#there are more but those are the ones that stand out most

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 1: March 2023

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

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

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

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

Warnings and Notes: 

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

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

A Bar in Montecarlo: 

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

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

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

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

She turned, amused—

And Max nearly choked.

Because he knew her.

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

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

Max grimaced. “That’s not what I—”

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

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

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

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

Her lips twitched. “And?”

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

She tilted her head, intrigued. “Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Max smirked. “That easy?”

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

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

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

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

Max blinked. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

Max frowned. “You have?”

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

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

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

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

Now, though?

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

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

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

Max grinned. “That’s it?”

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

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

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

Yeah. He was definitely buying that penthouse.

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

Isabelle gave him a knowing look. "Hypothetically."

"Would I get a personal consultation?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

(Unknown Number): Hey, it’s Max.

(Unknown Number): Verstappen.

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

Isabelle: I don’t.

Max: Good. Would hate to have competition already.

Isabelle: Already?

Max: What can I say? I like you.

Isabelle: You barely know me.

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

Isabelle: …That was smooth.

Max: Was it?

Isabelle: Surprisingly, yes.

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

Isabelle: Very short?

Max: Tragically short.

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

Max: I promise, my sister would confirm it.

Isabelle: You have a sister?

Max: Victoria.

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

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

Isabelle: Oh?

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

Isabelle: And what does your instinct say?

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

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

Max: Is that a bad thing?

Isabelle: No. Just… unexpected.

Max: Well, I can be subtle too.

Isabelle: Can you?

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

Isabelle: …Very subtle.

Max: Thank you. So?

Isabelle: I might be free.

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

Isabelle: Are you always like this?

Max: Only when I really like someone.

Isabelle: …Dinner sounds nice.

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

Isabelle: Looking forward to it.

Max: Me too.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: I met someone.

Victoria: …Okay?

Max: And I think I’m in love.

Victoria: MAX.

Victoria: You literally just met her??

Max: Yes.

Victoria: And you think you’re in love?

Max: Yes.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Victoria: Max.

Victoria: WHAT.

Victoria: HOW.

Victoria: WHY.

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

Victoria: You’ve known her for one night.

Max: Yes.

Victoria: Max.

Max: Vic.

Victoria: Oh my god, you’re serious.

Max: Very.

Victoria: You’re actually gone for her already.

Max: Completely.

Victoria: …Okay.

Max: Okay?

Victoria: Yeah.

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

Max: …Thanks, Vic.

Victoria: You deserve to be loved, Max.

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

Max: …

Max: I think she sees me that way.

Victoria: Then hold onto her.

Max: I plan to.

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

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

Victoria: MAX.

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

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

Max: Her architecture firm is working on it.

Victoria: This is why people say Libras are intense.

Max: That’s astrology nonsense.

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

Max: I have a good feeling about it.

Victoria: MAX.

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

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

Max: Too late.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Victoria: You are actually the most ridiculous person alive.

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

Max: She does.

Victoria: Then that’s all that matters.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Emergency. Crisis. Disaster.

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

Isabelle: I have a date.

Emilie: And that’s a disaster because…?

Isabelle: Because it’s with Max Verstappen.

Emilie: …

Emilie: I’m going to need a second.

Emilie:

Emilie:

Emilie:

Emilie: Okay, I’m back. WHAT???

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

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

Isabelle: EMILIE. FOCUS. OUTFIT.

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

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

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

Isabelle: Black dress?

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

Isabelle: You are suspiciously good at this.

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

Isabelle: …

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: No, they do not.

Emilie: WHY NOT???

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

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

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

Emilie: YET.

Isabelle: I don’t think Charles would care.

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

Emilie: You don’t think Charles would care.

Isabelle: No.

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

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

Emilie: THAT IS SO DEPRESSING.

Isabelle: It’s just reality.

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

Isabelle: He won’t.

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

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

Emilie: And?

Isabelle: And I will admit you were right.

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

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: HELP.

Max: I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO WEAR.

Victoria: Oh my god.

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

Victoria: It’s one date.

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

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

Max: NOT HELPING.

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

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

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

Max: That’s it???

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

Max: What if she thinks it’s boring?

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

Max: Wow.

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

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

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

Max: …Good point.

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

Max: No promises.

Victoria: You’re impossible.

Max: And yet, you still love me.

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

Max: No guarantees.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: Well????

Isabelle: Well, what?

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

Isabelle: …It was really nice.

Emilie: THAT’S ALL YOU’RE GIVING ME?

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

Isabelle: Yes, yes, yes, and Yes.

Emilie: YES??

​​Isabelle: I kissed him.

Emilie: !!!!!

Emilie: Details. Now.

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

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

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

Emilie: And???

Isabelle: And then he kissed me back.

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

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

Emilie: Isabelle.

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

Emilie: You’re done for.

Isabelle: … I know.

Emilie: And how did he look after?

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

Emilie: Oh, you’re so doomed.

Isabelle: I know.

Emilie: Tell me everything.

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

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

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

Emilie: I love him already.

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

Emilie: Uh oh.

Isabelle: …He sent me flowers.

Emilie: WHAT.

Emilie: When???

Isabelle: They just got delivered.

Emilie: EXCUSE ME.

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

Isabelle: Apparently.

Emilie: What kind?

Isabelle: Peonies.

Emilie: Belle.

Emilie: He is so in love with you.

Isabelle: It was one date.

Emilie: AND???

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

Isabelle: Maybe he just does that?

Emilie: Girl. Be serious.

Emilie: Did he say anything with them?

Isabelle: There was a note.

Emilie: AND???

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

Emilie: I’M GONNA SCREAM.

Emilie: Max Verstappen is courting you.

Isabelle: Courting is a strong word.

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

Isabelle: …Maybe.

Emilie: So… second date?

Isabelle: Saturday.

Emilie: GIRL.

Isabelle: I know.

***

Isabelle Leclerc’s Instagram Post

Comments:

@/emilie_abadie: 👀👀👀

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

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

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

Max: I’m glad you liked them. 

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

Isabelle: Snowdrops.

Max: Snowdrops?

Isabelle: Yes?

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

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

Max : Like you, then.

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

Max: Is it working?

Isabelle: Maybe.

Max: Good.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen

Sophie: So… Victoria told me something interesting.

Max: She needs a new hobby.

Sophie: Max.

Max: What?

Sophie: Are you in love?

Max: …Maybe.

Sophie: After one conversation?

Max: No! After two conversations.

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

Max: Mom.

Sophie: Max.

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

Sophie: That’s a big thing to say.

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

Sophie: So how did the date go?

Max: …It was perfect.

Sophie: Now we’re getting somewhere.

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

Sophie: That’s important.

Max: I know.

Sophie: So when do I get to meet her?

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

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

Max: …

Sophie: That’s what I thought.

Max: It’s a very nice penthouse.

Sophie: Of course it is.

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

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

Max: Thanks, Mom.

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

Max: Goodbye.

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

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

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

Charles: Yeah, I’ll be there.

Lorenzo: Me too.

Isabelle: I can’t make it, I’m busy.

Arthur: What’s Maman making?

Charles: Probably something with pasta.

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

Arthur: Oh yeah, I think so.

Isabelle: Have fun!

Charles: See you all Saturday.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

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

Victoria: Oh my God.

Max: What?

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

Max: It’s not that serious.

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

Max: …That’s unrelated.

Victoria: Sure it is.

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

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

Max: ...

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

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

Do not talk about tire degradation.

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

Do not wear a Red Bull hoodie.

Do not check F1 news during the date.

Do not turn the date into a competition.

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

Do not propose.

Max: …That last one was unnecessary.

Victoria: I’m just covering all bases.

Max: I wasn’t going to propose.

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

Max: The Red Bull hoodie rule feels unfair.

Victoria: Max.

Max: Fine. No Red Bull hoodie.

Victoria: Thank you.

Max: …Can I at least wear the cap?

Victoria: Max.

Max: Alright, alright. No cap.

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

Max: No promises.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

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

GP: …Why are you asking me?

Max: Because you’re married!

GP: And?

Max: That means you’ve successfully dated someone.

GP: That does not make me a dating expert.

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

GP: Who is she?

Max: …

GP: Max.

Max:

GP: MAX.

GP: WHO IS IT.

Max: Isabelle.

GP: Isabelle who?

Max: …Leclerc.

GP:

GP: MAX.

GP: CHARLES LECLERC’S SISTER?!?!?!?!?

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

GP: MAX.

GP: DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH?

Max: Not particularly.

GP: HOW DID THIS HAPPEN.

Max: I met her.

GP: OBVIOUSLY.

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

Max:  A few days.

GP: And Charles doesn’t know???

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

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

GP: Do you have any self-preservation instincts?

Max: She’s nice. I like her.

GP: THAT IS NOT THE POINT.

GP: Do you realize the incident this could cause?

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

GP: I AM REACTING APPROPRIATELY.

GP: What does Victoria think?

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

GP: …Well, that’s suspiciously sentimental.

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

Max: You’re being dramatic.

GP: AM I?

Max: Are you helping or not?

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

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

GP: You need a second date idea.

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

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

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

Max: You’re being dramatic again.

GP: No, I’m being realistic.

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

GP: Unbelievable.

GP: Alright. Date ideas.

GP: What did you do for the first one?

Max: Dinner. Talked a lot.

GP: What does she like?

Max: Horses.

GP: Horses.

GP: You’re dating someone who likes horses.

Max: Yes?

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

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

Max: Not really.

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

Max: She’d find that funny.

GP: I wouldn’t.

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

Max: I was thinking that too.

GP: What about a picnic?

Max: A picnic.

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

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

GP: You have a balcony, Max.

GP: You literally have a balcony with a view.

GP: Just set something up there.

Max: …That’s actually not a bad idea.

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

Max: Don’t get used to it.

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

Max: She ordered pasta on our first date.

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

Max: Or I could cook.

GP: You could what?

Max: I can cook, GP.

GP: Since when?

Max: Since I lived alone?

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

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

GP: Just making sure she survives the night.

Max: I’ll make pasta. It’s simple.

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

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

GP: I wouldn’t put it past you.

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

Max: She likes red wine.

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

Max: She mentioned liking raspberries once.

GP: So get her something with raspberries.

Max: Got it.

GP: And what about ambiance?

Max: …

GP: Max.

Max: What?

GP: Do you even own candles?

Max: …Victoria gave me some once.

GP: Use them.

GP: And put some effort into setting the table.

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

Max: …She’s worth the effort.

GP:

GP: Damn.

GP: Okay.

GP: You have to survive Charles finding out.

Max: I told you. I’ll handle it.

GP: Yeah, yeah. Just keep me updated.

Max: Sure.

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

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

GP: What was on the list?

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

GP: Solid advice.

Max: She also said, "Act normal."

GP: That one might be harder for you.

Max: Wow.

GP: Just being honest.

GP: So, do you have everything planned?

Max: Yeah. I think so.

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

Max: Thanks for the vote of confidence.

GP: Any time.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: Soooooo... how was the date?

Isabelle: Good.

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

Isabelle: Fine. Great. Amazing.

Isabelle: Happy?

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

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

Emilie:

Emilie: EXCUSE ME???

Emilie: YOU STAYED OVER????

