

Logan buried his face in his hands. “No wonder Carlos looks like he wants to strangle someone.”

Zhou leaned back, stunned. “So Charles forgot his sister’s birthday and has no idea she’s married to Max Verstappen?”

Oscar sipped his coffee. “Correct.”

“Jesus,” Logan muttered. “This is like… F1: The Soap Opera.”

***

Oliver Bearman wasn’t technically supposed to be paying attention to the drama.

He was here as a reserve. A professional. Focused. Ready.

But also? He was eighteen, observant, and currently watching what felt like a Cold War being waged in broad daylight between two of the most recognizable drivers on the grid.

Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz were not speaking.

Oh, they technically were. There were nods. Professional exchanges. Brief, clipped updates in front of the engineers. But no banter. No inside jokes. No calm debriefs over espresso machines.

It was like someone had taken a blowtorch to their famously chill teammate chemistry and then just… walked away.

Oliver couldn’t stop watching it unfold.

And he also couldn’t stop talking about it. 

Kimi Antonelli was his newest victim, while they were both in hospitality rinking whatever disgusting protein shakes their trainer thought they should down. 

“Hey,” Oliver whispered, “Have you seen this?”

Kimi blinked. “Seen what?”

Oliver gestured subtly. “Them. Carlos and Charles. They haven’t smiled at each other once today. That’s not normal.”

Kimi squinted, as if only now registering the frosty atmosphere. “Maybe Carlos is angry that Lewis took his seat?”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “It’s not that. They’d be more dramatic if it was about contracts. This is personal.”

Kimi shrugged. “Maybe Charles forgot Carlos’ birthday?”

“Carlos’s birthday was in September.”

“Maybe it’s delayed rage.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes. “No. This is fresher. I’ve been watching. This started in Monaco.”

“You studied it?” Kimi said, raising an eyebrow.

“I observed it,” Oliver corrected, because he was a responsible adult and definitely not gossiping like a paddock housewife.

Kimi tilted his head. “Okay, so what’s your theory?”

Oliver took a deep breath, eyes darting toward where Charles was pretending to read a telemetry report while Carlos muttered something to an engineer without so much as glancing in his direction.

“Alright,” Oliver said. “Theory one: Charles borrowed something from Carlos and never gave it back. Like… his espresso machine.”

“Espresso theft is serious,” Kimi acknowledged.

“Right?” Oliver nodded. “Or maybe—maybe Charles spoiled the ending of Drive to Survive before Carlos got to watch it.”

“That’s unforgivable.”

“Exactly. Or—and this is my strongest theory so far—Charles forgot something important.”

“Like what?”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “A birthday. An anniversary. A godchild’s christening. Something personal.”

Kimi shrugged. “Or maybe Carlos just found out Charles uses oat milk.”

“Now that would cause a meltdown.”

The two sat in silence for a moment, watching the two Ferrari drivers pass each other like ships in the night—professional, poised, and ice cold.

Finally, Kimi said, “You know what this reminds me of?”

Oliver turned to him, intrigued. “What?”

“That one time in karting when I called my teammate’s sister hot and he didn’t speak to me for two weeks.”

Oliver froze. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“Kimi.”

“What?”

“WHAT IF THAT’S IT?” Oliver hissed. “What if this is about a sister?”

Kimi blinked. “Wait… Charles has a sister, right?”

Oliver nodded slowly, his eyes wide. “Isabelle.”

They stared at each other, the full conspiracy blooming in their minds.

“Oh my God,” Oliver whispered. “What if Carlos has a crush on Belle? And Charles just found out.”

“Or worse—what if someone else does, and Charles blamed Carlos?!”

“Holy shit.”

They stared back out at the garage where Charles and Carlos now stood side by side, not speaking, not looking at each other, arms crossed in near-perfect symmetry.

“This is better than a Netflix doc,” Oliver muttered.

Kimi popped his gum. “Think we’ll ever find out what actually happened?”

Oliver shook his head. “Nope. But I’m gonna keep guessing until I die.”

***

Belle pushed open the door to the boutique, the delicate chime above it greeting her like an old friend. The shop was quiet, tucked into a sun-drenched corner of the Rue Grimaldi, all pastel walls and honeyed wood. The kind of place that didn’t advertise but always had exactly what you didn’t know you needed.

She took off her sunglasses and slipped them into her bag, her fingers tightening slightly around the strap.

This was supposed to be simple.

 A gift for Victoria.

Victoria’s baby girl was due any day now. And Belle had promised herself she’d find something special. Something lovely and thoughtful, because of course Victoria’s daughter would be surrounded by love, but Belle wanted her to have a gift that came from her aunt—not just from "Max’s wife."

She found a dress first—a pale pink with hand-stitched flowers at the collar. Classic. Sweet. Then a matching blanket, soft as clouds, and hat with the same hand-stitched flowers. 

She set it gently in her basket together with a and a plush teddy bear so soft it felt like clouds in her palm.

Belle wandered slowly through the narrow aisles of the baby boutique, her fingers trailing over soft fabrics and pastel cotton. The shelves were filled with impossibly tiny clothes and lullaby-colored blankets, everything arranged just so, with little signs in looping handwriting that read “organic muslin” and ���hand-knit in Provence.”

She wasn’t in a rush. She never was in here.

A shelf of plush toys caught her eyes:  Stacked in a neat row: lambs, bears, bunnies…

And one lion.

It wasn’t particularly large, or fancy. Just soft and golden, with a slightly crooked smile and a fuzzy mane. There was something in its face—warmth, maybe. Bravery. A kind of quiet fierceness.

Belle stepped closer, hand reaching out before she even realized what she was doing.

Her fingers curled around the lion’s little paw, and something inside her chest ached.

She hadn’t meant to buy anything for herself today. Or rather—for the tiny secret she was carrying. The one Max didn’t know about yet.

Belle pressed her palm against the curve of her stomach, still small, still subtle, hidden beneath a loose linen blouse. She wasn’t showing yet—not really—but she felt it now that she knew. The flutter of exhaustion that settled in her bones, the faint nausea in the morning, the warmth that bloomed behind her ribs when she thought about what was coming.

Max was still in Canada. Still flying around corners at 300 km/h like gravity didn’t apply to him. And this… this wasn’t news she wanted to deliver over FaceTime, with a lagging signal and the sound of tire guns in the background. She wanted to watch his face when she told him. Wanted to see the softness break across it. The quiet awe. The love.

Twelve weeks.

 She hadn’t told him. Not because she didn’t want to—but because she did. 

Desperately. Properly. Face to face.

She’d imagined it already. A hundred times. Max, sitting across from her, some ordinary evening in Monaco. A quiet smile, a hand on her belly, eyes gone wide and soft. Maybe he wouldn’t say much at first. Maybe he’d just hold her. Maybe he’d cry.

He’d be terrified. He’d be overjoyed. He’d be Max.

The lion toy was still in her hand.

Belle looked down at it and smiled. “You’ll be ours,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “You’ll keep the little one safe.”

She added it to the pile at the register without a word. The shop assistant didn’t ask—just wrapped the plush in soft tissue and placed it in a separate bag.

Two bags.

She left the boutique with two bags.

One for a niece Max already loved.

And one for a child he didn’t even know existed yet.

But he would.

Soon.

When the moment was right.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Max Verstappen

Belle: You really said “I got married” like you were ordering lunch.

Max: Was it too casual?

Belle: You caused a paddock-wide meltdown in under 10 seconds. Pierre choked on air. Lance gasped.

Max: Oscar didn’t blink.

Belle: Oscar’s soul left his body at the wedding, he hasn’t blinked since.

Max: Lewis was proud of me. Nico welcomed me to the Married Men Club™. Apparently there’s a newsletter.

Belle: What’s in the newsletter?

Max: Tips on DIY crib assembly and how to hide sim rig receipts, probably. 

Belle: I should’ve seen that coming.

Belle: You handled it well.

Max: Thanks. I miss you.

Belle: I miss you too. But I did something today. Thought of you.

Max: Hmm?

Belle: Went shopping. Picked up a gift for Victoria’s little one.

Max: You didn’t have to do that, Schatje. 

Belle: I wanted to. It’s a little dress and a swaddle. Very soft. Very pink.She’s going to look like a marshmallow.

Max: She’s going to love it. Vic and the baby.

Max:Few more days and I’m home.

Belle: Bring yourself. And a trophy.

Max: Bringing all of it. And coming home to you.

Belle: We’ll be here waiting ❤️

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, and Kimi Räikkönen)

Carlos: it’s been 12 DAYS.

Carlos: AND CHARLES STILL HASN’T REALISED. 

Lewis: I’m genuinely losing my mind. 

George: At this point it’s not forgetfulness. It’s performance art. 

Daniel: Has anyone told him yet?? 

