#when arthur asks him if he misses home and he says “all the time” it fucking HURTS physically i can't do this

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 21: June 2024 - Part 2

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

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

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

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

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent. Apparently I am once again messing up my chapter numbering on Tumblr. 21 is correct according to AO3 and Wattpad though. No, you didn't miss anything, I promise.

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

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1GossipQueen: DID CHARLES JUST REALIZE MID-INTERVIEW THAT HE FORGOT HIS OWN SISTER’S BIRTHDAY??? HELP LMAO

@/monacosfinest: "Wait… we forgot." Nah, Charles, YOU forgot. The whole damn family forgot. How do you ALL forget???

@/f1tea:The way Charles’ whole face DROPPED when he put the dates together… This is cinema.

@/isabellesimpgc: This man just short-circuited ON CAMERA realizing he forgot his little sister’s birthday. I would be in hiding.

@/horsegirlupdates: ISABELLE WAS AT THE MONACO GP. SHE CELEBRATED WITH THEM. SHE SAID NOTHING. SHE JUST LET THEM ALL FORGET. I’M SICK.

@/f1trolls:Charles: "Do you have my phone? I need to fix this." Bro, there is no fixing this.

@/girlinthepaddock: The fact that Isabelle hasn’t posted ANYTHING since Monaco…

@/charlesleclercfans:Charles, buddy, you’re not getting out of this one 💀

@/f1chaos:Charles really went from “living his childhood dream” to “realizing he was the worst brother in real-time” in under five seconds. Iconic.

@/monacoprincess:The way he literally STOPPED TALKING, STARED INTO THE VOID, and then went, "Wait… we forgot." BRO. YOU FORGOT. YOU.

@/paddockgirlies:Isabelle spent her whole life supporting her brothers and they couldn’t even remember her birthday??? She didn’t even TELL them they forgot, she just let them be happy while she suffered in silence. I’M SICK.

@/girlwhocriessports: Okay but imagine being Charles and realizing ON LIVE TV that you forgot your sister’s birthday while the entire world watches. This is worse than any DNF he’s ever had.

@/ferrariwoes: Charles, in Monaco: "This is the best day of my life!"Charles, two weeks later in Canada: "Oh my god, I forgot my sister’s birthday."

@/isabellesimp: She just kept quiet and let them all forget. She didn’t even correct them. She probably just went home alone and cried. Do you understand how HEARTBREAKING that is????

@/paddockinsider: Ferrari’s biggest strategy blunder this year wasn’t even on the track—it was the entire Leclerc family forgetting Isabelle’s birthday.

@/F1TeaSpiller: Not Charles Leclerc realizing DURING AN INTERVIEW that he forgot his own sister’s birthday… and then Arthur and Lorenzo probably finding out THROUGH HIM. This family is actually unbelievable.

🔗 Clip attached

@/GridGossip:So let me get this straight:

Isabelle was in Monaco the entire weekend.

She celebrated Charles’ win with him.

She didn’t say a word about her own birthday.

And not a single one of her brothers remembered.

They really just treat her like she doesn’t exist, huh?

@/TifosiDrama:Not a single post. Not a single mention. She was right there, and they STILL forgot. I don’t blame her for ignoring them now.

@/OversteerObsessed: So you’re telling me Isabelle’s birthday was on the same day as Charles winning Monaco for the first time ever, and they were so caught up in the win that they just… forgot about her?? I’m actually speechless.

@/FormulaShady: The Leclerc brothers are about to have the worst sibling PR disaster in F1 history. Isabelle is LITERALLY the forgotten Leclerc.

@/WheelyFastWAGs: Isabelle spent years supporting her brothers—showing up to races whenever she could, celebrating their successes—and they can’t even remember her BIRTHDAY?!

@/TyreDegAndDrama: No, but let’s really sit with this: she was literally there. Not far away. Not off somewhere else. She was in Monaco, with them, and not one person thought, “Oh hey, it’s Isabelle’s birthday.”

@/OvercutOverload: Charles’ brain loading like an old Windows XP computer when the journalist asked about winning on his sister’s birthday.

@/Lap1Carnage: I need you all to understand how humiliating this is. You are a public figure. You win Monaco. A journalist gives you the perfect setup to say something nice about your sister. And instead, you find out ON LIVE TV that you forgot her birthday.

@/TifosiTears: I would like to formally apologize to Isabelle for ever associating her with the rest of them. She deserved better.

@/ChaosMode: The fact that fans remembered her birthday but her own brothers didn’t… Yeah, I’d be ignoring them too.

@/PaddockClownery: Imagine your family finally realizing they forgot your birthday WEEKS LATER because a journalist had to remind them. The bar is in hell.

@/F1BurnerAccount: The way he didn’t even tried to play it off like “Oh yeah, we celebrated privately” or something. Just full, raw realization on live TV.

@/F1Shambles: The fact that Isabelle has been radio silent on social media ever since Charles’ Monaco win is crazy. Not a single like, comment, or post. Just pure, calculated silence.

@/F1Shambles: The worst part? She did congratulate Charles. She literally posted on her story, “So proud of you, Charles!” right after the race, and then? Poof. She disappeared.

@/TifosiTears: No, because the fact that Isabelle still took the time to post a congrats for Charles, even after they forgot her birthday, and then just vanished is so much worse.

@/Lap1Carnage: So you’re telling me she remembered her brother’s biggest moment, but not a single one of them remembered her birthday? Yeah, no, that’s insane.

@/PaddockDrama: She posted for Charles, probably waited the whole day for someone to remember, and then dipped. That’s actually heartbreaking.

@/FrontWingDamage: Okay, but like… does anyone know if she had people around her that day? Like, friends? A boyfriend? Someone who did remember?

@/TyreDegAndDrama: I need to believe that someone in her life actually gave her the love she deserved that day, because if she spent it completely alone while celebrating Charles?? I will LOSE IT.

@/LightsOutDrama: It’s actually insane that her whole family was busy celebrating Charles, and not one of them was like, “Oh wait, isn’t today also Isabelle’s birthday?”

@/PaddockGossip: At this point, I’m praying she has some secret friend group or a boyfriend who treated her like a queen that day, because her family really did nothing.

@/ChaosMode: We need a national investigation into Isabelle Leclerc’s inner circle. I refuse to believe that nobody took care of her that day.

@/WDCworthy: What if she’s actually in a happy, secret relationship and her boyfriend was the only one who celebrated her? Imagine the plot twist.

@/PaddockMess: I swear if she had to spend her birthday alone, while her whole family was out celebrating Charles, I’m gonna start swinging.

@/OvercutOverload: The fact that she stayed silent instead of calling them out makes it so much worse. She didn’t even fight them on it. She just… left.

@/TyreWhisperer: This whole thing is giving “quietly heartbroken but won’t let it show” energy, and I hate it here.

@/PaddockBanter: Honestly, I don’t even need her to forgive them. I just want her to be happy with people who actually appreciate her.

@/LightsOutSlander: Praying she has a secret billionaire boyfriend who flies her around on private jets and showers her in designer gifts, because her family clearly isn’t doing their job.

@/PaddockRoyalty: This woman is literally giving “soft-spoken princess energy.” I need her to have a rich, older boyfriend who treats her like absolute royalty.

@/IsabelleLeclercFanclub: Forget the Leclerc brothers. We’re officially in our Protect Isabelle at All Costs era.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Charles Leclerc

Charles: I just realised. I just—I can’t believe I forgot. Your birthday. Monaco. You were there. And we didn’t say a word. I didn’t say a word.

Charles:You smiled at me. You waved. And I didn’t even remember it was your day. I’m so, so sorry.

Charles: Please call me. Please. I need to talk to you.

Charles: I didn’t mean to forget. I swear. I didn’t— God, Isabelle. Please just pick up.

[Incoming Call: Charles Leclerc → Belle Verstappen] Status: No answer. Call forwarded to voicemail.

Charles (Voicemail): Isabelle, it’s me. Please pick up. I know I don’t deserve that right now but I… I need to hear your voice. I need to know you’re okay. We messed up. I messed up. I forgot the one day I shouldn’t have. And I didn’t even notice. I don’t know how I let that happen. I love you. Please… just call me back. Please.

***

Text Messages: Emilie Abadie & Max Verstappen 

Emilie: He finally realized. Charles. The birthday. Belle. It hit him. Live. On camera. Mid-interview. It was honestly Oscar-worthy.

Max: wait what

Max: CHARLES REALISED??

Emilie:  Karun Chandhok brought it up during the post-race interview and you could see the panic download into his brain in real time. I watched it happen. It was magnificent.

Max:Since when are you watching press conferences?? You once told me F1 was “cars doing ring-around-the-rosy with ego problems.”

Emilie: I still stand by that! But I had a feeling someone was going to slip. And I was right.

Max: Belle hasn’t texted me yet. 

Emilie: Same. I tried calling. Went straight to voicemail. I’m going over. She might not answer the door but I’m staying the night either way.

Max: Thank you. Really

Emilie: She’s my best friend. You think I’d leave her to spiral alone while the entire Leclerc clan is just now realizing they’ve been garbage?

Max: I’m so pissed, Emilie. They made her feel invisible. And now they’re shocked she walked away?

Emilie: They don’t get to play the concerned family card after a year of not seeing her. After missing her birthday.

Max: She was right there. In the garage. She waved at Charles.

Emilie: And he smiled right through her. I’ve never wanted to throw an expensive shoe at someone more.

Max: you should’ve I would’ve paid the fine

Emilie: Consider it noted for next time.

Max: Let me know when you’re with her Tell her I love her Tell her I am coming straight home. 

Emilie: I’ll tell her.

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Pascale)

Charles: guys GUYS we forgot Belle’s birthday

Charles: we forgot her birthday it was TWO WEEKS AGO she was IN THE GARAGE IN MONACO

Arthur: wait what …wait WHAT

Pascale: Charles, what are you talking about? We didn’t— … Oh mon dieu.

Charles: she didn’t say anything she just stood there and none of us said a word

Arthur: okay wait has anyone spoken to her since then?

Charles: I texted her about Canada no reply

Pascale: She hasn’t answered me either.

Arthur: I haven’t heard from her since I asked if she was coming to the factory visit. That was like… the week after Monaco?

Charles: she hasn’t answered ANY of us?? FOR TWO WEEKS??

Lorenzo: I just caught up. I’m going to her apartment. Right now.

Charles: please tell her I’m sorry tell her I didn’t mean to forget I didn’t—

Arthur: we all did, Charles don’t make it sound like it’s just you

Pascale: This isn’t about blame. It’s about fixing it.

Lorenzo: I’ll message when I get there. Don’t blow up her phone. Let me check she’s okay.

Charles: okay thank you

Arthur: tell her we love her please

Lorenzo: I’ll handle it. Let me talk to her. Just… give her space. Don’t crowd her all at once.

Charles: Okay. Please let us know when you get there.

***

Call & Message Log – Belle Verstappen’s Phone

(Missed Calls and Messages – All timestamps in Monaco Time)

Incoming Calls:

Charles Leclerc (19:02) – Missed Call → Voicemail Left

Arthur Leclerc (19:15) – Missed Call

Emilie Abadie (19:20) - Missed Call

Pascale Leclerc (19:27) – Missed Call

Arthur Leclerc (19:39) – Missed Call

Pascale Leclerc (20:01) – Missed Call → No voicemail

Arthur Leclerc: 19:17

Belle, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise either. I don’t even know how we missed it. Please text me back. I’m freaking out a little.

19:22

Are you okay? Please just say something. Anything.

20:03

I’m so sorry. We were idiots.

Pascale Leclerc: 19:25

Ma chérie… I didn’t realise. I thought I messaged you, but I sent it to Charles by mistake. That’s not an excuse. You deserved more. Always. Please let me come see you. I miss you.

20:12

We didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to forget. I love you, mon ange.

***

The sun had dipped low behind the Monaco rooftops, casting the living room in honeyed gold. The windows were cracked open, letting in the hum of the sea and the occasional passing scooter. The only sound inside the apartment was the faint, rhythmic purr of cats.

Belle was asleep on the couch, curled sideways with a throw blanket tangled around her legs. One of Max’s hoodies was pulled over her tank top, far too big on her and smelling faintly of motor oil and cedarwood. Sassy was curled on her feet, Lilly sprawled along her hip like a guard, and Jimmy had claimed the pillow beside her head, face pressed dramatically into her hair like he paid rent.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. She’d only meant to rest her eyes.

But the last few days had caught up with her: the tension, the silence, the weight of being both forgotten and known too well.

The buzz of the apartment buzzer stirred her cats but not her. Only when Emilie let herself in—quietly, using the key Belle had given her months ago—did Sassy finally stretch and jump down, tail flicking as if to say you’re late.

Emilie padded through the flat on socked feet, arms full of a canvas tote bag stuffed with snacks, a fuzzy blanket she’d stolen from Belle’s apartment once and never returned, and a bottle of overpriced juice she insisted helped with “emotional hydration.”

She spotted Belle still asleep, cats half-glued to her like warm, fuzzy armor, and her heart cracked open.

Of course Belle had fallen asleep like this. Of course she hadn’t answered her phone.

Emilie set the tote on the coffee table and sank to her knees beside the couch, brushing a strand of hair from Belle’s face.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Sleeping Beauty.”

Belle blinked slowly. Her voice, when it came, was husky and quiet.

“Mm. What time is it?”

“Almost eight.” Emilie smiled gently. “You missed Max’s win.”

Belle sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes as Lilly gave a sleepy grumble and re-settled herself in her lap.

“He won?”

Emilie nodded. “Dominated. It was very on-brand. I texted him back for you. Said congrats and that you were passed out under a pile of cats.”

Belle huffed a breath of a laugh. “Thanks.”

“He asked if you were okay.”

“I’m…” Belle paused. “Better, now.”

Emilie hesitated, then sat down beside her fully, the cushions dipping slightly. “Charles realised.”

Belle’s body stilled.

“During the post-race interview. Karun Chandhok mentioned Monaco. Said something about your birthday being the same day as his win. And you could see it—click. Like his brain got punched in the face.” Emilie’s voice was flat. “He didn’t realise, Belle. Not until someone reminded him you exist.”

Belle exhaled slowly, hands curled in the fabric of the hoodie. “And now he’s spiraling?”

“Of course. Called you. Texted you. Voicemails. I think Arthur’s panicking too. Pascale’s probably mid-emotional breakdown.”

Belle looked over, finally meeting her best friend’s eyes. “You’re watching press conferences now?”

Emilie shrugged, suddenly sheepish. “Lando made a joke on Twitch last week that press media days are ‘elite chaos.’ I got curious. Stayed for the spectacle. Didn’t expect it to turn into a soap opera starring your brother.”

Belle blinked. Then grinned—softly, genuinely—for the first time in days. “You’re watching F1 now because of Lando Norris?”

Emilie lifted her chin. “It’s not serious. It’s anthropological.”

Belle laughed, the sound cracking slightly at the edges, but real.

“I’m also staying here tonight,” Emilie added, pulling a blanket from the tote and draping it over them both. “Because I love you. And because Max will kill me if I leave you alone.”

Belle rested her head against Emilie’s shoulder, voice small. “You don’t have to fix it.”

“I’m not here to fix it,” Emilie murmured. “I’m here so you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

Belle closed her eyes again.

The texts from Charles buzzed softly on the coffee table. She didn’t reach for them. She didn’t need to.

Not tonight.

She had Emilie. She had Max. She had a stuffed lion upstairs and cats who loved her without question. And when she was ready—on her terms—she would decide if the rest of them deserved her again.

But for now?

She ignored the buzzing.

And let herself be held.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, Kimi Räikkönen, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sergeant, Esteban Ocon, Lance Stroll and Valtteri Bottas)

Oscar: He figured it out. CHARLES FINALLY FIGURED IT OUT.

Lando: WAIT WHAT SOMEONE PLEASE CONFIRM

Daniel: Karun said it was Belle’s birthday during the Monaco win and you could see Charles’ soul leave his body in real time. It was glorious

Carlos: He needed the right trigger (also I am still mad)

Lewis:  He was fully smiling at first Then hit the mental brick wall of oh no

George Russell: The smile-drop was cinematic. Might’ve been the most emotional acting we’ve seen all season.

Alex: Does anyone have the clip? For science?

Nico H.: I have it bookmarked.

Sebastian: He really didn’t realise until that exact moment? Not even a whisper before?

Zhou: I still can’t believe it took someone else saying her name for him to remember she has a birthday.

Logan: No, no, let’s all take a moment: He had an entire win In Monaco In front of his family And forgot his sister’s birthday

Oscar: SHE WAVED AT HIM.

Carlos: IN THE GARAGE IN FERRARI RED

Fernando: Imagine forgetting a sister who treats you like that.

Lance: My jaw is still on the floor. He spiraled like he was trapped in a washing machine

David: Live PR disaster. I actually winced.

Sergio Pérez: Dios mío. Max is going to be furious

Nico R.: Max doesn’t need to say a word. His existence is already revenge enough

George: Speaking of Max: Has anyone checked if he’s okay?

Oscar:  He’s not. But he’ll be home soon. 

Valtteri: This chat is giving Drive to Survive a run for its money

Lando: IMAGINE BEING BELLE Standing there. Birthday. Monaco. Forgotten. AND secretly married to Max Verstappen???

Daniel: Plot twist: she should dropped the wedding photos on Charles’ birthday Just for symmetry

Carlos: Don’t give me ideas I will do it

Oscar: He didn’t remember Until someone else reminded him she existed.

George: True.

Lewis Hamilton: Justice for Belle.

Daniel Ricciardo: Justice. And snacks. And ten thousand cats. She deserves it all.

Fernando: And peace. Away from that chaos.

Kimi: Took him long enough. 

***

Lorenzo stood at the foot of Isabelle’s old apartment building, staring up at the cream-colored stone façade like it might blink back at him. The shutters were open on the third floor—her floor—but nothing inside looked familiar. No string lights. No potted herbs on the windowsill. No pale curtains drifting in the breeze the way they used to when she’d leave the balcony door cracked open for the sea air.

He buzzed the door anyway.

Once. Then again.

No response.

The hallway was quieter than he remembered. Less lived-in. The echoes of memory were louder than the footsteps on the stairs as he climbed, more out of muscle memory than belief. He reached her old door and knocked.

No answer.

He stood there, unsure of what to do. His hands itched to call someone—Charles, Pascale, anyone—but that wouldn’t fix this. Not yet.

Then the door across the hall creaked open.

“Looking for Isabelle?” a warm, vaguely amused voice asked.

Lorenzo turned. An older woman stood in the doorway, wearing a robe and holding a mug of tea. Madame Fortier. He remembered her vaguely—Belle used to bring her pastries sometimes when she baked too much.

“Yes,” he said, suddenly unsure of his voice. “Is she home?”

The woman smiled, kind but surprised.

“Darling, she moved out almost a year ago.”

Lorenzo froze.

“What?”

Madame Fortier nodded. “Lovely girl. Packed everything very neatly. She left a plant on my windowsill as a thank-you.”

A beat passed. Lorenzo’s pulse ticked strangely in his throat.

“Where did she go?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

The woman sipped her tea, then tilted her head thoughtfully.

“Oh, she moved in with her boyfriend,” Madame Fortier said, smiling warmly. “Lovely man. Very polite. Treated her well, from what I saw. Always held the door. Picked her up in that fancy little car. She seemed happy.”

Lorenzo’s stomach dropped.

Moved in with her boyfriend.

 A year ago.

And none of them knew.

“Right,” he said, the word catching slightly in his throat. “Thank you.”

He walked back down the hallway slowly, like his legs were moving through water.

Outside again, the sunlight felt harsher than it had minutes ago.

Belle had always been the quiet one. The background Leclerc. Never the loudest voice at the table, never the one asking for attention. But she'd been the glue. The calm. The one who remembered birthdays. Who showed up at Arthur’s karting meets with water bottles and quiet encouragement. 

Who texted Lorenzo before his exams just to say you’ve got this.

And she hadn’t told them.

Not about the move.

Not about the boyfriend.

Not about… any of it.

It wasn’t just out of character. It was completely, utterly un-Belle.

She didn’t let people she loved run into walls like this. She didn’t let them go blind into guilt and panic. Unless—

Unless she’d stopped expecting them to see her at all.

Lorenzo felt that thought like a punch to the chest.

Had they really made her feel that invisible?

And someone else—some quiet, polite boyfriend in a fancy car—had known her better than any of them did.

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Pascale)

Lorenzo: Update. She doesn’t live at her old apartment anymore.

Arthur: what?

Pascale: What do you mean she doesn’t live there anymore??

Charles: Lorenzo please tell me that’s not what it sounds like

Lorenzo: Her neighbor says she moved out. Almost a year ago. Moved in with her boyfriend.

Arthur: SHE HAS A WHAT

Charles: SHE HAS A BOYFRIEND??

Pascale: Since when?! She never said anything! She never brought anyone to dinner—did you meet him??

Lorenzo: No. None of us did, clearly.

Arthur: what if he’s the reason she’s not answering what if something happened

Charles: don’t say that don’t even think that she’s just mad at us right?

Arthur:  no but— think about it she hasn’t answered in two weeks. she didn’t say a word about moving. not a single thing about this guy. what if she’s not okay?

Pascale: She would’ve told us. She always told us if she was scared. Or uncomfortable.

Lorenzo: Not if she doesn’t trust us anymore. Not if she thinks we stopped listening.

Charles: no. no. no no no. I saw her in the garage. She smiled. She waved.

Arthur: people smile when they’re drowning, Charles

Pascale: I’m calling her again. Right now.

Charles: Already did. Straight to voicemail. I’ve texted. I’ve DMed. Nothing.

Arthur: what if something happened

Lorenzo: We don’t know that. Don’t spiral. But we do need to find her.

Charles: I can ask someone at Ferrari. Maybe they know where she’s been.

Pascale: No. No more waiting for her to come to us. We go to her.

Arthur: but we don’t know where she is

Charles: She has a boyfriend we didn’t even know about She moved out a year ago She’s not answering She’s not talking to any of us

Lorenzo: Then we find someone who has seen her recently.

Charles: Who? Because it’s clearly not us.

***

Charles sat by the window, motionless. The clouds blurred past beneath them, soft and ghostlike, but he didn’t see any of it. His phone rested in his hand, screen black, battery threatening to die with a solemn 9% glaring up at him. He hadn’t put it down since they’d left the tarmac.

No new messages. No calls. No Belle.

He’d left voicemail after voicemail. Texts that felt like fragments of apology and panic, all swallowed into silence.

Across the aisle, Nicolas Todt had his laptop open and his phone pressed to his ear, murmuring in rapid-fire French. Every few minutes, he would pause, pinch the bridge of his nose, and mutter something like “catastrophe” or “this is a PR disaster.”

Which, to be fair, it was.

“No, non, it wasn’t intentional,” Nicolas said sharply into the phone. “Yes, we’re working on a statement. No, she hasn’t responded.” 

Belle’s name had been trending since the post-race interview. Not because she’d done anything. But because Charles had forgotten her. On her birthday. In Monaco. While she stood right there in the garage, smiling like she didn’t want to be seen and knowing no one had remembered.

Charles swallowed the lump rising in his throat.

Across the cabin, Arthur sat slumped beside Alexandra. His arms were crossed tightly, mouth drawn into a hard line. He hadn’t said much since boarding. But his silence didn’t feel defensive. It felt heavy. Like guilt.

Alexandra was the only one not pretending to be calm.

“You forgot her birthday,” she said. Again. Quietly, but without softening the blow.

“I know,” Charles rasped, eyes fixed on nothing.

“No,” she said sharply, “you don’t. You forgot, Charles. All of you did. She was there. In the garage. And no one even looked at her properly.”

Arthur flinched beside her, but didn’t respond.

From the aisle, Joris Trouche—normally calm, endlessly competent, the kind of man who could manage a logistics meltdown without raising his voice—was pacing with thinly veiled fury. He’d tried sitting down twice. Failed both times.

And now, he stopped in front of them, tone clipped. Controlled. But barely.

“I’ve known Isabelle since she was thirteen,” Joris said, staring them down. “She sent me homemade cinnamon cookies when I was stuck in the hospital with a stress fracture. She used to ask how my mum was doing.”

He turned to Charles. “And you—she waved at you in Monaco. On her birthday. And you smiled like she was anyone.”

Charles opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Joris’s voice wavered—angry, but undercut by something else. Something personal.

“I’m angry at you,” he said quietly. “But I’m angry at myself too. I should’ve remembered.”

In the front cabin, Joris was pacing. He’d been quiet since takeoff, but now his temper was burning through the thin layer of professionalism that usually cloaked him like armor.

“I should’ve remembered,” Joris said suddenly, sharply. “I should have reminded you. I always remind you. And I—I forgot too.”

Arthur stirred. “We didn’t mean to hurt her.”

Joris snapped his gaze toward him. “You don’t have to mean it. You did it anyway. You only noticed her absence when it became public embarrassment. That’s not love, that’s damage control.”

Nicolas finally ended his call and shut the laptop with a soft but definitive click. “If anyone has a prayer of salvaging this, it’s not through spin,” he said. “It’s through action. Apologies. Honesty. Real words. Not just statements.”

Charles didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because Belle hadn’t responded to a single one of his messages. She hadn’t returned his call. She hadn’t even opened them.

And she always used to answer. Even when she was mad. Even when he didn’t deserve it.

He stared out at the clouds, jaw clenched, fists curled against his thighs.

He’d won in Monaco.

And lost the only sister he’d ever had.

***

Group Chat: GRID 2024 

Members: Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz Jr., Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Daniel Ricciardo, Nico Hülkenberg, Lance Stroll, Fernando Alonso, Sergio Pérez, Esteban Ocon, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sargeant, Pierre Gasly, Yuki Tsunoda

Charles:Where is my sister? Does anyone know where Isabelle is???