Isabelle: Yes.

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

Isabelle: …

Emilie: ISABELLE.

Isabelle: Nothing happened. 

Emilie: Oh my god.

Emilie: OH MY GOD.

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

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

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

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

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

Emilie: Emotionally? Maybe a little.

Isabelle: Rude.

Emilie: True.

Emilie: But seriously. How do you feel?

Isabelle: …I don’t know. It’s weird.

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

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

Isabelle: You think so?

Emilie: I KNOW so.

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

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

GP: Well???

Max: Well, what?

GP: Don’t play dumb. How did it go?

Max: …

GP: MAX.

Max: It went well.

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

Max: What do you want me to say?

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

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

GP: Growth. I’m proud of you.

Max: Thanks.

Max: The cats love her.

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

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

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

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

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

Max: I mean… yeah.

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

Max: That’s a problem for future Max.

***

[watchmegetobsessed]

RAW, NEXT QUESTION

A/N: saw a vid of all these dirty tiktok comments and just knew i had to write something like this hehe

WORD COUNT: 1k

WARNING: just some dirty talk i guess?

SUMMARY: You decide to get Harry hot and bothered with some of the most unhinged sayings you learned from Tiktok.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Harry has always joked about how chronically online you are and quite frankly, you can’t argue with him. You definitely enjoy rotting on the couch after a long and tiring day and just scrolling through Tiktok. Your For You Page is usually pretty on the spot and perfectly curated for your taste and humor. It’s like a treat after being an adult for a whole day. 

Harry spends quite some time on different apps as well, but it’s just different for him, he doesn’t really engage with all the trends and micro trends that happen online, while you live for those. You absolutely love the memes, the poorly edited videos, the funny lines that just stick with you and you even catch yourself using them in real life as well. 

And Harry loves teasing you for that. He often jokes about you being a teenager at the ripe age of twenty-eight, to which you just usually roll your eyes. But one instance kind of turns the tables. 

One morning, after you’ve been out with your girlfriends the night before you’re stumbling out of the bedroom quite late, finding your boyfriend in the kitchen, already making you the breakfast you usually crave after drinking a bit too much. But this time he is standing by the stove in a pair of light grey sweatpants and your pink apron, nothing else. His hair is tousled, his tattoos are on display and he just looks incredibly delicious as he cooks for you. 

“Good morning, Sunshine,” he smiles at you when he sees you climb onto a stool by the kitchen island.

“Mmm,” is all you can get out as you can’t take your eyes off of you. He catches you eyeing him, a pleased grin stretching across his face as he flips a piece of bacon in the pan. 

“Like what you see?” he asks teasingly and before you could think of your answer, the words spill out of you.

“Raw, next question.”

Harry chokes on his breath, his ears go red instantly as he gives you a wide-eyed look. 

“Uh what?” he asks with a laugh and you notice him shifting from one leg to the other a bit nervously. 

“What, caught you by surprise?” you grin at him.

“Where did that come from?”

“It’s a Tiktok thing,” you shrug, but the gears are already turning in your head. 

If this comment got him so hot and bothered, you’d love to try out all the other unhinged sayings that circulate on the app. So you got to work.

In your notes app, you collect a rather long list of them that you’d like to drop on him at the right moment and then you wait.

And the moments luckily come. 

A few days later you have a particularly bad day at work and Harry knew, because you texted him all day. So he welcomes you home with a nice, hot bath, candles around the tub and a bottle of wine already waiting for you with two glasses. Standing at the door you look at him with adoring eyes and then you drop a bomb.

“I mean, I’m not a waitress, but I would take your tip.”

You see his pupils grow instantly. 

“Y/N,” he growls as you just smirk at him. A moment later his hands are already peeling your clothes off. You don’t even make it into the tub, because you take more than just his tip on the counter. 

The next time happens when he cooks dinner for you, the pasta he makes so well and is one of your favorites. Sitting at the table you watch him fill your plate with the delicious looking, creamy pasta and you just say with a sigh: “Mm, but why is he filling my plate and not me?”

The spaghetti spoon drops from his hand, back into the pot and he almost drops the plate as well. You can’t hold back your laugh as he puts it down and leans back in his seat, raking through his hair with pink cheeks and a cheeky smirk that also reflects his disbelief that you just said that. 

“Everything alright, baby?” you ask with an innocent look. He shakes his head with a chuckle and goes back to the pasta, but you already know you’ll be his dessert. 

The best one however happens publicly. One of your friends has a grill party when the weather is finally warm enough and you split for a bit, engaging in different circles. Harry looks incredibly good, wearing a colorful shirt with a few buttons undone, so he is flaunting quite a bit of his chest. He is nursing a beer, sunglasses hiding his pretty eyes and he recently shaved, but left his mustache, so he looks… extraordinarily good in your opinion. 

But others notice it too, the girls you’re chatting with mention his new facial hair style and they share your view of it looking amazing. As if Harry could sense that you’re talking about him, he turns to you and then starts walking towards your little circle. 

“Woah, get a load of this guy!” one of the girls jokingly calls out and you reply instantly.

“Oh, I’m trying to!”

Harry stops in his tracks as the girls start cheering and whistling at your comment. Slowly, a smirk tugs on his mouth as he takes the last few steps towards you, curling an arm around your shoulders and tugging you close so only you can hear when he says: “Oh you will get more than just a load when we get home.”

And you can’t hold back the smirk when you turn to look at him, catching him arching an eyebrow at you. It’s certain he thinks he got you speechless, but then you up it one more.

“Hmm, but something is off,” you pretend to think deep and he gets serious as well.

“What–” He doesn’t get to finish before you look him in the eyes and continue.

“Ah, nevermind. It’s just my clothes.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle as he shakes his head. 

“You’re banned from using that app ever again,” he says, kissing into your hair and you just shrug with a triumphant smile. 

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[ariichive]

MALFUNCTIONᯓ ⋆°•

moving in with caleb was bound to have its ups and downs... but did he have to modify everything in his home to keep track of you? cw: fem. reader, caleb being overprotective and borderline insane, lowkey stalking, cameras, established relationship, reader can be mc or not, #ilovecaleb, mullet caleb yummy, wrote this listening to my 2020 playlist...

everything in caleb's space was so very... you. the foods in the fridge, the furniture, the tidiness of it all. there was so much of you, and it was quickly becoming a safe haven.

it seemed everything caleb owned was carefully picked out with your interests and not his.

you remember asking him about it, if he was truly okay with you taking over his space like this; especially since you never spent a dime while with him.

his answer still fresh in your mind.

"trust me honey, this is all i've ever wanted." he said with a sincere smile and a pat to your head, "besides, there's still a lot of me around, you just gotta find it."

back then, you weren't sure what he meant exactly and seen it as a way of him comforting you.

now, however, as the microwave locked your frozen dinner in there you realized what he meant.

caleb always cooked for you, he knew your desired calorie intake, allergies, and all the foods you didn't like.

you never had to lift a finger in the kitchen when he was around, because he had already taken care of everything before you even had the chance to think about it.

but now, standing in the quiet hum of the microwave, the absence of his presence was deafening. he was on a rather long mission with the fleet. he did prepackage all your meals, labeled and all, but admittedly... being bored with nothing to do except eat made the meals go quicker than expected. surprisingly, there was a frozen pasta dinner shoved in the back of the freezer. it wasn't the most ideal, but it was the best you could do without your personal chef and boyfriend.

it was a little embarrassing how dependent you became on him. you knew if he were here, he'd kiss your head and tell you he'll make those nasty thoughts go away.

there were still traces of him all around you, in the way the spice rack was arranged just so, the way the couch cushions bore the slightest indent from where he always sat, and even the basket of apples on the counter.

you sighed, leaning against the counter as the microwave beeped, signaling your sad little dinner was ready.

there was a small problem though.

the microwave wasn't opening.

no matter how much strength you used, the door just wasn't opening. you felt your eyebrow twitch; did you somehow manage to break his microwave? there was no way; sure, you relied on him a bit, but you definitely remembered the basics in the kitchen.

before you could get more frustrated, your phone dinged.

caleb <3: where did u even find that lol? thought i threw those all out :,)

you stared at your phone in deadpan before glancing back at the microwave, quickly texting back.

[name]: how did you even...?

caleb <3: baby, i got eyes everywhere

you huffed, shaking your head. of course he somehow knew you were about to eat the one frozen dinner he swore he got rid of.

[name]: okay, stalker. but actually, i think ur microwave is broken??? it won’t open.

the typing bubble appeared instantly.

caleb <3: yeah, ik... had some free time, messed around with a few things :p

another message came through right after.

caleb <3: say, what happened to the meals i prepared for you?

then another...

caleb <3: did you not like them? let me know so i know for the future if your tastes changed, sorry pretty girl

you were quick to type out a response, seeing as his typing bubble didn't disappear.

[name]: no!! i loved them all, just... they're gone :(

the message was marked as read immediately as he your phone began to ring.

you sighed, but your lips curled into a small smile as you answered.

“hi, caleb.”

“hi,” he echoed, his voice warm despite the slight scolding tone. “now, tell me, honey—how are they already gone? i made sure they’d last until i got back.”

you pouted, sinking further into the couch. “i got bored… and they were really good.”

caleb chuckled, and you could just picture the way he’d be shaking his head if he were here. “i swear, you’re gonna make me start rationing your meals.”

“you wouldn’t.”

“would i?”

you frowned. “…would you?”

his laugh came through the speaker, low and sweet. “nah, i could never say no to you. but seriously, baby, if you need more food, i'll order something. don’t go eating those frozen meals, they’re so bad for you.”

“it’s just one,” you mumbled.

“still. i don’t like the thought of you eating that while i’m gone.”

you sighed, tugging at the microwave one more time. “well, maybe if you weren’t so far away…”

“aw, do you miss me, pretty girl?”

you refused to answer that; he already knew the answer.

caleb hummed. “yeah… i miss you too.”

his voice was softer now, and your chest ached at how much you just wanted him here.

“i’ll be back soon,” he promised. “then i’ll make you something actually edible, alright?”

you smiled. “alright.”

“good girl.”

you felt your cheeks heat up, and caleb laughed again, as if he knew. (which he did).

“love you, honey.”

“love you too,” you murmured, holding the phone a little tighter. "why exactly is the microwave locked?" you decided to question one more time.

caleb chuckled, "i know you, [name]. even if i wasn't watching you, you'd open it and still eat the pasta. better to take... precautionary measures for my pipsqueak. did you even check the expiration date?"

ignoring his question, you did a quick lookover of the room, looking for the camera he had somewhere as he only laughed. "maybe instead of looking for the cameras, find what else i modified in the house, it'll keep you occupied. i'll order you food in the meantime."

you groaned, flopping back against the couch. “caleb, i swear, if you messed with anything else—”

“if? honey, i definitely did.”

your eyes narrowed. “like what?”

“mmm, can’t say. that’d ruin the fun, wouldn’t it?”

you let out a dramatic sigh. “you are a menace.”