Carlos: NO. SHE SAID NOT TO. 

Alex: we made a pact. 

Oscar: I made a pact. and i’m regretting it. 

Nico H: update: i told Kevin. 

Carlos: WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT 

Nico H: Seemed fair. 

Lando: ...fair tbh. 

Daniel: ADD HIM 

Nico Hulkenberg has added Kevin Magnussen to the chat.

Kevin: what the fuck did I just walk into 

George: emotional support group 

Alex: for max & belle truthers 

Lewis: and leclerc accountability 

Kevin: cool cool. carry on

Oscar: ...i may have also told Zhou and Logan. 

Lando: YOU WHAT.

Oscar: They were there. They asked. I panicked.

Daniel: OH MY GOD 

Oscar Piastri has added Zhou Guanyu to the chat

Oscar Piastri has added Logan Sergeant to the chat

Zhou: hi. very honoured to be here. 

Lando: legend.

Logan: I’ve made popcorn. This is better than any paddock drama I’ve ever seen.

Fernando: I also may have mentioned it to Esteban and Lance.

Checo: So we’ve just abandoned secrecy entirely. Dios mío. 

Fernando Alonso has added Esteban Ocon to the chat. 

Fernando Alonso has added Lance Stroll to the chat

Esteban: hello chaos

Lance: why are there this many people here 

Carlos: because Belle deserves a small country’s worth of defenders

George: we are the UN now 

Sebastian: united in silent rage

Lewis: should we… start a betting pool? 

Oscar: on when charles remembers?? 

Carlos: yes. i’m taking “not before summer break” 

Nico R: i’m taking “not until their first baby is born” 

David: CHARLES IS GOING TO FIND OUT FROM TWITTER 

Lando: it’s what he deserves. 

Mark: belle’s not saying anything. max isn’t saying anything. and none of us are allowed to say anything. 

Zhou: so we just watch. 

Daniel: and judge. silently. supportively.

Kevin: this is better than Drive to Survive

Lance: you people are terrifying 

Esteban: and yet i feel comforted

George: long live the chaos

Lewis: I am going to tell Valtteri. 

***

Text Messages: Lewis Hamilton & Valtteri Bottas

Lewis: Valtteri. You up?

Valtteri: I’m in a ice tub with a beer, so yes.

Lewis: You’re gonna want to sit down for this. …Or float. I guess.

Valtteri: Alright, hit me.

Lewis: Max Verstappen got married.

Valtteri: I know. 

Lewis: To Charles Leclerc’s sister.

Valtteri: Isabelle?

Lewis: Yep. Belle.

Valtteri: does Charles know

Lewis: No.

Valtteri: oh my god. oh my GOD

Lewis: He forgot her birthday. The whole family did. She was in the garage. No one said a word.

Valtteri: i need to be in this group chat immediately

Lewis: I got you.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, Kimi Räikkönen, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sergeant, Esteban Ocon and Lance Stroll)

 Lewis Hamilton has added Valtteri Bottas to the chat.

Valtteri: hello i have arrived this is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me

Carlos: Welcome. We suffer here.

George: We scream in lowercase.

Daniel: You missed the “Oscar accidentally told Zhou and Logan” arc.

Oscar: IT WASN’T AN ARC IT WAS A MOMENT OF WEAKNESS

Valtteri: do i get to place a bet

Checo: Please. The pool is open.

Valtteri: i’m taking “charles finds out from a post-race interview when someone asks how he feels about being a brother-in-law to max verstappen”

Lando: OH THAT’S A GOOD ONE

Kevin: I’m taking “Belle shows up to Silverstone with a baby bump and he still doesn’t get it.”

Valtteri: this is the best chat i’ve ever been in

***

Fred Vasseur was many things—an engineer by trade, a strategist by necessity, and a reluctant babysitter of million-dollar egos by circumstance. But above all, he prided himself on reading people.

That was why the current state of the Ferrari garage was driving him mad.

The tension was unmistakable.

Carlos was stalking around with that sharp, clipped energy he usually reserved for backmarkers who didn’t move out of the way. He wasn’t being unprofessional—no, that would’ve been easier to handle. He was being polite. Controlled. Cordial. The worst kind of angry.

And Charles?

Charles seemed... confused. Like he didn’t know what he’d done wrong, but suspected the crime was high treason. He greeted Carlos like nothing had happened, and in return got a nod that could freeze the Tiber.

Fred watched it all from the corner of the garage with the growing sense that he was trapped in the middle of a drama he hadn’t been invited to.

Eventually, he'd had enough.

He cornered Carlos near the espresso machine, away from the engineers and the endless telemetry screens.

“Carlos,” he said, voice low and sharp, “is there something I need to know about?”

Carlos didn’t answer right away. He didn’t even look surprised. He just stared into his tiny paper cup like it had personally betrayed him.

“Because if this is about strategy or some setup disagreement—”

“It’s not,” Carlos interrupted.

Fred blinked. “Then what is it?”

Carlos exhaled through his nose. “It’s Charles.”

Fred folded his arms. “Yes. I noticed.”

“He forgot her birthday,” Carlos said, eyes tight. “Not just him. The whole family. But him especially. She was in the garage. Right there. And he didn’t say a single word.”

Fred blinked. “Whose?”

Carlos looked up, jaw clenched. “His sister’s. Belle.”

Fred stilled. “She was in the Monaco garage. Quiet, like always. Wearing red. Not one of us said a word. And Charles—her own brother—walked past her like she was invisible.”

Fred’s throat tightened. “It’s been two weeks.”

Carlos nodded. “And he still hasn’t said anything. Still hasn’t realized.”

Fred sat slowly in the chair across from him, face unreadable.

He liked Isabelle. Always had. She’d been around for years—gracious, observant, unfailingly kind. She never asked for anything. Never wanted attention. And yet she had always been there.

Fred remembered when she was a teenager, sitting quietly at the back of the motorhome with a sketchbook in one hand and race notes in the other. How she brought pastries to the engineers during triple headers. How she remembered everyone's birthdays.

And no one—not one of them—had remembered hers.

Not even Charles.

“She deserved better,” Fred muttered.

Carlos hesitated. “She has better now.”

Fred looked up. “What do you mean?”

Carlos went still. And then—realizing too late—he winced. “Oh. That wasn’t supposed to—"

Fred’s eyes narrowed. “Carlos.”

“She’s with Max,” Carlos said, resigned. “They’ve been together for over a year. No one knew. It was private. But now? They got married. After Monaco.”

Fred blinked. “Max Verstappen.”

Carlos nodded. “Yeah.”

Fred stared at him.

Carlos winced. “...And Charles has no idea.”

***

Ten minutes after Carlos had dropped the truth on him like a live grenade, Frédéric Vasseur was walking—no, storming—across the paddock with the kind of grim determination usually reserved for breaking up fistfights or walking into meetings with Ferrari’s board.

The anger in him wasn’t loud. It was cold. Controlled. A heavy thing sitting low in his chest.

He didn’t bother knocking. Just swept through the entrance to the Red Bull hospitality like he owned it. No one stopped him.

Of course they didn’t. Everyone knew better when a man looked like that.

Christian Horner glanced up from his table, mid-sip of some expensive-looking sparkling water. The look that bloomed across his face wasn’t surprise. It was familiarity. Expectation. Like he’d been waiting for this confrontation.

“Fred,” Christian said, all false calm and executive charm. “Everything alright?”

Fred didn’t sit. Didn’t smile. Didn’t play the game.

His voice was low and razor-sharp.

“Why has your golden boy married my golden boy’s sister?”

There was the smallest flicker in Christian’s eyes—like a spark caught in glass. Then he leaned back in his chair, lips curling into that infuriating little smirk he always wore when things went exactly as planned.

“Ah,” Christian said lightly. “So it’s out.”

Fred’s jaw tensed. His hands clenched at his sides, itching for something to hold onto—control, maybe. Or the version of this reality where someone, anyone, had thought to tell him what was coming.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Christian raised an eyebrow.

“Because it wasn’t our secret to share,” he said simply. “Max and Isabelle wanted privacy. You know how Max is—he keeps what’s important close. And Isabelle?” He paused. “She didn’t want the attention. Didn’t want the headlines. Didn’t want to be part of the circus.”

Fred opened his mouth to argue—then closed it. Because he knew that about her. Always had.

Isabelle Leclerc had never courted the spotlight. Not like Charles, with his fanbase and flashes of brilliance. Not like Arthur, clinging to the family legacy. She was the quiet one. The one who stayed in the background. The one who did the work, remembered people’s birthdays, brought homemade pastries into the garage because “the people deserve it.”

And they’d forgotten her.

All of them.

His shoulders sagged.