Charles: I’ve called. I’ve texted. She’s not answering. She’s not at her apartment. Her neighbor says she MOVED OUT A YEAR AGO. She’s GONE and I don’t know where she is!!!

George: Charles. Deep breath.

Carlos: She’s safe.

Charles: YOU KNOW WHERE SHE IS???

Carlos: Yes. She’s not missing. She’s just not talking to you.

Charles: And YOU KNEW THAT??  You ALL knew she moved out and didn’t say anything???

Carlos: You forgot her birthday, Charles. You don’t get to have an opinion. 

Charles: You KNEW?! You KNEW and you didn’t tell me?? You remembered her birthday and let me humiliate myself in front of the world?!

Carlos: She told me not to say anything because she didn’t want pity cupcakes. Her words.  She asked for one thing. I respected that.

Charles: SHE’S MY SISTER.

Carlos: Then maybe you should have treated her like that.  

Oscar: Charles. Stop.

Charles: No, Oscar, he LET me forget!

Oscar: No. You forgot. YOU. He just respected her boundaries. She didn’t want a spotlight apology. She wanted to be seen before she disappeared. And none of you did.

Oscar: Belle asked Carlos not to tell you. Because she knew you’d make it about yourself.

Charles: Excuse me??

Oscar: YOU forgot her birthday. You smiled right through her in Monaco. You didn’t notice she moved out. You didn’t notice she disappeared. And now you’re mad at Carlos for respecting her boundaries?

Charles: I have a right to be upset!

Oscar: Belle has a right to protect herself. You’re upset because you’re losing control. She’s not missing, Charles. She’s finally choosing herself. And you can’t stand that it wasn’t you who got to decide when or how.

Lando: ...wow

Daniel: Oscar just cleared the entire grid.

George: No survivors.

Charles: Wait. Wait—how do you ALL know where she is?

Charles: Wait. WHAT ARE YOU NOT TELLING ME

Pierre: wait why does this chat feel like everyone’s in on something except me

Lando: She’s fine. She’s not alone. She’s safe. That’s all that matters.

Charles: HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT??

Oscar: Because she’s home.

Charles: What does that mean??

George: ...not our story to tell

Carlos: Exactly.

Yuki: What is happening. I feel like I skipped an episode.

Lando: Welcome to Drive to Survive: Emotional Damage Edition.

Oscar: Charles, stop texting. Start listening.

Charles: I need to fix it.

Carlos: Then don’t make this about you.

Lewis: And maybe… for once… Try earning your sister’s forgiveness instead of assuming you’re entitled to it.

Daniel: All I’m gonna say is… maybe next time don’t wait until post-race interviews to remember the people standing in your corner.

Lewis: And maybe sit with this one for a while before demanding answers.  Sometimes silence is the only language people have left.

Charles: … I just want to fix it.

Oscar: Then stop trying to own her pain. And start listening.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, Kimi Räikkönen, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sergeant, Esteban Ocon and Lance Stroll)

Oscar: I might’ve gone too hard. But also I really don’t think I did.

Lewis: Nope. You didn’t. You said what needed to be said.

Carlos: I’ve been biting my tongue for two weeks. Thank you for saying it out loud.

George: You cleared him so thoroughly I think I need to book you for emotional landscaping.

Lando: You had him pacing like a dad who just realized he missed Parent-Teacher Night. It was glorious.

Daniel: Honestly? That was better than Spa 2021. You lapped him emotionally.

Alex: Did you see Pierre and Yuki’s confusion??  They looked like they opened Netflix halfway through season 3.

Oscar: They’re still trying to figure out why we all suddenly act like Max Verstappen is Belle’s guard dog husband.

Zhou: Wait. Should we add Pierre and Yuki to this chat? Like a prep class before the meltdown?

Logan: Absolutely not. They’ll trigger Charles into another “WHERE IS MY SISTER??” monologue and I’m emotionally out of snacks.

Esteban: Pierre would tell Charles. 

Mark: Back to the point—Oscar, you did good. He needed the mirror held up. Guilt isn’t the same as accountability.

David: And accountability isn’t the same as entitlement. He forgot that. You reminded him.

Sebastian: You all know what gets me? She didn’t even leave angry. She left quietly. And that says more than shouting ever could.

Carlos: That’s what kills me. She still doesn’t want us to fight over her. She just wanted to be seen.

Lewis: And now she finally is. By the one person who actually looked before it was too late.

George: Max is probably already privately planning to change his will and tattoo her name on his chest. 

Lando: He's in full "mine" mode. He’ll probably growl at anybody that comes close to her for the remainder of the week. 

Daniel Ricciardo: Wait until Charles finds out. About the wedding. About the “Mr. and Mrs. Verstappen” monogrammed towels.

Oscar: He doesn’t deserve to even have a fucking opinion about it. And he doesn’t get to drag Belle through more of his guilt spiral.

Lewis: And if he does?

Oscar: Then we remind him. She’s not invisible anymore. And she never has to be again.

Sebastian: Long live Belle Verstappen. She deserves peace.

Carlos: And we’re making damn sure she keeps it.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Victoria: I just saw the clip.  Charles finally realized, didn’t he?

Victoria: I want to throw my phone through a wall. How did it take a live interview for it to click??

Victoria: Is Belle okay? Please tell me she’s okay. Tell me you’re with her.

Max: I’m flying back tonight. Emilie’s with her now. She’s safe. Quiet. But… not okay. Not yet.

Victoria:  Of course she’s not. She was standing there in the garage and smiled at him, and he didn’t remember. I don’t know how she held it together.

Max: Because that’s what she’s always done. Hold it in. Make it easier for everyone else.

Victoria: Not anymore. She doesn’t owe them that. She never did. And if Charles tries to guilt her into “moving on,” I swear to God.

Max: He won’t get the chance.

Victoria: Good. And when you get home—hold her tight, okay?

Max: Always. I’ve got her, Vic. She’s not alone anymore.

Victoria: She better not be. Because if any of them make her feel small again, I will drive to Monaco and handle it myself.

Max: You’ll have to get in line behind me.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Jos Verstappen

Jos: Just saw the clip. The post-race interview.

Max: He only realized because Karun mentioned it. Didn’t even remember on his own.

Jos: I want to drive to Maranello and punch something.

Jos: You tell me—right now—is she okay?

Max: Emilie’s with her. She says Belle’s sleeping. Quiet. She hasn’t messaged me yet. But I’m heading home. 

Jos: Good. Don’t leave her alone with that silence. She’ll pretend she’s fine. She’ll say it doesn’t matter. But this? This hurt her. You can see it in the way she vanished.

Jos: Belle doesn’t demand space. She disappears when she feels like no one wants her in the room.

Max: I know. She doesn’t have to say it for me to hear it.

Jos: I’m proud of her. She stood up for herself the only way she knew how. By walking away.

Jos: But I swear to God, if that brother of hers ever makes her feel like that again— I don’t care if he’s a Leclerc. I will make sure he never forgets who she is again.

Max: You’ll have to beat me to it. I’m not letting them near her until she says she’s ready. If she ever is.

Jos: That’s my boy. You take care of her. And tell her this family—the one she chose—has her back. Always.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen

Sophie: I just watched the interview.

Sophie: Max… he forgot her birthday. She was standing in the garage. She smiled at him. And he didn’t even blink. Like she was nobody.

Max: He remembered live on camera. Karun said something about Monaco and her birthday, and it hit him mid-answer. You could see it crash into him.

Sophie: God,  I hope it crushes him.

Sophie: How is Belle? Have you spoken to her?

Max: Emilie’s with her. She says she’s safe. Sleeping. Quiet.

Sophie: She’s always quiet when she’s hurting. Always. You remember that, Max. The softer she gets, the harder she’s holding herself together.

Max: I know. That’s why I’m coming home.

Sophie: Good. She needs you. Not the Max who wins races. You.  The one who holds her hand when she’s anxious. The one who brings her tulips on Thursdays because she mentioned liking them once.

Sophie: Because the people who were supposed to protect her? They failed her.

Max: I’ll never let her feel like that again.

Sophie: I know you won’t. Because you see her. And that’s the most anyone can give someone who’s spent their whole life being overlooked.

Sophie: You tell her I’m coming by next week. No pressure. Just lunch. And she can sit on the balcony and not say a word if that’s all she wants. I’ll just be there.

Max: She’ll love that. She loves you.

Sophie: I love her. And if her family can’t act like it, she’s more than welcome in ours.

***

Max sat in his seat, elbow propped against the armrest, forehead resting against his knuckles as the private jet hummed through the night. The win from earlier that day already felt like a lifetime ago. He hadn’t celebrated. Not really. He’d shaken hands, answered the questions, smiled on the podium because it was muscle memory now.

But the second the press conference ended, the weight had dropped onto his chest.

Charles had realized. Finally.

Live. On camera. Because someone else—Karun, of all people—had mentioned Belle’s birthday.

It had taken that long. Two weeks.

Max had replayed the press clip on his phone once—watched Charles’ face shift in slow motion from charm to dawning horror. Watched him falter, then spiral. And Max hadn’t felt a drop of pity.

Because Belle had stood in that garage. She’d smiled. She’d waved. And her own brother had looked through her.

Across the aisle, Lando was sprawled in his seat with a blanket half-pulled over his face, earbuds in, legs stretched into Oscar’s personal space. Oscar had given up fighting it and was half-asleep against the window. Daniel was flipping through something on his iPad, likely pretending not to watch Max out of the corner of his eye.

The silence was comfortable. Familiar. But Max’s mind was anything but.

Daniel had commandeered the seat across Max and was watching the proceedings like a therapist in a sitcom.

Finally, Lando broke the silence.

“Sooo…” he said slowly, cautiously, “how’s Belle?”

Max didn’t even look up. “Emilie’s with her. She said she’s okay. Belle was sleeping. Under the cats. Emilie said she looked peaceful.”

Lando hesitated. “Right. So… you know… she’s safe?”

“Yeah.”

“But you’re still brooding.”

“I’m not brooding,” Max muttered.

Daniel leaned over the seat, grinning. “Oh, you are. Brooding with intensity. I haven’t seen this level of moody since Lando ran out of oat milk last week.”

“Hey,” Lando protested, “that was a crisis. And also—can we talk about how terrifying Emilie is?”

Daniel burst out laughing. “So your crush is confirmed.”

Lando went pink. “I do not have a crush.”

Oscar stretched, deadpan: “You stalked her on instagram and accidentally liked a post from 2019.”

“That was admiration! That’s different.”

Max finally glanced over, managing a small smirk despite the pressure in his chest. “You are a brave man,” he told Lando sagely, who glared at him. 

Lando groaned, pulling his hoodie over his head. “Why did I say that out loud?”

Daniel looked way too delighted. “Because you’re into emotionally terrifying women with sharp cheekbones and moral clarity. Honestly? Taste.”

Oscar nodded solemnly. “Elite taste.”

“I hate all of you.”

“You love us,” Oscar yawned.

Max’s smile faded again as he looked back at his phone. The moment passed, quiet settling again like dust.

Lando, quieter now, asked, “Do you think Belle’s okay?”

Max didn’t answer right away. He was thinking of her curled on the couch. Of Emilie sitting beside her. Of their cats acting like tiny sentinels. He thought of the unopened texts, the unreturned calls.

“I think,” he said eventually, “she’s tired. Of being forgotten. Of being an afterthought. Of being quiet and still never heard.”

The other three fell silent. Even Daniel looked serious now.

Max looked down at the screen. Still nothing.

“But she’s not alone,” he added. “Not this time.”

Oscar nodded. “You’ll be home soon.”

Max’s voice was soft but certain. “Yeah. And when I get there, I’m staying. No more paddock games. No more silence. She doesn’t have to carry any of it alone anymore.”

Lando peeked out from his hoodie. “You’re like… scarily romantic for someone who once said feelings were ‘a distraction’.”

Max huffed a laugh. “Turns out she’s the only distraction I want.”

Daniel wiped an imaginary tear. “Beautiful. Print that on a mug.”

Oscar: “Tattoo it on your neck.”

Lando: “Put it on team merch. Limited edition.”

Max smiled faintly, then leaned back, still clutching his phone.

Let them joke.

Because the second they landed, he was going home. To her.

And this time, he wasn’t letting anyone—not a team, not a calendar, not even her family—make her feel invisible again.

***

Text Messages:  Alexandra Saint-Mleux & Belle Verstappen

Alexandra: Hey, Isabelle. I know it’s late. I just… I wanted to say I’m thinking about you.

Alexandra: Charles realized during the post-race interview. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so gutted. I wish it hadn’t taken that for him to see what he missed.

Alexandra: I don’t want to say the wrong thing. I’m sure a lot of people already have. But you didn’t deserve to be forgotten. You never have. And I’m sorry.

***

Text Messages:  Alexandra Saint-Mleux & Charlotte Di Pietro

Alexandra: Hey. Just a heads-up before it hits you through someone else: We forgot Belle’s birthday.

Charlotte: …what?

Alexandra: All of us. Her entire family.

Charlotte: No. No way. It was during Monaco, wasn’t it?

Alexandra: Yes. She was in the garage, Char. Waved at Charles. Smiled at all of us. And not one of us remembered.

Charlotte: Oh my god.

Alexandra: Charles realized during a post-race interview today. The interviewer mentioned her birthday and I watched it hit him like a truck.

Charlotte: Is Isabelle okay?

Alexandra: She hasn’t answered anyone. Not even Pascale.

Charlotte: That’s not “okay.” That’s Isabelle shutting the world out.

Alexandra: Exactly. And the worst part? She didn’t say anything. She let us all forget. She didn’t expect us to remember.

Charlotte: Because we’ve done it before. Not like this. But still. God.

Alexandra: I texted her. No reply. She might answer you if you try. You’ve always been gentle with her.

Charlotte: I will. Thank you for telling me. And for not pretending it’s less awful than it is.

Alexandra: She deserves more than silence and spin. She always has.

Charlotte: I’ll try to reach her tomorrow. Even if she doesn’t answer… she’ll know someone tried.

Alexandra: That’s all we can do now. Try. And mean it.

***

The apartment was quiet when Max stepped inside.

Soft light filtered in through the curtains, casting golden stripes across the hardwood. The cats didn’t rush to greet him—they were already curled up in their usual spots, half-asleep and full of judgment. Sassy lifted her head briefly from the back of the couch, flicked her tail in acknowledgment, and went right back to sleep.

Max dropped his duffel gently by the door, kicked off his shoes without a sound, and padded into the hallway. Every step closer to the bedroom felt heavier. Not with dread. But with something deeper. Something like relief tied up in knots of worry.

He pushed the door open quietly.

There she was.

Belle, curled on his side of the bed, her frame barely a ripple beneath the duvet. One of his old shirts hung off her shoulder, too big and soft and completely hers now. Her hair was a mess, her breathing slow and steady.

He’d spent days missing her. And now, seeing her like this—peaceful, untouched by the storm her family had just realized they created—he nearly broke.

Max crossed the room slowly, sliding into bed behind her without a word. His hand found her waist beneath the blanket, fingers curling gently. His nose tucked into her shoulder, lips brushing against the skin just below her ear.

She stirred.

“Mm?” she murmured sleepily, voice raspy and warm. “Max?”

“Hey,” he whispered. “I’m home.”

Belle rolled toward him without hesitation, arms winding around his middle, burying her face in his chest like she hadn’t seen him in months. He held her tighter. One hand cradling the back of her head, the other tracing slow, soothing lines down her spine.

“Did Emilie let you in?” she mumbled.

“No. She left me a note that said ‘fridge is stocked, don’t screw it up.’” He paused. “Also, she stole my last protein bar.”

Belle huffed a sleepy breath of laughter. Then: “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” Max said softly. “I’ve missed you.”

She pulled back just enough to look up at him. Her eyes were puffy, tired—but clearer than he expected. The ache he saw in them was quieter now. Calmer. He reached up, brushing his thumb gently beneath one eye.

“They all texted,” she said.

He nodded. “I know.”

“And called. Voicemails. Messages. Even Alexandra, I think.” Her voice was neutral, but her fingers had curled into his shirt. “I shut off my phone. I just… I can’t deal with them right now.”

“You don’t have to.”

She exhaled slowly. “They forgot, Max. Not just my birthday. Me. And now they’re panicking, but not because they miss me. Because they feel guilty. It’s not the same.”

Max didn’t rush to fill the silence. He let it settle between them, warm and safe and honest.

“They’ll say sorry,” he said eventually. “But that doesn’t mean you have to forgive them all at once. Or at all. That’s your call.”

Belle swallowed. “I just… I don’t know if I want to let them back in. Not after this. Not when it took two weeks and an interview for them to notice.”

Max leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Then don’t. You don’t owe them anything.”

She closed her eyes, breathing him in. His presence. His steadiness. The way he never told her what she should feel—just made space for what she did.

“You always see me,” she whispered.

“Always,” Max said. “Every day. Every version of you. Even the one who hides under a blanket and ghosts her whole bloodline.”

Belle laughed, watery and real. “I love you.”

Max smiled, burying his face in her hair. “I love you more.”

They stayed there, wrapped in warmth and honesty and quiet defiance.

Her family could wait. The texts could sit unread. The apologies could pile up.

Right now, she had Max. And that was enough.

***

Text Messages: Max Fewtrell & Lando Norris

Max Fewtrell: BRO. You saw it, right??  Charles fully crashed his soul mid-interview??

Lando: Unfortunately, yes. It was like watching someone remember they left the oven on... and also their sister.

Max Fewtrell: Iconic. Karun was like “her birthday, right?”  And Charles just downloaded a full panic attack.

Max Fewtrell: I screamed. Like—out loud. In public.

Lando Norris: It was kind of beautiful tbh. Like watching karma arrive with a mic and a production crew.

Max Fewtrell: Is his sister okay though? Do we know? Does she have a burner Twitter? I feel like she would.

Lando Norris:  She’s fine. Emilie’s with her.

Max Fewtrell: Who’s Emilie?

Lando Norris: ... She's Belle’s best friend.  Sharp. Dangerous. Possibly psychic. Says terrifyingly accurate things about my emotional state and then walks away in heels

Lando: She’s terrifying. Also brilliant.  And she’s like…scarily beautiful. 

Max Fewtrell: You have a crush on her, don’t you.

Lando: …I didn’t say that.

Max Fewtrell: YOU ABSOLUTELY DO OH MY GOD YOU DO This is the best gossip of the day and Charles had a meltdown on live TV

Lando: Shut up Also can we go back to Charles??

Max Fewtrell: No Because now I want to know why you know where Belle is And how you know Emilie’s with her And why you’re being so weirdly calm

Lando: …because I went to the wedding?

Max Fewtrell: THE WHAT

Lando: ...

Max Fewtrell: LAN THE WEDDING

Lando: Yeah. Belle and Max Verstappen. They got married. I was invited. Very small. City Hall. No media. Emilie picked the flowers

Max Fewtrell: MAX. VERSTAPPEN?!

Lando: Yes

Max Fewtrell:  YOU MEAN TO TELL ME CHARLES IS HAVING A BREAKDOWN ABOUT FORGETTING HIS SISTER’S BIRTHDAY AND DOESN’T EVEN KNOW SHE’S MARRIED TO HIS RIVAL???

Lando: Correct

Max Fewtrell: I need to lie down. And then I need popcorn And possibly therapy But also more of this

Lando: Same. Group chat is chaos Do not ask to be added It’s war in there

Max Fewtrell: This is better than Drive to Survive You’ve been sitting on this gossip for HOW LONG?

Lando: Long enough to know I value my life And Max Verstappen would kill me if I leaked it before they were ready

Max Fewtrell: Fair

Lando: You think Charles is spiraling now… Wait until he finds out Max is family now

Max Fewtrell: My god. This is better than Netflix.

***

Lorenzo had barely slept.

After learning Isabelle hadn’t lived in her old apartment for nearly a year, he’d paced half the night in his kitchen, replaying every memory, every text, every moment he should have noticed and didn’t. His phone was full of unanswered group chat pings and hollow apologies. 

By morning, he couldn’t sit still anymore.

He needed answers.

So he went to the one place he knew she would be at 8 am on a Monday morning. 

Her job. 

Atelier Renard Architects.  

Clean glass facade, minimalist signage, nestled on the edge of the marina like it had always been there. Isabelle used to say she loved that building more than half her portfolio—it knows exactly what it is and makes no apologies for it.

The receptionist didn’t recognize him at first. He introduced himself politely—Lorenzo Leclerc, Isabelle’s brother—and tried not to notice the pause.

Then the woman gave a hesitant smile. “Oh… Isabelle. Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”

“I just wanted to stop by,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “She’s not answering her phone. I thought maybe she was working, or—”

“Oh.” The woman’s expression faltered. “She doesn’t work here anymore.”

Lorenzo blinked. “What?”

“She… quit. Months ago. November, I think? Maybe early December. It was quiet. No big announcement. She just cleared out her office in one evening.”

Lorenzo’s stomach dropped. “Did she say why?”

The receptionist grimaced. “There were some internal issues. She seemed calm. Almost… relieved.”

Lorenzo stepped back slightly, reeling.

Quit.

She’d quit the one job she had fought tooth and nail for. The one thing she always lit up talking about.

And no one in her family had noticed.

Not one of them.

“I’m sorry,” the receptionist said gently. “I assumed you knew.”

Lorenzo nodded stiffly. “No, thank you. You’ve been kind.”

He left quickly. Didn’t wait for anything more.

Outside, he leaned against the edge of a planter and braced both hands on the cool stone, breath catching.

Isabelle hadn’t just moved.

She hadn’t just gone quiet.

 She’d walked away from everything they thought they knew about her.

And no one—not a single one of them—had been close enough to notice it happening.

She’d untethered herself from them all.

And now?

 Now they had no idea where she stood.

 If she was hurt. If she was gone.

For the first time in years, panic didn’t just flicker in Lorenzo’s chest—it bloomed, wide and wild.

He pulled out his phone. Called her again. Straight to voicemail.

***

Text Messages: Alexandra Saint Mleux & Emilie Abadie

Alexandra: Hey Emilie. I just wanted to check in. Do you know how Isabelle is doing?

Emilie: She’s resting. She’s emotionally exhausted. And no, she’s not answering anyone right now.

Alexandra: I figured. I wasn’t going to ask you to make her talk, I just… Wanted to make sure she’s okay. Truly.

Emilie: You all want to make sure she’s “okay” now. Where was that energy six months ago? Or a year ago? Or on her birthday?

Alexandra: I know. You’re right. We failed her. I’m not pretending we didn’t. I’m just trying not to make the same mistake twice.

Emilie: Then don’t turn this into your redemption arc. Belle is not your apology vessel. She doesn’t owe anyone grace she hasn’t given herself yet.

Alexandra: …Okay. That’s fair. I’m not trying to earn points. Just… trying.

Emilie: Trying is good. But don’t expect updates or access. She gets to choose who gets that now. And when.

Alexandra: Of course. Is she alone?

Emilie: No. Her boyfriend’s with her. He’s been looking after her. And he likes taking care of her.

***

Max blinked his eyes open just as Belle shifted in his arms and pushed herself up slightly, hair tousled and sweater slipping off one shoulder. Her eyes were tired, but calmer now. Clearer.

“Hi,” she whispered, voice rough with sleep.

“Hi,” he murmured back, brushing her hair behind her ear. “How are you feeling?”

She hesitated. “Better. Now that you’re here.”

He kissed her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Belle sat up a little more, folding her legs under her. Max followed, still close, watching her carefully.

There was something in the way she looked at him now. Like she was on the edge of a cliff, heart in her throat, trying to trust the air would catch her.

“I have to tell you something,” she said softly, her fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve.

Max stilled. “Okay.”

“I was going to wait,” she said. “I didn’t want to do it over the phone, or in the middle of all the… noise. But you’re here now, and I don’t want to keep it from you.”

“Belle,” he said gently, “you can tell me anything.”

“I have something for you.”

Max blinked. “Is this a surprise-I- am-mad-at-you gift or a I-love-you-so-here’s-something-cute gift?”

Belle rolled her eyes, but her lips curved slightly. “The second one.”

“Good,” he said. “I was going to guess that anyway.”

She opened the drawer of her bedside table and pulled something out of it, only to placed it gently in his lap.

A lion plush.

Max looked down at it, brows drawing together. It was small, soft, slightly chubby around the middle with a fuzzy, mane and button eyes. Not something he’d seen before.

He ran a hand over its head slowly, confused but already fond of it. “Where did this come from?”

“I bought it the day after you left for Canada,” Belle said quietly. “I was shopping for a gift for Victoria’s baby, and I saw him. And I couldn’t put him back.”

Max looked at her, then back at the lion, frowning slightly in thought. “For Victoria’s baby?”

She shook her head. Her voice was soft, but steady. Belle’s eyes met his.

“For ours.”

The words hit him like a gear shift in slow motion. He blinked, heart thudding, mouth parting, but no sound coming out. He looked at her, really looked at her—at the hoodie draped over her shoulders, at the hand resting on her stomach without thinking, at the way her eyes shimmered but didn’t waver.

“You’re—” His voice cracked. “You’re pregnant?”

Belle nodded. “Twelve weeks, now. I thought it was the anemia at first. I went in for a check-up and they… they did an ultrasound.”

Max’s hand found hers without hesitation, fingers lacing tightly. “And everything’s okay?”

She nodded again, breath catching this time. “There was a heartbeat. A strong one. I saw it.”

He stared at her in awe, overwhelmed, his brain scrambling to keep up while his heart surged forward.

The plush lion sat between them on the bed, quiet and steady.

Max looked down at it, then back at her. “You’re serious?”

Belle’s voice cracked then, just a little. “I didn’t want to tell you over the phone. I wanted it to be here. With you. Home.”