“and you love me for it.”

unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong.

you stood up, glancing around the apartment, suddenly suspicious of everything. you had no idea when he found the time to do all this, but knowing caleb, he planned ahead weeks in advance, just for moments like these.

the phone call was cut short as commotion started on his mission, leading you to sadly have to hang up.

you sighed, setting your phone down and eyeing the apartment with renewed suspicion.

as if on cue, you heard a soft click.

you turned your head slowly.

the front door.

more specifically, the new deadbolt that you definitely hadn’t installed.

your stomach dropped. oh, no.

another quick text from caleb.

caleb <3: your food is outside, i unlocked the door for you to grab it <3 be quick.

you did as he said, quickly grabbing the food delivery from outside, the door locking as soon as you got back in.

[name]: caleb. why is the door locked from the outside?

it took him a moment to reply, likely caught up with work, but when his name finally popped up on your screen, you already knew you wouldn’t like his answer.

caleb <3: oh, that? safety measures, honey. u can unlock it, but only through the app i installed on ur phone :)

you blinked. what app?

as soon as you asked, a new icon appeared on your screen—a sleek little security app with a familiar-looking otto icon.

caleb <3: just in case u ever get any funny ideas about leaving late at night alone.

your jaw dropped.

[name]: caleb. you remote locked me inside our home.

caleb <3: our very safe home! where nothing bad can happen to u!! :D i'll text u when i get to safety, enjoy ur food pipsqueak!

i love caleb btw

[syoddeye]

on my knees begging for more werewolf soap

i have ideas, but they're more omegaverse-y than werewolf-y. but there is this one thought.

imagine johnny taking a page from price's book and choosing patience. deciding to not jump you where you stand and fuck you on the kitchen floor.

he switches gears. lays on the charm. he apologizes for barging in. it's hard, y'know, denying instinct. you of all people know how that is, right?

and it takes everything in him to hold a conversation. especially when your eyes keep dropping to his bare chest.

naturally, he asks how you're adjusting to your new life. tells you he's sympathetic. knows how hard it can be on your own. but when you tell him what you do every month, his demeanor shifts. brows pulling together, eyes darkening with disbelief. genuinely offended.

"you what?"

he can't believe it. can't believe you're spending good money, running up your card, on a storage unit across the city. that you lock yourself inside, slap on a muzzle, and chain yourself to the damn walls every full moon. denying yourself like that. ignoring the natural pull to hunt. heartbreaking, really.

"that's no way tae live."

his disapproval stings. he's the only other wolf you know.

then he extends an invitation. "come hunting with me."

that’s how you end up in the countryside, crammed into what's barely more than a glorified cowshed. some outbuilding on a relative's land. it smells like him—earth and sweat. reeks. it makes you second guess why you're really here, but he's a gentleman. makes you take the futon pushed into the corner, while he stretches out on a sleeping bag by the door.

but with only one night until the full moon, your mood shifts like the wind. restless. pacing like a caged animal, prone to snap. you think you'd sink your teeth into him if he tried anything untoward.

but he doesn't. he just smiles.

smiles when you tear into the raw meat he's packed for the trip. sits across the small table, watching with an almost dreamy look, his eyes practically sparkling when you lick your fingers. tells you that if you like that, you'll love sinking your teeth into the throat of a stag.

it should be humiliating. would be, if that part of you wasn't being smothered by the wolf tearing to the surface. your good senses held underwater to drown.

he's so kind. so understanding. so…patient. it's odd.

the next day, as the hour creeps closer to moonrise, that patience starts to feel like something else. something sharper. your control is splintering. like cracks forming along thin ice in spring, ready to shatter and burst. the wolf claws at your ribs. she's hungry. angry. you swear you feel your ears pinning forward, body coiling, alert.

you're jumpy around johnny all day, something primal thrumming beneath your skin. a whisper in the back of your mind: don’t turn your back on him.

by the time the evening chill sweeps through the hills, you're barely holding on. twitchy. usually, by now, you'd be drooling into a muzzle, yanking at the cuffs secured around your ankles. too far gone to even think about the combination lock keeping the keys out of reach.

after a final meal, something to take the edge off, johnny pushes back from the table and then through the door. cool as anything, he strips right there in the grass. sheds his clothes in a heap.

for all that staring, it's like you're seeing him for the first time. certainly the whole of him.

he beckons, voice rougher now. thicker. "c'mon, then. let me see her."

you’re shivering when you follow his lead. any embarrassment or shyness you might've felt—being bare beside a man, beside johnny, for the first time—just isn't there. it doesn't register. this feels natural. the most natural thing in the world, even as the wind bites at your skin.

and when you finally shift—it's brutal. visceral. a tearing and twisting that leaves you breathless, bones grinding and reshaping, muscle stretching taut. it always leaves you vulnerable for those first few moments. heart hammering. senses on overdrive as the world explodes in vivid color and scent.

so when you feel a warm breath on the scruff of your neck, feel it trail down your knobby spine to where your new tail twitches, you go still. the shiver that wracks through you clarifies what your wolf was trying to warn you about all day.

only one of you wants to hunt the wildlife.

[alchemistc]

my heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

Tommy blinks awake and immediately wishes he hadn't. This is his third time waking up, and apparently they listened to him when he asked them to slow down his morphine drip because everything hurts.

The busted leg he remembers - they'd kept him awake long enough to explain that they'd do everything they could to keep it but... Well. No buts, in the end, just titanium and enough pins to make sure he'll never get through TSA quickly ever again. Thank fuck most of his flying he does on his own.

Christ, if he has to get recertified...

Fractured ribs, a punctured lung, three broken fingers but thank god his arms had survived relatively intact.

The bruising on his face screams before the rest of it does, which is just - it's silly, actually, that somewhere in his head he's thinking about how awful he must look. Of course he looks fucking awful, he survived a helicopter crash. Why would he look great? He should look as bad as he feels.

On a scale from 1 to Fuck Off he's very firmly toeing the line into Go Screw Yourself.

The knock startles him.

The startle wrenches something in his neck area, and Tommy groans through the pain. Shit. Screw his dad just that little bit more for providing the perfect genetics for a proclivity for addiction.

Evan.

He's standing at the door, looking apologetic, head ducked a little like he does when he either wants something, or thinks he's done something wrong. Puppy eyes, he'd heard Hen call it once, while she mimed barfing, because Tommy thought it was adorable.

He still thinks it's adorable.

Fuck.

"Hey," he says, in his Hospital Voice. (Tommy is new to this voice, but he's growing more used to it, now: third time awake and it's the third time Evan's been there. In a chair at his side, flirting with a nurse while he wrote on Tommy's chart, now perched in the doorframe looking... a bit grungy if Tommy's being honest. Like he hasn't slept in days. Like those are the same clothes Tommy first saw him in.

Evan dances in the door and it's the first time he's noticed that one of his arms is tucked behind his back. "If that's a bouquet you should know I'm allergic," Tommy says, and doesn't hate the way his voice sounds quite as much as he has in recent memory. He's almost managed to get back the ironic lilt.

Evan's smile widens. "You're lying, and besides, you can't be allergic to every flower. Are you allergic to the corpse flower?" He pauses. Narrows his eyes like he's heading Tommy off at the pass. "You can't say the smell is as bad as the allergies would be."

"I feel like a corpse flower," Tommy intones, and he wonders - is that - is this what - they're just not gonna talk about it? What he'd said, in the air, with half the public servants of the city listening in? Or the fact that Evan hasn't left this hospital in two days? Or whatever he's still hiding behind his back?

Evan steps into the room. Rolls his shoulders with a shit-eating grin. Brandishes the item he's been hiding - a stuffed chicken. There's something sticking to the end of one leg, and Tommy squints to try to make it out. Looks like -

"Bobby got it for you! He said you'd know what the knife was for."

Tommy groans, tips his chin against his pillow, groans again because the pain is radiating throughout his body. Evan steps closer.

"I really wish you'd at least let them give you the muscle relaxants," Evan murmurs, closer, so much closer. Hand on the bed, fingers lifted like he's thinking about squeezing Tommy's thigh, and god - god, he wants that. But they can't just - they're in this whole mess because they talk around shit instead of about it.

Evan sets the chicken on the table next to the bed. His smile is loose and light, but his eyes are worried.

"I'm still pissed they put me on a morphine drip that first day, Evan, it's in my chart not to -." Evan bridges the gap, distracting Tommy thoroughly - fingers soft and light, careful, sliding across his thigh and dangerously close to the crease of his groin. Even if he weren't in a hospital bed he's in way too much pain to even think of getting it up but it's compelling. It's distracting. Tommy never wants him to move his hand.

"Hey," he says, and Tommy blinks. Frowns. Drinks in the sight of Evan's plaintive head tilt and tries to breathe. He hasn't really been this lucid, before. "I have one more thing for you."

Tommy raises a brow. Clenches his jaw. Tries not to freak the fuck out when Evan reaches for the pocket of his likely rank flannel and pulls out a suspiciously small box. No. No, absolutely not, has he learned nothing from Tommy's multiple attempts to get him to slow down.

Evan pops the lid.

Tommy feels the hysterical laughter bubbling in his chest and tries to push it down because laughing right now would jostle so many fucking things and he can't -

"So. Um. I know we - I know we still need to - to sit down and, like. Talk. About things," Evan says, while Tommy stares at the metal-on-velvet. "A-and this isn't me asking for anything. I'm just..." He presses a fist to his eyes, rubs, fingers opening to rub at the scruff on his jaw. "So. I have a spare room. And you won't be able to manage stairs for a minute, and - and I have, like, so much PTO, Tommy, an insane amount of it, and I just thought. While you get your bearings..." Tommy watches him, still quiet. "It really sucked being on my own dealing with a bum leg. And - maybe - maybe we take some time to talk. Crack open that champagne once your doctor clears it."

Tommy stares. Tommy contemplates. Tommy sucks in a deep breath and swallows hard.

"You want me to sleep in the spare room?"

One of Evan's hands is still on his thigh. The other is still palming a house key. His grin is wry. "I would like nothing less, but I thought I'd offer."

Tommy's hand has been creeping steadily towards the one on his leg for a minute now. He makes the final effort, curls fingers around Evans wrist. "Please tell me your mattress is off the floor."

"There's even a top sheet."

Tommy feels his lip quirking. It had been an almost-argument, a generational gap they couldn't bridge, something so small and silly it hadn't seemed worth the time to fight about it when there were better things they could be doing with the bed. He wishes they'd fought about it. He hopes they have a thousand fights ahead of them.

Tommy releases the hand circling Evans wrist, palms the key. Evan beams.

"It's not exactly traditional, but, uh - you have the one watch you refuse to take off for anything, and I wasn't gonna make you like, a paper crane, so..."

"Traditi - Evan, what?"

His smile goes a little coy. "I know there's like, a break in there, or whatever, but - uh - happy anniversary."

Tommy wants to cry. He wants to grin until his lips hurt as much as the rest of him. He wants -

"Come down here and kiss me, you lunatic," Tommy says, and Evan grins as he obliges.

[littelovelunette]

Fuck it

what are some of YOUR favorite HCs for our ladies? Any subjects, just things you haven't been able to bring up or talk about through requests

I wanna hear your thoughts :3c

~💜

Oh my gosh, finally someone wants to hear me outttt, you're the sweetest, anon 💜, thank youuu

Headcanons (Ft. Sevika, Ambessa Medarda, Violet, Jinx)

Author's Choice

Sevika

Multilingual through and through but sometimes a little bit of this language slips in through a little bit of that language because there's just so much in her vocabulary that she can't get across by using one singular language (Am I projecting? Yes.)