“I always liked her,” he said finally, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. “She is smart. Steady. She helps with setups in hospitality  sometimes. Not even on payroll. She didn’t need credit. She just… cares.”

Christian’s smirk softened, just slightly. “I know.”

Fred looked at him, his expression somewhere between fury and shame.

“She stood in the Monaco garage,” Fred said, his voice quieter now, rougher. “Wearing Ferrari red. On her birthday. And no one said a word. Not Charles. Not the team. Not even me.”

He rubbed a hand down his face. He felt old. Tired.

“Charles has no idea,” he added. “No idea what he missed. What he keeps missing. He’s going to find out the wrong way—through gossip, or a headline, or worse—and he’s going to implode.”

Christian didn’t argue. Just watched him, cool and quiet.

“And when he does,” he said finally, “I hope he understands something.”

Fred looked up. “What?”

Christian’s voice was steady. Not smug now. Just… resolved.

“It’s not Max he should be angry with.  It’s everyone else who made her feel like she didn’t matter.” A pause. “Including him.”

The words landed like bricks.

Fred stood there for a long time, letting the weight of it all settle on his shoulders.

The truth was this: Isabelle Leclerc had given them grace, patience, loyalty. She’d loved this team, and this team had forgotten her.

And Max? Max Verstappen, of all people, had seen her. Held her close. Protected what mattered to her. Not for the cameras. Not for the brand. But because he chose her.

Finally, Fred exhaled. It wasn’t anger in his chest anymore. It was grief. It was guilt.

“We failed her,” he murmured.

Christian nodded once. “You did.”

He reached for his glass, took a sip, and said—almost gently:

“Look,” he said, “you and I have dealt with our fair share of driver drama. But this? This isn’t about racing. This is about someone who was ignored by the very people she’s always stood up for. And Max… say what you want about him, but he saw her. Chose her. Cherishes her.”

Fred said nothing. He didn’t have to. The truth was sitting in his gut like a stone.

Christian smiled again—wider now, but not cruel.

“We take care of our own, Fred.”

And somehow, that—that—was the final blow.

***

Interview Transcript – Post Canadian GP 

Karun Chandhok: Charles, congratulations again on your Monaco GP win! That must have been an incredible moment for you.

Charles: grinning Yes, thank you! It was a very special race for me. Winning at home, in front of my family and the fans, was an unbelievable feeling.

Karun: And it happened on your sister Isabelle’s birthday too, right? That must have made the celebrations even more special!

Charles: smiling automatically Yes, it was— pauses —wait.

Karun: laughs lightly A birthday and a race win on the same day, that’s pretty memorable!

Charles: eyes darting to the side, like he's mentally calculating ...That was— his expression suddenly shifts, his smile faltering

Karun: noticing Charles?

Charles: blinking rapidly No way.

Karun: chuckles, confused

Charles: quietly, more to himself We forgot.

Karun: hesitates

Charles: more urgently We forgot her birthday.

Karun: awkwardly I mean, I’m sure—

Charles: shaking his head, visibly spiraling No, no, no. We were all celebrating, but not her. Not for her. We didn’t say anything.

Karun: off-camera crew shifting nervously

Charles: running a hand down his face Oh my god.

Karun: Um—

Charles: turning toward someone off-camera Do you have my phone? I need to— shaking his head, exhaling sharply I need to fix this.

***

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Yuu Needs a Hug 2

SUMMARY: What their comforting hugs are like when you're feeling sad or under the weather? And how would they behave if you started crying in their arms?

CHARACTERS: Scarabia (Kalim; Jamil); Pomefiore (Vil; Epel; Rook); Ignihyde (Idia; Ortho*) & Diasomnia (Malleus; Silver; Sebek; Lilia)

*Platonic

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Comfort; Bullet Points; In a Relationship

WORD COUNT: An average of 370 words per character.

COMMENTS: When I feel a little sad and down, I often imagine these things to help me fall asleep. I thought you might like them too. 😘

(I don't know why I keep increasing the number of words as I go through the dorms.)

Yuu Needs a Hug 1 (Heartslabyul / Savanaclaw / Octavinelle)

CONTEXT: This is what they would do if they were already in a relationship with you. Except for Ortho, he's more like a cute little brother.

Of course Kalim already hugs you on a daily basis. And in public or private it is completely indifferent to him. His hugs range from casual (as if simply standing next to you wasn't an option) to loving and affectionate.

And it's more towards the latter that he tends to go for when you ask him for a hug. His arms completely wrapped around you, his cheek touching yours. His reassuring smile asking you what you need. "You can ask me for anything! You know that, right? Oh! I know! How about a carpet ride? Do you think that might help?"

Let's face it, he's not the type to cuddling with you while the two of you are lying on a couch resting (Jamil would love that, less work for him) No. He's the type to cuddling with you, yes, but lying on a flying carpet who knows how many meters from the ground. Or maybe lying in the Oasis if you show him that you're afraid of being that high without safety measures.

He will hug you like he never wants to let you go again. He will offer you fruits and other things to snack on, talk to you, etc.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, part of him will panic, but the big brother part of him will stop him from showing it so as not to worry you even more. He will hug you tighter and kiss your forehead and cheeks. “Don't worry, you can cry as much as you need. Everything will be fine in the end, you'll see.”

When your crying calms down or stops, he will take his magic pen and, with his water powers, make a rainbow appear over you. A way for him to try to make you smile again.

Jamil ONLY hugs you in private. He hates being the center of attention and/or showing his feelings in public, especially affection. BUT when he hugs you when the two of you are alone and he can finally rest, his hugs are charmingly peaceful.

He loves to lay with you, wrapping his arms restfully around you. He's always stressed, but with you, he can rest, and his cuddles show that.

He likes both having him lay on top of you with his head on your chest, letting you play with his hair, and having you lay on top of him and him being able to caress your head. He's also not at all shy about giving you kisses, quite the opposite, he likes to be himself with you, even if it means being naturally seductive.

But when you are sad, he will restrict himself to being sensitive and reassuring. He will probably prepare your favorite food or dessert to make you feel better. And, while hugging you, kiss your forehead.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, he will panic a little (as you are used to seeing when Kalim does something that puts himself at risk) You're the one who's going to have to calm him down first before he can calm you down. “*Sigh* Please don't do this to me.” he'll say with a subtle pout, which might make you smile a little too. He will hug you tighter, something that is extremely rare for him, and let you cry all you need.

When your crying calms down or stops, he'll use his magic pen to bring tissues to you, so he doesn't have to move away from you. And as you wipe your tears, he will pat your head and say: "Whatever is worrying you, I'm sure it will pass." in a reassuring, loving voice that only you know.

Vil just doesn't hug you in public because he's a public figure and he prefers not to be the target of gossip, much less involve you in it. He doesn't hide that you're in a relationship, but you know, the less people see about the two of you, the less headaches you'll have. If it weren't for this, he would have no problem showing his affection for you. So he just demonstrates it in private.

However, he is more of a kisser than a hugger. It's more characteristic of him to kiss your cheek, or hold your chin to kiss your lips, than to hug you. Which ends up making these comfort hugs even more special and exclusive.

He'll start hugging you standing up, but if you really want to sit down then he'll let you sit on his lap. This will probably wrinkle his clothes, but he knows his priorities, and you are at the top of his list right now.

Just like him, his hugs are delicate and elegant, but firm enough to convey the feeling of protection and care. One of the arms is always around your waist, while the other is always on the top of your back or on your head, to be close to your face. That way he can caress your cheeks. And he will always plant a kiss on your forehead here and there.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, you’ll probably have the reflex to move away so as not to stain his clothes, and apologize. But at that moment you will feel his hand, stopping you from moving away. “Don't be silly.” he will tell you “And honestly, it hurts me a little that you think I value my clothes, which can simply be washed, more than you.” And he will encourage you to cry on his shoulder, remaining calm and understanding.

When your crying calms down or stops, he'll get all the tissues he needs and start explaining all the steps of a facial cleansing routine for when you cry. If you ask him how he knows so much about it he will answer you with a smile: "My sweet potato, don't tell me you think I never cry."

In public, Epel likes to hug you as a way of showing off your relationship. But cute, comforting hugs? These are only for when you are alone.

This is one of those moments when you bring out his prideful side. You wanting him to be the person who comforts you when you're sad is a way of showing that you see strength and reliability in him, right? And it makes him proud of himself and happy that you can feel safe with him.

He will be extremely sweet and cute with you. He knows that this is what makes other people, especially you, more calm and comfortable.

He doesn't like hugging you standing up, especially if you're taller than him, even if it's just 1cm. But, the same, or worse, happens if he lets you sit on his lap, so it's most likely that he'll sit next to you. OR if you can and want, he prefers to lie with you with your head on his chest. If you're shorter than him, scratch everything, he'll hug you in any way.