And Max—Max didn’t even realize he was crying until she touched his cheek, brushing the tears away with the gentlest smile.

“You’re having our baby,” he said, the words tumbling out of him like something sacred.

Belle’s breath caught.

And then Max let out a shaky laugh—half in disbelief, half in awe. “You’re having our baby.”

She bit her lip. “Is that… okay?”

“Belle,” he said, looking at her like she’d just given him the universe, “it’s perfect.”

He looked down, then up at her again.

“Twelve weeks?” he said. “So that means…”

“December,” Belle murmured. “Right before the new season.”

His grin was slow, bright, and stunned. “A Verstappen off-season baby. We’re so on-brand.”

Belle laughed, soft and teary.

Max reached past her, picked up the lion, and pressed it to her stomach with gentle reverence.

“Hey, little one,” he said quietly. “I can’t wait to meet you.”

***

[zablife]

This Has to Stop

John Shelby x wife reader

Summary: John's dangerous work is taking a toll on him and your marriage so you confront him, demanding he spend more time at home. Torn between his loyalty to you and his brothers, John lashes out in frustration and you must ask yourself if it's time to give up on the man you love.

A/N: This was inspired by a request originally sent to the lovely @runnning-outof-time. Ty for trusting me with it, K!

Warnings: mention of drinking, pregnancy

The shrill ring of the telephone cut sharply into the quiet of the evening, trilling above the giggles of the children. Their little heads popped up one by one at the sound, looking to see if you would rise from the table to answer it. You'd allowed John to install the contraption on one condition, calls would never interrupt family time. Now that seemed to be a long lost promise, considering how often he used it himself to tell you he'd be home late.

"Y/n?" John's voice rasped at the end of the line. The way he drew out the syllables with a slight slur indicated his exhaustion and the pints he'd drunk with Arthur to tamper the stress of working for Tommy.

However, your sympathy was being sapped away with your dwindling patience. Constantly left to care for the children and keep a home he hardly saw, you'd had enough. "Let me guess....don't wait up?" you rushed out in a huffed breath.

John cleared his throat and you could imagine him shifting his weight awkwardly where he stood in the betting shop. Guilt dripped from his voice as he admitted,"Yeah, Tommy needs me to..."

"Do what you like," you snapped, unwilling to hear tonight's excuse for missing dinner and bedtime. "You always do," you added bitterly, slamming the receiver down.

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

You didn't see your husband until the sky began turning a watery blue violet, the growing light seeping around the curtains and across your bleary eyes which hadn't closed all night. You tried to convince yourself it was the energetic child in your belly that kept you from your rest, but you knew it was more likely the absence of John's warm body by your side.

John tiptoed into the bedroom in stocking feet, giving a small gasp of surprise when he noticed you watching his stealthy movements.

"Good morning," you sighed softly, arm outstretched toward him.

Relieved to hear the anger in your voice had dissipated to its usual dulcet melody, John approached. Taking a seat at the edge of the bed, his large hand came to rest over your swollen stomach. He was rewarded with a sharp kick that made him break out in the lopsided grin you'd fallen in love with long ago.

"We missed you," you offered as he returned to unbuttoning his shirt.

"Fuck, I missed you," he admitted sadly, leaning in to kiss you with a tenderness that made you weepy.

John pulled away, hooking your chin with his finger to bring your gaze to his deep blue eyes. You'd nearly lost yourself in the comfort of his affection before he added softly, "Please don't cry. Things will get better."

Your brow furrowed at the empty promise you'd heard time and time again. "It will only be better once you stand up to your brother," you asserted.

His hand fell away from your face and a chill settled over you immediately. He clenched his fist at his side, frustration building in his chest as he whispered harshly, "Look, I don't have a choice."

You emitted a breathy note of disappointment as his posture grew rigid, jaw clenching tightly in profile.

He didn't even try to read your eyes, afraid to see the damage he was causing. Of course he knew his work was taking him away from you too often. It had become routine to slip out into the inky blackness as you snored softly, only to return to the same sight of crushing darkness. No light, no love to be felt, only the monotony of routine.

"You have a say in your own life," you reminded him. "Start by having a rest, hmm? What time is it anyway?" Your fingers deftly slipped into his pocket to retrieve his watch, a bit of paper falling out with it.

Even in the dim light, the stark contrast of the black star against the paper caught your eye. John reached for it at the same moment as you, but you'd already begun to read the ghastly instructions.

"What are you becoming?" you asked your husband.

"This is our business, we Shelbys," he reminded you, snatching the small note from your fingertips. As he spoke, your eyes drifted to his open shirt front and the scars splayed across his torso from a recent altercation in Chinatown.

"Turning you into Arthur, another mad dog to unleash on his enemies?," you argued.

John scrubbed a hand down his face, holding his temper with the children asleep on the other side of the thin wall.

However, as he rubbed his temples deep in thought, you could feel the tension growing, loyalties strained to the breaking point. He finally snapped, kicking the bedside table with a harsh thud.

Though it wasn't unusual for him to break things these days, your body jumped in surprise. You knew he could never hurt you or the children, but you were growing more concerned about his fraying nerves. Placing a hand to his shoulder to ground him, you felt the taut muscle beneath which held his burdens.

Despite your resentment of his predicament, your heart ached for your kind, loving husband. That was the man you attempted to coax out as you placed your cheek to his back. "You're a good man," you whispered reassuringly. "Don't let Tommy change that with his ambition and endless demands."

You felt him inhale a deep breath to quell the raging battle inside his head and you seized the moment to pull him into bed with you. Tugging at his shoulders lightly, you hummed soothingly to him as you gently commanded, "Lie down."

But to your dismay, he rebuffed you with a shake of his head. "I only came home to change...M sorry," he apologized quickly before standing to gather fresh clothes.

Staring at him in bewilderment, you rose from the bed to follow him about the room pleading, "You can't be serious! It's half five and you haven't slept or eaten."

John's hands trembled as he attempted to close a drawer, head hung low as he felt the effect of his sleep deprivation on his coordination. He couldn't allow you to glimpse weakness, however, resisting your soft embrace as he explained vaguely, "I have a duty."

"To family," you insisted, digging your nails into his forearm to stop him leaving.

"Yeah? Which family?" he returned so quickly he'd hardly realized the powerful meaning behind his words.

"I'll pretend you didn't just ask that," you mumbled numbly, face crumbling the moment he disappeared out the door.

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

The sun was still visible, if only a sliver above the roofline of the houses on Watery Lane, when John's boots came crashing down upon the cobblestones. Hurrying toward home, he gripped a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his fist, rehearsing an apology he knew was long overdue.

He was careful to remove his boots at the door and hang his hat and coat in their proper place for once instead of slinging them onto the floor haphazardly. He'd resolved to be a better husband to you, as well as a more present father.

You and the children deserved nothing less which is why he'd suddenly found the courage to disobey his brother. The black star remained etched in Tommy's diary. Perhaps Isaiah would be the one to dole out punishment in future, but it would never again be him. He'd made sure of it when he gathered his share from the company safe under Polly's watchful eye.

The plot of land and country house you'd always wanted was within his grasp and the idea of a peaceful life with you somewhere quiet flooded his mind. In fact, he was so preoccupied at the thought of you tending a garden and raising chickens, he hadn't noticed the missing items from the bedrooms.

However, as he searched each room, his heart began to claw at his throat. He quickly reasoned the house was too neat and tidy for there to have been foul play so there could only be one other explanation. His stomach dropped with deep foreboding settling into his gut just as the phone in the hall began to ring.

Startled back to reality by the harsh sound, he lifted the receiver to hear you greet him in a voice that seemed far too calm and removed. "If I'm reaching you then you know I've gone," you announced, trying to steady your voice against the emotion swelling in your chest. "You have a decision to make. Think carefully," you advised.

John didn't know what to say as he realized his worst fear had come true. The deafening silence of his empty home was quickly juxtaposed with the distant echo of children's voices in the background. He could only stand dumbly, listening to them babble away happily as a lump formed in his throat.

"Y/n, we have to talk about this," John urged, swallowing harshly as he realized the decision might not truly be his to make. "I told you things will be different and they will."

"No more empty promises, my love," you cautioned him with finality.

"Wait--" John cried out, afraid you'd hang up. "It's true, I've already made changes."

You bit your lip, willing the tears not to fall in front of your children. Staying firm you replied, "I hope so. I have to go."

"Tell me where you are and I'll come..." he began frantically before the line went dead. Throwing the phone against the wall, John slumped to the floor with his head in his hands. Then a sudden realization struck him, he'd heard Karl's voice as well.

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

As she opened the heavy front door, Ada's expression was a mixture of shock and disbelief. She hadn't expected her brother to come, yet here he was on her doorstep looking utterly disheveled.

He hadn't failed to notice the look of disappointment in her eye, feeling like a complete failure. "Please, I know she's here. Let me see my wife," John begged.

She moved aside the second she heard the desperation in her brother's voice, knowing he'd do the right thing. "She's in there," Ada pointed down the hall.

The approaching footsteps outside the parlor attracted your attention first as they didn't sound anything like the heels worn by Ada or the maids. Your eyes flicked to the doorknob as the handle slowly turned, the door swinging open slightly to reveal your panic-stricken husband.

He didn't speak as he captured you in his arms, breathing in your scent as his rough hand stroked over your hair and cheek. "Thought I'd lost you forever," he mumbled as he buried his head in your shoulder.

You relaxed against him, understanding this was his attempt at an apology. Pulling away to search his eyes, you found them glossy with unshed tears.

"Oh, John," you whispered, reaching up to cup his cheeks with your hands. "Tell me what you've chosen."

"You, always you," he promised. Taking your hands in his, he stroked over the badly bitten nails and swollen cuticles. "Is this my doing? All the worry?" he asked with a pained look.

Your lower lip began to wobble as you admitted, "I count your heartbeats at night when you're lying next to me because I don't know if they'll be your last..." You could no longer speak, the sob in your voice drowning out any other words.

However, it was all your husband needed to hear, the affection you still held for him giving him hope. Tucking your hair behind your ear gently so he could gaze into your eyes, he made a new vow. "I'm taking you away from here for good. A life in the country...with the chickens you've always wanted," he professed. "If you'll still have me?"

John loved the way your eyes sparkled in that moment and you couldn't deny the dose of adrenaline coursing through your veins as you allowed yourself to consider his proposal. A flutter of kicks inside you made you aware you hadn't given John an answer. Releasing a breath you didn't know you were holding, you assured him, "Of course...that's all I've ever wanted."

A wide grin overtook his face at that moment, eager to tell you more about his plan for a new life and hear your ideas in return. "By the time the baby's born, we'll be settled," he told you, placing a chaste kiss to your lips.

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

John's promise was finally fulfilled and in the spring, you stood together on a wide expanse of land. Looking out over your kingdom, your newest addition gurgled from the safety of John's protective arms.

"I think she likes it here," he told you as his youngest daughter grasped his pinky. He hadn't left her side since the day she was born, present for every milestone.

You surveyed the children running barefoot through the garden, your warm gaze finally resting upon your husband in serene repose. As a satisfied smile graced your lips, you agreed, "We all do. Oh John, we did it!"

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

Tag List:

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@shelbydelrey

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@murderousginger

@an-eclectic-of-mass-destruction

[dyns33]

Family protection

I missed Alfie during Flufftober, I'm not going to lie, even if it was fun

Thomas Shelby was preoccupied.

No, if he was honest, Thomas was just as terrified and furious at that moment, hurt inside, ready to devastate everything in his path, like every time he was told that a member of his family had been targeted.

It had perhaps been a mistake on his part to believe that it was not necessary to monitor Y/N after her marriage. Solomons' men took care of that.

So, when John had called him in a panic, saying that there were rumors about the kidnapping, or even the murder of their sister, he had at first remained frozen at his desk.

Since Polly had brought her back, this little girl from another mother, also abandoned by their fucking so called father, he had loved her. Maybe even more than the others.

The child was adorable. Shy at first, then smiling, with a crystal-clear laugh, asking for cuddles from her brothers, playing with dolls with her sister, and always wanting to be with them.

Normally, boys didn't accept the presence of girls. Poor Ada knew something about that. But strangely, with Y/N, it was different. Neither he, nor John, nor Arthur, could refuse her anything.

She came with them in the streets, in the countryside, in the trees. There were some limits of course, but he had shown her how to climb, jump, run. How to defend herself, if one strange day they weren't there.

Thomas confided things to her and her only when they were alone. The times he slept in the fields, she came to join him. That was often what pushed him to come home, because he didn't want her to catch her death. She stayed there, glued to him without saying anything, respecting his silence like no other member of his family, and for that, he ended up talking to her.

It was a false secret, that Y/N was his favorite. A secret that didn't bother anyone, since she was everyone's favorite.

So Thomas Shelby was preoccupied, because it was said that something had happened to his little sister, without anyone being able to clearly say what.

"She was in a bookstore." Arthur mumbled. "She goes there several times a month, to get books and read to the kids. They like it, she has a beautiful voice. After the session, she often has tea upstairs with the old owner. Men came in, beat up the employees and customers, before going upstairs. Then there was a fire. We don't know anything else."

"And Mr. Solomons ?"

"Haven't managed to reach him. His little assistant says he's… busy."

You'd think the same guys had come to Camden Town to destroy the King's Bakery. Because everything was in a pathetic state, and it was the doing of one man, who shouted orders from his office when he wasn't breaking anything that came his way.

If Thomas was preoccupied, Alfie had lost his mind.

During an important meeting with the Irish, he had let Ollie handle the business, and since the men had to be watched, it was a new kid who answered the phone.

He learned only two hours after his return that a woman had called. Not just any woman, his wife. Who was worried, because there were men in front of the bookstore, whom she didn't know.

She was smart, his wife. His tender Y/N, well raised by the Shelbys. Even if she was normally safe, she remained wary, thinking of looking behind or through the window, knowing all of her husband's employees.

The incompetents who followed her that day had been found with their throats slit in an alley.

Even though his patient was at his limit, Thomas let Alfie finish his tantrum, noting that he had left only the phone and the record player intact, which was playing opera to try to calm him down.

Y/N had disappeared for four hours now. He wouldn't calm down.

"They would have called, huh ? To give their fucking instructions. Or maybe they're scared, they know that my men, the most competent this time, and yours, are all over town, and that as soon as we know who did this, they'll be dead. But… If they don't have her… Tommy, if they don't have her, if she's in that still smoking pile of ashes… I'll burn everything."

"Arthur and John are going to find her."

"Yeah, huh ? You can sense it with your gypsy powers ? Your witch aunt read the cards and saw that my Y/N was healthy ?"

"Not now, Alfie."

Solomons growled, turning his office chair in anger and slamming it against the floor until it was all crumbs. It was only because it was his wife's family that he was acceptinf Thomas' presence.

And for his part, even though he wanted to blow his head off for not protecting his sister properly, Tommy sat there smoking his cigarette, remembering how it had felt to hold Grace in his arms.

When the phone rang, he stared at it for a moment, before looking at Alfie, frozen in the middle of the room, staring at the wall. He wondered if he hadn't heard, before realizing that the wandering Jew was afraid to answer.

It might have been the famous ransom demand, which would teach them that a lot of harm had been done to Y/N, and much more would come if they didn't do what the kidnappers wanted.

It might also have been the coroner, who had finished putting names on the bodies following the fire.

Slowly, Thomas put down his cigarette, before answering.

"… Tommy ?"

"… Y/N ?"

"Give me that !" ordered Alfie who immediately came back to life, snatching the phone from him before finding a softer voice. "Treacle ? Love ? Are you okay ? Where are you ?"

It turned out that despite the lack of practice, taking young Y/N into the woods to teach her how to climb, jump, play tightrope walkers and hide, had been a good thing.

Realizing that something was happening and since her husband was not reachable, she had climbed through the upstairs window on the courtyard side, hoisting herself up onto the roof, until she found a secluded spot to climb down.

Then, not knowing who to trust, she had stayed hidden until nightfall, to go to the closest and safest place from her position, which was her sister's house.

"Faster, Ismael !"

Thomas could have muttered that it would be better to get to Ada's alive, but he only clung to the door handle while the driver obeyed Mr. Solomons without worrying about pedestrians or other cars.

It was also useless to stop Alfie from jumping onto the sidewalk, forgetting his cane in the car to go and bang on the door like a madman until someone opened it.

Calm only returned when he laid eyes on Y/N, settled in the living room and already surrounded by all the other Shelbys who had been called after them.

"Treacle. Forgive me." he sobbed as he threw himself at her knees, his arms around her and his head against her stomach. "I was so worried, love, I thought I was going to die."

"Oh, Alfie. I'm sorry, I wanted to call you before but I didn't have access to a phone."

"I'm the worst husband. I didn't protect you. If my men weren't dead, I'd slit their throats myself."

"Let's try to talk about something happier." Thomas coughed as he approached, placing a hand on his sister's shoulder who smiled at him. "Did you hurt yourself jumping off the roof ?"

"No, I'm fine. Just a little tired."

"Strange clothes."

"Yes, love. You weren't wearing that this morning."

"Oh, I…" Y/N said, visibly embarrassed. "I may have "borrowed" a disguise. And money. And a car."

"She's our lil sis !" Arthur declared proudly, oblivious to the dark looks from his aunt, sister, brothers, and brother-in-law.

Maybe they had also shown young Y/N how to steal, but only once or twice, for fun, telling her that it was wrong, and that she would never need to do that because they would take care of her.

Alfie mumbled in Hebrew, which made her laugh. Probably insults without malice. He only let go of her to allow the others to kiss her before he took her back to their home, returning worse than a leech at the first opportunity.

When he proposed to add some of his men to Solomons' for her next outings, the king of Candem was at first outraged. He didn't bark only because his wife had already experienced a lot of emotions, but he would not let Thomas humiliate him.

However, in the middle of the night, certainly when Y/N was sleeping, Solomons contacted him.

"How many men, and what price ?"

"I'm the one who feels insulted now, Alfie. She's my sister, that will be the necessary number and for nothing at all."

"Hmm… You know, they all have something to say about you, your siblings. All of them, while you take care of them. I know it, I see it, but they are never happy. But not Y/N. No, my treacle has nothing but compliments for her big brothers, and you the first. Tommy this, Tommy that. She adores you."

"I adore her too."

"Hmm. Not as much as me, and so there will be fewer men than mine, but… I accept the offer."

"Glad we almost agree on something, Mr. Solomons."

He did not sleep that night, because Thomas Shelby was a preoccupied man by nature. By business, by his family, by the future and the past.

But as for his favorite little sister, he could have slept peacefully, knowing that her husband was there to ensure her happiness and protection as he had sworn during their marriage.

And if something were to happen, they would join forces, then Thomas would probably kill Alfie to punish him, if the madman didn't kill himself first to join Y/N whom he loved at least as much as her brother loved her.

[dilf-luvr-4evr]

Counting Down the Days to Being Yours 🕊️💍

for dearest @emerald-ranch <3 I sincerely hope this is according to what you imagined!! 👉🏼👈🏼 I’m sorry it took long! I wanted it to be perfect :( thank you for trusting me with your wonderful idea 🫶🏼🥺 this playlist was in heavy rotation during the writing process!! happy belated valentine’s 🥰

my first proper Arthur fic! (f!Reader, BIG FLUFF where everyone is alive 🤩🙏, possible inaccurate wedding rituals in 1899, church photo just for aesthetic, you can marry wherever you please :) (arthur photo by sealevils on pinterest!)

Arthur had not returned to camp for almost two weeks. It wasn’t anything new to you but usually, he’d at least let you know. Try as you might to shrug it off but you get plagued by the ugliest thoughts. God forbid! You always yelled out-loud before your imagination gets the chance to be spoken into existence.

The days had dragged on for so long that it made you self introspect. You didn’t really know why you should when he left you on very good terms. Very good terms.

Both of you made passionate, burning love the night before he left. And a little bit more upon waking up. You let him sleep in again as you attended to Miss Grimshaw, getting him a plate of stew on your way back. While waiting for him to wake, you even cleaned his guns. He said he loved you multiple times — a kiss accompanying every declaration — before getting on his horse. That is, after Miss Grimshaw had to separate y’all herself.

Impeccable timing and divine intervention; as if he knew you’d fetch him yourself if you had to wait any longer, Arthur finally came back home to you. A far cry from the last you saw him. But again, nothing new. You were just extremely relieved.

Frankly, he looked like shit. Handsome, still. But very dirty. Speckles of mud were all over his face but far more concerning, he was drenched in blood.

Adding to the list of questions you were about to ask, what you saw him untie from his Hungarian half-bred was a giant bison that’s been chopped up. Some of the people in camp that crowded around him cheered, knowing they’ll be fed good tonight.

Still, it was all so odd to you. There was no way it’d take him two weeks just to take down a bison. It would need much more than this bribing to stop you from questioning him as much as you’re glad he’s home.

Even stranger, Arthur was awfully quiet the whole time you helped him bathe by the lake. Not a single I miss you. Didn’t let you touch his grimy clothes though that’s never been a problem before.

“Arthur, are you sure you’re okay?” You asked for the thousandth time.

“I’m just fine darlin’, I promise,” he tightly smiled, still avoiding your eyes. Though this pained and scared you, you’d wait until he’s ready to open up.

He changed again when you shaved him and cut his hair; just as quiet but his eyes never wavered from your focused expression. Like he can’t believe he’s reunited with you, only looking away when you talked to him.

“Darlin’?” He’d ask.

“Yes?”

“N-nothin’,” he mumbled. This went on over and over in the silence of his tent, a contrast to the singing and eating outside. He refused to join them either despite being the star of the show.

After you were finished with cleaning him up, he held on to your hand and made you sit in front of him without a word. You blinked a couple of times yet remained seated on his cot.

“Arthur-”

“Darlin’,” he started again, clammy hands tightening their grip on yours.

“Yes?” You’d say again and again if he asked you to.

“I’m sorry. For scarin’ ya.” And he was instantly forgiven. Not that you could stay mad at him for long. You weren’t even sure you were mad at him in the first place.

“S’okay,” you smiled, your thumb brushing his hand. He smiled with you though it didn’t last very long.

“The bison’s a gift.”

“A gift? From who?”

“That ain’t what I meant,” he huffed. “I meant-” he shifted uncomfortably on the cot. “I meant.. my gift. To you.”

A snort left you before you could control it. “To me?” And why you would ask for a bison or when is beyond you.

“Just hear me out will ya?” He huffed again, cheeks all red. You just nodded, trying your best not to laugh.

With a deep breath, he continued.

“I love you,” he said softly before looking at your hands. He didn’t even let you say it back, just kept talking. “And I’ve been thinkin’.. When I was away..”

“I know I ain’t much of a hunter. And I’m even less of a man. Hell, I’m even worse with words,” he chuckled. “But darlin’..”

He exhaled loudly and you knew. It all made sense now. He’s about to propose to you.

Arthur’s eyes widened and his heart raced at the sight of you gasping and tearing up. He kept holding your hand, strangely finding comfort in what’s currently scaring him. And maybe that’s exactly why he wanted to marry you.

“If you’ll let me.. I’ll try. I- I’ll always keep you fed. And I’ll take us away from here. Far away, I swear. I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go. No more runnin’.”

You cried like you never cried before. The way his eyes twinkled when he said it even though you knew how much it scared him. The way he’s willing to chase down a dream to make you smile.

He was looking at you like a puppy, waiting for you to say something before, “shit-” he realized he forgot to pull out the ring.

Like a man possessed, he dropped to the ground, searching for the ring from his blood-stained clothes. Watching him clean it with his shirt made you laugh, pouring more tears out of your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he grinned all flustered, turning back to you.

There he was, already on one knee, a plain gold ring — a symbol of his hard labor you’ve witnessed all too well — humbly offered between his fingers.

Sure you’ve imagined it a couple of times before. How it would happen, if it ever would. You loved him too much to ask him to leave the gang; his family.

But unbeknownst to you, he hears your silent pleas. Sees how you stood by him.

He loved you too much to make you stay.

“Marry me darlin’. Let me give you a proper life. What do you say?”

In a swift breath, you answered, “yes.”

And you’d say it again and again if he asked you to.

“You quittin’ yet?”

You didn’t have to look to know who it was, the voice as familiar as the back of your hand.

You could also tell who it was from that damn joke he’s been telling over and over from the second you said yes.

You sure? Ain’t thinkin’ of backin’ out? Y’know you still got time.

Be it a jest or a genuine query, you know deep in your heart that you’ve never been more sure of anything else in your life.

A scoff left your lips, followed by a roll of your eyes. Yet you smiled.

“You think I should?” you feigned curiosity. Silence. You turned your head to find Arthur leaning on the clothesline post, a contemplating look on his face. Among the fingers that grabbed his belt, the shiny golden ring gleamed in the daylight. “Well?”

A second passes and then, “Nah.. I ain’t lettin’ ya.” Said with that crooked smile of his.

“Then I’m beggin’ you to stop askin’ me!” you laughed, dropping the clothes you were washing in the bucket. Oh how he loved your laugh. He’ll keep asking the dumbest questions known to man if it meant hearing you laugh.

“Arthur, leave the poor girl alone, will ya?” Hosea called out by the horses.

“Just gimme a minute!” Arthur replied before returning his gaze to you. He noticed how Tilly, Mary-Beth, and Karen paid attention to his little interaction with you and that made him a little sheepish. Back to being a teenage boy whenever he’s around you.

“Where you headed?”

“I asked you a question first,” he crossed his arms. The stupid smirk won’t leave his face and neither won’t the glint of mischief in his eyes. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘til you answer me.”

“What question?”

“Are you quittin’?”

“Well do you still wanna marry me or not?” You raised your brow. Blush creeped on his cheeks, making the girls giggle.