Sensitive to South Asian stereotypes and butch lesbian stereotypes

Likely to beat someone up over it

Grew up in a mysoginistic society which made her feel that she was somehow below men in the past but she doesn't let that affect her now

Considers dyeing her hair because she's insecure of the gray

In her past relationships, her ex girlfriends always made her feel like she needed to wear the pants in the relationship, so she never really was the one being spoiled, spooned or even simply headpatted

Loves being able to show even the slightest bit of feminity when she can with you, but it's rare because she's so insecure of it

If you bring it up, she'll say "Ridiculous," with a scoff and a head shake

Immensely insecure ever since she lost her arm and struggles with body image issues. Please reassure her

Has anger issues and breaks things when she's angry

She's just a kitten when she's angry so hold her close and hug her. Tell her it's okay and coo praises to her

No matter what I've seen other authors say, I think Sevika does get sort of abusive when she's angry, but she doesn't hit you of course. Instead, she slams and breaks things in the house

Ambessa Medarda

Brings you expensive gifts just because she can

When you sleep next to her, Ambessa hums a song and you can't help wonder of her melodious voice, and that she should sing more

Makes honey tea for you with her own hands and goodness does it taste like heaven, she tastes better though

Kneels down and does your straps for you even if her ego is so high, she loves kneeling before you in front of people to flash the dynamic of your relationship with her

Likely to propose only if you share the same loyalty for family as her

Eye contact means everything to this woman whether it's a normal setting, intimate setting or simply sex— look into her golden eyes and whisper "I love you"s

Would figuratively die out of concern if you ever got hurt in any way possible, wouldn't let you out of the Medarda Estate in fear you'll get hurt again. It may take a while for her trust in the world to build again, but she's not all that controlling

Shockingly lets you wear whatever you want to wear when outside but don't expect her to coddle you and take her time stripping you form those clothes. She is feral, she'll tear them off

Her love language is providing all sorts of protection that you need from whoever even if it may be the most dangerous person on the planet, you're safe with Ambessa

Vows to keep you safe whenever you fall asleep, mumbling them to herself as a constant reminder that whatever happens, her loyalty was to you and her family

Her kisses are surprisingly warm, gentle and calculated. She doesn't want to rush, and takes her sweet time. Sometimes it's barely tongue, and she just enjoys the feeling of your sweet lips against hers

Violet

Although she claims she doesn't care for your commands, if you told her to sit she'll sit

Favorite part of your body is your boobs no matter if they're big/small. She'll bury her face in them and even use them as stress balls. Nothing lewd really, she just likes sniffing them. What a pervert but come on, it's Vi

Loves interlacing her fingers with yours, rubbing the top of your hand with the pad of her thumb

Always carries sanitary pads/tampons for you to be your saviour at times of crisis

Can't stand your pout or your tears. Crocodile tears or not, Vi is buying you whatever you want or beating someone up over something that you want. She can't stand seeing her princess all pouty

"You're not scared of me, are you?" Vi's sometimes afraid what impression she gives off to you

Worried because you may be exposed to Shimmer. She doesn't care what the living conditions are, but she doesn't want you to get addicted to any sort of substance that can cause your life to go downhill

Stares at you so much you're sometimes worried whether she's even listening to what you have to say, or when you're just casually conversing she's staring at you as if you've grown two heads.

In reality, Vi takes one long look at you, one that could battle a stare contest, and decides you're too good for her. But she'll never say that out loud in fear you're gonna leave her

Scared she's gonna lose her shit and hit you when she's angry because poor baby has anger issues

Very much capable of confidently arguing with a child and losing

Jinx

Has anxious attachment issues with you, she knows it and you know it. But you both silently acknowledge that

Perfect dates mean bombing and terrorising Pilties with her... Or, you both could decide on a sugar marathon. Whichever you prefer

Her love language is putting effort into remembering the things that you like, often stealing the best of it from Piltover. Jinx makes you your favourite weapons in your favourite colour, with little scribbles that say you belong to her

Blushes when you hug her and she awkwardly returns it back but when she gets comfortable she can't stop hugging you

If you ever left her, she'd actually lose her shit, she's way too attached with you

Overthinks the whole love confession thing before you both dated and she lit your yard on fire with the words "I LOVE YOU"

Cried in your arms after Caitlyn shot her middle finger off. She was so upset, you almost gutted the woman for doing that to your baby

Sometimes she loses her shit, hallucinates and you wake up tied to her chair, her knife poking at your heart. "Love me. Love me. Love me." She repeats, her voice hoarse from screaming and crying. Jinx calms down eventually, unties you and asks you if she scared you. You always tell her no and give her headpats

Jinx is way too scared of relying on anyone emotionally and you can tell. You don't force her to trust you immediately but it is a slow process, she slowly starts to open up more

Swings her legs back and forth from the edge of the bed while you do her hair. Your arm workout is doing her hair

You motivate her to actually take care of herself, eat properly and shower. But you have to do it all with her

Surprisingly can pick you up

[helps-the-writing-brain-go]

Inspired by @moonlightcycle571's post on the JL and AO3.

History won't tell your story (But I will)

Billy hadn't thought that becoming a superhero would mean being so crowded.

His Patrons are a bit of a given, 6 equidistant points anchored in his mind that blaze with inner light.

They give him powers, he gives them a little space in his brain.

If Billy sort of...squints? ...With his mind? He can sort of make out figures in the light, but they make his metaphorical eyes water and hurt, and his Patrons prod and hover like he's a baby when that happens, so he stops after the first couple of times.

The Others are the actual surprise.

Billy'd taken the transformation in stride, started helping people he hadn't been able to before and started to kind of get a little hang on things.

Then the side effects of his impromptu power-up by Wizard to kick in.

The whispers Billy hadn't realised he'd been ignoring in the back of his mind flood full force to the fore to the point that he can't see or even hear himself think.

Billy had dived downwards and crumpled to the ground the moment his feet hit something solid, clutching at his hair and hoping faintly he hadn't flown through a bird or three.

In his mind's eye, waves, upon waves of figures, cast into shadow by his Patrons golden light, take shape behind them.

One of them, the most obscure and yet the brightest lit for how close it is to Billy has it's back turned to him, the line of it's shoulders tight, but before Billy can ask, the others swallow him into the crowd, surging forward to vie for his attention.

His Patrons, unmistakable and more Present in his head than the Others, stand as ocean breakers against the bombardment of fragments of lives, of magics, of centuries, of welcomes and warnings that flow to him, bullying their way through his consciousness in an attempt to find purchase in his mind.

Shades of the Champions, or so Billy understands, greeting the newest to join their ranks.

Billy doesn't know how long he'd lain at his impromptu landing spot, sorting through everything and greeting those in the mood to be friendly.

As months pass, Billy tries to learn more about them but realises that even if the time periods they were from had rich records, they themselves were often barely even a footnote in history.

It didn't seem right to see their efforts forgotten, or worse yet, claimed by others. But he's new to the greater world, and he doesn't have much proof to back it up, not without digging up people best left alone or showing things magical and possibly dangerous.

So he writes.

Billy had an AO3 account he'd used to write the odd bit of fic here and there.

Now he focuses on more RPF/historical stuff, or so people think, and quickly gains notice for how historically accurate his fics are, plus how much of them make sense, if one takes out the authors supposed fondness for including magical themes into his stories.

They span time periods, races, religions and relationships. There's a little bit for everyone, be it romantic and familial. It's easier to cover the human experience when once has lived so much of it. It helps ease the othr Champions eagerness as well, with them being actually Seen, even if through the lense of supposed fiction.

[writing-girlie]

Push & Pull

Pairing: Intern!Reader x Mentor!Michael Robinavitch

Blurb: The young intern is drawn to her mentor, as they work together in The Pitt but when feeling start to form what started as admiration turns into quiet, unresolved tension.

WC: 2.6k

Note: I don't really know if I like this but I spent to long trying to put it together so have it. I could write a part 2 with a resolution and some spice if it's wanted.

The Pitt never slowed down. The wailing ambulance sirens and the hum of chatter from the waiting room were reminders of the next patient needing help. Machines beeped and voices barked orders, and down one of the halls, a patient screamed - just another night of chaos.

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch practically thrived in it, moving through the madness with a strong sense of calmness. His years of experience made it look effortless—the confidence in his every decision, the lack of hesitation that reassured those around him. In a place where seconds could mean the difference between life and death, he was the kind of doctor people trusted without question.

That is what the interns lacked - experience. They come in wide-eyed and eager to help people, their textbook solutions only getting them so far. Some would crumble under the pressure, others would prove themselves ready. The interns step into the Pitt in crisp scrubs, their gazes flickering between awe and nerves. A quick glance tells Robby everything—most are trying, and failing, to mask their anxiety.

And then, he notices her

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You stood a step away from the rest of the group, taking in everything not with fear but determination, memorising the surrounding area.

Your eyes lock with a ruggedly handsome man—broad shoulders, sharp gaze, exhaustion buried beneath professionalism. You offer a smile, but he doesn’t return it. No flicker of acknowledgment, no warmth. Just a neutral, assessing stare before he looks away.

He walks over to the small group, getting their attention.

“Good Morning, Good Morning. Come on over!” He speaks in a smooth tone with a subtle rasp.

You all step closer and he runs through some key details before sending the group off with himself or the senior residents and of course, your luck lands you with Robby. You follow him promptly into a room. The patient, a teenage boy, his face screwed up with pain, and a soft hold on his ankle. At a quick glance you suspected a sprain - nothing serious.

Robby crouches down, fingers lightly pressing against the swollen area. “What happened?”

“Basketball” the kid grits out “Landed wrong from a jump”

Robby hums, rotating the foot slightly. The boy flinches. “Probably a sprain, maybe a fracture. I’ll order an X-ray”

Then Dana rushes in. “Multiple GSW en route, two minutes out”

Robby immediately stands up and heads for the door, he looks at you.

“You handle this”

“Alone?” The question slipped out, not because you doubted yourself, but because the sudden shift had caught you off guard.

Robby tilts his head, slightly unimpressed. “It’s an ankle, not open heart surgery” and before you had time to answer, he was gone.

You crouch, carefully examining the ankle. Then you press along the leg and the kid growls in pain. There it is. “I’d say it’s a syndesmotic injury.” He looks confused. “Oh, a high ankle sprain. So it’s the above the ankle not beside it.” You tell him a little more before putting in for an x-ray. Once you’ve done that you aid a nurse in another room briefly.

You glance over the patient list when Robby comes up to you. “You figured it out?”

“Syndesmotic injury” you nod. He doesn’t say anything but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Alright, next patient” He looks over the patient list.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The days blur together as the weeks pass, each shift a mix of routine cases and intense moments that seem to stretch on forever. You’ve settled into the rhythm of the hospital, finding your footing in the chaos. Your confidence has grown; you make decisions faster now, with less second-guessing. Robby remains a constant presence, one you can’t seem to escape, and maybe you don’t want to.