After a while, he will probably get distracted by something else that doesn't stop the two of you from holding each other, like reading a book or studying a little.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, he'll panic a little, to the point of asking you what's going on in his dialect that you barely understand. What he needs to know most is if you're crying because of him. He'll be very relieved to know it wasn't him, and will hug you tighter.

When your crying calms down or stops, he will ask you how you are feeling and suggest that you two do something he used to do with his grandmother or his parents when he was also sad and needed to feel better.

Few things are as indifferent to Rook as showing his love for you in public as he does in private (with just a few reservations). So he will hug you whenever you ask, regardless of where you are, so be careful when and where you ask.

Despite everything, it's rare for him to kiss or hug you. It's not that he doesn't like it, quite the contrary, he likes doing these two things so exclusive and special that he ends up keeping them as a "reward" for the two of you.

But this case is an exception to his love game. After all, one of the players is injured.

His comforting hugs are full of love and care, yet gentle despite so much emotional intensity. He will gladly hug you however you wish, standing, sitting on his lap, lying under the shade of a tree or anything else, even if unusual, he will do it with pleasure.

And of course he will use his charming and flattering vocabulary to try to help with your emotional recovery.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, you will feel the surprise in his body, and he will hold your face with both hands to gently move you away from his chest and look at your face. If you try to hide your face he will say: “Oh non, trickster! Such a display of feelings is beautiful. Such a neglected and hidden beauty. Please allow me to appreciate it for a moment.” he will caress your cheeks with his thumbs “I promise this will only make me love you more and better.” and he will kiss your cheeks, also tasting the saltiness of your tears.*

He is extremely patient and will do nothing but hug and cuddle you until your crying stops completely and/or you are the one who breaks the hug when you feel better.

It's OBVIOUS that Idia doesn't hug you in public. He can barely SHOW UP in public. All your hugs, kisses, flirting, etc. are TOP SECRET!

He loves it when you sit on his lap while he is at the computer, especially when he is playing. You can sit however you want, but what he loves most is when you have your back to the computer, your chest against his, your legs behind the chair and your head lying on his shoulder. Or your chin on his shoulder while you play on your phone. The naturalness and relaxation with which he has you close to him like this is quite reassuring.

1000% chance he created a new chair with a design that both of you are comfortable in that position.

There's a good chance he'll simply respond "Same..." if you mention that you're sad or depressed. If you laugh, he might say "Hey, weren't we supposed to be sad together? Traitor! You literally just did the IRL version of sending a crying emoji while you were actually laughing behind the screen. Like, who does that? What is socially accepted is for you to pretend you are happy when you are sad.” And if this makes you laugh even harder: “Stop laughing! It's contagious! Hee hee hee.”

If you happen to be so depressed to the point where you suddenly start crying on his shoulder, he will PaNiC! He’ll immediately let go of the mouse and keyboard and hug you! “WHAT?! WHAT DID I DO?!” You'll have to calm him down first before he can "try" to calm you down.

He will completely understand, even if you don't even know why you're crying. But he won't know how to console you and he'll admit it. He will simply hug you, not tighter but more affectionately. And bury his face in your shoulder too, and whisper a muffled: "...Same...".

You'll probably laugh at the same time as you'll be frustrated with him. “It's true!” he’ll say “Why do you always laugh when I share my sadness with you?!” he says knowing it's not true “What do you mean the WAY I say it? ... Weirdo~” he says smiling.

Unfortunately Ortho cannot hug you. At least not how he would like. The flame in his chest can burn you, and the heat exhaust ports too.

The first time he saw you sad and in need of a hug, he was also sad for being unable to hug you and then he had an idea: "Let's ask my brother to make huggable gear!"

“What do you want me to do? A teddy bear gear or something?” Idia will say, but then he will realize that if he does it HE will also be able to hug Ortho. “I’m on it!”

If Idia starts working on it, but for some reason he runs out of motivation because he thinks it's boring or a useless gear, Ortho will choose one of the following 2 options: A) convince him to do it because he reeeeeally wants to hug you and his big brother. Or B) He will say that if Idia doesn't do it, whenever you are sad Ortho will force him to be the one to hug you.

"I wouldn't mind that much..." Idia whispers. "What?" Ortho asks. "NOTHING, Nothing... I’ll make the gear."

After Gear is ready, whenever you feel sad and need a hug, Ortho will be very happy. "YAY!!! HUG GEAR TIME!!!" and will take you to Ignihyde to change gear.

Your comfort hugs will end up being three-way hugs because Idia also wants to hug his little brother. And maybe after a while he'll start hugging you too?

Ortho will also suggest you play with him to cheer you up. That and he also loves playing with you. And suggest other ways to cheer someone up, which he found on the internet.

Malleus has no problem hugging you in public. He just doesn't do it because everyone who cares about him (especially Sebek) says that, in his position, it's better to keep these romantic gestures private. A way to prevent annoying gossip.

He doesn't initiate hugs, but he absolutely loves it when you ask him for them (And they are always the best solution for when he has his "tantrums") Your wish is his command. He's just sorry that he can't hug you with the same strength that he loves you. But with each passing day it seems that he gets better and better at measuring his strength for you.

He loves to hug you in anyway. Even if he has to use his magic to levitate you if you are both standing, due to the great difference in heights. But comfort hugs are special, and whenever you ask for them, he immediately stops whatever he might be doing and sits on a couch so you can sit on his lap and lay your head on his chest or shoulder.

Whatever you ask he will do. “What do you need to feel better? Would you like me to create a fireworks show? Make flowers grow and drawing your image in a garden? Order my attendants to create a show to entertain us, and a banquet? ... What? You just want my company?” he will laugh with joy, not only because you ask little of him, but because you simply want him.

All his attention will be on you. He will talk to you, suggest that you have tea together, and kiss your forehead and cheek from time to time.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, he will look at you on maximum alert! “What is wrong, my love? Did I make a mistake? Am I hurting you in some way?” He will loosen the hug out of fear that he might be hugging you too tightly without realizing it.

After you reassuring him by telling that it's not his fault that you're crying and that he's doing everything right, his questions will change to: “In that case... is it someone else's fault you're crying?” You will hear thunderstorms forming outside. “You can tell me the name. I will make sure they never disturb you again.” You will have to calm him down again and explain that it is no one's fault.

Only then will he relax a little, hug you again with care and affection and let you cry on his shoulder, while stroking your head. And he will tell you that IF one day someone hurts you, no matter how small the damage may be, you can tell him, okay?

"Or you can simply mention how close you are to Malleus Draconia and they will run away screaming for forgiveness and mercy." Lilia will say another time.

Malleus won't let go of you until he's completely and absolutely sure that you're okay again. Or not, the truth is that he likes having you like this in his arms. (Just five more minutes~)

Silver is not the type to initiate hugs because he's to oblivious for that. But he always hugs you when you ask, regardless of the reason. You may not even have a reason, you want a hug so it's a hug he delivers.

And he's also not the type to change his behavior towards you depending on whether you're in public or not. He gives you all the hugs you want anyway.

Normally what happens is that you'll ask him for a hug, he'll say "Sure, but is there a reason?" and if you answer that there is none in particular, he will simply smile (that rare smile that only those closest to him know exists) and accept your answer, opening his arms so you can hug him.

If you say you want a hug because you're feeling sad, he'll continue with his natural poker face, but anyone who knows him will know that he's worried, but calm so as not to worry you.

He will hug you any way you want. If you want the two of you to sit down so you can sit on his lap, he will do it. He might even pick you up to do it, and if you ask him why he's taking you to a bench or couch like that, he'll say something like, "Oh, I thought you wanted to sit down because you were feeling tired. Sorry." If you say it's no problem, he'll smile and continue carrying you in his arms until you both sit down.

He'll just hug you like he normally does. Despite his strong arms, he hugs you with care and affection. Having you like this in his arms puts him at ease, to the point of... zzz... where he fell asleep, with his arms without letting go of you.

But if you start crying on his shoulder, he'll sense it! He will wake up faster than any alarm could wake him up. And when he sees you crying, he will immediately ask what happened, and apologize for sleeping when you needed him.

Even if your answer is that you don't know, that will be enough for him. He will hug you again in a surprisingly sweet and delicate way, and somehow, he won't go back to sleep until you feel better. He is now on guard!

In the same way that he only hugs you when you ask, he only lets go of you when you tell him to let you go. If you tell him he "can" stop hugging you, he won't do it until you are absolutely sure that that is what you want.

If Sebek is dating you it's because he adores you as much as he adores Malleus and Lilia. In a different way of course, but if he got to the point of becoming your boyfriend it's because he went through the phase of seeing you as an "inferior human" and somehow you turned a switch in his head that made him start to adore you.