“More than anythin’ in the world, ma’am,” he said shyly, his hat now covering his face. You pushed down the twitching on your lips. God, the way he makes you feel.

“Then I ain’t quittin’ the wedding.”

“Good.” He’s lucky he’s got a handsome smile, the bastard. And that he’s got the most patient lady.

“Now where you headed?”

“Just.. Takin’ care of wedding stuff with Hosea,” he was rather mumbling at this point, shying away from the audience.

“‘Kay, be careful,” you chuckled, turning to your laundry again.

There was shuffling and before you know it, he was crouched down next to you.

“Not gonna give your husband a kiss goodbye?” He whispered as if the girls wouldn’t still try to pry. Well. Nine days until your husband. That made you smile a little too wide for your liking. And then kissed him anyway. Silly, stupid man.

Your silly, stupid man.

“Come back to me,” you softened, patting his cheek. His baby blues shone under the shade of his hat. But then again, they always do when they’re looking at you.

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured as he stood up, smiling so wide, he was almost chuckling from how smitten he was.

Now with the golden band snug on the end of your palm, you could say that you quite literally have him wrapped around your finger.

He tipped his hat, bid the other ladies farewell, and went on his way. He had very important matters to attend to.

There are many things Arthur is capable of. Wedding organizing is apparently not one of them.

Yes, he’s used to thinking on his feet. Despite the most complex situations, there’s always an answer to him.

Even if it means occasionally punching his way out.

But he can’t really punch the wedding caterer can he? Or the man who tailored his suit. Or anyone else in the wedding business for that matter.

Good news is he’s finally done. Got himself a priest to officiate the wedding and paid off the new house; a quaint little thing he figured you’d like. He hoped you’d like.

Dutch made him look for a place to wed to which Arthur obliged. Wouldn’t want to expose the current home and put the gang in danger.

So Heartland Overflow it is.

He remembered taking you there, wanting to show you this silver dapple pinto. You ended up falling asleep in the meadow as he scouted for it. He decided to sleep next to you till noon. One of his favorite days. The perfect balance between wind and warmth and you.

The place gave him another idea that went according to plan like dominoes lining up to his luck. He invited Albert Mason who he happened to meet during one of his wedding ventures. Almost got bitten by an alligator in the process but he’ll be damned if he won’t get to capture your smile on the big day.

This wedding ain’t half bad considering. Perfect in fact. More than he could ever expect and the entire time, he kept imagining your reaction to seeing it all unfold. Maybe he was good at wedding organizing after all.

Still. He felt like he’s made more decisions in the past few days than he’s ever made in his entire life.

Being the impatient man that he is, he rode back to camp with a scowl as opposed to Hosea who looked like he enjoyed himself too much. A view you have come to enjoy as of late.

“Someone’s happy,” you teased while you made your way to him. He got off his horse with a scoff, hand immediately snaking around your waist as both of you walked to your shared tent. You didn’t forget to smirk back at Hosea, a silent agreement to share whatever happened to Arthur today. For later.

“Don’t even start,” he grumbled, only stopping to kiss your temple. “Won’t bother if it ain’t for you.”

The statement made you smile. A mental note was made to treat him good tonight. “At least that’s the last of it. Ain’t it?”

“Yep,” the word stretched out mid sigh, a popping-like sound at the end of it. His hold on you tightened, emphasizing his relief as well as excitement to show you everything he’s schemed. The action automatically pulled you closer and you giggled, a melody that never failed to warm his heart. You could convince him that this was all worth it by that single sound alone.

“Found a dress yet?” He asked, mingled with a grunt as he sat on his cot. You leaned on his shoulder, staring into the distance whilst he took off his boots. The sun had just settled below the horizon, coloring the sky purple.

“No,” you exhaled. “I don’t know..”

“Hate to sound like Strauss but you only got three days darlin’.” That elicited a chuckle out of you. And though you’ve kept count, the fact that you’re actually marrying him still made you giddy.

“Startin’ to think you’re gettin’ cold feet.”

“I’m not,” you clicked your tongue, slapping his back and earning a laugh from him. It boggles you how much this running joke entertained him.

“Well for what it’s worth, I’d marry you in anythin’,” he smiled, kissing the top of your head. His arm had returned to rest by your waist. “In rags,” followed by a nuzzle of his nose against your chin. “Darlin, I’d marry you in nothin’.”

“Mister Morgan!” You blushed at the way he whispered it, slapping him again. He was cackling like a damn crow.

“Yes, Mrs. Morgan?” He carried on, making you roll your eyes even when the giggle that left your lips betrayed you. Damn him.

“I’m serious Arthur! I can’t decide on what to wear,” you pouted.

“Alright, alright,” he nodded, chuckling the last of his amusement out as he wrapped both of his arms around you, chin perched cozily on your shoulder. “We can getcha a new dress if you’d like?”

“You know that’s out of the question. We can’t spend more than we already have.”

Arthur heaved a sigh, having to think again.

“Well-” He thought for a moment. “Wear the one I like.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Which one’s the one you like?”

“You know,” he said in this very obvious tone, looking up at you in disbelief. It was obvious from your lack of answer that you didn’t catch on.

Suddenly, he was picturing you in the dress in order to describe it to you. Oh how that white dress made you shine. How it hugged you in all the right places, showed him just enough of what he wanted to see..

It never ends well with you in that dress.

He scoffed, hiding how hot he was for you. His poor bride is fussing and here he was, constantly trying to jump your bones. It was funny because you could always tell from the way he rubbed the back of his neck.

“You know the damn dress, I ain’t gotta tell ya,” he reasoned, getting up from his cot to leave and ignoring your giggly complaints. “I got things to attend to.” Meaning adjusting his pants.

He’s had enough wedding related thinking anyway. Plus, how could you not know?

He sat in front of the mirror. The face he’s bored with looked a little different today, polished.

Just him all alone inside his tent possibly for the last time.

He’s getting married. How strange.

Sure he knows it, took two weeks to contemplate it. Maybe more. But it seems like everyday it keeps dawning on him.

He’s getting married.

The gang left him some time to himself for once, waiting outside with the faint buzzing of gnats and the swishing of Flat Iron Lake.

It’s been a while since he had to properly get ready for something. Used to be a habit of his when he realized he liked you. Until you took over for him. Not that you minded how he looked at all. Felt unreal for him to look back on those days.

There wasn’t a single benefit he got from cleaning up. He doesn’t see himself differently. But he took note of what you loved about him, made sure he looked good enough for you to like. His fingers adjusted the forget-me-nots in his jacket pocket that he picked this morning.

Oh, look at how they bring out the blue in your eyes! You had said when he gave you the same flowers some time ago. Something that stuck with him ever since.

He looked around his cleaned ‘home’. Though he’s never really stayed in the same place for very long, the walls of his tent along with his wagon had been constant. It never actually occurred to him that one day he won’t sleep here again.

Suppose when you first fell asleep in this very cot with him, he sort of knew. He just didn’t think he’d actually get it; a new life with you.

A smile tugged on his lips. Who knew a no-good outlaw like him could be this lucky? How far he’s come. That after everything, he’s actually getting something good.

He tried to not get all soft, turning to the mirror again. But upon seeing his face, he laughed.

“Lucky bastard, ain’t ya?”

And how right he was.

He didn’t realize how much of an understatement that was until the ceremony started and he finally saw you.

You didn’t end up wearing a new dress by any means. Just the one he requested which you decided to alter a bit. At least that’s what you think he requested. But goddamn.

It was like the second time he first saw you.

He was starting to regret his decision to not smoke at all this morning. It ain’t like you never kissed his cigarette-reeked mouth, right? His heart was beating so loud, he barely noticed how you were already stood in front of him. In that dress no less, the sun above you just right. Your eyes looked at no one but him, that very smile to accompany the rest of his days.

The girl of his dreams.

The girl of his dreams who’s suddenly whisper-shouting “Arthur!”

“-can you repeat these vows?” The priest said. Which Arthur realized he had been tuning out.

“Y-yes,” he answered with a clear of his throat, trying not to get distracted by another one of your smiles.

It went smoothly. You actually said I do and kissed him and didn’t run away. Albert took the pictures and everyone liked the food and especially the drinks and Arthur made it till the end without a single cigarette after all. Although he did indulge in some drinking.

Javier was strumming a slow song. The day came and almost went with some still dancing alongside you and your husband.

He had one hand holding your own whilst the other one held on to the small of your back. You laid your head near his heart, partly from exhaustion, mostly from content. The two of you swayed with the gentle breeze that grew with time.

“You regret marryin’ me don’t you? That why you were cryin’?” He joked yet again, recalling to how you cried during your vows.

“I am regretting it now,” you shot him a glare before leaning on him again. You can feel the warm rumbling of his laugh from his chest and it made you smile.

“Did you like the kiss?”

“Of course,” you nodded against him. “I like this too,” with a touch to the flowers in his pocket. “And oh this place.. It’s perfect, Arthur.” And it really was. A wedding straight out of a book and it was yours.

Now he doesn’t think he’d be able to stop smiling. He breathed a sigh of relief so big, it almost lifted your head off his chest. There was no telling who squeezed whose hand first.

“Felt a little.. different though.”

Panic striked through him. So sudden, that he had to pause dancing. “Meanin’?”

“The kiss. You didn’t taste like cigarettes. Not that I mind,” you looked up at him, this lovesick gaze in your eyes. Despite how soft it all was, it was like a slap to his face. This perfect woman is his wife.

“Darlin’..”

“Hm?”

He didn’t even know what he was going to say. He kept looking at you as if checking if this was all real. Being a little drunk did not help. Neither did your distracting lips.

“Do you still like the kiss?” Was what he managed to say.

You laughed and pulled your husband into the millionth kiss that night.

Your husband who now smelled like alcohol instead. Who’s been asking you the same question all night since he drank.

If only you could convince him just how perfect this wedding was. Though not more than he is <3

my masterlist

thank you for reading!! 🫶🏼

[thatsdemko]

drought - c.leclerc

masterlist

requested: n

pairings: husband!charles leclerc x wife!fem!reader

warnings: not intended for minors + fingering (f receiving) + minor grammatical errors!

a/n: everyone say thank you to Charles leclerc’s recent photo dump

《 the following content is not intended for minors. 》

the simulator, the meetings, the practices, the races. it’s never ending exhaustion for Charles as he struggles grappling the seasons horrid start.

he’s thankful to have someone to turn to when times get rough. his lovely wife, you. through thick and thin is what you promised each other, and right now? this was the thin. this was what was starting to tear you both further apart.

Charles spent all his time home at the simulator, or any chance he could, at the factory. you’ve spent dozens of lonely, boring, nights in your shade king size bed.

the picture frame above the headboard is no longer crooked. you’d have time to fix it into place because the reason it fell was the endless nights of sex. the headboard would bang into the wall and eventually the picture, from your wedding night, would either come falling down, or end up sideways on the hook.

it was a reminder of your once thrilling sex life has come to an end. sex was no longer something you both were actively participating in. it was rather you and a vibrator on those lonely occasions.

“headed out?” you ask, picking your head up from your book in your lap. you’d heard his heavy footsteps. his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth searching the right sneakers to wear.

“just to maman’s salon. been awhile.” he says coming into the living room to sit beside you on the couch.

you nod in agreement having not remembered the last time his beautiful brown hair was trimmed. although, you don’t mind the length, and neither did his fans. you’d encouraged him to listen to them, and at the time he laughed. then you showed him why you liked it so much. the ends being tugged between your fingers, ruffled and yanked during sex, he enjoyed the arousal. now, there was no need for it.

“tell her I say hi.” you say, soft smile forming to your lips.

he catches your eyes for a brief second when he looks up from tying his shoes. he takes the quick second to press a kiss to your cheek, “you should come by. maman would love to see you.”

you’d missed pascale. in fact, you missed his whole family. it’d been months since you’d shared a laugh with Arthur, or even held conversation with Lorenzo and his new girlfriend. while you knew the chances were slim to seeing his siblings, you still joined him in the car. it’d been the first time in weeks being in his pista.

his hand dangerously slips across the center console. his thumb strokes the skin your inner thigh that’s exposed from your biker shorts. he’s happy you’ve tagged along, he can’t remember the last time you’ve spent more than two hours together that wasn’t spent sleeping.

“I noticed you fixed the picture above our bed.” he says turning to look at you for a brief second at the stop light. you figured he hadn’t noticed, it was slight change and he rarely slept at home when he had days off. you’re sure he’s seen the toy under your side of the bed if he truly went looking.

“gives you a new challenge again.” you reply back watching the wheel spin under his hands as he pulls into the parking lot. you were finally free from his grip.

he scoffs, putting the car in park, “it was always too easy. it was never a challenge.”

a smirk forms to your lips. your words catching him before he slips out the car, “well you have a new challenge and it’s much better than you’ve been in the past month.”

—

you’re sitting in the chair beside him watching pascale trim the wet ends of his hair. a few fall in his face or around the top of the cape.

she’s happy to see you. in fact, she’s only talking to you the whole time.

she doesn’t notice how you’ve been squeezing your legs together every so often. your one leg is crossed over the other, he sees you shifting in the chair as you answer his mothers questions. he sees how turned on you’ve become watching him.

it’s funny to him. how it’s the most mundane thing ever and it’s got your pussy throbbing for him. all he’s doing is sitting in the chair allowing his mother to cut the dead ends of his hair.

he can tell whatever you were using to get off was not enough. and it was his own damn fault for choosing the simulator or the factory over pleasuring his wife’s needs.

pascale walks away to answer the phone leaving you two alone, and he swivels the chair in your direction, “I did not know this would get you so horny.”

you feel heat spread across your cheeks. you try to pull the neck of the sweatshirt over your face to hide the embarrassment of being caught.

“when we get home—“

“you think I’ll last getting home?” you cut him off before he can propose his plan. his eyes widen, a smirk toys his lips as he shakes his head seeing his mother come back into the room.

“take the keys to the pista, you’re making this hard for me.” he tosses the keys into your lap, “it’s a private parking lot. you can finish what I started.”

“I’m almost done with him. you‘ll be able to go home in no time.” pascale promises and continues to trim his hair. you watch for another couple of minutes and now she’s finally getting ready to blow dry his wet hair.

you can’t watch any longer. you’ve made up an excuse to head to his car and wait out the final minutes. you’ve turned on the air in the car and sat in the passenger seat awaiting his arrival to take you home.

your leg anxiously bounces as you hear him whistling. he opens the passenger door, takes the knob that adjusts the seat, and pushes it as far back as it goes allowing him to kneel in front of your seat.

“Charles what are you doing?” you ask watching him close the passenger door once he’s in. it’s cramped. his head is just inches close to the top of the car, your legs are nearly into your lap and suddenly it’s warm in the car. the air must’ve kicked off after a period of time running.

“taking care of something.” he leans over your lap, letting the back of the seat go as far down as it can. he moves you closer to the edge of the seat, “lift your hips.” he demands and you do as he asks, allowing him to remove your shorts.

“Charles, we can’t do this in your car—“

“nobody is here.” he points out the very obvious. not another car is in this parking lot, and there’s not a single car that has drove down this street since arriving. you were as safe as you could be under the street lights.

“come on, let me treat you right.” he coos, fingers running up and down your thighs, “I did this to you.” he reaches into your lap, fingers toying with the wet material clung to your pussy, a whine threatening at your tongue.

“can I do that? can I touch my wife?”

you nod, unable to speak any words. you push you hips up again allowing him to remove your panties. you spread your legs as far wide as you can. his index finger stretches out across your folds. it’s like a ghost against your skin, you can feel him but barely. a soft whine escapes your lips, you lean back against the seat.

“good girl,” he whispers, “just relax for me.” he says. his index finger wiggles in your entrance. his name rolls off your tongue ever so quickly, and you feel him add a second finger not even giving you a chance to respond.

your fingers go flying into his freshly cut hair, and yank on the short ends. you curse him for what he’s done, and try to grab anything you can while his fingers pump inside of you. he takes his time, discovers every single bit of you like lost treasure. a place he hasn’t tended to in awhile.

sweet whines and moans escape your lips. it’s adorable how quick you were able to fold under his touch. all it ever really took was a swipe of his finger, tongue, or anything else to get your body to fold. you were his in the matter of seconds.

you feel one of his fingers just brush your clit. your back arches, pussy clenching around his fingers. you’re begging him to do it again, and again, until you come.

he doesn’t stop until he notices your legs are visibly shaking, the car is shaking from your bodies response, and until his fingers are met with cum.

“I can’t.” you breathe out, your body itches to exhale the sweet cum he ever so loves. he’s nodding along, encouraging you to come. you throw your body back against the seat, you feel the body of the car move as you do so. sweet delicious cum finally exits your body and so do his fingers.

“that was fun wasn’t it?” he licks his index and middle finger of your cum before pulling your set up close to where it was, and he’s getting out of the car. you quickly pull your shorts back up and double check your hair.

you look him in the eyes when he slides into the drivers seat. you can see the arousal in his pants, a content smile across his face, “don’t worry, you can take care of me when we get home. I’ve got an idea in my mind.”

[babybearnation]

old masterlist

anons: 🍑, 💙, 🐍, 🎩, 📞, 🥐, 🃏, 🦊, C, 🥡, 🐜, 🔒, 🍬, 🐨, 💘, 🥄, 💫, 🥔, くコ:彡, 🐥, ♉, 🏎🌷

the grid:

you got me feelin' butterflies, butterflies - asking you on a date

darling, you're the one i want - you wear a number that isn't theirs

your first and my last name would just sound better together - you call them by their full name

cause you make my heart race - they accidentally confess their feelings

i had the best day with you today - you surprise them with a pet

king of my heart, body and soul - they win a race

oh, dear, don't be discouraged - they find out you're crying

hey baby, welcome to my world - arthur, liam & mick's texts for the posts above

you drew stars around my scars - you're insecure about your surgery scars

you're the greatest thing we've lost - they confess after you get replaced mid season

you belong with me - they're jealous of your toxic ex

jealousy, jealousy - you get shipped with another driver & their jealous

silence finally in my head - you give them the silent treatment

you are in love, true love - you have a crush on their teammate

give me more than just some butterflies - you text them the lyrics to juno by sabrina carpenter

twenty stitches in a hospital room - you crash and don't tell them

this is the sound, it's our sound - you're a musician

so light me up and let me burn - you do a break up prank

on a wednesday in a cafe - you prank them with a fake date

come take a picture - you accidentally send them an explicit picture

you're everything i'm dreaming of - you accidentally confess to them

must be the good boy - you call them a good boy

you don't need no invitation - "he's gone, you can come over now"

i'm so sick (of lying) - you hide that you're sick

it was the very first night - you accidentally text them after a night together

cherish my love - you text them after your first date

hey baby, i think i wanna marry you - they overhear you call them your husband

when you lovingly call my name - you exchange contact names

just look at me baby, day and night - you ask them to come home and take care of you

you're wearing nothing but my t-shirt - you send them a spicy pic at an inconvenient time

runnin' home to your sweet nothings - cute, domestic texts

talk to you later, later - you call him bro after sex

but daddy, i love him - you call him daddy

so kiss me, kiss me, kiss me - you forget to kiss him before you go out

oh, i wonder who i'm looking for - "they're busy, bro"

i miss you, i'm sorry - they miss you when you're away

i've already lost control - you ask if you can take control in the bedroom

the pages of our relationship arc - you try and break up with them due to insecurities

i wanna know (what is love?) - you don't say i love you back

baby, so please, cheat on me - they pull the "i know you cheated" prank

good luck, baby, good luck to you - you don't wish them good luck before a race

am i still not good enough? - you ask them to save you from a bad date

i need ya focus on me - they accidentally send you an explicit picture

that pretty, pretty boy - you're dysphoric

uh oh, i'm falling in love - you share when you first fell for each other

money, money, money (must be funny) - your rent is ridiculously expensive

i'm coming out - you come out without telling them

i'm lying so i won't get caught - he hides that he's sick

can you see my feeling? (oopsy) - polyam!drivers accidentally message the wrong gc

i love it because i love you - he talks about you in his native language

privacy sign on the door - your relationship is about to be leaked

i want you to be happier - polyam!drivers - one of you isn't feeling the best

spice it up, up, up, roll up - drivers x genderfluid!reader

pull it to the side and get all up in it - "raw, next question"

you're wonderin' why half his clothes went missin' - you walk in on each other changing

i will give you all my love - polyam!drivers nearly/fully ruin their surprise

now i've read all of the books beside your bed - you're a bookworm

think i like you best when you're just with me - you're trying to quit smoking

act like an angel and dress like crazy - you show them your revealing outfit

alex albon:

nothing yet...

arthur leclerc:

baby, i don't wanna waste my time - your relationship isn't over already, is it?

charles leclerc:

ride on the highway to heaven - texts w/ biker reader

i love the light that i found in you - charles x reader x oscar

guess i'll just stumble on home to my cats - lestappen x reader - they argue over pets

take me out, and take me home - charles x reader x george - domestic texts

dino beganovic:

cause, oh, they make me feel alive - dino x reader x kimi x paul

george russell:

i'll give you the best years - george x reader x oscar (ft. bff!lando)

take me out, and take me home - george x reader x charles - domestic texts

zhou guanyu:

nothing yet...

kimi antonelli:

cause, oh, they make me feel alive - kimi x reader x dino x paul

i looked at you like the stars that shine - kimi x reader x ollie

you said "i'm a better driver" - kimi x f1 driver!reader x ollie

take me out, and take me home - kimi x reader x ollie - domestic texts

i feel so close to you right now - he's clingy, but you're not together

hey, cupid has shot my heart - ollie plays matchmaker

lance stroll:

boy, you got me drunk on a feeling - he accidentally drinks your drink

lando norris:

they don't know me like my baby - lando x reader x max

screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain - landoscar x reader - they argue due to papaya rules

he said "fuck me like i'm famous" - landoscar x reader - end of/post-season shenanigans

tell me what you want, tell me what you need - he's jealous (ft. max f, keegan & oscar)

liam lawson:

nothing yet...

logan sargeant:

long live the walls we crashed through - loscar x reader - you're the 2023 rookies

max verstappen:

they don't know me like my baby - max x reader x lando

guess i'll just stumble on home to my cats - lestappen x reader - they argue over pets

mick schumacher:

nothing yet...

ollie bearman:

i looked at you like the stars that shine - ollie x reader x kimi

you said "i'm a better driver" - ollie x f1 driver!reader x kimi

take me out, and take me home - ollie x reader x kimi - domestic texts

oscar piastri:

screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain - landoscar x reader - they argue due to papaya rules

i'll give you the best years - oscar x reader x george (ft. bff!lando)

i love the light that i found in you - oscar x reader x charles

driving home for christmas - you're spending christmas alone... or are you?

he said "fuck me like i'm famous" - landoscar x reader - end of/post-season shenanigans

long live the walls we crashed through - loscar x reader - you're the 2023 rookies

paul aron:

cause, oh, they make me feel alive - paul x reader x dino x kimi

seasons start to change, i've been daydreaming for days - you're oblivious to his feelings

the code is l-o-v-e - paul x reader

cause i've got a soft spot (i've got it for you) - you don't play favourites, but with paul...

pierre gasly:

nothing yet...

yuki tsunoda:

nothing yet...

formula e:

in the heat of your electric touch - it's his first formula e weekend (zm22)

miscellaneous:

three short hours (three long weeks) - you can't sleep without each other (fc43)

give you my love, mi corazón - josep maria martí x reader

© all rights to babybearnation 2025.

[sophsbookstore]

The Perfect Day

Charles Leclerc x hairdresser!reader pt. 2 ｡･:*˚:✧｡

Masterlist can be found in navigation!

Read pt. 1 here

A/N: In honor of Charles Leclerc winning the freakin Monaco Grand Prix!! 

Word count: 2,453

“Looks like you have no one on schedule.” The front desk lady says to Y/N.

Y/N looks up from her phone, constantly refreshing her calendar, checking to make sure what she’s hearing is correct. There has to be some mistake? Just yesterday she was completely booked for the day.

“I think everyone canceled for the grand prix, I mean who would want to miss it, Charles is starting on pole!” The lady raved. All of Monaco was rooting for Charles, there was something in the air, everyone knew that Charles was going to win the Grand Prix, he had to.

“So I guess I'm off for the day?” Y/N looks at the lady puzzled, regretting her rejection of Charles' invitation to the Grand Prix.

Y/N waves goodbye to the other employees packing their things, the girl goes back to her car, sitting in science before calling Charles’ mom. She picks up within the first couple of rings. Y/N asks for Charles, his mom calling to Charles on the other line, passing her phone to her son.

“Sorry for telling you on such short notice but my schedule is cleared if there's still an available spot to see you race today.” Y/N starts fiddling with her hands, although Charles can't see, she hopes he doesn't pick up on the pleas in her voice.

“For you? There is always room.” With that Y/N gets an address sent to her and digital tickets to let her in. “I'll meet you at the entrance so I can give you your pass.” Y/N nods rapidly, thanking Charles for his generosity. Telling her that it was no problem at all, Charles bids her farewell, promising to see her later at the Grand Prix. Y/N rushes home, knowing she doesn't have long until the event starts.

She rummages through her closest, trying to find an outfit she deems perfect for the occasion. Finally landing on an outfit that satisfies her she looks at the clock, noticing that it's about time she leaves. She locks the door to her apartment behind her, shaking her hands with anxiety, reminding herself that she's there to support Charles.

When she finally gets to the Grand Prix she notices a group of people huddled near the entrance. She follows security, parking her car, dusting herself off, rolling her shoulders back, and walking closer to the commotion. 

As Y/N steps closer she finally sees what's at the center of the huddle, Charles. She waves her hand up in the air, hoping he catches her signal to him. Luckily he does. Quickly he makes his way over to her, pushing through the interviewers and paparazzi, with the green paddock pass in his hand.