At first, it was just respect. Admiration for his skills, his leadership, the way he commands the room without raising his voice. But as time goes by, it’s harder to ignore the small moments, the ones that make your heart skip. The way he stands just a little too close when explaining a procedure, his voice steady but warm. The occasional glance in your direction, like he’s waiting for something from you, and when your hands brush while passing equipment lingers in ways you can’t shake.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Throughout the hospital other staff pick up on the moments and tension too.

Dr. Langdon leaned casually against the counter, eyeing Robby from the corner of his eye as you walked past. He didn’t miss how Robby didn't look away until you were out of sight and neither did Robby.

He quickly averted his eyes, hands gripping his clipboard a little too tightly. He shouldn't do this but every time you smiled, every time you made a decision that impressed him, it got harder to ignore. He shook it off, focusing on the next chart, but the unease in his chest wouldn’t go away.

"You know," Langdon slides up beside him, his voice light but teasing, "for someone who's always so composed, you don't hide it very well."

Robby didn’t even glance at him. "Hide what?"

Langdon smirked, tilting his head. "The way you watch her. The way you get all tense when someone else talks to her. Everyone notices it, It’s almost… endearing.”

Robby scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re imagining things."

"Am I?" Langdon pushed off the counter, crossing his arms. "Because I’ve seen you do it a dozen times now. Hell, I’m starting to think you don’t even realize you’re doing it."

Robby exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "I watch all of you. It’s my job to pay attention."

Langdon snorted. "Right. Because you stare at everyone like that." Robby shot him an unimpressed look. "Fine," Langdon conceded, "let’s say you watch everyone. I still wanna know—what is it about her?"

Robby hesitated, rolling his pen between his fingers. "She works harder than she has to. Not because she’s trying to impress anyone, but because she wants to be better. And she’s stubborn as hell too, but I respect that.” He let out a slow breath. "When I was an intern, I damn near burnt myself out doing the same thing, trying to prove to myself that I could do it all." His voice dipped lower. "I see myself in her."

Langdon hummed, considering that for a moment. Then, he arched his brow. "Don’t think you should be thinking about your interns like that, man."

Robby’s jaw tightened. “That is not what I meant.”

Langdon just grinned. “Yeah, maybe. But you do think about her, don’t you? Pretty, young, interested in you—”

"Don't you have patients to attend to?" His tone was calm, but there was no mistaking the warning in it. Langdon chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright.” He pushed off the counter, still smirking as he walked away. “But just so you know, that wasn’t a no.”

His gaze flickers back to you, now leaning against the nurses station for a moment. If ‘everyone knew’ why not go for it a little.

You barely noticed Robby approach until something cold pressed against your arm. You startled slightly, turning to find him standing closer than expected, holding out a bottle of water.

“Here” he ordered, his voice low, steady.

You took the bottle, fingers brushing in the exchange. “If you wanted me to drink water, you could’ve just asked. Coulda got it myself.”

Robby tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking between your face and the bottle in your hand. “Would you have listened?”

You hummed, twisting off the cap. “We’ll never know now.”

His eyes lingered for a second longer, like he was waiting for something. You took a sip, and only then did he seem satisfied.

Lowering the bottle, you raised an eyebrow. “Have you had any water recently?”

The slight shift in his expression was barely noticeable, “I don’t need you worrying about me,” he said smoothly.

You smirked. “Oh, so you can worry about me, but I can’t return the favor?”

“Just drink the water” He looks down at you.

You tilt your head, giving him a playful grin. “Didn't realise I was one of your patients Dr Robinavitch”

Robby’s lips quirked up in a half-smile, his gaze locking with yours. “Well, maybe not but I'll let you know I have a brilliant patient satisfaction score”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning in just slightly. “Is that so?”

Robby chuckled, a low, almost husky sound that made the space between you feel even smaller. “It’s true”

The playful grin stays on your lips. “I’m sure you have your methods. You should be careful though Robby. Someone might mistake that confidence for something else.”

His gaze lingered on your lips “Don’t worry, I’m perfectly aware of what I’m doing” he said, looking back up to your eyes. “and it's only with you”

You tilted your head slightly, the playful grin still tugging at your lips. “Are you trying to impress me?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Is it working?”

You hummed, tapping a finger idly against the bottle. “I don’t know… maybe I need a little more convincing.”

Robby’s smirk deepened, slow and knowing. “Dangerous request.”

You lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug.

His gaze flicked over your face, assessing, considering. Then, with a quiet chuckle, he shook his head. “Drink your water.”

You scoffed, twisting the cap off but not breaking eye contact as you took a slow sip. “Bossy.”

Robby exhaled through his nose, the hint of a smirk still playing at his lips. “And yet, you listen.”

You lowered the bottle, tilting your head. “Don’t let it go to your head,” you smirk “Michael”

He didn’t respond right away, just let his eyes linger on you for a moment too long before finally stepping back. “See you around, intern.”

And just like that, the space between you as you went your separate ways. Neither of you realized the small group of nurses watching the moment. “My God” one murmurs.

Another glances up from their clipboard, smirking. “He just can't help himself”

A nurse, clearly amused, pulls out a small notepad. “Alright, bets are open. How long before Robinavitch actually does something about it?”

“I say two months.”

“Three.”

Another hums. “I give it two weeks.”

The rest of them scoff. “Please. He’s Robby.”

“Hey No risk, No reward.” She shrugged

Another nurse leans in. “You know he’s going to be the last one to realize it, right?” They all snicker. A senior nurse walks by, shaking their head.

“You people need new hobbies.”

Someone grins. “Admit it—you want in.” They hesitate. Then, under their breath, “Put me down, him admitting, 3 weeks”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Most patients you’ve dealt with so far have been easy to deal with, good behaviour, easy injuries to treat but the calm doesn’t last. You’re standing next to your patient with a scalpel, you know what you’re supposed to do but your trembling fingers betray your calm exterior. You take a deep breath and tighten your grip but it feels like it gets worse. It’s so subtle that no one else probably notices but you do and it’s enough to make you doubt yourself.

“You’re hesitating” Robby's voice cuts through your thoughts, as he now stands next to you. You don’t need to look at him to realize how close he is to you. You open your mouth to offer an apology, some excuse, but before you can speak, his hand is over yours. His large hand encapsulates yours, steadying the tool.

Robby doesn’t take over, you still have control over the situation but he provides a foundation, something to rely on.

“Take a breath” He says, softly enough for only you to hear, almost drowned out by the beeping monitors. You inhale deeply then let it out. He guides you hand lower then you take control, making the incision. Slowly, he removes his hand and gives you a little more room. Once you complete it another doctor steps in to continue the procedure. When it is finished the others leave and you finish up with the patient.

In the days that follow, something shifts between you. Robby, once so present and reassuring, becomes a distant figure. He’s still there, of course, commanding the room, offering direction when necessary. He doesn’t linger after a procedure, no quiet words of praise, no passing smiles or glances. Where before his gaze would occasionally catch yours, steady and warm, a silent understanding, now he looks past you.

Robby's voice was flat as he gave you the next assignment, his gaze moving past you to the patient file in his hand. When you brushed past him in the narrow hall, his shoulder barely grazed yours, and he didn’t even flinch. It was as if the space between you had grown suddenly wide and impassable.

At first, when Robby started pulling away, you refused to let it affect you. You were determined not to let the distance grow between you, not after all the moments that had passed between you. You kept trying, trying to be present, trying to offer that warmth you once did, even when he barely acknowledged it. You’d joke like you always did, still meet his gaze, even though it felt like the space between you had stretched impossibly wide. You tried to keep it light, keep the moments of connection alive, even when his responses were curt, his presence colder, more distant.

You told yourself it was just a phase, that he was busy, or perhaps under more stress than usual. And so, you gave him more. You kept pushing, kept offering those small gestures of care, those quiet conversations, believing that if you just kept being you—the same person who found comfort in the moments between chaos—he would eventually come around. But with each attempt, you felt the distance grow. Robby gave nothing back. He didn’t meet your gaze the same way. His smiles were rare and often fleeting, like he was somewhere else, mentally miles away.

Soon, those quiet moments you once shared became just fragments of what they were, fleeting and almost painful to try and hold onto. You began to notice it in your own actions. You didn’t reach out for his gaze anymore, because it wasn’t returned. You didn’t try to get too close, because he always stepped back, a subtle but clear signal that whatever had once been there was no longer something he was willing to nurture.

At first, you blamed yourself. You tried harder, putting everything into maintaining some semblance of what had been between you. But over time, the effort began to drain you. You found yourself hesitating more, second-guessing your words, your actions. The weight of his indifference began to chip away at you, slowly, relentlessly. You couldn’t give him everything when he gave you nothing in return. You couldn’t continue to be the person who extended herself, who made the effort, only to be met with silence or coldness.

And so, little by little, you started to pull back too. It wasn’t a conscious decision at first—it was more like instinct. You stopped seeking him out, stopped offering up those moments that used to come so naturally. You allowed the space between you to grow, because deep down, you knew it was what you both needed. If he wasn’t willing to meet you halfway, you couldn’t keep giving. You couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine when it was clear he wasn’t letting you in anymore.

The last few interactions between you two were laced with a quiet, unspoken acknowledgment of what had passed between you. The playful exchanges, the teasing glances, all faded into something more distant, more strained. And with that, you let go, piece by piece, until the distance was all that remained between you two, and the closeness that once felt so effortless was nothing now.

[augmerin]

emperor!sukuna who you were nurtured from young to be wed off to, your parents working behind the scenes, scheming and pulling strings to ensure your standing next to him

emperor!sukuna who on your wedding day, found your reactions to him to be quite amusing—seeing how there's a hidden fire underneath your little obedient act, better than those old minded fools who only nod and smile at his words

a fire that ended up being your saving grace when you finished through the whole ceremony alive and in one piece

emperor!sukuna who used your wedding day as a way to weed out traitors and send a warning to your parents for using such cheap tricks—you—to tie him down through marriage of all things, yet ensured your sight remains on him despite the ongoing carnage behind you 

somehow, he prefers your eyes on him ever since the moment you walked into the hall dressed in nothing but fine silk

emperor!sukuna who seemed to look at you as a fun little plaything, an entertainment for his seemingly endless, monotonous days; summoning you to the court room just to waste your time, pushing your buttons to see you snap just for you to regret it, finding humor in the way you would tense and wait for his next action

emperor!sukuna who once walked in on you reading a book in the imperial library, your voice echoing throughout the quiet atmosphere as you read to yourself, standing for quite some time while hidden from sight as if hypnotized

emperor!sukuna who disturbs your reading time the next day, plopping into the seat before you and demanding you to continue reading out loud, reveling in the way you flushed after being caught speaking out loud to yourself

emperor!sukuna who brings back prized harvests from his hunts, thinking of how such fine fur would fit you, but instead presenting it to you as nothing more than some trash he picked up from the side of the paths he traveled 

though the pristine condition says otherwise

emperor!sukuna who begins to seek out your presence, intentionally disturbing you throughout different times of the day just to get a glimpse of your face and the various emotions you seem to wear despite trying your hardest to remain indifferent

emperor!sukuna who feels a certain sense of satisfaction when he noticed how your shoulders no longer tense by being in the same room as him, how your smile no longer seem strained at the slightest provocation and instead turned into one of teasing

emperor!sukuna who found solace in doing the most mundane things with you, whether it be having meals and teatimes, walking around the gardens, lazing around in his private chambers

emperor!sukuna who now treats you as a, if not his, precious being, not letting you out of his sight, dressing you in only the finest garments and glittering jewels, who would do anything to ensure that you’ll grace him with a smile and that little twinkle in your eyes

emperor!sukuna who is still a bloodthirsty, cruel man, but in your arms, he is nothing more than a docile husband who loves his wife for eternity and beyond

first sukuna drabble...might be part of a series if im not lazy LMAO

[coupsctrl]

Hihi - a request if you have time, some tooth rotting fluff about Scoups/Reader and reader wearing his hoodies. Because mans seems to ALWAYS HAVE the comfiest fluffy hoodies that I wish I could hide in. Thank you!

hello!! thank u so much for requesting, i hope u like it! let me know what u think! <3

What's Yours Is Mine

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PAIRING(S):

Boyfriend!Seungcheol, Female!Reader

GENRE:

tooth rotting fluff, as requested :)

"You're shivering"

Those are the words you hear from your beloved boyfriend Seungcheol as you two are watching a show. His house has always been on the colder side, so even though the two of you are cuddled up on the couch, you still manage to shiver.