There are times when he still treats you the way he did before, but when you need him, like when you're sad and need a hug, he becomes your servant (practically).

He will treat you like royalty in much the same way he treats Malleus. The difference is that he sees you as someone "weaker" who is incapable of changing the fact that you need his protection and so he ends up being more caring.

He doesn't initiate hugs even if he wants to. First he will flatter you until you want a hug from him, even if it is just to thank you for your compliments. Basically, he only hugs you after you give him your consent.

Just as he has no shame in showing the respect and adoration he has for Malleus and Lilia, he also has no problem showing affection for you in public if you so desire. But there are still certain things he prefers to do when it's just the two of you, like these comforting hugs. He also lets you sit on his lap if you want, but it will take him a long time to get used to it.

Since he has always dedicated himself to his training as a soldier and guard, he is not very good at hugging. You will always feel that he is a little tense due to his lack of experience and you will have to be the one to relax him if you want better hugs.

Even if you suggest that he read a book while you're hugging on the couch, he'll decline it. If you're so sad that you, don't want, but need a hug, it's because you need him, and if you need him, he'll automatically enter his guard mode, which means all his attention will be on you.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, what was once the closest thing to a relaxed hug becomes tense again, and he will panic in his own way, controlling himself so as not to accidentally raise his voice. “What happened?! Is there something wrong?! Did I do something wrong!?” You'll have to calm him before he can calm you... or at least try.

If you say that you don't know why you're crying or don't have a specific reason, he'll sigh in frustration and say: “You can't just start crying out of nowhere! I mean... you can, but... I wasn't trained for this. I don't know what to do.” You explain to him that you don't need anything special, just him, but this may take longer than a simple explanation.

He will guard you in his arms until you are both absolutely sure that you are feeling better.

Of course Lilia already hugs you in public on a daily basis, out of nowhere, and often he is the one initiating the hugs, knowing of course that you also want to receive them.

And of course he knows very well how to give comforting hugs. After all, he’s a loving single father.

Many times you don't even need to ask, he will simply look at your face or posture and offer it. “Aw~ You are not using your usual smile. Are you feeling well?” and even if you barely answer he will understand “No? Does my little thorny flower need a hug~?”

But if you're the one asking for the hug, his eyes will widen in surprise and then he'll break into a huge smile. “Awwww~ But of course I'll give you all the hugs you want! Khe he he. You really can surpass me in cuteness sometimes. How could I say no to you~?”

Even though he likes to give you hugs in public, he knows that these types of hugs are better in private, so you feel more comfortable too.

He gives one of the best if not the best hugs. They are firmly affectionate. At the same time that you feel his arms comfortably wrapping around you with a light loving grip, you also feel that they are strong enough to protect you from anything.

He's more of a hugger than a kisser. At most, he can give you light kisses on the cheek from time to time.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, he won't panic at all. He will simply and calmly look at you, tilt your head up by placing his fingers on your chin and ask: “Aw~ What's wrong, my thorny flower?” as he wipes away one of your tears with his thumb. “Is this moment too cute to handle? Khe he.”

Regardless of your answer, he will say with a reassuring smile: “It's okay. You can cry on my shoulder all you need. As long as I can glimpse your wonderful smile again.”

After you feel better, he will suggest cooking one of your favorite dishes or desserts to make you feel better. SAVE YOURSELF!

*Don't look at me like that. We all know Rook is weird. I'm just trying to be true to the character.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[gloomwitchwrites]

Another one (said to the tune of dj khaled)

What if/imagine...have you ever seen the tiktok/reel where the SO randomly knocks something out of the others hands and walks away? Ex. price is sitting on the couch looking at his phone and you just walk by and knock it out of his hands and keep going.

It's meant to be playful, not hurting or damaging any object. It's definitely a way to get someone's attention. 🤣

Another is right. I have such a list to get through I feel like I cannot stay organize lmao. I love a good prank. I love a good, non-malicious prank. I love pulling said prank on one (all) the 141. Hilarious. Amazing. Give me more. Thank you for dropping into my inbox with this little gem. <3

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings (MDNI): hijinks & shenanigans, pranks, flirting, suggestive themes, established relationship

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John relaxes on the sofa, cellphone in hand, fingers tapping away at the screen. He’s in his own world, either chatting away with someone or playing a silly little game.

What’s a bit of fun? A little disturbance in routine? You’re always teasing him in one way or another. This is just another opportunity.

With as much nonchalance as you can muster, you stroll past him and knock his phone out his hand. It’s not hard, or aggressive, more like a cat pushing something off the top shelf.

He clears his throat. “Right. If that’s how you want to behave, dove.”

John slowly stands, smoothing the front of his shirt in a causal gesture. It’s far too calm for him, which means you’re in trouble.

As you pause just inside the hall, you step behind the wall, using it as a defensive barrier. The only part of you that’s visible is the upper half of your body. You don’t dare speak as John’s head swivels in your direction. There isn’t anger or frustration, but a tiny smirk, hinting at amusement.

“You have my attention, love” he purrs. “Thought I was ignoring you?”

You swallow as he takes a step forward.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny is perched in front of the television, gaming controller in his hands. It’s entirely likely that he’s on with Kyle, perhaps even Simon. He has his headset on, talking rapidly as his character moves around on the screen.

Even while on leave, he’s playing games that resemble what he does for a living.

“On the left. That’s it.”

He’s far too focused on the screen to notice that you’ve moved closer to him. You wait on purpose, watching for an opportune moment. Johnny’s gaze is razor-sharp, tongue slightly poking out of his mouth as the screen hordes all his concentration.

“I’m down.”

The screen shifts as his character is respawned. Just as he returns, you lean in and smack the controller out of his hands. It clatters to the floor. His character is promptly killed again. As it respawns, Johnny twists to glance at you.

“I’ll be back, mates,” he says just before removing his headset.

“You,” he says, the shock turning into mischievousness. “You naughty little thing.” Johnny launches himself at you, jumping over the back of the sofa like it’s no effort at all.

You take off, cackling.

“Come here,” he shouts. “Putting you over my knee.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

As you poke your head into the bathroom, you find Simon standing in front of the mirror. He notices you watching him but says nothing, going about his morning routine as he always does.

There’s an idea brewing in your head, a small torment, a little fun. The thing about Simon is that he’s sturdy and relatively passive about most things. He’s the stoic one. The calm one. Nothing phases him.

Which is why it’s easy to gather up the courage to be a little naughty—to act out.

Simon retrieves his toothbrush and adds a dollop of mint toothpaste. Running it under the faucet for a brief second, he brings it to his mouth. As he brushes his teeth, you take a small step inside. Simon doesn’t react, just continues about his business.

When he goes to put the toothbrush back under the water, you reach out, snatching the toothbrush right out of his hand. You pop it into your mouth and begin brushing your teeth with it.

Simon freezes, and then slowly turns in your direction. You cock an eyebrow, daring him to say something.

He doesn’t. Simon opens a drawer and retrieves a brand-new toothbrush, completely unbothered.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle lifts his arm, remote pointed at the television. On days like this, it’s the perfect opportunity to be a little cheeky. Nothing stirs the pot like poking at Kyle’s buttons. It’s never in maliciousness. If anything, it’s to get what you want, which is Kyle’s attention. And he’s always happy to give it when you’re acting bratty.

As he ups the volume of the rugby game, you pass directly in front of him, snatching the remote, turning the television off, and tossing the remote onto the recliner nearby. Kyle blinks, arms still raised and pointed at the television as if he’s frozen in time.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Kyle’s labored sigh.

“You know,” he chuckles. “If you want my attention, love, just say so.”

You glance over your shoulder as you enter the hallway. Kyle has a languid, flirty expression on his face. The remote is ignored as he stands, hands already grasping his shirt, removing it from his body. Taut muscle is revealed, and a sudden heat blooms in your belly.

You certainly have all his attention now.

Kyle takes a step forward, discarding the shirt. “Thinking we need a little lesson on behavior, yeah?”

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@fern-reads @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @glassgulls @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

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@ash-tarte @marispunk @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[angelltheninth]

Love your LADS writings! Could we maybe get them reacting to their girlfriend wearing their shirt?

I love writing for LADS, now that Caleb is here there's even more hot men to fawn over.

Pining: Zayne, Rafayel, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, sharing clothes, domestic fluff, clothes shopping, possessiveness, being playful, flirting

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Wrote this a bit fast because my new PC came in today so I need to set it up. It's gonna be awesome.

Zayne pretends not to notice that it's his shirt you're always wearing in the mornings when you stay over at his place. It's only a shirt, he's got many more just like it. So why is it getting to him when you wear it? Simple, it looks cuter on you, and he tries not to get worked up about it, that would go against his stoic, professional self. However when he sees you wearing his clothes he always tells you that it looks good on you. A sort of subtle encouragement that you should do it more often, and also spend more time at his place because he tries not to leave his clothes at your place.