“I'm so happy you came.” He says, pulling her in for a hug, kissing her cheek as he does so.

“I'm so happy you still let me come.” The pair laugh, pulling away from the embrace.

Charles wraps his arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her close to him as the two enter the paddock. Charles lets go of Y/N for a moment, stepping in front of her and placing the pass around her neck as they reconnect with one another officially entering the grounds.

Y/N can feel everyone staring at her, anxiety starts to bubble in her chest, wondering if she was being stared at in disgust or curiosity. “Don't worry about them.” Charles turns whispering in her ear.

“It's hard, they keep staring at me like I'm some kind of animal at the zoo.”

“Y/N they are most likely looking at how pretty you are, I mean I can't help but stare too.” He smirks, Y/N playfully removing her hand around him to give him a little smack on the arm, quickly moving it back around him.

The pair make their way to the Ferrari hospitality, Charles introduces Y/N to the various staff scattered around before making his way over to his brother Arthur. Y/N has met Arthur before, giving him ‘hellos’ here and there when he comes in to get his haircut by his mom.

“Y/N! What are you doing here?” The younger driver asked in excitement.

“She's my plus one.” Charles smiles at his brother, Y/N blushing, nodding in agreement.

Before the three could say any more to each other someone taps Chalres shoulder, his engineer signaling to him that it's time for him to leave. Charles frowns, nodding understanding he gives his brother a hug, the younger of the two hyping up his older brother.

Charles goes back to Y/N giving her a long embrace before kissing the side of her head. “You're going to win today, I just know it.” Y/N whispers to Charles moments before he leaves.

“I really hope you're right.” He gives her one last glance before following his engineer toward the car.

Y/N and Arthur mingle around the paddock, Arthur introducing Y/N to almost everyone that he knows. “Is that my nephew?” Arthur yells out, moving quickly towards a man that Y/N has never seen before.

“Y/N, this is my adopted nephew Oscar.” Oscar walks over to the both of them, shaking Y/N’s hand. 

“Ahh, so you must be Charles’ new son. Congratulations on P2, I wish you luck on your race today.” Y/N gives him a warm smile, the driver smiling back.

“Thank you.” Moments later Oscar is also pulled away, saying goodbye to the two as he makes his way towards his Mclaren.

Arthur motions for Y/N to follow him, together they make their way over to their designated area, Arthur slipping some headphones onto Y/N’s head as the two settle in, anxiously watching the screen in front of them as Monaco settles in silence, manifesting Charles' win.

Needless to say the race was stressful, with the red flag barely into the first lap Y/N worried that someone would overtake Charles, wanting to scream to the other drivers not to pass Charles on such a special and important day.

Arthur and Y/N hold onto one another during every touch, maneuver, and tire change, wishing the best for Ferrari, but most importantly Charles. As the lap starts coming to an end Y/N and Arthur look at one another, is this it? Is Charles going to win his home race and finally break the Monaco curse?

As Charles pulls closer to the finish line everyone from Ferrari runs closer to the barriers, screaming for Charles as he crosses the line. Tears hit Y/N's eyes, the girl cheering as loud as she can. He has done it, Charles Leclerc wins the 2024 Monaco Grand prix.

Charles practically jumps out of his car, tears trickling out of his eyes as he cheers atop his Ferrari. Jumping down before running and leaping towards his team. As if the cries of joy couldn't be any louder they did. At that moment it seemed that all of Monaco was cheering for him. 

Charles moves throughout the crowd hugging the people who helped him most to get this victory, finally making his way to Arthur and Y/N. Y/N steps to the side, letting the brothers have their moment first, hugging one another before the driver turns to Y/N.

The two melt in their embrace, Y/N crying tears of joy for Charles. “You did it!” She pulls back, her arms still tightly around Charles' big frame. “I knew you would.” 

Charles continues to hold her. “Meet me after the race, I still have dinner with you tonight. '' Y/N nods rapidly. Charles finally stepped away to go with his rest of the team to the doc, getting ready to do their celebratory jump into the water.

Arthur and Y/N follow behind the large group, Y/N taking out her phone to snap a few pictures in celebration. One by one the big group starts to taper off, either going off to celebrate or do interviews, Arthur says goodbye to Y/N leaving the girl to wait for Charles.

After countless interviews the driver finally returns to Y/N, now fully dried he gives her a hug. “Thank you for waiting.”

“No worries! Congratulations on your race, seriously.” She smiles up at him. “You don't have to go to dinner with me, I know you would much rather be partying with everyone.”

“Nonsense, the parties will go on later in the night. Right now, I want to be with you.” He holds out his hand, Y/N gladly takes it, the pair walking towards Ferrari hospitality so Charles can change into less damp, non-Ferrari clothes.

Y/N waits outside for Charles to change, once ready the pair walk toward the parking lot. “The restaurant is fairly close if you want to walk?” He offers. Y/N looks over at her car, then back at Charles. “Sure!”

Together the pair walk out of the circuit, now entering the streets of Monte Carlo. They continue to talk with one another, getting interrupted every few meters by fans noticing Charles, everyone giving him high praise for his victory.

“Maybe we should have driven.” Charles jokes, the pair walking faster trying to get rid of the crowd following them, getting larger by the minute.

“Next time we will for sure.” Y/N nods in agreement.

“Next time? Already planning a second date before the first?” Charles smiles, the tips of his ears getting hot.

Y/N blushes in embarrassment. “Oh! I- ummm.” She stutters, getting caught off guard by Charles' question.

“I'd be more than happy to go on another date with you Y/N.” He smiles, the pair silently brushing their fingers together, slowly intertwining their hands as they continue down the busy Monte Carlo street.

Finally making it to the restaurant the staff immediately identify Charles, moving rapidly getting Charles and Y/N a room in the back. Patrons and staff of the restaurant give Charles loud cheers and high praise the further they walk into the restaurant.

Charles steps in front of Y/N pulling the girl's chair out for her to sit, thanking him she does so, Charles scooting her chair forward before taking his rightful seat across from her. The two open up their menus, engaging in slight conversation before both put their menus down, leaning forward, getting closer to one another.

���Thank you for coming to the race, and to dinner with me after.” Charles smiles, blushing ever so slightly.

“Thank you for the invite! Surprisingly, I'm glad that everyone canceled their appointments, if they hadn't I wouldn't have gotten to see you win.”

“I don't know how to feel, I'm just so excited and happy. I wish that my father would have been here to see it. We both dreamed of me winning my home race.” He looks down at the menu, quickly wiping his eyes.

“He is, he might not be physically here but he is always with you. I can say with 100% certainty that wherever he might be, he is jumping up and down cheering the hardest for you.” Charles looks up at Y/N, his eyes glossy.

“Thank you Y/N, truly.”

Before the pair can say any more, the waiter comes to the table. Both Charles and Y/N put in their orders continuing the conversation once he leaves. Charles asks Y/N about her life, wanting to get to know her more as the pair had only met days prior.

“I should really give you my number, especially since we are going on a second date. It would be weird if you kept calling my mom and asking for me.” Charles laughs, pulling his phone from his back pocket.

“Yeah…sorry about that.” Y/N looks away.

“Don't worry at all, it was my mistake for not asking for your number when we first met.” Charles hands his phone to Y/N the girl typing in her information before texting herself on his phone.

Their food soon arrives, the conversation not dying down one bit. The couple talked, not once did an awkward silence fall upon them. As the sun began to set the waiter came back with the bill. Y/N starts to reach for it, but Charles is too quick.

“Please let me, the date was my idea.”

“Charles, you literally won the Monaco Grand Prix, it's the least I could do.”

“You showing up, and coming with me tonight is everything I wanted. You can get the next one if you really want to.” He hands his card to the waiter, who soon comes back with Charles' card and the receipt.

Charles and Y/N both get up, interlocking hands once more before leaving the restaurant, Charles thanking the wait staff as they leave. “Let me walk you back to your car. I don't want you walking alone.”

The two walk in silence, taking in the warm summer air, gazing at the beautiful monte carlo sights. Charles notices Y/N’s face contorting in discomfort. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, my shoes are kinda hurting, but we’re almost there.” She shrugs.

Charles stops, Y/N following his lead the pair stand on the near empty Monte Carlo sidewalk. “Here let me.” Charles bends down, putting his knee up signaling Y/N to rest her foot on top. She does so, Charles taking off her shoes for her before getting back up off the floor, shoes in hand.

“Get on.” Charles turns around, squatting down for Y/N to get on his back. Once again she does so, quickly hopping onto his back as the pair continue to venture further into the night.

They finally get back to the parking lot, Y/N unlocks her car as Charles, ever the gentleman holds her door open for him. Y/N hops off of Charles back, staring ahead at her car, looking back at Charles who's looking back at her.

“Can I kiss you?” She asks, nervous for his response. 

Charles lets go of the door handle. “I thought you'd never ask.” He takes the sides of her face in his hands, the two engaging in a passionate kiss. Y/N wraps her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him. After a moment the pair pull back, still holding each other close.

“What a perfect way to finish the night.” Y/N smiles, pulling Charles in for another kiss.

“I couldn't have said it better myself.”

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Precious Truths: Part 3

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: After your father finds out you've been writing under a male pseudonym, he threatens to marry you off to an atrocious man unless you find yourself a husband within a month's time.

Series Masterlist

Once at their door, you're insistently knocking on their door until someone opens it. Mrs. Wilson looks at you with confusion. Your chest is heaving, your eyes are wide, your hair in disarray, "Miss Y/N? Are you alright?"

"I need to see the Viscount and Viscountess immediately," you say urgently as you enter the Bridgerton home, gripping the older woman's arms to stabilize you.

"They're still freshening up for di-"

"Please! I need to see them! It's urgent!"

"Alright," the older woman nods at you, removing your hands from her, and rushes up the stairs to retrieve Anthony and Kate.

You're pacing in the foyer, fingers twiddling together as you're trying your best not to break down right then and there. You begin to mentally scold yourself for being so careless. You had done so well in the beginning, hiding your writings under your floorboards. You became careless. Your aunt was never one to snoop and your father was always in a drunken state. You figured neither of them would begin to look around your room, so you left your writings there.

Oh how wrong you were.

You look up to hear footsteps and see that Kate is the first one rushing down the stairs, "Y/N? What's wrong? Are you alright?"

You grab her arms to keep you steady as you shake your head, "My father found out and he's going to marry me off to my awful cousin. I need to find a husband quickly!"

"Found out? Found out what?" she asks you in confusion.

You don't answer her question as you continue on with your hysteric ramble, "Please, Kate, do you or Anthony know anyone who's looking for a wife?"

"Y/N, slow down. Wha-"

"What is wrong, Y/N?" Anthony asks as he finally approaches you in concern.

You look at him with wide eyes, "You need to help me find a husband."

You jolts in surprise, "What?"

"Darling, is everything alright?" Violet looks at the three of you with worry. She notes your distress, "I'll have Mrs. Wilson get ready some tea," she immediately goes to find her housekeeper.

Kate takes hold of your hand and guides you to the sitting room where you immediately plop yourself into the couch, throwing your head into your hands.

The Viscountess sits beside and puts a reassuring hand on your back, rubbing it soothingly. She looks up at her husband and mouths, 'Get Benedict.'

The Viscount immediately scurries off to find his brother.

"Deep breaths, Y/N. When you are ready, you must start from the beginning."

You sit up and wipe your now teary eyes. You take a deep breath and ready to speak, but your words get caught in your throat when Benedict enters the room.

Kate stands from your side and Benedict immediately takes her place, "Are you alright? Anthony said you were in distress."

You let out a shaky breath and give him a sad smile, "It's all gone wrong, Ben."

"What happened?"

You gulp and look up at Anthony and Kate who watch you with patient eyes, "What I'm about to tell you must not leave this room. It's imperative that no one, especially Whistledown, doesn't know."

"Know what?" Benedict asks.

You take another deep breath, "I'm Arthur Talbot."

Anthony looks at you in surprise. Kate looks at you like she's realized something. Benedict...you're not sure what the expression he's giving, but at least he doesn't look angry.

Kate can't help but chuckle, "It makes so much sense now. When you'd recite his words, it felt like they were your own. They were."

You nod and turn to Benedict, "You know how my papa forbade me from reading and writing poetry. I couldn't let it go, not when it was the one thing I had left of my mama. So I decided to write under a man's name, so my papa wouldn't know.

"But when I arrived home after our promenade, he was in my room. He found everything. He was so angry. He-" you look away in shame, "He struck me-"

"He struck you?" he asked you in disbelief. He feels a burning anger start to bubble within him. He never understood how one can be such a kind man and loving father, to a cold hearted man like your papa.

You sadly nod, "He said if I didn't find a husband within a month's time, he'll marry me off to my cousin Albert."

Benedict immediately winces, "He's atrocious," recalling back to the one summer that part of your family visited and your cousin was exuberant in trying to prove that he was much better at everything than Anthony. To put it plainly, the man was a twat.

"I know! So need your help," you place your gloved hands over Benedict's, and look to Kate and Anthony, "I need you three to help me find a husband. One with good social standing and is, at the very least, a decent man."

Kate and Anthony glance at each other and then Benedict, waiting for him to confess his feelings and propose to you, to save you from your horrid cousin.

Benedict watches his brother and sister-in-law, but then looks away. With a gulp, he says with a small, reassuring smile, "I'm sure my brother will be able to look into the available men of the ton and find you a good match."

Kate casts her head down in disappointment as Anthony steps forward, "You're practically family. I will do my best to help you."

"And you'll help too, right, Ben?" You look at him with hopeful eyes and Ben could feel him on the verge of breaking, so close to finally letting you know how he feels, that he doesn't want to help because no man deserves to see you the way he sees you.

He gives you a soft smile, "Yes. Of course, I'll help you."

__________________________

You've calmed down since abruptly showing up on the Bridgertons' door step. Kate and Anthony sit with you in the sitting room while Anthony starts gathering a list of eligible men for you. You're sitting tea staring blankly at the floor when your aunt is rushing into the room.

"Oh thank Heavens, you're alright!"

You place the tea cup down and stand, meeting your aunt, "I apologize for my abrupt leave, Aunt Eliza. I was...distraught."

"Yes, well, your father told me of your-" she eyes Kate and Benedict, "-situation."

You gesture to them, "They know. I told them, but they promise to not speak of my situation to anyone else."

"And does the Viscount know?"

You nod, "He does. Anthony, Kate, and Benedict are going to help me find a husband, so I don't have to marry Cousin Albert."

Aunt Eliza grimaces, "Absolutely not. The words to describe him are...they're not appropriate to express aloud." Benedict snorts in agreement.

"Lady L/N, I can assure you that the Viscount and I will do our very best to find a man deserving of L/N."

Your aunt nods to her, "Thank you, my lady," she sighs and gestures for you, "Come, Y/N. Your father is now asleep. You may come home, but tomorrow we will go to the modiste and request some new dresses."

"Yes, Aunt Eliza," you turn and hug Kate and give Benedict a nod, "Thank you for your help."

Benedict reaches out and grabs your wrist, "Let me know if you need anything or even just someone to talk to."

"Of course," you curtsey, "Good night."

You follow your aunt out of the Bridgerton estate and back to your home.

Kate pinches the bridge of her nose, "Why didn't you propose to her?"

"Why would I? She deserves someone of a better social standing."

"You are a Bridgerton."

"I am a second son and an artist. Not even a good since Anthony bought my way into the academy." Benedict leans back in the couch in despondence, "She deserves someone better."

"But you love her, do you not?"

"It is why I love her that I am helping her, because I cannot give her what she deserves." the second Bridgerton stands from his spot and excuses himself from the room, presumably to drink his heartache away.

[coco-loco-nut]

Fresh Out The Slammer

pairing: Arthur Leclerc x Reader

summary: Maybe you have always loved the Leclerc boy you grew up with.

masterlist ttpd masterlist

________

You board the plane from America to Monaco, never happier to get away from your home and get to the Leclerc home. The flight seems to pass quickly since you sleep through most of it, and you are picked up by Arthur from the airport. You look different, more mature, more beautiful, but it was clear something was weighing on you from the months you were away.

"I missed you," Arthur hugs you, you hide the blush that covers your face. You aren't sure when your crush on your childhood best friend developed, but what you don't know is that Arthur harbored one for you too.

"I missed you too, 'Thur," you climb into the car, looking out the window on the familiar drive. After you told the Leclerc family you were arriving a month earlier than expected, Pascale had been asking your mother what happened to cause you to come early, but no one had been able to get you to talk.

"Come play on my stream with me, I'll let you use my sim," Charles begs once you get to the Leclerc home. Arthur had to go do something, and Pascale enlisted her middle child to drag you out of your room.

"Only because you offered your sim," you grumble, sliding on your shoes as you follow Charles to his car.

"We will be back for dinner, Maman," Charles calls to his mom. When you get to Charles's apartment, he quickly starts the stream and hands you a controller. After a couple hours of gaming and sim racing, he ends the stream.

"Okay, what's really going on. You're never that distant around Arthur and Maman," Charles asks, moving to sit across from you on the couch.

"Let me think of how to say it in French," you tell him, your brain switching to English for a moment. You only speak French or Italian when not in America or England. "My boyfriend cheated on me and we broke up a few months ago, just don't tell anyone," you say. Charles is basically your older brother.

"I'm sorry, do you want to talk about it? I promise it will stay between us," Charles gently offers. You throw your head back and sink into the couch a little.

"Things got rough. He couldn't -wouldn't- understand why I was always away for racing or training. Last summer was hard, when I got back in the fall things just got worse. Dinners were silent and we were just bitter. We fought more and more. I'd wake up in the middle of the night and he'd say her name in his dreams," you fight the tears back, wanting to power through.

"It's okay, you don't have to say more than you need to," Chales's hand rests on your shoulder.

"I was chained to the relationship. It was like one good hour cast a spell of hope that things might be okay, and the two years of working for the relationship would be worth it. I never thought I'd think of that relationship like jail," you let out a bit of a cynical laugh.

"It will be alright then, no? You did your time," Charles gives you a little grin, one that you return.

"Yeah, I'll be alright, just gotta get away from all of it," you reassure Charles.

"Alright, let's get back before we are left without dinner," Charles changes topics.

"Thanks," you really are grateful that Charles listened.

"I only have one question. Why haven't you talked to Arthur about it?" Charles asks as he buckles his seatbelt.

"I don't know. I guess I didn't want to prove him right that it was a toxic relationship," you know you are lying to yourself, and Charles knows it too, but he accepts your answer.

Dinner runs smoothly as you and the Leclercs catch up, you effortlessly skirt around the topic of your ex. Later that night you sit outside, lost in thought. Arthur watches you for a couple minutes before moving to sit beside you. Both of you don't say a word. Artur wraps an arm around you and you rest your head on his shoulder. He notices your tear-stained cheeks but still doesn't say a word, electing to wait for you to take the initiative.

"We broke up," you whisper after a few minutes. Arthur still says nothing, the only way you know he heard it is because his hand gently rubs your shoulder.

“I feel like I'm finally free from being locked up. I shouldn't be this happy yet this sad," you say after another minute of silence.

"You were too good for him anyway, he didn't even like racing, so he didn't understand what an amazing person you are, and how lucky he was," Arthur doesn't quite say 'I told you so', but he does try to bolster you.

"I know. You have said as much in our letters," you can't help the small grin that forms. You and Arthur write to each other when you are in America, despite texting it is a fun way to talk. It's expressive, intimate, every word chosen carefully. Sometimes you sent him the latest poetry you wrote, a hobby you picked up while travelling, and othertimes it was mundane life updates.

A week later, you and Arthur attend an F1 driver's preseason party. You are thankful that you look good as the cameras flash when you and Arthur trail behind Charles. Arthur has an arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders.

A couple dances and drinks later, you find yourself leaning against a rail on one of the clubs outside patios. You don't smoke, but you have a recent habit of lighting a cigarette and letting it burn, watching the ashes fall onto the ledge. You gather the ashes and brush them off as the Max Verstappen approaches. Charles introduced you to him once, but you didn't get to talk much, even though you are in the Red Bull Junior Team.

"May I?" He pulls out a pack of cigarettes, you hand him your lighter. With a nod of thanks as you light the cigarette, he takes a drag.

"I didn't realize Formula One champions smoked," you break the ice.

"I didn't realize future Formula Three champions did too," Max gives you a small smile.

"I don't, I just watch them burn," you shrug, eyes searching for Arthur in the crowd.

"Then I don't need to worry about Charles saying I'm a bad influence on his future sister-in-law," Max chuckles and you blush.

"It's not that obvious, is it?" you look at the older driver who also turns to look at you.

"No, but you and Arthur have looked at each other like that for years, since I met you. Good luck in Prema, you have a lot of potential," Max compliments you, snuffing the cigarette and tossing it to the ground. You mutter a thanks before following him in, looking for Arthur. You find him chatting, a smile on his face, making the butterflies in your stomach more noticeable to you.

"Want to dance, Arthur?" you hold out your hand. He quickly excuses himself from the group and joins you on the dance floor.

Arthur watched as you'd disappear from the house to walk to the local park, probably to write poetry. Sometimes Arthur would join you, sitting beside you on the swings as you wrote. At night when the house was quiet, he'd sit beside you and read, or watch a movie, listen to music, anything to keep you going and healing before the F4 season. What Arthur didn't know was all those nights were what fueled the poetry you wrote the next day. You kept them in a shoebox, hidden in the closet in your bedroom in the Leclerc home.

As the season starts, you stand at the starting line with Arthur, ready to take on your first F3 free practice. Charles gave both of you some advice, but he trusted the two of you and Prema.

You and Arthur both do well over the weekend, placing highly and spending time in your respective development teams' garages.

Something changes after that, natural flirting and seeking each other out. Once night, sometime between Australia and Imola, you kiss. The tension and build up started when you arrived in the winter, and something between you snapped. The two of you are at the starting line of something great.

You and Arthur were walking along the beach when it happened, a full moon, empty beach, the mediterranean waves crashing gently on the shore. He held your hand gently as you walked, physical touch being more and more common between you too.

“I’m glad that your ex broke up with you,” Arthur says out of the blue. You whip your head around to look at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Arthur lets go of your hand.

“Because I can do this,” he whispers, bringing his hands up to cradle your face as he kisses you. You wrap your arms around his waist for stability and to bring him closer.

That moment changed everything. He’d wait for you to get back from late night runs with hot chocolate and a cuddle. When you traveled with Prema for races, the two of you were inseparable, and you found yourself in the Ferrari garage a lot more than a Red Bull driver should.

Despite Charles inviting the two of you out after the races, you and Arthur go out with your group of friends in F3.

“You are the American girl of my dreams,” Arthur tells you, lips close to your ear as you dance to the music.

“I love you,” you reply, “I think I always have,” Arthur pulls you impossibly closer to him, capturing you in a kiss.

“I love you too,” his smile brightens the dark club.

“Get a room you two,” your teammate yells at you. As Arthur drags you from the club, you make a silent promise to yourself that you won’t screw things up. Because maybe one day, you could see yourself marrying the Leclerc boy who looks at you like you are everything.

[fawnwilde]

Meet Me in the Pale Moonlight ✮⋆˙

kieran duffy x reader

rating: explicit (18+)

Spirits are high once Jack is returned from Bronte's capture, and the gang indulges in some much needed celebration.

But you're not looking to party. You just want to spend some time with the guy who's caught your eye, Kieran "not an O'driscoll" Duffy...

content warning: f reader, smut MDNI, friends to lovers, esteem issues, gentle sex, piv sex, cunnilingus, lots of feelings and also cum, filthy dirty, kieran deserved the world and also some pussy <\3

word count: 4.7k

The Van Der Londe gang had been engulfed in chaos ever since little Jack had been taken.

Abigail has been hysterical, John seems to have had his paternal instincts awoken, enraged that his child has been stolen from him. Dutch has been on a warpath, the others following him in his endeavours to return the little one.

All you can do is watch from the sidelines, a trusted member of the gang. A woman, but skilled with firearms and entrusted to keep the gang safe while the others search for the boy.

You spend your days protecting the others, and soothing your dear friend as she sobs for her son.

When Jack is finally brought home, the whole camp seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

You watched as Dutch rode in, followed by John and a thankfully right as rain Jack.

“I’m fine mama!” The little boy called as his father pulled him off the horse, babbling away about the food he ate.

He’s completely unaware and innocent to the reasons why he was gone, to the fear everyone felt.

The joy now that he’s home.

It brought a smile on everyone's faces when Abigail wrapped her boy in her arms, thanking the others profusely for bringing her son home.

Immediately spirits had been lifted, the gang had finally had a win after months of losing.

One could say it's certainly a call for celebration.

Underneath the stars, drinks are opened and music is played, every somber face now has a giddy, drunken smile on it.

The gang hasn't been this happy since Sean had been returned, god rest his soul.

You sit beside Arthur at the fire, pleasantly buzzing after a couple of beers, singing along with everyone else.

But your eyes keep straying across the clearing, where a certain man stands idly away from the group.

Kieran Duffy leans against a table, his own beer in between his fingers as he gently sways side to side to the tune of Javier’s guitar.

He hadn't joined the others around the campfire, which you understand. But it just makes you want to be over there with him instead.

Not that you didn't enjoy partaking in the parting, it's just that you would rather do… well, him.

You blush at the thought, clearing your throat as if everyone else could have possibly heard what's going on inside your head..

“I’m gonna get another drink.” You say to no-one in particular. Arthur smiles up at you, giving you a drunken salute.

As you walk away from the campfire, you’re almost drawn into a conversation with Hosea, a drinking game with Karen, and a dance with Uncle. All of which you politely refuse with promises of joining them later.

You’re a woman on a mission, making a beeline to the silly man of your dreams.