You look up at him, shrugging. "I'm fine."

He just frowns, poking the tip of your nose as he mumbles "Silly girl..."

You watch as he stands up and disappears into his room. After a while he comes out, holding two of his most beloved hoodies. You tilt your head,

"What's this?"

He smiles, holding both of the soft hoodies out to you. "Pick one."

"Cheol really i'm fin-"

He gently cuts you off. "If you don't pick a hoodie right now I will put it on you myself."

You bite back a laugh at his serious but amusing tone. Looking at the two very large hoodies in front of you, you try to make your decision. One of them is a navy blue hoodie, it has long drawstrings, as well as a logo in the middle of it. But the other catches your eye, it's an all black hoodie, the softness of the material looking like it's seeping into Seungcheol's hands. You've seen it on him plenty of times before, so it being one of your options, makes it impossible to deny.

"That one." you point to the black one, smiling.

He returns your smile, glad you weren't going to fight on this any longer. He gently hands you the hoodie, before sitting back down in his position before. The moment you slide the hoodie on, you feel a sense of warmth. A feeling of contentment. The smell of it is so uniquely Choi Seungcheol, and you can feel yourself instinctively snuggle more and more into it as you lay back down onto his chest.

"You look good in it." He says through a smile, adjusting the neckline of it for you.

You smile, pulling the sleeves up, as they drown your hands. You feel so safe in his clothes, especially when they're 10x bigger than you. You could get used to this.

That's how it all started.

That moment was two weeks ago, and you still try and use every moment as an opportunity to wear them again. About to go on a walk? Well it's cold out, and you need a warm, comfortable hoodie to protect you. Going to bed? What's better than Seungcheol's body & hands wrapped around you as you sleep? His cozy hoodies.

You're currently making a late night snack for yourself. You thought Cheol was asleep, so you opened his closet, grabbed his hoodie and slid it on as you made your way to the kitchen. You yawn as you check the clock on the wall, it reads 1:06am. You know Seungcheol is a light sleeper, always wanting to cuddle you in his sleep, so you try and make it quick.

You slide open the freezer, grabbing a tub of Rocky Road ice cream, your favourite. Seungcheol always makes sure he's stocked up on it, almost like you live there too. You grab a spoon and dig in, getting comfortable as you sit down on the island. You do this most nights. Because of your busy schedule from your new job, and now midterms around the corner, you barely have time to eat proper meals. I mean, not saying that ice cream is a proper meal, but at least it's something.

As you're in your own thoughts, you feel a pair of arms wrap around your waist. You immediately relax, letting out a sigh you didn't know you were holding, and drop the spoon into the tub.

"Sorry did I wake you?" You quietly ask.

He mumbles incoherently, his head rubbing against your shoulder and nuzzling it into your neck as he places a kiss there. You always feel so fuzzy inside whenever he gets clingy like this, like a little girl with her crush again.

"Mm...why are you up?" He asks, tightening his grip on your waist.

"'Was hungry. Sorry Cheol, I really tried to not wake you."

You can feel his head shaking on your neck, his breath warm and hot as he says, "You didn't baby, 'woke up on my own."

"Can you come back to bed now, pleasee?" He asks in his adorable sleepy voice.

You turn your upper body to look at him, smiling. "Just a few more bites, kay?"

You can see him nod, his eyes barely keeping open, and you swear your heart could melt on the spot. You turn your body back around, and as you're about to take another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth, he speaks. "You're stealing my hoodie again."

You grin, looking down at the oversized sleeves. "It's not stealing if you don't ask for it back"

You hear a low chuckle, as he lets go of your waist. "Guess it's officially yours now."

You smile at his words. Seeming like you gave him enough torture, you stand up and place the ice cream back in the freezer. Practically the minute your hands were free, he wrapped his body around you, walking back to his room.

The two of you plop onto the bed and he immediately places his head on top of yours, rubbing your back soothingly. You whisper, a pang of guilt in your voice. "Sorry I woke you Cheol."

"Don't apologize, like I said you didn't wake me. And if it means I get to keep seeing you in my hoodies, please do this every night."

That makes you let out a small giggle, feeling the tiredness creep up to you as well.

"I love you Cheollie."

Theres a pang of silence before he speaks up,

"I love you more."

You smile, feeling overflowed with love in that moment as you finally shut your eyes for the night.

At this point, his hoodies were basically mine....and so was he.

[unknownogre]

A smile danced over lips moistened by wine as those words tumbled almost clumsily into the air. There was no shortage of shame in those words…shame and respect which was a flavor that a certain creature could never get enough of since It was such a rare combination. Hazel eyes moved to meet the Paladin who spoke, such a noble creature and one he respected a great deal. She did nothing but prove that trust in her was well placed and that she could be counted on when things went south. Nothing but a noble companion…but certainly not the main character of his story.

“Does it hurt to say that?”

The Bard offered with that smirk still dancing over his lips. The Paladin still couldn’t meet his gaze, she was looking to his chin, his neck…his beard…but not his eyes. She never really did like to do that, at least with him. Was he that tempting? He’d like to think so anyway. The journey has been so long…and he couldn’t even wait to pour himself a glass of wine after their victory. The Lord of Darkness was freshly dead off to the side of the throne and the Bard wore his crown half-cocked off to one side. Everyone else was recovering…dealing with the weight that years of work was complete and their lives would be their own once again.

“Honestly it does a little bit.”

The Paladin grumbled her eyes going to the corpse once more. Perhaps she was worried he would just scuttle off again once this was done and she needed to say what she wanted to say now so that her integrity would remain intact. That was an amusing thought for the Bard, he offered her his wine and of course she turned him away. The entire journey she had been on his ass…so it was a challenge to keep her guessing, watching…looking in the wrong place so his plan could be enacted. Years of bribes…blood spilled…bones broken lead to this moment. He was proud of himself, and much more, every single soul in this room.  Everyone played their part. Even when they hated him, even when they wanted to cut his throat for violated their owe code of ethics…they did what he wanted.

“Your goddess should be happy knowing that you can be humble at times. As humble as you are powerful, as you are beautiful…as you are wise.”

The Bard spouted out, that smile spreading when she saw that touch of a blush to her cheeks. She never did take a compliment well. Ego was such an interesting thing. It is taught to be a vice, but without it no one would ever be confident enough to even try to complete the most simplistic of tasks.

“Stop…you are just trying to drop my guard so you can plunge a knife in my back.”

The Bard expected nothing less from the Paladin, she was always on guard. Always ready to strike if he got out of line. So easy to lead by the nose, well at least at first. The game of cat and mouse evolved over the years. She kept getting smarter, her wisdom evolving…she made the game glorious more than anyone else.

“Oh my dear, if I haven’t killed you yet, why would I even try now. We won…he is dead. Years of labor culminates in VICTORY! Be happy for a moment, take a load off. I’m not a prisoner, you are not my warden. Take a moment to breathe. Not worry about me, not worry about them. The Monk is alive, the Wizard did her spells…BEAUTIFULLY.”

The Bard grinned down to the robed figure who gave him a tired smile and a wink. She was always nice to him, but then she got what she wanted that was less than virtuous. Soon though his attention was back to the armored woman standing before him. She was looking around too.

“The Fighter, the Barbarian, The Druid…all went above and beyond. We won! There is still so much work to be done but see this milestone as it is, the start of things getting better. The end of slavery in this realm, the end of sacrifices of women and children. Their king is dead, and the nobles will scramble like roaches in the torchlight. It is not our job to hunt them…that is for your order now. Their source of power is gone. WE WON! HA HA! SING IT!”

The move was graceful and in a moment he had the Paladin’s hands in his own and they were dancing around the throne…or what ever she could do that would approximate dancing for a few moments. You know the stuffy types; they stiffen up the moment it is perceived they are relaxing. Very cliché. Still, he was having fun, why not. His plans weren’t even nearly done yet, but for the moment he could pretend to not have a care in the world. His image has been carefully crafted over these years.

“We won.”

She offered with the slightest smile. Oh a lovely crack in the armor. That made him very happy. Though of course he wasn’t going to show it. His role in this group wasn’t as clear as The Paladin’s or The Fighters. He was the darkness. Their goal was not one that pure hearts could get. They needed that evil that lurks in the hearts of good men. Those that are willing to cut a throat so the blood could make the grass grow. Those that could take the burden of the harder tasks and still sleep at night. That was the Bard’s role, he knew it from the beginning. He knew he would be watched, hated…spoken poorly of. He did it because he could, because few could…he truly loved this land. He wanted it to thrive, he wanted the sun to shine and children to laugh again and he knew exactly what it would take for that to happen, more than anyone in the party, and that meant getting the ire of the Paladin. Being the outcast, being the one history would frown upon…and he couldn’t care less.

“See was that so hard. We will rebuild…this kingdom will sing again. People will be able to walk the streets without fear in the middle of the night. That didn’t start with our journey, it only starts with our victory here today. So when you go back to your order, you can lead your armies to hunt the nobles, and fortify the cities. You will bring hope. So go bring hope.”

He let her go holding her hand a little bit too long…he was getting sentimental. He’d miss her. He’d miss all of them. Her the most though. There was affection in their game. At least for him. Sure he had done some horrible things…in their eyes anyway. So he didn’t try to romance her. He had to keep his distance, it would never work. He knew that, and honestly he didn’t think she saw him that way in any way shape or form.

“Oh you would like that wouldn’t you. Send me away so you can lurk the shadows and let your evil plans go unhindered!”

That soft affection he had noticed in her moments ago was gone. She was PISSED! That was alarming, but then she was always like that wasn’t she. Fine one moment and a tempest the next. More so than any other woman he has known in his entire life. She was always watching, waiting to catch him. Only ever finding the aftermath.

“Well of course my dear. Not having to look after me would be a boon for you wouldn’t it? You’d be safe constantly, you could trust everyone around you…”

The Paladin then grabbed the Bard and for the very first time her eyes met his. He was at a loss for words in that moment, genuinely she caught him off guard and well…he wasn’t able to instantly recover.