Rafayel wants to buy some matching clothes when he saw that you wear his on occasion. He's always had a good sense of style and is very happy that you do to, furthermore that you like it so much that you want to wear what he wears. When he sees you wearing his clothes he makes sure to memorize what it looked like on you so he can sketch it later. Before he knows it there are a dozen sketches of you in his clothes. Not that it's a bad thing by any means and he thinks you're catching on to him buying matching clothes because every time you're on a date you're pointing out cute outfits that you say would look great on him.

Xavier doesn't think much of it when he leaves some of his stuff at your place when he comes and goes. What he does think about is how his pants looked on you, too long, cozy, some a bit tight on you, others hanging off your hips, all depending on what you get your hands on at the time. The scene is almost domestic, seeing you not even think about putting on something of his, you don't even say why you do it and he's fascinated by that. Playfully he tugs on the waistband of the pants and tells you he wants them back, only for you to turn the tables and tell him to take them off you if he wants them so bad.

Sylus is very perceptive of what you do when you're around him so there's no way he wouldn't notice you wearing his fancy shirts around the apartment. Those aren't exactly outfits for casual wear so there was no way you could have mistaken them for one of your own, which means you took them on purpose. A man like him doesn't do well when other people touch what belongs to him without his permission. It's bad business practice, and dangerous when you're in deep with criminals like he is. But he could be persuaded to let you get away with it, only because you're his girl and his girl can do whatever she wants with and to him.

Caleb leaves his hoodie at your place on purpose. He did it because he wanted to use it as an excuse to visit again early, he didn't expect that you'd be wearing it when you opened the door for him. All the blood rushed to his brain and caused him to stop all train of thought for a few moments before he smirked and leaned in to whisper how cute you look, his breath hot against your lips before he claimed them in a searing kiss. From that day on he never mentioned anything about you giving him his clothes back. Why would he want it back when it looks so much better on you, sometimes it's all you wear around him.

[lostingrayrain]

hello hello!! i bought homicipher the day it came out and i'm so in love with it.. but there's no content whatsoever and i'm so sad 😭😭 could you write literally anything for any character.. i just need to see more homicipher content!!! 😭😭💗

I GOT YOU ANON I've clocked in like 20 hours since the release on November 1st omg....

I've been cooking up something for my first Homicipher post.....here's some general thoughts on the relationships/dynamics with the main guys.

Characters: Mr. Crawling, Mr. Silver Hair / Mr. Silvair, Mr. Gap, Mr. Hood, Mr. Machete, Mr. Scarletella

Word Count: 1454

Warnings: sfw, some mentions of canon-typical violence

Mr. Crawling

He loves you!! He loves you so, so, so much!!!

Do you love him?

He asks you that. A lot. He loves to be reassured that you adore him. And he's always vocal about how much he adores you.

He follows you everywhere, like a lost puppy. It's honestly so endearing and sweet. He's constantly on the lookout for you.

He also adores physical touch, once he knows it's fine. Other than the little headpats, he likes to touch your legs, especially your calves. In times of rest he's incredibly cuddly and loves to nuzzle into you.

Pet his hair and he'll melt immediately. It's so relaxing to him.

He's usually with you, but when he's not he's often on the lookout for gifts and trophies to bring to you. He just wants to make you happy, in any way possible. The second there's anything you mention liking or being fond of, it's a priority for him to see if he can scrounge it up.

If you'll let him, he'd love to touch your hair. He will play with it and make silly nonsensical braids and giggle quietly to himself all the while.

He's a bit of a chatterbox. He loves to talk to you. Any time he's been away he likes to give you little reports of what he's done or what he's seen. And he wants to hear all about your day or your dreams, too. There's never a time he won't want to hear what you have to say.

Mr. Silver Hair / Mr. Silvair

You are so very interesting to him! He wants to study you.

But not hurt you. Normally, he probably would have already dismembered you to watch how your body pulls together again, but since you're friends with Mr. Chopped, he's put aside that urge.

Instead it's been replaced by something else, though he doesn't really understand what it is. He's never felt it before. Or maybe he has? Maybe he doesn't remember? Could you help him remember?

Whenever you’re feeling ill, he finds that he wants to make you feel better. He’s trying hard to learn how to keep you together just as you are.

He’ll get you to lie down when it seems you’re feeling faint, and carry you to bed when you collapse in the middle of an errand. Before he realises it, he's massaging your hair. Think nothing of it. Your head hurts, right? So it makes sense to pet you.

He likes to watch you sleep. He can’t put a finger on why. He likes to tell himself he’s doing armchair research when he’s really just….zoning out.

He's extremely perceptive and observant. He's always checking your reactions to things and events to figure out what you like or don't like, or to try to understand how you're feeling in the moment.

He's the type to politely ask if it's okay to touch you before doing so.

He would never hurt you unless your urges became unbearable, in which case it's self-defense, right? He'll make sure you'll turn back to normal and he'll be there for you every step of the way.

Mr. Gap

He's probably...one of the strangest denizens of the otherworld. You're still not sure if he has a body. But he has helped you on multiple occasions. You've found yourself growing fond of him.

You often see him peeking at you from various holes and gaps. Sometimes he tries to get your attention, sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he just watches.

When you find a bag in the underworld, you begin carrying it around with you.

He's usually inside, but sometimes not. You have no idea where he goes.

He'll often bring back little gifts like weapons or food, like some bizarre cat. When he finds out you like candy, he tends to focus on that.

He always asks for your heart before he gives you anything, and you always say no, and he always grumbles.

But somehow you'll always find those same things coincidentally in your path or somewhere in the room after you wake up, if you've taken a nap.

He likes to scope out newspapers and magazines too, and show them to you, especially if they feature himself. He's so proud of that.

Over time, his requests for your heart grow less and less frequent. Sometimes, you forget he used to ask you for it at all, until he suddenly pipes up with the query again.

Is his wanting your heart the same thing as wanting your love? Things to ponder.

Mr. Hood

He's quiet and reclusive but he's there for you whenever you need him.

You need or want anything? Just ask. He'll give it to you immediately with hardly a question.

No harm will ever come to you whenever you're with him, and he hardly lets you out of his sight. He's incredibly protective of you.

He loves to carry you in his arms or on his shoulder, whether you're small or not. It's no bother to him. He's more than strong enough.

Hand touches are so pleasant to him -- whether you're touching his hands, or he's touching your face. He's secretly touch-starved. As long as you don't shy away, he'll continue to hold onto you.

He enjoys quizzing you on your knowledge of the otherworld language. When things are slow, he’ll randomly ask you if you know the names of certain things.

Whenever you both encounter something new during your travels, he’s quick to ask you if you know what it is or outright tells you what it’s called.

He seems a bit self-conscious of having minimal form. What is under his robe? If you don't ask he'll be grateful. He doesn't know himself.

But if you're not repulsed by his anomalous form, that's just -- incredibly touching.

He claims to not understand love, but he'll never abandon you.

Maybe he doesn't understand. Maybe he's forgotten.

But there's something about you that comforts him, and makes him feel safe. Quite paradoxical -- he's the one doing the protecting, after all. But your presence soothes him.

Mr. Machete

He's just looking for a way to not be bored. And being with you -- somehow, it's fun.

Maybe because he's usually alone, so he doesn't often have anyone else to talk to. It's...fun to banter with you, even if sometimes your words confuse him.

It's unquestionable that he's the brawn, you're the brain of this duo. Maybe the beauty and the beast, too?

He's always, secretly, been a little bit of a coward. The second things don't look like they'll turn out well for him, he ditches and flees.

But, oddly, you give him the courage to stand against things or monsters he would have thought were impossible to defeat.

Sometimes, you die -- whether by accident or because something else got to you before he could. But he always sighs and waits for you to wake up again. If you're mad, it's a little funny. You were just too slow that time.

He likes sparring with you. You have to get faster, right? Your weapon is pretty funny, too. So small and yet somehow you manage to not get overwhelmed by him. He's not holding back. He never would. Right?

He likes to pick you up and sling you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Likes to hug you like a teddy bear, too. You're soft and warm. You feel nice against him.

He's not the type to ask, but if you made any indication of not liking anything, he'd stop. He doesn't want to break you.

Mr. Scarletella

You are his queen. He literally worships the ground you walk on.

You are so fascinating to him. He just can't believe he's found someone as perfect as you. Someone who likes to destroy and kill people, just like him? Immaculate.

You haven't and never will give him your name. That's fine. He can live with that, as long as you're with him.

You've likely given him something else to call you. It's not quite your name -- maybe it's not your full name, and he knows it, because he can't quite grasp your essence. But it's enough to be able to give a sound to the person -- thing -- he likes most in this world.