“Hey, Kieran.” You greet, causing the man to jump and turn to you, wide eyed.

He relaxes when he realises it's you, a blush on his cheeks as he gives you a smile, nervously gripping his beer in suddenly shaky hands.

“Evenin’, miss.”

“Why aren't you celebrating with everyone?” You ask, leaning on the table beside him, your elbow brushing with his.

Kieran stiffens but leans into you, his temple nearly touching yours with the close proximity. Far too close for two uninvolved people, but the drink has loosened both of your inhibitions.

“Ah, you know… thought I'd let you all have your celebration. No need for me to bother y’all.” He says softly, somberly even with a slight drunken lilt to his voice.

“You ain't bothering no-one.” You say, “Especially not me.”

Kieran ducks his head, but you can see a small smile on his face, and his cheeks not covered by his scruffy beard have gone red, visible even in the lowlight of the campfire.

You take a sip from your beer, admiring the scene of everyone else having fun.

It's nice to be a part of something so jovial, but you can't truly enjoy it if Kieran is left out.

“Come on.” You extend your hand, “It's too loud here, let's go for a walk.”

Kieran cheers up immediately, taking your hand. He follows you willingly, his fingers intertwined with yours as you pull him away from the noise, and around the Shady Belle house.

A little ways away from the camp, you find a nice enough clearing to spend time with Kieran.

The willow trees surround you both like a curtain of privacy,, but the moon shines through the partings of their branches. Long grass is underfoot, slightly damp with this morning's rain.

The noise of the party can still be heard, so you know you’re not too far.

But far enough that you can have some peace and quiet with the man who holds your heart, even though he doesn't know that yet.

The moon reflects off of the dew drops on the grass and you sway slightly, turning to Kieran to give him a smile, “Much better-”

You’re cut off by Kieran’s lips on yours.

A surprised noise escapes you, but you melt against him instantly. The kiss is hungry, desperate, lips moving and teeth clashing as Kieran puts all of his energy into it.

And you reciprocate it all, your fingers twisting into his blue shirt and pulling his body to you.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you, tipsy and happy while you lock lips beneath the moon.

All too quickly, however, it stops. Kieran takes a step back, looking at you with wide eyes like he himself is shocked by what he just did.

It’s adorable.

He starts stuttering out apologises, clearly horrified at his actions.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry.” Kieran whispers, looking away, “I just… really wanted to do that. B-but I shouldn't have just done that! Y-you can hit me now, if you want.”

You laugh, taking his face between your hands, soothing him and ceasing his anxious rambling.

“I ain't gonna hit you, silly. I might kiss you again, though.”

Kieran looks surprised, eyebrows furrowed as he stares at you with his jaw dropped, “...Huh?”

You chuckle, nudging your nose against his, “Would you like to kiss me again?”

“More than anything,” Kieran murmurs, “But… why do you want to kiss me?”

“Because I like you.”

“...Why?”

“Oh, Kieran.” You sigh, a smile remaining on your lips, though sadder now, “I wish you could see yourself how I see you.”

He just looks down at you, face held between your palms. His beard is coarse beneath your fingertips, his skin warm due to his flushed cheeks. He smells like cigarettes, beer and faintly of the distinctive smell of horse.

It's a scent that is so overtly Kieran, that you just want to bottle it up and keep it forever.

“How… Do you see me?” Kieran asks shyly as he looks away.

“Well for starters I think you are one of the kindest men I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.” You say earnestly.

Kieran chuckles, “I don't know about all that-”

“You’re polite with everyone here even when we don't deserve your niceties.” You continue, “The horses love you as much as you love them. You’re brave, though no-one else seems to see that. You’ve survived all the hardships life has thrown at you, and remained a good man through it all. You saved Arthur’s life, though you could have left him to the O’driscolls. You have the most beautiful eyes that I’ve ever seen-”

“Okay you can stop now.” Kieran laughs, the skin around his eyes crinkling, “You’re… I… see, I’m not as good with my words as you are.”

You giggle, bumping his forehead with his, “Do you like me as much as I like you?”

“More.” Kieran breathes, “Ever since I first saw you, up in Colter… god, it’s like you put a spell on me. “

This surprised you. You remember the day he was brought into camp. You had been talking to Hosea and Dutch when Arthur returned with an O’driscoll in tow.

You stood beside your fearless leader as he gave the prisoner a speech that you only half listened to.

Once Dutch had finished his spiel, the man's eyes turned to you. The fear you saw in them made you sad, and guilty. He looked less like a big, scary O’driscoll and more like a frightened street dog.

So you offered him a small smile, watching as his eyes softened slightly, despite being pulled away aggressively by Bill Williamson and Uncle.

Little did you know that that small act of kindness on your end had altered the trajectory of both of your lives.

“Every day has been worth living through just to see you whenever you pass.” Kieran continues, looking almost close to tears.

You hold his face harder, kissing his cheek to comfort him.

He sighs, his voice shaking, “When you first spoke to me… I could barely string a sentence together.”

The memory makes you smile, remembering the day he had been let free to roam after saving Arthur’s life.

You had been the one to pass him a bowl of stew, much to the chagrin of Pearson.

When you passed Kieran the bowl, his fingers brushed yours, and he had flushed bright red and stuttered out words that broadly resembled a “thank you.”

Ever since that day you had made an effort to give him the benefit of the doubt.

You spoke to him daily, sat with him when he was alone at the night watch campfire. Your feelings had grown for him rapidly, almost blindsiding you when you woke up one day realising-

‘Oh god, I’m in love with Kieran Duffy’

It had only taken you until now to find the courage to do something. The moods are high and the celebrations offer you privacy.

God only knows when you’re going to get this opportunity again.

“I love you, Kieran.”

Kieran freezes, his eyes meeting yours. He blinks at you, like he’s trying to translate those words in his head.

“You… love me?” He whispers.

“Yep.” You smile, “I love you, Kieran Duffy.”

Like the spark of a match, Kieran’s face lights up immediately. He steps closer to you and wraps his arms around your waist, his lips finding yours and kissing you fervently.

You wrap your arms around neck, fingers carding through the long hairs at the back of his neck.

“Wait.” He stops, stepping back and taking your hands in his own, his face earnest as he takes a deep breath, “I love you too, Y/N.”

“I gathered that.” You laugh.

Kieran beams further, stepping in your space again to resume kissing you.

The kiss grows hungry, neither of you willing to hide your mutual desire. Lips slide against the other, soft sighs and appreciative moans filling the air.

You bite his lower lip, earning a surprised yelp from him, before he opens his mouth, surrendering to your wandering tongue. As you explore, a wanton moan escapes Kieran, making you sigh with need.

Slipping your hands from his neck down to his hips, to push him gently. Kieran gets the message, sitting down on the grass, while you kneel with him.

Your knees bracket his thighs, not quite touching for fear of overwhelming your lover.

Kieran is needy though, and he grabs at your waist, pulling you flush against him so he can resume kissing you.

He’s eager, his tongue slipping into your own mouth now. It's messy and passionate, months of longing coming to an explosive end.

“God.. what are you doing to me?” Kieran sighs against your lips, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes, his hands kneading at your waist like a cat.

“I plan on doing a lot more to you, Mr Duffy.” You rasp, biting his lip and kissing along his jaw.

Kieran sighs contentedly, leaning back on his hands to extend his neck for you. You pepper kisses along the edge of his beard, following the lines of his throat.

A kiss to his pulse point makes Kieran shudder, a purr-like groan escaping him.

Your hands wander his torso as you kiss his neck and collar bones.

“Can I take your shirt off, Kieran?”

“Mhm, yes, please…” He whispers, practically shaking with anticipation.

His eagerness makes you even more desperate for him, your fingers working quickly to pull his blue shirt off his shoulders before working on his undershirt.

It's slipped off in record time, joining his shirt on the ground. You look over his torso admiringly.

He’s skinny, pale skin stretched across gentle curves of muscle from working tirelessly around camp. Dark hair dusts across his pectorals, a lone following his stomach and disappearing into his trousers.

Kieran holds his breath as you look him over, squirming slightly as he starts to feel self conscious. From his furrowed brow and slight frown, you can tell he’s worried you find him unattractive.

And that just won't do.

You lean forward to kiss his chest, right above his thudding heart. Kieran gasps at the feeling, settling back onto his hands again.

You trail kisses over his chest, going as far as to kiss one of his nipples. Kieran whimpers, before pressing his lips together to stop anymore of those embarrassing sounds.

“Nuh uh.” You chastise, “Don't hold back on me now, Duffy. I've waited too damn long to hear those noises for you to go quiet on me.”

Kieran blushes even brighter, but a tiny smile crosses his face.

You resume your worship of his chest, kissing down and following the line of hair down his sternum. Kieran writhes, fingers digging into the ground as he experiences sensations alien to him prior to this night.

You kiss the spot just above his belly button, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Kieran looks ready to spontaneously combust.

His hands find your shoulders, travelling down your arms and then grasping onto your waist, tugging at the material.

“Wanna see you.” Kieran whines, pulling at your dress with shaking hands, “Take this off, please.”

“Behave.” You chastise half-heartedly, hands already going to the ties at the back of your dress.

Once undone, you let the garment fall to your waist. Your chemise is old and practically see through, your breasts and hardened nipples on display for Kieran to admire.

He gasps when he sees them. You blush, fiddling with his belt absentmindedly. But your attention is distracted when Kieran raises his hands, hesitating and looking at you.

“Can I…?” He asks, always polite as he hovers his shaking hands over your boobs.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

The term of endearment seems to make your poor man flush even redder, his head ducking slightly before he regains some semblance of confidence. His hands reach out, gently grasping at your breasts.

You bite your lip, letting him fondle them with an awed expression. Kieran’s fingers smooth over the material of your chemise, rubbing over your heated skin and perked nipples.

“Never seen a pair of tits before?” You tease.

Kieran frowns, defensive, “I've had other things to do, you know…”

“I'm sorry baby.” You giggle, arching to press your breasts harder into his hands, “If it makes you feel better, you’ll have access to these ones as much as you like, for as long as you like.”

Kieran’s brain seems to go blank at this, his lips parted as he stares at your breasts like they’re simply the most amazing things he’s ever been in the presence of.

He looks up at you, wistful, “Really?”

“Yes, my darling.” You purr, “All of me is yours now.”

Kieran moans at that, leaning forward to press his face against your chest, taking shuddering breaths like he’s trying to control himself.

The man seems damn near close to finishing with every sentence you say.

It’s about time you get to the main event. There will be time for taking things slow later.

You twist your fingers in his hair, bringing his face up so you can kiss him again. While you do that, you undo his belt.

Kieran shudders, melting against you as you kiss him and begin to remove the last items of clothing he wears.

Once his belt is undone, you pull away from his lips. He tries to seek you out again, frowning before his attention is diverted to you tugging down his trousers.

You tug them down to his thighs, pulling off his shoes and socks as well, before removing the rest of his clothes.

A prominent bulge tents his undergarments, and you swiftly tug those down too, exposing his cock.

Your eyebrows raise, surprised to see he’s a little bigger than what you had originally seen while he was tied to the tree.

When Dutch pulled his trousers down and threatened to held him, he had been quite small.

But now he’s a decent size, not too big too hurt but definitely big enough to bring you pleasure. Flushed and weeping, and hard enough to damage steel.

“It does that.” Kieran says softly, causing you to look up at him, “Uh, you know, gets bigger when I’m enjoyin’ myself.”

“Well ain't I lucky?” You grin, and Kieran beams up at you.

You reach down, grabbing the bottom of your chemise to pull it over your head. Kieran's eyes fixate on your breasts. You shuffle slightly to tug your bloomers down as well, throwing it to the pile of yours and Kieran’s clothes.

Kieran rests his hands on your hips; fingers flexing as he lies down fully. He looks up at you with wide and eager eyes, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

You settle down against his thighs, his cock trapped between your bodies as you lean down to kiss him leisurely.

“You ready, darling?” You ask against his lips.

“Please, sweetheart. Need ya.” Kieran murmurs, pupils large and eyelids half closed as he looks over your face.

You reach down, finding his hard cock. Kieran inhales sharply at the feeling, a shuddered moan escaping you when he feels your heat brush against his weeping tip.

It takes one slow descent for your cunt to swallow him up, both of your hips meeting.

You release a satisfied groan at the fullness, closing your eyes for a moment to savour the feeling of Kieran filling you.

His cock throbs inside you, and you open your eyes to find Kieran watching you, his jaw slack and a dazed look in his blue eyes.

“So beautiful.” He whispers, “God- h-how are you so perfect…”

“My love…” You sigh, grinding on his lap to provide you both with the friction you desperately need

Kieran shudders and groans, hips bucking slightly.

“Ready?” You ask him again, needing to know he’s okay, seeing as he looks like he’s close to passing out from the pleasure.

“Mhm.” He whines out.

You rise, letting only the tip of him remain before sliding back down.

Before long, you’ve found a rhythm, riding Kieran slowly to get both of you used to the feeling. With every rise and fall, Kieran gasps and moans whorishly, his neck arched back and eyes fluttered closed.

The sight is vulgar, watching the man you’ve grown to love succumb to the pleasure you can provide.

You ride him faster, harder, seeking out the whines Kieran begins to make. His fingers grip on to your hips, short fingernails making crescent shaped marks in your plush flesh.

A sharp thrust downwards makes Kieran gasp out, chest rising and falling rapidly, squirming below you as you begin to ride him vigorously..

“Hngh, fuck, feels so go-od!” Kieran whines, hips bucking up, “Don’t stop- oh fuck-!”

You moan, bouncing harder on his cock as he meets your thrusts.

His cock begins pulsing inside you, a fluttering heartbeat, and Kieran begins shaking. His moans increase in volume, his eyes rolling back.

You feel your own orgasm growing, riding him rapidly as you seek your release.

But a choked out curse from Kieran makes you realise this isn't going to last long enough.

“Wa-it, shit- I-I’m gonna-” He warns.

You gasp when Kieran moans and thrusts up, hips flush against yours as his face contorts. Warmth floods your insides as he cums inside you.

Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.

A small smile curves on your face, finding his cute face endearing as he murmurs out incoherent praises as his cock throbs.

His orgasm seems to last ages, his cock pumping for a few moments until Kieran’s cum leaks out of you. You rub your hands over his chest, comforting as he shakes and moans softly.

It takes a while for him to come back to himself.

Suddenly, Kieran’s eyes open and his face falls, looking up at you with a suddenly mortified expression, blue eyes hazy.

“Oh- I-I’m so sorry, you didn’t…” He sighs, looking away and to the side, “I’m so sorry-”

“Don't be.” You comfort him, bringing your hands from his chest to his face, leaning forward to kiss his cheek gently, “I'm glad I could make you feel so good.”

“You did.” Kieran nods enthusiastically, nuzzling against you, “I've never felt so damn good…”

Kissing along his cheeks, you rise, feeling his softening cock slip out of you.

Kieran whimpers as the cold air hits him, and both of your eyes widen when you see the copious amounts of cum that leaks from you. It floods down your thighs and over his spent cock, making quite a mess on both of you.

“Damn. You were pent up.” You chuckle, running your hands over his chest.

Kieran stares at the mess, before looking up at you with a shy yet eager expression, “C-can I…?”

“What, baby?”

“Can I clean y-you up?”

You nod, though confused, “If you want to.”

Kieran begins moving, and you collapse back against the grass with your eyes closed. It's a shame you didn't finish, but after seeing Kieran in such a state of euphoria, you couldn't really complain.

You hear Kieran shuffling around, and you let your legs fall open so he can clean you up.

“You can use my chemise to clean- oh!”

You gasp and your eyes open when you feel Kieran lick along your thigh.

He looks up at you, eyes wide and puppy-like as he begins licking your cum stained thighs.

“I didn't- I didn't know this is what you meant.” You murmur, enamoured by the sight of him between your legs.

“I’m sorry, should I stop?” Kieran asks, worried, “I heard how it feels good when guys use their mouths on their ladies, I thought-”

“Please don't stop, baby.” You urge him, spreading your legs further to encourage him.

He smiles, lying on his belly as he wraps his arms around your thighs, returning to his task.

Running his tongue over your inner thighs, Kieran licks up his spend passionately. He cleans your skin and leaves kisses in his wake, before dragging his tongue up to your cunt.

He looks up at you for permission, and you nod quickly, taking shuddering breaths.

Kieran dives in, licking a stripe from your hole to your clit, sucking on it fervently.

You devolve into moans, back arching as he begins eating you out messily and uncoordinated, fueled by pure desire and the need to make you feel good.

And it sure does make you feel good.

Sparks of pleasure coarse through you as Kieran fucks his tongue into you, drinking up his own release and moaning when he tastes you as well.

Because of how close to were before, you feel your orgasm creeping up on you quickly.

Kieran whines against your cunt, mouthing away at it as his eyes watch your face. The way he moans against you, you would think he was the one being pleasured.

You can feel your body being pushed forwards and backwards against the grass, and you look down to see Kieran pathetically rutting against the ground, trying to get some stimulation as he presses his face against your intimacy.

It has you cumming, and Kieran drinks up your release with an appreciative whine, eating you up eagerly until you’re worried you’ll be licked dry.

It feels too good to care, though.

He keeps eating you, and you wonder if he would be happy just lying her on his belly mouthing at you until the end of time.

But you want him inside you again.

“C-come up here baby.” You say, pulling him away from between your legs.

Kieran scrambles up, pressing his whole body against you as he urgently kisses you again, sloppy and desperate. You can taste yourself on his lips, and his scruffy beard is wet with your release.

He thrusts against your hip, blind to where his target is as he focuses on kissing you. You laugh against his lips, drawing your knees up to try to help him find your entrance.

Kieran refuses to separate his skin from yours for even a second, nudging at your cheek as he rubs his cock against your thigh.

“Can you put me in, please?” He asks, sweet voice raspy and shaking.

You reach down, finding his member and directing it against your entrance, and Kieran bucks the tip in. Without wasting a beat, he pushes forward.

“Ohh… yes…” Kieran breathes out, hands fisting into the grass as he pulls out and pushes back in fast, forcing a moan out your throat.

He smiles at the noise, repeating the action over and over again to keep extracting noise from you,

“You sound so pretty.” Kieran murmurs, awed as he watches your face.

You moan out, locking your thighs against his waist to encourage him, and Kieran gets the hint. He increases his thrusts, fucking into you wildly as he watched your face.

His eyebrows are furrowed, mouth open as he takes sharp breaths, eyes trained on your own blissed out expression.

“Does- does that feel good?” He breathes out, keeping the fast pace of his hips.

“Yes!” You call out, feeling him hitting the spot inside you that makes you see stars, “Don’t stop Kieran! Feels so good!”

Reaching down, you play with your clit, tightening around the man inside you.

Kieran moans, throwing his head back as he fucks you faster and harder, “S-say my name again… please, say my name-”

“Kieran! Oh god, Kieran!” You cry out, shaking as your orgasm crashes over you.

You shudder and shake, wrapping your arms around Kieran’s neck as he moans and his thrusts turn sloppy.

“Come on baby, cum for me.” You breathe, “Cum inside me Kieran, fill me up, show me how much you love me.”

“I love you! I love you so mu-ch! Oh yes, oh-” Kieran cries out, collapsing against you as he cums inside you for the second time. His skin is sweaty as you wrap your arms around his back, soothing him as he weakly thrusts a few more times to prolong the feeling.

After a moment, he moves to lie down beside you,kissing your shoulder as he murmurs out praises, telling you how much he loves you.

You look up at the moon, carding your fingers through his hair.

“I love you too, Kieran Duffy.”

Kieran rests his head on your chest, holding you close as you stroke his hair. Your sweaty bodies are pressed against one another, uncaring of your nakedness as you bask in the afterglow.

A twig snaps in the distance, and an owl hoots.

You’re suddenly on edge, a flash of concern going through you as you turn to look at the trees.

A flash of movement makes you furrow your brows, urging kieran up. He gets up sleepily, a dopey smile on his face as you dress the both of you and take his hand.

The camp had gone quiet as you return, and you make your way to your tent without issue.

Kieran falls asleep immediately, but you stand at the doorway, trying to see what was lingering in the swamps.

A shadow moves.

The moonlight reflects green.

In the early hours of the morning, you lie beside Kieran. You kept awake as he slept soundly cuddled up to you, your pistol in your hand.

You could have sworn an o'driscoll was hiding in the woods, hunting your man. And that just won't do.

Ain’t nobody gonna take him from you now that you have him.

AN/ saving kieran by giving him some pussy (doing what rockstar couldnt) this was filthy! i meant to post this a couple of days ago, but i wasn't happy with it and changed it lol xx

@spimderman & @gotthecosmonaut for my kieran lovers <3

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 8: October 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: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families...I think that's it?

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

Max wasn’t someone who forgot how to be an adult.

He was a World Champion. He kept a strict training regimen, remembered which hand luggage worked best for long-haul flights, and could navigate a grid penalty strategy like it was second nature. He wasn’t helpless—not at the track, not at home.

But still, there was something quietly astonishing about how easy his life had become since Isabelle moved in.

It started off small.

After the first race weekend they spent apart post-move, he came home expecting the usual chaos—half-unpacked suitcase, laundry to do, a fridge with maybe one sad yogurt and some questionable cheese.

Instead?

His suitcase was already unpacked. Laundry sorted and in the wash. There was a folded stack of clean gym clothes on the bed, and a small sticky note on the bathroom mirror in Isabelle’s tidy handwriting:

Welcome home. You did great. There’s soup in the fridge and the cats missed you.

He’d blinked at it for a solid minute before laughing quietly and thinking, Huh. That’s new.

But it didn’t stop there. 

By the third race weekend, it had become a rhythm. The fridge was magically stocked with all the foods he craved after long travel days—cut mango, chocolate granola, oat milk, the fancy yogurt he’d once mentioned liking. 

His sim racing gear? Charged and ready before he even thought to use it. A small corner of the closet had somehow become better organized than Red Bull’s race strategy board.

She started refilling his supplements without saying a word. She pre-scheduled his haircuts, left Post-Its on the mirror when he needed to sign something for the team, and quietly placed noise-canceling earplugs in his carry-on.

And she worked. Isabelle had a full-time job. Not a desk job where she could casually scroll through her phone or delegate her way through the day—she was an architect, doing interiors, managing clients, deadlines, contractors. Max had seen her calendar. It looked like someone had lost a game of Tetris.

And somehow—somehow—she still remembered to order new toothpaste before they ran out. Or add his vitamins to the grocery list. Or restock the snack drawer in his sim room without ever saying a word.

It wasn’t flashy. She didn’t make announcements about it. She just did it, quietly and efficiently, like she always had.

It wasn’t until Max found himself halfway through folding his laundry before realizing he hadn’t had to fold laundry in over a month that the realization hit him fully:

Isabelle had spent most of her life running in the background of other people’s chaos.

He’d seen it before, on the edges of Leclerc family race weekends. Isabelle, the sister who stayed back to make sure Arthur had the right tie packed, or that Charles had signed the right forms. The one who found a florist for Lorenzo thirty minutes before an event, or remembered which water bottle brand their mother liked for travel.

She had always been the quiet buffer.

The fixer.

The forgotten problem-solver.

And now… she was doing it for him.

Not because he expected it. He didn’t. He’d told her repeatedly he could handle himself. But Isabelle wasn’t someone who waited to be asked. She anticipated, gently rearranged the world around her people, and made their lives easier before they even noticed they were stressed.

He found her that night curled up on the sofa, hair damp from the shower, laptop open with her architectural renders glowing softly against her face. She was eating grapes and typing one-handed, her legs tucked under her like always.

“You know,” Max said, dropping onto the couch beside her, “I haven’t had to do a single thing since I got home.”

Isabelle didn’t look up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… I haven’t done laundry. My flights are in my calendar. My snack drawer is mysteriously refilled. I have socks again. And coffee. And peace.”

She blinked, paused her typing, and smiled. “It’s really not that much.”

“It is,” Max said gently. “You work ten hours a day and somehow still run this apartment like it’s an F1 garage. I don’t know how you do it.”

She shrugged a little, looking sheepish. “I like doing it. I like making things easier for the people I love.” 

“Do your brothers ever thank you?”

She hesitated. “I don’t think they realize half of what I do,” she admitted drily. 

Max nodded slowly. “Well, I notice. Every little thing. You don’t have to do it all, but when you do… I see it. And I’m grateful. Really.”

Her smile wavered just a little, like something fragile cracked open inside her chest.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I… I’m not used to hearing that.”

Max pulled her laptop from her lap, set it gently on the coffee table, and tugged her into his arms.

Max cupped her cheek, thumb brushing just under her eye. “I see it now. All of it. Every time you notice something before I do. Every time you put something away or refill something I didn’t even realize was empty. You’ve made this place feel like home.”

She smiled softly. “That’s what love is, isn’t it?”

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo) 

Arthur: I’M SCREWED.

Lorenzo: Again?

Charles: What now?

Arthur: I FORGOT MY ANNIVERSARY.

Charles: …

Lorenzo: …

Charles: You absolute moron.

Lorenzo: You have ONE job.

Arthur: HELP ME.

Charles: Help you??? Maybe try remembering important dates next time?

Lorenzo: Yeah, I don’t really see how this is our problem.

Arthur: ISABELLE. SAVE ME.

Isabelle: What kind of dinner does she like?

Arthur: She likes Italian? And wine? And… romantic lighting?

Isabelle: …Do you know anything about your girlfriend?

Arthur: I KNOW I LOVE HER AND I DON’T WANT HER TO DUMP ME.

Isabelle: Right. I’ll take care of it.

Arthur: YOU’RE A HERO.

(20 minutes later)

Isabelle: You have a reservation at La Chèvre d'Or at 8 PM. I also ordered that perfume she keeps in her bag and had it gift-wrapped. It’ll be at your place in an hour.