“I never said I didn’t trust you. I just know you…and I know what you would do if I wasn’t around. I don’t…I don’t think I could live with myself. I have to stay by your side, I have to keep you in line.”

The Bard’s head canted as he looked into her eyes, as he actually looked. The next words were spoken without much thought.

“So you’ll just be by myside until either one of us dies?”

The Paladin’s gaze set firmly on him.

“Yes, that is the only way to keep you out of trouble.”

In that moment The Bard was back in control and his hands moved to hers and he pulled her grip from him keeping only one of her hands in his and then slowly he sank down to one knee. The Paladin was visibly shocked and this was drawing the attention of the rest of the group.

“Well, then I think there is only one way out of this. I’m a little rusty…and of all the evil things I’ve done…this will be the most devious. My dear Paladin. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife. So that  you may keep me out of trouble and simultaneously save the world for my wrath until death do us part?”

He could tell those words hit her like a ton of bricks. There was more anger, so much anger. Did she think this was a joke? For the second time her eyes met his…but when his intent was seen to be genuine. There was affection in him for her…love if one really needed to nail it down. How could there not be? She was amazing to him. He respected her more than he did himself. She blushed hard…her cheeks were more red than he had ever seen.

“I…yes. You evil bastard. I will be  your wife.”

He wouldn’t have dared to do this before. He didn’t think she felt that way about him, he didn’t want to manipulate her in such a way…but was it manipulation when it was the truth. When there was affection, desire, love. He moved in, so graceful and gentle. So slow so she could punch him, to turn away…to say no. Yet her eyes were still locked with his…and they kissed. The world melted away and it was just the two of them. In this place of death and oppression, love was found…and the very air seemed to change. It became lighter…less stale…almost rejuvenating.

“I hope I can make you happy then my dear.”

He whispered against her lips and in that moment she stepped back and tried to regain composure.

“I…I will be happy…knowing you aren’t out doing evil things…I’ll keep you by my side. You’ll have to do good now.”

She stammered, never letting go of his hand. What a charming turn of events…and what a far more interesting world was this becoming. Good and Evil married…in love…knowing their flaws without lies…He couldn’t be happier.

"I don't like you. You are just plain evil, manipulative, cruel, and sadistic, and the only reason we tolerate you is that it's better if you are where we can keep an eye on you at all times. So don't take what I'm about to tell you lightly: Thanks. We couldn't have done it without your help."

[videolari]

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[literaryvein-reblogs]

Do you have any advice on how to write creepy villains who are also classy? I know that's rather specific, but I have trouble writing them because I creep myself out and I'm also worried I'm being too cheesy!

Writing Ideas: Creepy Villains

"Creepy" Characters

When you get creeped out by someone, that means that there is something about them that is making you (consciously or unconsciously) perceive them as a threat to your personal safety.

It is your brain’s way of warning you that there is something:

unpredictable,

unsettling, or

dangerous

...about that person, and it is unable to decide if that person should be feared.

This typically manifests in awkwardness, confusion, or unsettlement, and you typically resolve it by getting as far away from the creepy person as possible.

Kinds of "Creeps"

Creeps come in all shapes and sizes, and their reasons for their creepy behavior could be sinister or entirely accidental.

In addition to that, many factors that people perceive as creepy are things that people cannot help, such as appearance or gender.

For example, men are far more likely to be considered creepy than women, and physical attractiveness plays a large role as well.

People can even disagree about what they consider to be creepy.

Depending on the character, the setting, and the story you are writing, being a “creep” could have wildly different connotations.

In one story, a creep might be a suspect in a murder case, while in another, a woman could feel threatened by her creepy blind date.

Or, the creep in question could simply be a teenage boy trying to fit in at high school.

Creepiness can even be a good thing!

Some of the most beloved characters in media come across as creepy characters, such as Stein from Soul Eater or the entirety of the Addams Family.

Misunderstandings can also work in your favor, as your protagonists can experience character development as they learn to accept and befriend those who appear different from themselves.

To make a character a bit more unsettling and potentially reveal more about their creepy nature, consider giving them some of these traits and behaviors:

Erratic and unpredictable emotions 

Unapologetic non-conformance to societal norms

A careless appearance (e.g., messy or greasy hair)

A habit of standing too close to people or not respecting personal boundaries

Weird or inappropriate expressions

Always appearing too tired or too energetic

Repeated quirks (e.g., fidgeting or licking their lips)

Obsessing over a single idea, person, group, or topic; usually of a taboo nature, such as sex or death, though it doesn’t always have to be (e.g., teenage girls can be creepy in the way they obsess over musical idols or bands.)

Avoiding eye contact

Conversational awkwardness, or an inability to pick up on social cues

Oversharing in conversation, especially about really personal topics

Showing too much or too little emotion (or the wrong emotion in a situation, such as finding humor in a funeral)

Collecting things, especially things that are usually deemed inappropriate to keep, such as fingernails, animal skulls, or other people’s trash (bonus points if the creep brags about their collection in conversation)

Having a hobby that involves watching something, such as bird watching (binoculars are an inherently creepy image)

Having unrealistic expectations for, or even idealizing, other people (often to the point of obsession)

Knowing too much about something or someone, and remembering way too many details

Staring, either into space, at animals, people, their own hands, etc.; staring is often creepy

This is in no way an exhaustive list. Remember that these traits alone are not enough to make a person creepy—they are only part of the strategy. One way of generating ideas is to think about real "creepy" people from your own life, from the news, or even other fictional stories. Think about the behaviors that, if you saw in real life, would make you keep your distance from someone. Think about the behaviors that frighten you, and use those. 

Here are a couple of tamer ideas for behaviors to keep your creeps realistic and subtle:

Acting too calm under pressure

Having too much knowledge regarding a particular topic

Smiling at inappropriate times

Giving off the impression of knowing more than they let on

Being too friendly

Having a nonchalant attitude towards death and suffering

Phrasing things in a way that seems unnatural for a native speaker

Being insistent about getting what they want

Having or showing a lack of sympathy or emotion

Not taking anyone seriously, or taking people way too seriously

Evidence of trauma or a mysterious event in their past

Any peculiarities in attitude, attire, and hobbies

If you keep things in moderation, you might not have the same immediate effect on readers, but you have the opportunity to slowly build the creepiness up over time.

But remember: Just because someone is different does not mean they are creepy or dangerous.

Some Writing Tips:

Add details slowly

Find a balance between creepiness and humanization

Let the readers do the imagining

Show, don’t tell

Use strong verbs

"Classy" Characters

Some tropes that show a character is "classy":

Classy Cane: Stylish and sophisticated characters often have canes. Either because they actually need it due to a disability or just want to show off how classy they are.

Classy Cravat: A cravat is a strip of cloth originating from Croatia that is wrapped and tied around the neck, sometimes embellished with lace or other decals. It's a predecessor to the necktie, and a common accessory in 17th to 19th century men's fashion. It's also excellent shorthand to show your audience that a character is rich and classy. If a character in the modern era wants to show their status, but doesn't want to look like they popped out of a time machine, they will often wear a toned down Ascot. These have the similar connotations, just with a more modern touch.

Tea is Classy: The very practice of tea drinking is presented as a sign of wealth and privilege. In China, where Tea and Tea Culture originates, high-quality tea was often used by the nobility as a symbol of status. When tea eventually made its way to Britain in the 17th century, it was six to ten times more expensive than coffee, making it a luxurious commodity associated with aristocracy. Even as tea becomes more widespread and "common", and with diners selling "to go" paper cups of tea, the connotation of tea drinking as a sign of sophistication and wealth still persists.

Wine is Classy: Whenever a character is shown drinking wine, it's usually a good sign that person is high class or sophisticated (or trying to come off as such), especially if the wine comes from their special private stock. The connotations of this can vary depending on the person. This trope varies widely by culture. In most of Western and Southern Europe, particularly in countries with a strong wine-making tradition like France, Germany, Spain, and Italy, wine is viewed as a fairly mundane and commonplace beverage (to the point where wine is served in some McDonald's), though prestigious vintages and appellations still fit this trope and tend to be expensive. It's also (in France) almost only drunk during meals, not between, and binge drinking is met with more social disapproval than with beer cultures. This may be an artifact of Roman times when drinking full-strength wine was considered barbaric and it was thus often watered down.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Writing a Villain

Villain Archetypes ⚜ Writing Notes: Villains

An Unforgettable Villain ⚜ Anti-Villain

Sympathetic Villain ⚜ Your Villain's Evil Plan

Here are some writing tips and references from different sources. Since both creepiness and class are quite subjective, choose which elements you would like to incorporate in your story to create your creepy but classy villain, considering your own perception of both characteristics, your plot etc. (On the same note, what's "cheesy" is also quite subjective. Some writers aim for realistic/believable depiction to avoid this, but then there's also that old writing advice: Write what you want). Hope this helps with your writing!

[nvutellaz]

────୨ৎ────

You and Hamzah had been friends for a long long time. Since 2019, to be exact.

And for just as long, you’d had a problem—a very big, annoying, and undeniably attractive problem.

You had a massive, ridiculous, life-ruining crush on him.

It wasn’t your fault. Not really. Hamzah was stupidly perfect in the worst way possible. Perfect smile, perfect laugh, perfect arms that flexed just enough when he stretched. Perfect personality—when he wasn’t being a complete pain in your ass.

You could never tell him, though. That would be suicidal.

Because Hamzah was a walking contradiction—one second calling you the most gorgeous girl he’s ever met, the next laughing at you for tripping over absolutely nothing. You never knew where you stood with him, and you weren’t about to risk ruining your friendship over feelings you couldn’t control.

So instead, you wrote about him.

Your diary—the one thing that knew the truth.

You had stacks of them, dating all the way back to when you were eight. They weren’t hidden well, but they were hidden enough. And inside those pages, you let yourself be honest—about how much you loved the way he made you laugh, about how obnoxiously pretty he was, about how you could stare at him for hours and never get bored.

Your diary knew everything.

And Hamzah was never supposed to find out.

────୨ৎ────

It was his idea to have a sleepover.

“It’s been a while, man. Let’s just chill, order some food, maybe watch some trash TV.”

“Fine,” you had said, “but you’re paying for the food.”

Which led you to now—fresh out of the shower, warm towel wrapped around you, music blasting from the bathroom speaker. You didn’t hear a thing outside the bathroom.

Not even the sound of Hamzah in your room.

Not even the pages turning.

You walked out, still toweling your hair, already expecting to find him sprawled on your bed, eating your snacks, making himself at home like he always did.

But he wasn’t there.

Frowning, you stepped further inside—until you saw him.

Hamzah was sitting on the edge of your bed.

Holding your diary.

Your heart stopped.

He had it open, fingers still resting on the pages, dark eyes scanning over your handwriting. He looked so focused—so deep in it that he didn’t even notice you standing there.

Panic slammed into you. Holy. Fucking. Shit.

And then—he read out loud.

“I fucking love you, hm?”

His voice was slow, deliberate, dangerous.

Your stomach dropped.

Hamzah looked up, finally noticing you frozen in the doorway. He blinked once, processing, then his lips curled into something between a smirk and pure shock.

“You love me?”