He likes to say that not-quite name, and he says it often, just to get your attention.

He's fascinated by everything about you -- including how small you are in comparison to him. He loves that he can easily dwarf your form and loom over you. It's exhilarating in a completely different way from mindless violence.

Speaking of which, his favourite thing is without a doubt to commit violence with you. There's a new urban legend steadily growing in the human world, of a pair of murderers characterised by their red and white umbrellas. You're the perfect perfectly awful duo, truly.

Even when he's not with you, he's always somehow got an eye on you. Most of the otherworld residents know by now who you belong to, and they'd never lay hand on the one cherished by the red umbrella man.

[obsessedwrhys]

hi baby, you can make an hcs of the characters from The Boys with a Harley Quinn! readers?? With all characters including Soldier Boy

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ THE BOYS X HARLEY QUINN!READER

ᯓ★ looots of goofy shit, dark humour, gore, sensitive topics (abuse, toxic relationships, etc), toxicity, reader is fem!!

ᯓ★ Characters included (I couldn't do everyone so I just did these guys, I know yer kind missy 👴): Homelander, Black Noir (Old and New), Butcher, Soldier Boy

HOMELANDER

He's honestly so fed up with you.

Sure he loves watching you mess with people but he does not like it when YOU DO IT TO HIM!!!

"Quinn!" He'd shout for your name and you'd open the door to see him standing outside your room. You laugh when you see him covered in ketchup. One of your many pranks.

"What?? You needed the upgrade for the suit cupcake" You smiled all innocently.

That being said you LOVE pulling pranks on him.

Whether if it's putting hair dye in his shampoo or stealing his suit so he wakes up searching for it.

It's just your favourite thing to do.

There have been times he's tried to kill you due to his rage but it takes every cell in his body to stop himself because he knows that he's not able to do that.

Because why? Because he thinks you don't even deserve to be killed by him directly.

You disgust him that much.

He just wishes that you weren't such a pain in his ass.

If the pranks weren't bad enough that it had him double checking every item he uses, AKA worsening his trust issues. You've also came up with nicknames to mock his superhero status.

"If it ain't the flying dick!" You'd address his entrance to everybody the moment he walked in the meeting room.

Just imagine him suddenly stop and standing at the door like 🧍‍♂️

If you wanna know more nicknames, we've got captain narcissist, america's buttplug and sperm cell.

Trust you are never sent on safely planned missions, only the ones he knows are highly dangerous in hopes of you dying...

There was this one time he sent you on a suicide mission and he was all proud of himself, but just as he thought he finally got rid of you, the elevator door slides open to reveal you, some fabrics of your clothes were ripped and there were bruises all over your body but it didn't seem to bother you.

"What's up toots?" You'd smile even though your nose was bleeding. That's when he looked down to see the head of the guy he asked for you to assassinate.

Who also happened to be one of the most protected men in the nations by the way.

Like how the fuck did you do it?

You're not even an ACTUAL supe!!

Regardless, he has his respects for you but really why WONT YOU LEAVE HIM THE FUCK ALONE.

PLEASE STOP FLIRTING WITH HIM SO CASUALLY ITS WEIRD??!???!?

ALSO DONT PINCH HIS BUTT!!!

You once did that during a meeting and the sight of him yelping as his body jumps was unforgettable!!

You're JUST like a bee addicted to its pollen. P.S, he's the pollen.

BLACK NOIR (OLD)

He.. doesn't... understand you??

Why do you enjoy showering him with love??

You say it's in your nature but why do you always ask to be carried around the tower??

And why does he obliges each time??

Apparently how your mindset works is that you find extremely deadly things to be adorable.

In this case, he's the extremely deadly thing.

With his silent nature, you just NEEDED to get a reaction out of him.

You tried tickling him or making him sneeze but he always just stares at you in confusion.

You can't see his face but you can tell he's giving you the "What are you doing?" Face.

That's when your bright ass thought of a plan.

A dumb and reckless idea... but hey! You have suicidal tendencies so this is fine!

You'd put yourself in danger on purpose just for him to always come rescuing you. He has lost many body parts when doing so but you could care less, you would give him those heart eyes as he carried you back to Vought in bridal style...

Just for the managers to lock you up in a small prison cell to prevent you from pulling more of these stunts.

Though they were never enough to hold you back.

Naturally there would be rumours in the industry if you two were dating and you never hesitate to push those rumours even more.

Imagine for a premiere for your movie, you'd walk on the red carpet in a dress with Noir beside you, still in his signature suit.

"You're looking real good tonight, handsome. I'm liking what I see" You'd say with your arm wrapped around his. He looks at you as you winked at him seductively.

Someone save this poor boy from your endless flirting.

Jokes aside, there has been times he's seen you in your lowest, like that time you trashed your room with your makeup melted from your tears.

Apparently you got rejected from a movie role you wanted to get so badly. Which was Mario but stupid Chris fucking Pratt got it instead.

Seeing the state you were in, he'd grab you by the shoulders firmly and make you sit down, then putting a blanket around you. He'd leave the room for a couple of minutes... to come back with a bucket of ice cream for you to happily snack on as you rest your head on his shoulder.

BLACK NOIR (NEW)

"EW!! Get this mo'fuckin' bastard away from me!" Literally your words when you heard about the replacement.

Is a bit hurt by your disgust towards him??

But that just means he knows what he's doing right or wrong with this new role.

No because seriously everything he does, he would stop to watch for your reaction, most of the time you are never impressed.

Like how he killed those homelander fans to frame the starlighters. He'd hold the bat, his mask all bloody as he turned to see you, arms crossed, no reaction to his performance.

UNTIL at the end of season 4 where he began killing people within the company, that was what got you to start growing interest in his character.

Even though you're fine with him, for now, you really don't like it when he pushes things.

As in trying too hard to replace the old Black Noir. You just don't fw it 😡

"Hey! Hey! Harley wait up!" He'd call out for you while you ignored him and decided to speed walk away. Anyways, he manages to catch up with you.

"The team wants us to attend the premiere of your next movie together.. since.... y'know... we're rumoured to be dating??" He said and you had to stop walking to put your entire energy into giving him the most NASTIEST look. The second he sees you take a deep breath, he knew it was over.

"I ain't yer GODDAMN babysitter, and don't you think that for a second that wearin' the suit makes you my damn boyfriend, alright? I ain't here to hold yer hand and coddle you. I got better things to do than listen to yer constant whining and need for attention. So knock it off, ya copy-cat!" You'd point at him before walking off, hand on your hip.

You can bet that he asks Deep for advices on how to win your heart.

BRO IS TOO INVESTED IN HIS CHARACTER 😭

That's why he thinks making you fall for him is one of Noir's characteristics.

You love mysterious and threatening looking people? Okay gotcha.

You want hyenas for pets? Cha-Ching! Got it!

But seriously someone please tell him to stop before he gets his ass beat. He does not want that Brooklyn smoke.

BILLY BUTCHER

Ah great another crazy chick.

The only possibility to why you'd be apart of the boys is if someone vouched for you.

50/50 it's either Hughie or Frenchie.

Though surprisingly enough, you were the first to notice the symptoms of his virus. Like he could be fidgeting at the office and you'd point it out so casually that everybody turns to look at you in confusion.

Everybody thought you were crazy at first, it's to be expected, but the second his virus was confirmed to be lethal. Everybody has started to take you a bit more seriously.

Read carefully. A bit.

He finds your weapons fascinating though. Like how your gun has words engraved in it, your initials being the biggest. Not to mention the designs being the inspiration of poker cards.

"That must make you the clown" He once said when you whipped it out to shoot someone. You smile mischievously at his remark.

"Oh you'd better watch your tongue before I make you the punchline of my next joke!"

He likes you.

ONLY if you don't fuck anything up.

Sure you guys do argue a lot but theres also strange moments of understanding between you two.

There was this one time he found you alone in the office, your legs placed on the table and you were literally downing a bottle of alcohol. It was when he came closer that he noticed the bruises on your body.

"What the hell happened to you?" He said and you sniffed as you quickly wipe away the tears in your eyes.

"Oh, I'm just peachy, tough guy... Can't you see I'm having a little cry-fest over here after a lover's spat with my oh-so-darling ex-boyfriend. Yeah, he just looooves to use me as his personal punchin' bag, y'know? But don't worry 'bout me. I'll be back to my ol' crazy self in no time. Just need a minute to let the tears dry and the bruises heal"

For the rest of the night he'd stay to talk about how shitty both your lives are. You guys actually BOND over your past traumas.

The booze just making the conversation ever more fun.

Will go out of his way to take you to places for shopping or eating at a restaurant to make you feel better.