Lorenzo: Oh, while you’re at it, what should I get my girlfriend for her birthday?

Isabelle: Jewelry. She’s been eyeing those gold earrings from Cartier.

Lorenzo: You’re actually a genius.

(Several hours later)

Isabelle: You’re welcome, by the way.

Arthur: Huh?

Lorenzo: For what?

***

Max was still buzzing with adrenaline when he finally stepped into his apartment, championship celebrations still ringing in his ears. The moment he closed the door behind him, silence settled over him like a warm blanket, the contrast almost jarring after the chaos of the paddock.

And then he saw her.

Isabelle was curled up on the couch, one of the cats nestled beside her, a book resting open in her lap. She must’ve heard him come in because she looked up immediately, her expression softening.

“Hey,” she said, setting the book aside. “How does it feel?”

Max huffed out a breath, toeing off his shoes and crossing the room in a few quick steps. “Like I need you,” he muttered, dropping onto the couch beside her and pulling her into his arms.

She let out a quiet laugh but didn’t resist, settling against his chest as his arms tightened around her. “That exhausting, huh?”

He buried his face in her shoulder. “So many people. So much noise. This is better.”

Her fingers threaded through his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “You did just win your third world title. Kind of a big deal.”

He smirked against her skin. “Mm. They wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“Annoying, really,” she teased.

He pulled back just enough to look at her. The soft glow from the nearby lamp illuminated her features, her eyes filled with something quiet and fond.

“You should’ve been there,” he murmured, brushing his fingers along her jaw.

She sighed, shaking her head. “You know why I wasn’t.”

He did. She wasn’t ready for the cameras, the attention, the inevitable questions. And he would never push her into something she wasn’t comfortable with.

But fuck, he wished she had been there.

Still, she had waited up for him. She was here. That was enough.

His thumb traced slow circles over her hip as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You watched?”

“Of course.” She smiled. “You were incredible.”

His chest tightened at the quiet sincerity in her voice. He’d spent the entire night surrounded by people telling him how great he was, how historic his achievement was. But this—hearing it from her—meant more than any of it.

He let out a long breath, finally starting to feel the exhaustion creeping in. “Come to bed with me?”

She nodded, taking his hand as they stood. As they made their way toward the bedroom, one of the cats darted ahead of them, already claiming Max’s pillow.

Isabelle laughed. “Looks like you’re not the only champion in this house.”

Max just smiled, pulling her close again as they climbed into bed. “Doesn’t matter. I already have everything I want.”

They settled into bed, limbs tangled, warmth shared beneath soft blankets. The city was quiet outside the windows. The adrenaline was finally ebbing.

And then, just as the stillness settled, Isabelle spoke.

“You never ask,” she said quietly.

“Ask what?”

“Why I haven’t told them.”

She didn’t have to specify who them was.

Max exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. It wasn’t that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. He had wondered—more than once—why she still kept their relationship a secret, why she hadn’t told her brothers, her mother, anyone. But he had never pushed.

“Do you want to tell them?” he asked carefully.

Isabelle was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, she looked up at him, her gaze steady.

“No.”

Max blinked. That wasn’t the answer he had been expecting.

She sighed, shifting so she was facing him fully. “It’s not because I’m ashamed of you. Or because I don’t care.” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s because you’re important to me.”

His breath hitched slightly, but he stayed quiet, letting her continue.

“My whole life, I’ve felt like I had to fight to be noticed. To be heard. And with my family, it’s always been about Charles. About Arthur. About Lorenzo. I love them, but—sometimes, it feels like I’m just a shadow in their lives.” She swallowed. “I didn’t want you to be part of that. I didn’t want us to become something that gets brushed aside, just another footnote in their world.”

Max’s jaw tightened. He had seen the way her family overlooked her, how they spoke over her, how they forgot things that should have mattered. And now, hearing it from her directly, it made something inside him ache.

“So you kept us just for you,” he murmured.

She nodded. “Just for me.”

Max reached out, his fingers threading through hers. “I don’t mind,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “If you want to wait. Whatever you decide—I just want to be with you.”

She squeezed his hand, and he lifted it to press a kiss against her knuckles, his lips lingering there for a moment.

“I hope you know,” he added quietly, “that you’ll never be a shadow to me.”

A small, wobbly smile tugged at her lips, and she leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“I know,” she whispered.

Max let the words settle between them, his grip on Isabelle’s hand firm but gentle. He could feel the warmth of her fingers, the slight tremble she tried to hide. He had never truly understood what it felt like to be overlooked—his entire life had been under a spotlight, from karting to Formula 1. But Isabelle? She had spent years fading into the background of her own family’s story.

And yet, here she was, choosing to keep him separate from all of that. Not because she was hiding him, but because she wanted something that was only hers.

He squeezed her hand lightly. “You know,” he said, voice softer than usual, “I’d never let them brush you aside. If they knew about us.”

She let out a quiet breath, her eyes flickering down to where their hands were intertwined. “I know,” she admitted. “But that’s not what I’m afraid of.”

Max frowned. “Then what is it?”

She hesitated, then sat up a little straighter, pulling one knee up to her chest. “If I tell them about us,” she said slowly, “it changes things. Not just for me, but for you. For us.” She exhaled. “Suddenly, I won’t just be Isabelle anymore. I’ll be ‘Max Verstappen’s girlfriend.’ And to them, that will mean something.”

He stayed quiet, letting her put her thoughts into words.

“They’ll look at me differently. Maybe they’ll suddenly start paying attention, maybe they’ll act like I matter more just because you matter. And I don’t want that.” Her voice wavered slightly, but she pushed forward. “I don’t want their attention just because of who I’m with. I want them to see me.”

Max felt something twist in his chest. He had never thought of it like that. To him, she had always been important. But her family? They had overlooked her for so long, and she didn’t want their sudden interest to be because of him.

“You think they’d only start noticing you because of my name,” he said quietly.

Isabelle gave him a small, sad smile. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s only cared because of who you are.”

That stung. Because she was right. He had seen it time and time again—people wanting to be close to him because of what he could offer, not because of who he was. The idea that her own family might finally pay attention to her for the same reason made his jaw tighten.

“Belle.” He turned to face her fully, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I don’t care how long we keep this just between us. But don’t ever think for a second that I don’t see you. That I don’t love you for exactly who you are.”

Her breath caught, and he saw the way her eyes widened slightly. He hadn’t said it before—not like this. Maybe he should have waited for a different moment, something more planned, more perfect. But she deserved to hear it now.

She swallowed hard. “Max.”

“I mean it,” he said, his voice steady. “I love you, Isabelle. And it has nothing to do with your last name, or your family, or anything else. Just you.”

Her lips parted slightly, and for a moment, she just looked at him—like she was trying to memorize him, like she was searching for any trace of hesitation. She wouldn’t find any.

Then, finally, she let out a shaky breath and leaned in, pressing her forehead against his. “I love you too,” she whispered, so soft he almost didn’t hear it.

But he did. And that was all that mattered.

***

The shift had started quietly.

Snide comments. Backhanded compliments. Passive exclusion from group meetings she used to lead. Isabelle’s project folders were “misplaced,” her samples “forgotten,” and her renderings were somehow always “accidentally deleted.”

But by now it was blatant.

Last week, she’d walked into the break room and found her concept sketches tossed into the trash beside half-eaten croissants.

Today, someone had keyed in over her CAD file—over it, not on a copy—and added a caption across the top of the screen in bold red text:

“Thanks, nepotism. We’ll take it from here.”

Isabelle stared at it for a long time, her stomach turning.

The worst part was that no one tried to hide it anymore.

When she glanced around the office, no one made eye contact. No one looked guilty. They just went on with their day like she was background noise.

Like she hadn’t worked twice as hard. Stayed twice as late. Fought for every inch of credibility.

 Like Max’s penthouse had erased everything she’d ever done before it.

She backed away from her desk, air thick in her lungs, and walked straight to the glass-enclosed materials library. Closed the door. Pressed her back against it.

Breathed.

You live in peace, she reminded herself. You wake up next to Max. This doesn’t get to break you.

But it did hurt.

She didn’t cry—she wouldn’t give them that. But her throat ached with all the things she couldn’t say.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Okay I’m officially done. I just had the worst day and I need to get out of my own head.

Emilie:  What happened?? Are you okay?

Isabelle: Just… work stuff. People not listening. Clients who think Pinterest means they’re architects now. And my colleague took credit for something I spent three weeks on.

Emilie: I will start swinging.

Isabelle: Please do. Preferably with one of those cartoonishly large handbags.

Emilie: Already packed one. Where are we going?

Isabelle: Let’s go shopping this afternoon? I still haven’t bought birthday presents for Charles and Arthur, and if I stay in this office any longer I’ll start crying over the wrong throw pillow.

Emilie: Say no more. I’ll pick you up in 30. You can buy emotionally motivated gifts and I can be your moral support/human espresso.

Isabelle: You’re my favorite person.

Emilie: I know. And I’m dragging you to get cake after. No arguments.

***

Alexandra had only come in to browse.

The gallery had been quiet all morning, the kind of rainy-day lull that left her restless, so she’d taken a walk, turned a corner, and ducked into a tucked-away boutique that specialized in little luxuries—silk scarves, handmade ceramics, niche perfumes. The kind of place you didn’t go to with intention, just curiosity.

She was halfway to a display of glass jewelry trays when she heard a familiar voice.

“Alex?” 

She turned—and blinked.

“Emilie?”

The other woman—sleek dark coat, sunglasses perched in her hair, a woven tote filled with rolled linen and a jar of fig jam—smiled.

“I thought that was you,” Emilie said, her voice warm but always laced with sharpness, like she couldn’t quite switch off the part of her brain that was evaluating everyone in the room. “It’s been a while.”

Alexandra smiled. “Yeah, since the preview at the gallery. You were with that collector from Paris.”

“He’s still deciding between three paintings he can’t afford,” Emilie said dryly. “But I’m sure he’ll make a confident choice any day now.”

They both laughed.

And then Alexandra’s eyes shifted—to the person standing just behind Emilie, holding a pale blue shopping bag and smiling politely.

Next to her stood Isabelle.

And that—that was the part Alexandra didn’t quite expect.

Because Isabelle Leclerc, as Alexandra knew her, was quiet. Sweet, yes. Polite, yes. But always a little faded at the edges. Always deferring. Always on the outside, even when she was technically inside the room. Always smiling without saying much.

But here—standing next to Emilie, twirling a delicate silver ring between her fingers, visibly debating whether to buy it—Isabelle looked alive.

Her cheeks were pink. She was smiling, not the polite, folded sort of smile Alexandra knew, but something real. Something that reached her eyes. Her body language was open. Confident.

And Emilie was watching her like she’d personally fight anyone who dimmed that light again.

“Hi, Isabelle.”

“Hey, Alex. How are you?” Her voice was as warm as ever. Kind, even. That was the thing about Isabelle—she was never unkind. Always soft-spoken, always thoughtful. Alex couldn’t remember her ever being cold or rude.

And yet… she realized with a flicker of guilt, she didn’t know a single personal thing about her. Not really.

“I’m good,” Alexandra said, hesitating. She wasn’t sure how long to linger. But Emilie stepped aside slightly, making room, and something about the way she did it—reluctantly welcoming—made Alexandra stay.

“You two shopping for anything in particular?” she asked.

Isabelle tilted her head. “A birthday gift. Possibly. Unless I end up keeping it for myself.”

“She’s been buying presents for everyone but herself,” Emilie said dryly. “As per usual.”

“I’m selective,” Isabelle said mildly.

“No, you’re selfless,” Emilie corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Alexandra watched the exchange, slightly stunned. There was an ease between them, a quiet rhythm. They spoke in a way that implied history. Real closeness. It made Isabelle seem... whole, somehow. Grounded.

Alexandra suddenly felt like she’d only ever seen the outline of a person.

“You’re really good at presents,” she said after a pause. “Honestly, I was just thinking about what to get Charles, and I have no idea. You always find the perfect thing.”

Isabelle blinked in surprise. “Oh—thank you. I just try to think about what makes people feel like they’ve been seen.”

“She’s too good,” Emilie said. “It’s genuinely annoying. I once said I liked the color of a book cover and two months later it showed up wrapped in silk ribbon with a handwritten note and a matching bookmark.”

Isabelle flushed slightly. “You needed cheering up.”

“She’s the personal shopper of the entire Leclerc family,” Emilie said flatly, reaching for a small candle. “Has been since she was old enough to know how to wrap a box. Half the birthday gifts your boyfriend has ever given were probably vetted or bought by her.”

Alexandra blinked. “Really?”

Isabelle looked embarrassed. “Sometimes they ask for help.”

Emilie raised an eyebrow. “Isabelle picked out Arthur’s last three girlfriend gifts and Pascale’s Christmas gift for the last 10 years.”

Alexandra laughed, but something about Emilie’s tone lingered.

Not unkind. Just sharp enough to say: Yes, Isabelle is good. And yes, they take her for granted.

It was the sort of thing Alexandra might have thought herself—but would never have said out loud.

“I’m very good at keeping secrets,” Isabelle said lightly.

Alexandra felt something twist in her chest.

She hadn’t known that. She’d never thought to ask.

She’d always liked Isabelle. Truly. Isabelle was kind, warm, undemanding. But also... elusive. Hard to reach. Like there was a door half-closed between them, and Alexandra had never known how to knock.

The three of them wandered through the boutique a little longer. Isabelle offered two suggestions for Charles—one sleek, one sentimental—and Alexandra made a note of both.

And then, as they paused by a shelf of men’s shirts in soft cotton and subtle patterns, Isabelle’s hand brushed one.

Alexandra watched her hesitate over it—thoughtful, considering—before she gently placed it back.

“For Charles?” Alex asked, puzzled.

Isabelle looked over, surprised. “What? Oh—no. Just a nice cut. The collar’s clean.”

And for a flicker of a second, something tugged at Alexandra—some thread she couldn’t quite pull free.

There was something else here. Something under the surface. And now that she’d seen it—how Isabelle lit up beside Emilie, how open she seemed in the right company—Alex couldn’t unsee it.

She’d always thought Isabelle was just shy. Or private. Or soft in that way people could overlook.

Now she wondered if Isabelle was simply guarded.

And Alex, for the first time, found herself wondering what it would take to really know Isabelle Leclerc.

Because she was starting to think—quietly, uneasily—that her boyfriend’s sister was not at all the girl they all assumed she was.

***

Text Messages: Alexandra Saint Mleux & Charles Leclerc

Alexandra: Just ran into your sister. In a boutique in the 6th.

Charles: Oh yeah? What was she doing?

Alexandra: Shopping.  Birthday presents, apparently. But Isabelle looked… different.

Charles: Different how?

Alexandra: Happy. Confident. Like… I don’t know. Not the version of her I usually see at family stuff. She was laughing. Really laughing.

Charles: She’s always laughing.  

Alexandra: Not like this, Mon amour.

Alexandra:  Do you think she’s seeing someone?

Charles:  What?

Alexandra:  I’m serious.

Charles: Yeah, no way.

Alexandra: Are you sure?

Charles: She would have mentioned it. 

Charles: Trust me, it’s not happening.

Alexandra: So confident about that, huh?

Charles: I’d know if she had a boyfriend. And she doesn’t.

***

Instagram Stories -@/isabelleleclerc

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/f1chaosupdates GUYS WHY DID ISABELLE LECLERC POST A CAT SINCE WHEN DOES SHE HAVE A CAT???

[Attached: Isabelle's story — a photo of a cat’s paw]

@/paddocktheories:  okay but like this cat looks suspiciously like it could be max verstappen’s cats sassy or jimmy reincarnated

@/wheresmygrid:  STOP I THOUGHT THE SAME THING

@/gridgoblins:  Wait wait wait what if it IS Sassy or Jimmy and she’s just at Max’s place 👀👀👀

@/redbullstan4life: This is literally a picture of a cat’s paw. It could belong to a thousand other cats. It doesn’t even need to be a Bengal!

@/charlesdefensesquad:  isabelle posting a cat and everyone immediately connecting it to max’s cats is so funny.  the girl can’t even post her own furniture without y’all screaming “VERSTAPPEN???”

@/gossipgridf1:  i will be NORMAL about this… except no because that cat 100% looks like Jimmy or Sassy

@/monaco_mess:  to be fair if i was secretly dating max verstappen i too would post soft pictures of his cats like a declaration of love

@/oscarstan22:  everyone in the comments like 🕵️‍♀️ enhance 🕵️‍♀️ zoom 🕵️‍♀️ cross-reference sassy and jimmy’s stripe patterns

@/gofasterbaby:  if it IS sassy or jimmy and isabelle is just chilling with them…. that’s basically a marriage announcement in Verstappen family terms

***

Oscar Piastri didn’t think grocery shopping could be stressful.

Until Monaco.

Until Monegasque grocery stores, specifically, which didn’t believe in helpful signage, organization, or—apparently—labels with pictures.

Oscar just wanted cheese.

That was it. Cheese. Maybe some pasta. Possibly bread if he was feeling adventurous.

But standing in the middle of a charmingly cramped French grocery store, blinking at six nearly identical wedges of something called tomme de brebis and a handwritten sign that might have been a threat—or a discount—he was beginning to spiral.

He’d committed to doing this errand without help. Without Google Translate. Without texting his girlfriend.

He was trying to be independent.

But now the shop owner was hovering, and Oscar had been standing in the cheese aisle for nine minutes, and he was starting to feel judged by a 72-year-old woman with a very intense stare.

And then—

“Do you need help?” a soft voice asked beside him.

Oscar blinked, turning to find a woman about his age, brown hair twisted back, a linen tote on one shoulder, expression kind.

“I’m sorry?”

She smiled, switching to English immediately. “You’ve been staring at the cheese like it owes you money. I figured you might be lost.”

Oscar exhaled in relief. “I am, actually. I don’t know what any of this is.”

She stepped forward and scanned the shelf. “That one’s sheep’s milk—really good, a bit nutty. That one’s stronger, aged, smells like feet but tastes amazing if you like that sort of thing.”

Oscar stared at her, impressed. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“I live around the corner,” she said. “And I’ve made every grocery mistake there is.”

He laughed, properly now. “Thanks. That helps a lot.”

She smiled again—polite, gentle, unassuming.

There was something… familiar about her. 

Not in a hey-we’ve-met way. But in the I-know-that-face-from-somewhere way.

Soft brown hair, loosely braided. Pretty green eyes. Very Monaco. Very… vaguely connected to something in his brain.

Oscar hesitated. “Do I… know you?”

A flicker of amusement crossed her face. “Probably not. I mean—we’ve technically met. But you probably wouldn’t remember.”

Oscar narrowed his eyes. And then—lightbulb.

“You look like—” He blinked. “Oh. Wait. You’re Charles’ sister.”

Her smile faltered for just a second. “Yes. Among other things.”

“Right,” he said, suddenly feeling awkward. “I didn’t recognize you outside the paddock.”

“It’s okay,” she said, grabbing a carton of eggs with practiced precision. “I usually disappear into the background there.”

“They didn’t have the peach one. So I got apricot instead,” Came a voice behind Isabelle. 

Oscar looked up to see none other but Max Verstappen. 

“Perfect,” Isabelle said brightly. 

Oscar could just stare. 

“Oscar,” Max greeted him like it was a normal day. Like he wasn’t currently grocery shopping with Charles Leclerc’s sister. 

“…Hi,” Oscar managed, eyes pinging between them. “I—uh. Hey.”

Max moved to toss something else into Isabelle’s cart—like this was normal. Like they hadn’t just revealed themselves as Monaco’s most covert domestic power couple in front of the yogurt aisle.

“Groceries?” Max asked, like that was the confusing part of this moment.

“I—yeah,” Oscar said, holding up his sheep cheese wedge like it was a peace offering. “You guys are… together?”

Max looked over his shoulder. “Shopping?”

Oscar blinked. “No, I mean… like. Together.”

Isabelle flushed slightly but didn’t deny it. Just tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and said, “For a while now.”

Oscar stared. “Like. Secretly?”

Max shrugged. “Privately.”

“That’s the same thing,” Oscar said.

Max looked unbothered. “Is it?”

“I thought you two barely talked,” he said, still trying to catch up.

“We don’t. Publicly,” Max said.

Oscar opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Does Charles know?”

Max shot him a look that said absolutely not.

Isabelle just gave a small smile and added, “Please don’t tell him.”

Oscar held up both hands. “I’ve never kept a secret faster in my life.”

Max nodded approvingly. “Good.” Then, off handedly. “Lando knows. Danny does too.”

“Cool,” Oscar said. Then: “I’m gonna go… buy cheese and rethink everything I know.”

Max gave him a thumbs-up. “See you at the track.”

Oscar wandered away in stunned silence, still clutching his cheese like a lifeline, already trying to figure out how he of all people became the latest keeper of Verstappen-Leclerc classified information.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris and Daniel Ricciardo)

Oscar: I just ran into Max Verstappen and Isabelle Leclerc in a grocery store.

Oscar: Help me. 

Lando: oh yeah? how was monaco’s finest domestic couple?

Oscar: I thought I hallucinated it at first

Oscar:  I looked up and Max was holding her jam

Oscar:  and then he put it in her cart

Lando: 🥹 precious

Oscar: HE KNEW WHAT KIND OF JAM SHE LIKED LANDO—HE SAID “THEY DIDN’T HAVE THE PEACH, SO I GOT APRICOT” WHAT DOES THAT MEAN

Daniel: It means they’re in love and hiding it from Charles. 

Lando:  welcome to hell.

Oscar: How can Charles not know.

Lando: he’s oblivious. like truly, impressively blind

Oscar: When Charles finds out we are going to die.  I’m not built for this.  I was buying cheese. Cheese.

Oscar: Is it serious??

Lando: max let her redecorate his penthouse

Oscar: I hate it here.  I just wanted cheese.

Daniel: And instead you got a lifetime of emotional responsibility.  Congrats.

Oscar: How did you find out?

Lando: you remember when i broke max’s trophy? he let me bring home the replacement to help my guilty conscience, and guess who is living with him

Daniel: The hotel disaster.  That was when I figured it out

Lando: ???????? Lando:  What hotel disaster

Oscar: What happened??

Daniel: Zandvoort. Her brothers forgot to book her a hotel room.

Daniel:  Straight up just didn’t even think about it.

Daniel:  She landed. No room. No backup plan.

Daniel:  Was about to sleep in the damn lobby before Max found out.

Lando: YOU’RE JOKING.

Oscar: THEY WHAT. Oscar:  WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

Daniel: Not done

Daniel:  Next morning?

Daniel:  They LEFT HER at the hotel.

Daniel:  Like… packed up, went to the track, forgot she existed. 

Lando: I’m gonna throw something 

Lando: THEY JUST FORGOT HER????

Oscar: SHE IS THEIR SISTER Oscar:  NOT A MISPLACED WALLET

Lando: i have two sisters if i did that my mum would reassemble me from scratch just to kill me again

Oscar: If I did that my mother would drag me by my ear to the cameras of Sky Sports and berate me live on air.

Oscar:  What is WRONG with them

Daniel: Max was FUMING. So he asked me to pick her up. 

Oscar: GOOD.

Oscar: No wonder they kept it secret

Oscar:  If my girlfriend was treated by her family like that I’d go full vigilante too.

Daniel: 😂 welcome to the secret society of "We Would Kill For Isabelle Leclerc"

Oscar: Sign me up

Lando: same.

Lando:  also Charles is dead to me now until further notice

Daniel: don’t worry

Daniel: karma’s real

Daniel: and Max is scarier than any big brother

***

Lando Norris was pretty sure Oscar Piastri was about to crack.

He could see it happening in real time—the hairline fracture of panic starting just behind Oscar’s eyes. One more question. One wrong look. And Oscar was going to blurt out everything.

Max. Isabelle. The groceries.

And the worst part? Charles was right there—calm as ever, sipping an espresso in the hotel lobby like he wasn’t a ticking time bomb of impending betrayal. Like he wasn’t five seconds away from having his entire reality rearranged.

Lando shifted in his seat, chewing on a straw wrapper so aggressively he was surprised it hadn’t disintegrated yet. His knee bounced up and down, a desperate outlet for the nerves clawing at his insides.

They hadn’t spoken in ten minutes.

It was too quiet. Too weird. Too dangerous.

Which, obviously, was when Carlos strolled into the lobby, clocked the tension immediately, and frowned.

“What’s going on here?” Carlos asked, grabbing a protein bar from the snack stand like he had all the time in the world. “Why do you two look like you’ve committed war crimes?”

Oscar opened his mouth—probably to lie terribly and make it worse.

Lando, being the (barely) more functional one, jumped in first.

“It’s just—Charles,” Lando blurted.

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “What about him?”

Lando leaned forward, instantly deadly serious. “Have you ever noticed how he treats Isabelle?”

Carlos blinked. “His sister?”

“Exactly,” Lando said, nodding like he was revealing a state secret.

Oscar made a faint strangled noise next to him, probably reconsidering his life choices.

Carlos unwrapped his protein bar slowly, suspicious. “I mean… he loves her?”

“Sure,” Lando said, wide-eyed. “But does he see her? Or does he just… expect her to float quietly in the background of his life like a nice decorative houseplant?”

Oscar buried his face in his hands. Good. He deserved that.

Carlos stared at them like they were the ones malfunctioning.

“Where is this coming from?” Carlos asked, suspicious.

“Just answer the question,” Lando said, channeling his inner investigative journalist. “Do you think he actually appreciates her?”

Carlos hesitated, tilting his head like he was actually giving it thought. “I think… he assumes she’s fine because she doesn’t complain much?”

“EXACTLY,” Lando said, throwing his hands in the air. “She doesn’t complain. That doesn’t mean she’s fine!”