Oh my god.

Your body locked up. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move—like your brain just shut the fuck down.

“You—” You swallowed hard, forcing words out. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“No shit.” He turned back to the page, flipping through more of them. “Damn, how long have you been writing about me?”

“Hamzah, put it down.”

”‘God, he’s so perfect. His face, his body, his fucking personality—’”

“HAMZAH.”

He snapped the book shut, but the damage was already done.

The silence was unbearable.

You stood there, towel slipping from your hands, heart in your throat. Hamzah just stared at you—his jaw tight, something dangerous flashing behind his eyes.

You’d never seen him look at you like that before.

“You should’ve told me,” he muttered.

Your stomach twisted. “Told you what? That I have feelings for you? That I—”

“That I feel the same way.”

Your breath hitched.

You blinked, sure you misheard him. “What?”

Hamzah exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. Frustrated. Tense. Like he was struggling to hold himself back.

“You think you’re the only one who’s been fighting this?” His voice was low, almost rough. “You think I don’t notice the way I act around you?”

“Hamzah—”

“You’re the only one who makes me feel like this, (Y/N).”

The words hit you like a truck.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Did he just—?

Hamzah suddenly stood, closing the space between you in two steps.

His fingers brushed against yours—hesitant, testing. His gaze flickered down to your lips, then back up.

“Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

And then—he kissed you.

Soft at first, like he was giving you the chance to pull away. But when you didn’t, when you grabbed his hoodie and kissed him back, something inside him snapped.

His arms wrapped around you tight, pulling you flush against him. His hands found your waist, your back, everywhere, like he’d been waiting for this forever.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your lips, voice hoarse. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

You laughed, breathless, dizzy, wrecked. “Because you’re a dumbass.”

“And you’re an idiot for thinking I wouldn’t want you.”

You smirked. “You did read my diary, after all. I kinda said it first.”

He groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

And when he kissed you again—slow, deep, all-consuming—you knew you wouldn’t have to.

Because now, for the first time, he was yours.

────୨ৎ────

[treefish815]

I've talked about this a lot on other sites, but as a queer man and OG fan of Kingdom Come Deliverance, I really want to talk about the canonisation of Hansry in KCD2 and just how healing it was for me as someone who escaped through this game and the ship hard as a young teenager.

Look, I just need to put out into the world how much it meant/means to me, and I think of all places, Tumblr will probably appreciate it the most. I also just kinda want to write it for myself because I've never written ALL of this out and it's something I've been thinking about for nearly 2 months now, so it's a little long, which is why it's under the cut.

So, I've been playing KCD pretty much since it released, which was when I was about 12. Living in a conservative area as an effeminate, sensitive, very obviously and loudly queer little boy, at around the age of 11 or 12 I reached a point in growing up when I think the people around me realised it wasn't just a weird little kid phase, and that I really was a faggot, and, as I'm sure you could guess, I suffered a significant amount of bullying over the next 3 years.

But, as silly as I feel saying this, KCD was an escape from that for me. I was miserable in my own life, so, between the ages of 12-15, I threw hundreds of hours into KCD1 dedicating myself to Henry's life instead. And I think there 2 big reasons why I latched onto that game in particular over others- the world was so immersive and beautiful that it was easy to get lost in it, and Henry and Hans's relationship. (It's also just a great game- but there are dozens of great games that I played in that time that never quite captivated me in the same way).

Putting aside the fact I had a fat crush on Hans, his and Henry's relationship was something I always looked forward to watching the development of every playthrough, and I would often spend a good chunk of my playthrough not actually advancing the main quest to instead make up (usually very angsty) little scenarios where their relationship evolved into something more. I'd follow Hans around Rattay and pretend he and Henry were secretly in love but could never show it, lest they be beaten and ostracised, or have conversations to myself while sitting with Theresa where I would imply that Henry had to be with her for his own safety or to distract himself from Hans, that type of thing. Considering I never thought to write KCD fanfiction until this year, I would've had a LOT of material if I'd started then, but I digress.

My point is that Hansry was something that, in a way, I think I used to cope with the homophobia I was facing. They were characters who lived in a time where they could never openly love each other, Henry was a character who could stand up for a queer monk who was being ostracised in the monastery when no one else would, Hans was a character who put on an act of arrogance and "I don't give a fuck" that we can see in more serious end-game moments isn't 100% true to his personality much as I did at a younger age to pretend what was happening to me didn't bother me, and I just... connected so strongly with them.

I've been waiting for KCD2 for 7 years. In those 7 years, I always wistfully hoped for there to be a possible Hansry path to go down, but never in a million years did I think it would ever actually happen. I'd been to KCD Twitter. I'd been to KCD YouTube. I knew the anti-woke and by extension mildly homophobic section of the fandom was far larger than I'd have liked it to be, so as much as I yearned, I knew in the bottom of my heart that Hansry would forever just be a silly little daydream of mine.

But, that brings me to 2025. I'm nearly 19, I've been living in arguably the most progressive and queer-friendly city in my entire country for 3 years, I'm openly queer and haven't heard a negative thing about it since I left my hometown, I'm happier than I've ever been and have almost no anxiety in my day to day life, and I cried for a good few hours when I watched the Hansry romance scene for the first time.

I'd seen a spoiler that Hans was the main male love interest a few days earlier, and that had WORRIED me. I thought either 1. it would be a drunk fuck that was played entirely for laughs and that ultimately meant nothing or 2. it would be a tragic story that no matter what you did, could only end badly as an attempt to uphold historical accuracy (which... could be done well, but I thought it would probably be hard for me to play through and could spark its own form of homophobia in the fandom wherein people specifically had that outcome happen to stick it to the gays, or whatever. I'd seen someone on Steam complaining that Hans was the male LI because it meant he couldn't kill him and "protect Henry from the potential of sinning" and it really stuck with me.)

Holy hell was I wrong. Daniel Vavra, you may be kind of a cunt on Twitter, but I will sit back and let you cook from now on before I make a judgement.

I cannot tell you what an incredible feeling it was to see those two characters, who I escaped through and who I adored with my whole heart not only both canonically be bisexual, just like me, but also actually have a loving, and intimate romance scene (seeing the intimate naked making out when I'd been so afraid of a drunk, no strings attached fuck was such a strange feeling of relief) after 7 years of desperately wanting that even while knowing there was no way Warhorse would ever go through with it considering their target audience. That alone would have made my year, even if they did have an unavoidable tragic ending no matter how hard Henry tried to salvage it.

But there was another thing about their romance that really really stood out to me, and that was so unbelievably healing. Their romance is generally... quite happy. They never experience homophobia first hand. They never go through the whole "it's a sin... we should stop seeing each other..." rigmarole. They're never found out and outed to the wrong people who try to tear them apart.

Sure, Hans is engaged to a woman against his will, but as a noble, that was always a strong possibility regardless of whether the person who truly has his heart is a blacksmith's son or a butcher's daughter. And it's never even a suggestion that his marriage would end his and Henry's relationship- Hans's angsting over the marriage comes more from the fact it's out of his control and will give him less freedoms than he currently has. And yes, their story is filled to the brim with angsty moments, and so much death or near death, but that's completely separate to their love story- they suffer just as much if they're best friends as they do if they're lovers. The queerness is not the angst, the war they happen to be living through the beginnings of is the angst.

Henry and Hans are two men, in love in a time when they could never openly be together, in a time when most people around them would object to them being happy together and living true to themselves, and yet they have a happy love story anyway. And, as silly as it sounds, I don't care, I'm going to say it anyway- that positive portrayal of their love felt like telling my 12 year old self that everything would be okay, and he wasn't doomed to be miserable for the rest of his life. Because if those characters he identified so strongly with could be happy in their queerness when living in arguably worse circumstances to be queer, why couldn't he? As much as I processed the trauma of the bullying I was going through through angsty plotlines involving Henry and Hans, and as much as I'm an angst lover period, that... that healed me. It was like hugging my younger self.

As much as KCD is just a game and Hansry is just a gay ship, it's always been something that means so much to me, and this silly little video game romance made me realise just how far I've come and how different things are for me, while simultaneously comforting that past version of myself who still lives deep inside me somewhere. I feel him less now than I did in January 2025, and that's insane.

"No one asked for this!" the snowflake conservatives cried on the steam discussion boards in their 1 star reviews of a game they boycotted and never bought. The 12 year old boy who processed and coped with traumatic homophobic experiences through those characters did.

Representation does matter, and always will.

[capseycartwright]

can i get 'piggy back rides' if you're inspired ? 😊

“You’re drunk,” Eddie spluttered. He was also, objectively, quite drunk – but one of the two of them needed to be sensible, there and then. Buck had a grin on his face that only appeared when he was his happiest drunk self, blue eyes bright as he looked at Eddie. Eddie loved him so much, he didn’t know what to do with the feeling sometimes, and this was one of those times – Buck, his bright, beautiful Buck. Eddie was sort of always overwhelmed when he was around him.

“You’re drunk,” Buck countered, which wasn’t incorrect, but sort of wasn’t the point. It was the first date night where they’d been able to go out, and get a little stupid and drunk – they were parents, so it wasn’t always possible to go out, and get silly, but Christopher had his first sleepover since they’d moved back from Texas, and they’d gone for dinner, and to an overpriced cocktail bar, and they were drunk.

They were drunk, and stupidly in love, and in the middle of WeHo. It was a thing. Eddie was embracing his joys

“Buck,” Eddie spluttered. “You are not giving me a piggyback right now. We’re only going halfway up this street to get ice-cream.”

Buck honest-to-God pouted. “Why not?”

“Because! You’ll do your back in, and then I’ll be the one who has to listen to you complain about how much your back hurts for weeks until its better,” Eddie shook his head. “Buck, I’m too heavy.”

Buck fixed him with a smirk that Eddie could not think about too deeply in public or he’d commit an arrestable offence. “I think I’ve more than proved I can easily throw you around since we started dating, Eddie.”

Eddie’s face turned a shocking shade of red. “Buck! You throwing me around our bedroom is one thing,” he hissed, not wanting the throng of strangers around them to hear this utterly ridiculous conversation. “You giving me a piggyback in the middle of a busy street on a Saturday night is another thing entirely.”

Buck pouted again. “But I want to.”

Goddamnit. The pout was, unfortunately, growing to be one of Eddie’s greatest weaknesses – and Buck knew that, the fucker. “Fine,” Eddie sighed. “But don’t come crying to me when you throw your back out.”

Buck grinned, pressing a sloppy kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “I love you,” he beamed, turning around and stooping so Eddie could get on his back. “Come on. Up and at ‘em.”

“You are, without a doubt, the most ridiculous man I have ever met,” Eddie rolled his eyes, his tone loving. “What are you trying to prove here, Buck?”

“Nothing,” Buck hummed. “I just like proving I’m stronger than you.”

That was also admittedly true. Eddie relented, wrapping his arms around Buck’s shoulders, his boyfriend standing up easily. “You might be stronger than me, cowboy,” Eddie hummed, pausing to nip at Buck’s earlobe. “But which one of us has the stamina to ride you into the mattress when we get home? You’ve been skipping a lot of leg days lately, sweetheart.”

(They skipped the ice-cream.)

send me a physical intimacy prompt