After understanding you better, he realised you're just a once normal person who became a psychotic sociopath after whatever the supes did to wrong you.

He may not show it to you but he really cares about you and would not hesitate to protect you despite how much he says he wish you'd just fuck off.

SOLDIER BOY

You have to be some kind of masochist right??

He says the most disrespectful shit to you and you just squeal in excitement from it.

It's starting to weird him out.

Everything he does or say, you love to mock him, like he could be giving orders and you'd be at the back using your hands to mimic his talking like a puppet as you mouthed along and made faces.

But he has to say, he finds your insanity amusing. Because deep down, he sees a tiny bit of himself in you.

He calls you Looney Tunes. Why exactly? Nobody knows its for his own entertainment.

He's into older women but that doesn't stop you from flirting with him. He finds your efforts interesting.

"You're a tough nut to crack, Soldier Boy, but I'll get you to crack a smile eventually" You'd say and it'll be enough to have him grinning at you.

"You gonna tickle me?" He'd say, returning the same energy.

But that doesn't mean he's interested in you, he's just toying with you.

AND YOU KNOW IT. But apparently red flags just look like a go flag to you 🤷‍♀️

Despite that, if any other guy did the things he did to you, he would be fast to knock out the fucker. That's because he knows you value loyalty and he does too.

Everything aside, he really appreciates it when at the end where everybody turned against him you stayed by his side. Just imagine him driving the car while you're in the passenger seat singing your heart out to Cherry Bomb by The Runaways.

He'd simply shake his head with a smile on his face.

But the more relationship develops, he'd actually start to show you his softer side. Not soft side. Soft-er side.

Will literally lecture you into standing up more for yourself and stop being a doormat for every man in your life.

How ironic huh?

"You might act all tough and macho, but I see that big, marshmallow heart under there, sweetheart" You'd boop him on the nose that has him rolling his eyes with a smirk.

"You already said that. Are you a broken record or just dim?" He said.

If you stay obedient and don't push the wrong buttons, he might just keep you around.

[hitoshiyoshi]

~ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐃𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐑 / 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇

synopsis ↬ the mha boys reactions when learning you have a secret admirer

pairing ↬ gender neutral!reader x mha

characters ↬ izuku, bakugou, shouto, kirishima, shinsou, sero

+ MIDORIYA IZUKU will become a nervous little broccoli. He'll probably realize that you have a secret admirer way before you even notice; his detective skills are strong. He's not afraid to confront this person if they're making you uncomfortable because if it is a problem for you, it is also a problem for him as well. Terrified that you would actually leave him for this person and can't help but feel insecure. He'll compare all of his attributes with them and will probably easily feel inferior. Of course, you reassure him that you would never leave him and give him a huge confidence boost please reassure him. If you don't, imagine him being extremely anxious and shaky every time he sees that person around. Will politely tell that person to leave you alone if they are bothering you too much since he doesn't want to be rude.

+ TODOROKI SHOUTO pretends to be unbothered but is actually really bothered and insecure as well. He won't tell you too much about how he feels about it, he's mostly concerned whether you are uncomfortable with it. Like Izuku, he would find the identity of this person pretty quickly. Neglects his own personal thoughts on this person which probably causes him to spiral into a battle with his self-image and confidence. Although he's very pissed off about this, he silently tells this person that you're taken by being close to you all the time. Does a few death glares in their direction if he notices that person staring at you. He probably isn't too big on PDA and you quickly take notice of his changes. Unhappy and very sulky every time he sees this person around you. He'll eventually spill his feelings to you and apologize like he always does for keeping his emotions inside.

+ BAKUGOU KATSUKI would be the most bothered out of all of them. He probably isn't too obvious that you two are dating, people naturally put two and two together. When he finds out that you have a secret admirer, he's highkey offended. Wasn't it obvious that you two were dating? Well, no... Now, he goes out of his way to make sure everyone knows that you're in a relationship. Sticking to your hip, his arm around your shoulder, holding hands, eyeing up anyone that steps too close, and other things until people know. It would get annoying to others after some time, but he doesn't care. Somehow manages to track down your admirer and curses them out until they leave you alone. Destroys all the gifts and useless stuff that they've given you.

+ KIRISHIMA EIJIROU also acts unbothered but seriously hates it deep down. Instead of acting nonchalant, he would convince himself that it isn't a big deal and you won't leave him. Unfortunately, doing this is harder than he imagined. He also has an unwavering feeling that you would leave him for this person because he wasn't good enough or couldn't take care of you. Competes with this person for your affection and will do the most chivalrous manly acts to prove his love for you. Gets so uncomfortable when he sees the gifts or other presents this person gives. He probably won't go out of his way to confront them, but if he catches them leaving notes or gifts for you he'll just announce himself as your boyfriend and proceed to ask them to leave you alone.

+ SHINSOU HITOSHI observes and watches your interactions with this person very carefully. He's so wary that this person has other motives with you, more concerned about your wellbeing than anything else. He doesn't seem like the type that would be jealous but rather looks at things rationally. Randomly stumbles across them leaving love notes and gifts for you and gets so uncomfortable just from watching. He is not afraid to brainwash this person if they bother you too much; doesn't care if that sounds bad. If brainwashing doesn't work, he would just intimidate them into stopping. And if that doesn't work, he would bluntly tell them to leave you alone in the harshest way possible.

+ HANTA SERO is the king of being unbothered and actually IS unbothered. It's not that he doesn't care, but he trusts you enough to know that you won't leave him for someone else. He has no reason to be worried about this person unless he's given one. Communicates his feelings very well, doesn't hide anything. In fact, he's pretty blunt about how he feels about it even if it sounds harsh. He also doesn't actively try and figure out who you're admirer is because he could care less about that person. Only values your opinion and offers to help once he realizes it's going too far. Proudly displays himself as your partner until this person finally understands that you're taken and stops.

[sabertoothwalrus]

There’s something I love love loveeee about Laios and how badly he wants to be cool.

Let me preface with this: in general, I believe the harder you try to be cool, the less cool you actually are. The less you care what people think about you, if you’re “cringe” or “weird”, the more likely people will perceive you as confident and self-assured.

There are countless pieces of media where characters try to fit in with some group, change every part of themself to look/act like what they’re “supposed” to be, and end up miserable, often realizing the people they’re trying to impress aren’t worth the trouble.

I’ve experienced this in my own life too! Sometimes when I go out I wear a rainbow propeller cap! Cause I think it’s funny and silly and!! I ALWAYS get compliments!! I don’t wear it to be cool, I wear it because it makes me happy. And people overall have a positive reaction to it. it’s a huge contrast to when I was teenager and didn’t really put as much of myself into my appearance/wardrobe, and barely left any kind of impression on people.

So anyway, let’s get into it.

Laios… he’s been hurt so badly by people. He resented humanity for it. And yet, he still yearns for the approval of others. He wants FRIENDS!!!! and was angry and frustrated to learn his perception of his relationship with Shuro was so drastically different than Shuro’s!!!!

He KNEW that people were put-off by his love of monsters. Up until Falin got eaten, he deliberately suppressed how much he talked about it with others. He probably thought by not talking about monsters so much, it was working!! He was doing all the Right Things now! So Shuro confessing he always hated him was a huge blow.

But the reality is, he loves monsters. And most importantly, he loves cool monsters. He fantasizes about what would make the Ultimate Monster.

He feels very strongly about what he considers “cool” as well. He finds all aspects of monsters fascinating, but can still be HORRIBLY underwhelmed when they look too lame for his tastes.

He knows most people don’t feel the same way he does. He knows his “cool” is everyone else’s “weird”. It’s so tragically sweet how he latches onto Kabru the moment he shows interest in monsters, and takes every opportunity to infodump about them to him.

He wants people to find monsters as cool as he does!! But, he also wants people to think he’s as cool as he finds monsters.

Like!!! djkfghadkfjg IT DOESN'T EVEN BOTHER HIM WHEN PEOPLE HAVE A WRONG IMPRESSION OF HIM! He's FLATTERED by it. It's almost like, at this point, it doesn't matter to him if people don't like him. People can not like him and still think he's cool.

And my favorite thing is, it works. Laios IS cool as fuck. You KNOW he thought he looked so badass when he did this and he was RIGHT:

And yet, this is him trying very hard to look cool. But it's Laios's version of cool. It's almost contradictory, in that sense. Cause he knows people still don't get it. Like. He wants to be cool. He doesn't care about the "normal" ways to be cool. He thinks his cringe thing is cool. He does his cringe thing, that people very much do still think is cringe. So you would think that, since he wants people to think he's cool, he would not do the cringe thing. But he wore the pelt because he thought it was cool. And people clapped and cheered for him anyway.

is what he's doing really so different than this? ^

YAYYYYY WOOO GO LAIOS YOURE SO COOL!!!!!!!