Oscar groaned again, muttering into his hands.

Carlos took a slow bite of protein bar. “Is this about the hotel thing?”

Oscar’s head snapped up. “You know about the hotel thing?”

Carlos nodded. “Yeah, I heard she didn’t have a room. I figured it was a mix-up.”

Lando let out a high-pitched laugh. “They also left her at the hotel the next morning. Like a pair of emotionally unavailable golden retrievers.”

Carlos shrugged. “They didn’t mean to.”

“THAT’S WORSE,” Lando exploded. “You don’t just ‘accidentally’ forget your SISTER.”

Oscar nodded vigorously. “That’s literally child abandonment but for grown-ups.”

Carlos stared at them, bemused. “You two are acting very emotionally involved.”

“NOPE,” Lando said immediately, standing up so fast his chair skidded backward.

Oscar scrambled after him. “Not emotionally involved. Just very passionate about…sibling rights. And human decency.”

“And basic hospitality standards!” Lando added, pointing accusingly at the air.

Carlos narrowed his eyes. “You’re both incredibly weird today.”

Lando clapped him hard on the shoulder. “We’re always weird, mate. But seriously. Watch how Charles talks to her next time. It’ll ruin your day.”

Carlos just blinked, chewing thoughtfully.

Oscar grabbed Lando’s arm before he could say anything else truly unhinged. “Come on. We have… tires. Very important tires to look at.”

“Yeah. Tire research. Super urgent,” Lando agreed.

They power-walked out of the lobby, leaving Carlos watching them, baffled.

Carlos shook his head slowly, muttering to himself, “Okay, but seriously… why are they so weird about Isabelle?”

***

Max trudged through the front door, dropping his bag with a dull thud. Isabelle had been waiting for him, curled up on the couch with a book, but the moment she saw him, she sat up straight.

“You’re sick.” It wasn’t a question.

Max huffed out a breath. “I’m fine.”

Isabelle was already on her feet, walking toward him. “You’re pale.” She placed the back of her hand against his forehead, frowning. “And warm.”

“I was just on a plane.”

“You also sound stuffy.” She folded her arms. “Go to bed.”

“I just got home.”

“And I’d like to keep you alive long enough to enjoy it. Bed, Max.”

Max sighed but didn’t argue. He was too tired for that. Instead, he leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to her forehead before mumbling, “You’re bossy.”

“I’m effective.”

She watched as he trudged toward the bedroom, shaking her head. A moment later, she followed, scooping up Jimmy from his spot on the armchair. When she walked into the room, Max was already under the blankets, eyes half-lidded.

“Here,” she murmured, placing Jimmy beside him. The cat instantly curled up against his chest, purring loudly.

Max cracked a small smile, rubbing behind Jimmy’s ears. “You’re trying to bribe me with my own cat.”

“Whatever works.” She kissed his temple. “Sleep.”

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Sophie Kumpen

Isabelle: Hi Sophie! I hope you’re doing well! I need your help with something.

Sophie: Hello, dear! Of course, what do you need?

Isabelle: Max came home from the race and he’s definitely getting sick. He’s trying to act normal, but he looks exhausted and keeps sniffling.

Isabelle: I sent him straight to bed with a cat for company, but I wanted to make him something comforting. He once told me you used to make tomato soup for him when he was sick—would you mind sharing the recipe?

Sophie: Oh, poor thing. He never knows when to slow down.

Sophie: And of course! Here’s how I always made it:

Sauté onions and garlic in olive oil until soft.

Add chopped tomatoes (fresh is best, but canned works too!)

Pour in vegetable broth and a pinch of sugar—Max never noticed, but it makes all the difference!

Lots of basil, always extra for Max.

Simmer, blend, then stir in a little cream to make it smooth.

Serve with bread—he used to insist on dipping half a baguette in it!

Isabelle: This is perfect! Thank you so much.

Sophie: You’re very welcome, sweetheart. He’s going to love it.

Sophie: And if he’s still feeling bad tomorrow, make him tea with honey. That’s what I always did.

Isabelle: Noted! I’ll make sure he drinks it.

Sophie: You’re taking such good care of him. He’s lucky to have you.

Isabelle: I’m lucky to have him too. ❤️

***

By the time he woke up, the apartment smelled like tomatoes and garlic. Max blinked, slowly sitting up. Jimmy was still pressed against him, and Sassy had taken up residence at his feet. He groggily reached for his phone and saw a notification from Isabelle.

Isabelle: Texted your mom for her tomato soup recipe. You’re getting the Verstappen childhood classic.

Max stared at the message for a second before a slow, warm feeling spread through his chest. He pulled himself out of bed, padding toward the kitchen. Isabelle was stirring a pot on the stove, hair tied up, her phone sitting next to her with messages from his mom open on the screen.

She turned at the sound of his footsteps. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

Max leaned against the counter, taking in the sight of her making his childhood comfort food, and felt something deep and certain settle in his bones.

“I feel like I should marry you.”

Isabelle blinked, then huffed a laugh. “You have a fever.”

“I’m serious.”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were pink. “Eat your soup, Verstappen.”

Max watched as Isabelle turned back to the stove, stirring the soup with careful, practiced movements. He could see the little notes his mother had sent still open on her phone—things like "Don't forget a little sugar to balance the acidity" and "Max always liked it with extra basil".

Something about it made his chest ache, but in a good way.

“Sit down,” Isabelle said without looking at him. “I’ll bring it over.”

Max didn’t argue. He knew better. Instead, he shuffled over to the dining table, rubbing a hand over his face. He still felt like hell, but the warm smell of tomato soup and the sight of Isabelle in their kitchen softened the edges of it.

A few minutes later, Isabelle placed a bowl in front of him, along with a plate of bread. She even cut the slices into smaller pieces, making it easier for him to eat.

Max raised an eyebrow. “Are you about to start feeding me, too?”

“If I have to.” She sat down across from him, resting her chin on her hand. “Go on. Try it.”

He took a spoonful, letting the warmth spread through him. It tasted exactly like how he remembered—rich, slightly sweet, the basil bringing a fresh note to it.

“Good?” Isabelle asked.

Max swallowed, nodding. “Perfect.”

She looked pleased with herself, tucking one knee up against her chest. “Your mom was really sweet about sending me the recipe. She told me to tell you that if you’re still feeling bad tomorrow, I should make you tea with honey.”

Max smirked. “You and my mom are conspiring now?”

“Obviously.” She smiled. “Someone has to keep you in check.”

He took another sip, watching her from across the table. “Thank you,” he said, quieter this time.

Isabelle just shrugged, brushing it off like it was nothing. “You take care of me all the time,” she said simply. “Why wouldn’t I do the same?”

Max didn’t have a good answer for that.

Instead, he reached across the table, curling his fingers around hers. Isabelle let him, her thumb brushing absently over his knuckles.

“If I ever win another world championship,” he said, voice a little rough, “just know it’ll be because of you and your soup.”

She laughed, squeezing his hand. “Good to know my cooking has that much power.”

Max just smiled, his fever making him feel a little loopy, a little sentimental.

He didn’t mind.

***

Max was a terrible patient.

Not in the dramatic, clingy, "I think I’m dying" kind of way. No—he was quiet, still, and deeply put out by the fact that his body dared to betray him for more than five seconds.

Which meant he was now cocooned in the middle of their bed, surrounded by three pillows, and the comforter pulled halfway up to his chin like a grumpy Victorian child home with the flu.

His nose was pink. His curls were a mess. And he was definitely running a fever.

Isabelle pressed the back of her hand to his forehead and shook her head fondly. “Still warm.”

Max blinked up at her, expression solemn and glassy-eyed. “I feel like someone hit me with a tyre gun.”

“Very specific,” she said, setting the thermometer aside and handing him another cup of ginger tea.

He took a slow sip. Then sighed. Then blinked at her again like something important had just occurred to him.

“We should get another cat,” he said hoarsely.

Isabelle paused. “Sorry?”

“A kitten,” he clarified, like it was obvious. “Small. Would follow me around.”

She tried—really tried—not to laugh.

Max Verstappen, three-time World Champion, currently wearing a hoodie two sizes too big and nursing a cold, was looking at her like he’d just solved a national crisis.

“You want a kitten,” Isabelle repeated.

He nodded solemnly, already settling back against the pillows. “It’d be good practice.”

“For what?” she asked, amused.

Max blinked at her again, slow and drowsy. “You know.”

“No, I don’t. Enlighten me.”

He looked at her, expression perfectly serious despite the fever. “A baby.”

Isabelle choked on her tea.

Max didn't flinch.

She stared at him for a full ten seconds. “You think adopting a kitten would be… baby practice?”

He nodded again, very sure of himself. “Feeding. Naps. Picking the name.”

“And the kitten would be our test run for parenthood?”

“Exactly.”

Isabelle smiled—gently, deeply—and brushed a hand over his curls, pushing the hair back from his forehead.

“You’re feverish,” she said softly.

He nodded. “But I’m also right.”

She leaned down, kissed his too-warm cheek. “We’ll talk about the kitten when your temperature is below thirty-nine.”

Max hummed. “Good. I think you'd be a good cat mom. And baby mom.”

Then he promptly fell asleep with one hand still loosely curled around hers.

And Isabelle—heart full, smile helpless—sat beside him and thought, yeah, maybe I would.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Victoria Verstappen

Victoria: Hey—how’s Max doing? Still being dramatic or has he entered the sleepy kitten phase of being sick?

Isabelle: Definitely the kitten phase.

Isabelle: Currently wrapped in a blanket burrito with Jimmy on his chest.

Isabelle: Looks like he’s been defeated by soup and his own body heat.

Victoria: Incredible.

Victoria: Has he started saying weird fever things yet?

Isabelle: …Depends what you consider “weird.”

Victoria: Uh-oh.

Victoria: Hit me.

Isabelle: He told me we should get another cat.

Isabelle: Which sounded normal-ish. Until he said it would be “good practice.”

Victoria: Practice for what?

Isabelle: A baby.

Victoria: A baby?

Isabelle: Yep. I laughed at first. But he was serious. Or fever-serious.

Isabelle: He looked at me like it wasn’t even a joke.

Victoria: …Do I get to be an aunt?

Victoria: Because I will cry.

Isabelle: He was feverish. It could have been the paracetamol talking.

Victoria: But you didn’t panic.

Isabelle: I melted. And then I panicked about melting.

Victoria: You want it.

Isabelle: I always have. I just never let myself imagine it.

Isabelle: And now suddenly he’s sick and talking about babies and I’m feeling things.

Victoria: Okay, well… since we’re being honest about baby feelings… You’ll get to practice sooner than you think.

Isabelle: What?

Victoria: I’m due in June.

Isabelle: WHAT.

Victoria: Surprise?

Isabelle: ARE YOU KIDDING ME

Victoria: Nope. Tiny Verstappen-Bluth incoming.

Isabelle: VIC.

Isabelle: You cannot just drop that in the middle of a conversation about your brother wanting a baby.

Victoria: I thought it was great timing!

Victoria: What’s better than your fever-delirious boyfriend mentioning fatherhood right before I tell you you’re about to be an aunt?

Isabelle: I’m crying.

Victoria: You’re going to be so good with them.

Victoria: And if you and Max do decide to start practicing sometime soon… well.

Victoria: Built-in cousin. You’re welcome.

Victoria: Get ready, Tante Belle.

Victoria: Big Verstappen family era incoming.

Isabelle: You’re all insane.

Isabelle: And I love you.

Victoria: Love you too.

***

Max heard the door slam—really slam—before he even saw her.

Not the usual soft click of someone slipping home after a long day. Not the tired shuffle of keys or the muted rustle of her bag hitting the floor. No, this was different. Sharp. Final. Frustrated.

He looked up from where he was half-dozing on the couch, immediately alert.

Isabelle stood by the door, hands clenched into fists, her chest rising and falling in short, uneven breaths. Her tote bag—usually treated carefully—was now abandoned at her feet, one strap twisted. She shoved her hands through her hair roughly, tugging it out of its neat twist, and paced a tight, angry line across the room.

Max stood without thinking.

"Bad day?" he asked quietly.

Isabelle laughed—a short, humorless sound—and shook her head, still pacing like she couldn't physically stay still.

"Bad?" she repeated, voice sharp with disbelief. "No, Max. It was a disaster."

He stayed silent, waiting, giving her the space she clearly needed to let it spill out.

"My boss dumped an entire project on me today. A major one. Because the senior architect left, and apparently—" she threw her hands up, exasperated, "—obviously it's my problem now. No heads-up. No discussion. Just, 'Congratulations, Isabelle, here's an entire portfolio of someone else's half-finished work. Good luck.'"

Max's jaw tightened. His hands itched to do something—fix it, protect her, something. But he stayed where he was, steady.

"And it gets better," Isabelle said, turning to face him, her green eyes sparking with a tired, furious fire he didn’t see often. "When I tried—politely, professionally—to point out that my current workload is already full, he told me to 'prioritize better.' And walked away. Just—walked. Like it wasn’t his problem."

She laughed again, but it cracked midway through. Her hands dropped to her sides helplessly.

Max exhaled slowly, moving toward her. "You know what I’m going to say."

She groaned, already knowing, already bracing. "Max—"

"You don't need this," he said firmly. "You're running yourself into the ground for people who don't even see you."

She closed her eyes, pressing the heels of her palms against them like she could block out the whole world.

"I like my job," she said, but it sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

Max stopped right in front of her, close enough that he could reach out—but he didn’t, not yet. He knew better. She wasn’t looking for comfort yet. She was still in the fight.

"Do you?" he asked, softer now. Not accusing. Just... careful. Gentle.

Isabelle’s shoulders slumped a little.

"You sure don’t look like someone who likes what they’re doing," Max added, his voice rougher, threading frustration and concern together. "You look like someone who’s trying to survive it."

The room was quiet for a beat, just the low hum of the evening city outside the windows.

Finally, she sagged forward, her forehead pressing into his chest like she physically couldn't hold herself upright anymore.

Max didn’t hesitate then. He wrapped his arms around her, firm and grounding, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head.

She let out a long, shaky breath, the tension bleeding out of her in slow, heavy drips.

"I just..." she started, her voice muffled against him. "I don’t know what to do."

Max closed his eyes, holding her tighter.

"You don’t have to have all the answers right now," he said quietly. "But you have options, Belle. You always do. You don’t have to stay somewhere that treats you like you’re disposable."

She let out a quiet, broken sound that made his chest ache.

He kissed her hair, slow and steady.

"You are not a stopgap. You're not a backup plan. You're not someone they can just lean on when it's convenient and forget about the rest of the time," he murmured against her. "You are brilliant. And you deserve people—and a job—that sees that."

She was silent for a long time, just breathing against him.

"I don't want to quit," she whispered eventually. "I don't want it to feel like they chased me out."

Max rubbed small circles over her back, patient. "Then don't. Fight them, if that's what you want. Prove them wrong. You’re strong enough."

He pulled back just enough to see her face, brushing her messy hair away from her cheeks.  "But don’t stay just to prove a point if it’s breaking you in the process."

Her eyes were glassy but clear, staring up at him like she was trying to pull strength out of the way he looked at her.

"You’re not alone," he said simply. "You have me. Always."

For a moment, she just stood there, letting that settle between them.

Then she nodded—tiny, but certain—and leaned back into his chest.

Max smiled into her hair.

They stood like that for a long time, the city lights flickering quietly outside, the cats curling around their feet like they, too, understood that the whole world narrowed down to this.

Max holding her. Her letting herself be held.

And for now, that was enough. ****

The envelope looked expensive.

That was the first red flag.

Matte paper, gold foil edges, no return address on the front—just her full name printed in elegant, serif font.

Her full, full name. Because apparently her parents hadn’t been done after Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc, and so she and Arthur had ended up with similarly ridiculous, vaguely royal-sounding names.

Isabelle Amélie Thérèse Éléonore Leclerc. 

There it was. 

On the kind of envelope that looked like it came with obligations.

She hadn’t ordered anything. She hadn’t opened a new account.

She frowned as she sliced it open. She wasn’t expecting anything. Max paid the bills on the penthouse. Her own account was small, manageable, predictable. Her work was steady. 

The card slipped out first. Heavy. Polished. Black.

Hitting the kitchen island. 

Her name, again, embossed in silver.

But it wasn’t her account.

It was his.

Linked cardholder – Max Emilian Verstappen

She stared at it for a full minute. Long enough for the air to change. Long enough for every messy, unspoken thing she’d been trying not to feel to crawl back up her throat.

She swallowed. 

They had had that conversation. 

You quit your job. Become my incredibly spoiled, disgustingly pampered trophy wife. No more late nights, no more stress. Just you, spending my money and riding your horses.

She had said no. Because she was ambitious. Talented. Smart.

But the truth?

The truth was that she’d wondered.

What if she could be that person?

What if she’d be fine being that person?

His person.

 The woman who did yoga at ten, had coffee by eleven, picked up their kids from school in designer flats and knew the best lunch spots in three countries. 

The one who didn’t constantly doubt her place, didn’t flinch every time someone whispered "nepo baby" under their breath, didn’t fight to be taken seriously in rooms that were already decided before she entered them.

There was a part of her—a very small, very quiet part—that wondered what it would be like.

To let go.

 To stop clawing for approval from people who didn’t care if she drowned.

 To let herself be loved, wholly and visibly.

 To marry Max.

 To have his name. His children. His cats. 

 To be someone soft and kept and adored.

What if she didn’t want to fight so hard all the time?

What if a part of her—small, shameful, stubborn—wanted to be kept?

And now… this.

Not a proposal. Not a ring.

But a card.

With her name.

 On his account.

A card that wives got. 

That long-term partners with shared mortgages and Sunday routines and matching key fobs got. 

A gesture that said: this life is yours too. You’re allowed to be at ease.

And it terrified her.

Because Max didn’t do anything halfway. He wasn’t careless with people. He didn’t toss around trust like confetti. He was sharp, observant, and maddeningly meticulous.

He was deliberate.

This wasn’t about convenience.

 This was a line drawn. A stake in the ground.

A declaration.

And Isabelle?

She wasn’t sure she trusted herself not to disappear into it.

Not because Max would ask her to—but because it felt so good to be seen by someone who didn’t require her to earn it. To prove it. To perform. 

Max knew her fears. Her fault lines. Her quiet cravings.

And instead of mocking them, he made room for them.

Which, somehow, made it worse.

She’d spent so long trying to prove she was more than someone’s sister. More than a background fixture. 

But here she was.

Here she was feeling safer just being Max’s than she ever had trying to be anyone else’s.

Here she was, considering if being Belle Verstappen might actually make her happier than being Isabelle Leclerc ever had.

And wasn’t that the most terrifying thought of all?

***

“Hey,” Max called as he stepped inside, the door shutting with a familiar click behind him. “I grabbed those oat crackers you like—the ones with the seeds that taste like cardboard.”

He dropped his keys into the ceramic bowl by the door, his tone light, teasing.

No answer.

He rounded the corner into the kitchen and—

Stopped.

Isabelle was standing still. Very still. Right beside the counter, her body folded in on itself like she was trying to take up less space.

The envelope was open. The card—that card—lay face-up on the marble. Black. Sleek. Heavy. Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest, like she needed the pressure to keep herself grounded.

Max’s eyes flicked from the card to her face and back again.

And then he felt it—the shift.

The air in the room had changed. Gone quiet. Weighted.

He knew that look on her face.

He’d seen it before—on days when she came home from work braced for someone to doubt her, challenge her, chip away at her. It was the expression she wore when she felt like she was too much and not enough in the same breath.

“Oh,” Max said softly, carefully. “You got it.”

He didn’t say I meant to tell you in person. He didn’t say I’ve been watching you stretch yourself thin, giving more than anyone asks, and never— never— expecting to receive anything back.

She didn’t smile.

“Max,” she said, her voice low and unfamiliar, “what is this?”

She wasn’t angry. That would’ve been easier. Anger was clean.

No—this was something else.

Fragile. Quiet. Like she'd been cracked open without warning.

He stepped toward her slowly. Like he was trying not to spook something delicate.

“It’s just…” he tried, “a card. For you. In case you ever need it.”

Her eyes—green, glossy, wide—didn’t leave his.

“You just handed me access to everything.”

He could’ve argued that. Could’ve said it’s not everything. But he didn’t lie to her, and this wasn’t about technicalities.

So instead, he said the truth.

“I handed you ease,” he said gently. “Because you never ask for it. Even when you need it most.”

He’d thought about that a lot.

That was why he’d had the card made.

Not because she needed it—not practically, not financially. Isabelle was capable in ways that astonished him daily. She ran her life on spreadsheets and discipline, all soft voice and steel spine.

But she’d been conditioned—by her family, by the world—to believe she had to earn everything. Love. Rest. Comfort. Even kindness.

So he’d done what he did best.

Planned ahead.

He’d spoken to his advisor. Had the account adjusted. Added her name. Put in the request quietly. Privately. No fanfare.

Not to control her.

But so that, if ever the moment came—

If she was tired, overwhelmed, caught without breath—

 She’d have something already waiting.

No questions. No performance. Just trust.

But now, watching the way her fingers dug into her elbows, Max understood how even trust could feel like a trap when you’d never been given it freely.

“We just had a conversation about trophy wives,” she said suddenly. Her voice shook like she hated herself for even bringing it up.

He blinked. “Yes. And you said you didn’t want to be one.”

“What if I’d be fine with that life?” she said. “What if part of me wants it?”

His heart clenched. Not because she said it—but because he knew exactly what she meant.

“Then I’d tell you,” he said calmly, “if you ever want to be my trophy wife, just let me know. I’ll buy you a designer handbag and get very into being your arm candy.”

That earned him a look. A slight wobble in her mouth like she was trying not to smile, even while her throat worked against tears.

She let out an unsteady laugh that turned halfway into a sigh. “Max.”

“No pressure,” he said quickly, his voice low and warm now. “But if you ever wake up and decide you want that kind of life—that kind of ease—I’ll give it to you. Without question.”

“I don’t want to lose myself,” she whispered. “I don’t want to stop being… me.”

“You won’t,” Max said, voice steady. “I know who you are. And I’d never let you forget.”

Because she was the strongest person he’d ever known. She had survived a thousand quiet dismissals and overlooked brilliance. She’d clawed her way into a space she was never given, and never once asked for credit.

He wanted to say more. Wanted to tell her that he’d never met anyone who held herself so tightly together with so little help. That watching her try to hold back softness like it was weakness made his chest ache. That the thing she feared—disappearing—was impossible, because the moment she walked into a room, his world shifted.

She deserved to feel safe. And not just safe—but held.

But he didn’t say all that.

He just said what she needed.

“I didn’t give you this card to change you,” Max said. “I gave it to you so you’d never feel like you had to earn the right to feel safe.”

That word hung there between them. Heavy. Final. The real gift.

Not the money. Not the access.

Safety.

After a long, breathless silence, Isabelle reached out. Slowly. Carefully. She picked up the card with both hands like it might still burn her.

Held it in her palm. Looked at her name. His name. Their names. Together.

“Okay,” she said finally, voice soft, breaking open. “But you’re not allowed to joke when I buy toothpaste with it.”

He smiled—one of those rare, slow smiles he reserved just for her.

He stepped in and kissed her temple gently, grounding them both.

“Toothpaste, muffins, a yacht,” he murmured. “Whatever you need.”

She let out a wet laugh. “A yacht?”

“I’m just saying,” he said lightly, brushing his knuckles along her arm, “it’s good to have options.”

“I’m not buying a yacht, Max.”

“I know.” He paused. “But I wanted you to know you could.”

[georgeclarkesgf]

forgetful | george clarke

the minute george stepped into the flat, he knew something was off.

"y/n? you here?" walking further into the flat, he found y/n in the kitchen making herself a cup of tea, "hey, sorry i'm back so late. we missed t-"

"don't. i can't believe you. all i asked was that you not plan to film today and i wake up to a message telling me you've gone to film a video for arthur. do you even know why i asked you to stay home today?"

he was trying to remember, really he was. but his mind was blank and the guilt began to seep in, only just noticing the tears that left stains on her cheeks.

"no. of course you don't. my parents are in town george. i planned a nice lunch, maybe go on a walk, come back to the flat for a few drinks, but all that went to shit because you left to film a stupid video and then ignored my messages all day. you know how important it is to me that you get along with my parents so having to cancel on them last minute because you weren't even here was not something i wanted to have to do." the tears in her eyes were threatening to fall again, hating how needy and pathetic she sounded.

"we can sti-" george tried, again quickly being shut down.

"no george, i'm mad at you. you don't get to say it'll be alright and that we can still do something. we're not playing happy families. you've hurt me. when we sort this out, then we organise something else."

now the guilt was in full swing and he immediately started to think of ways he could make it up to her, knowing it would take a lot of grovelling to get back onto her good side.

"i'm going to bed, i love you." a soft kiss being placed on his lips.

"i love you too." slight relief evident on his face, knowing she'll never not say 'i love you', even during an argument.

she rounded the kitchen island, starting to make her way to his room and get ready for bed. george watched as she closed the door, still stood in the kitchen, contemplating whether to follow her or give her some space.

he decided on the latter.

--------

it was nearing midnight when george decided he needed some sleep, and the dip in the bed as he got comfortable was enough to wake y/n, a groan leaving her lips.

"sorry. i didn't mean to wake you," she let out an agitated hum of acknowledgement and rolled over, curling into george's side, unable to resist the heat his body always provided, "still mad at me?"

"yep." she responded, accentuating the 'p'.

"okay. can we talk about it?"

"i've said my peace. you go."

"i really am sorry sweetheart, i feel awful," her nails were running along the lines and dips of his stomach, a habit he'd grown accustomed to over the several months they'd been together, "the video was planned ages ago and i didn't even realise the dates clashed. when you reminded me of 'that thing' that was happening today i thought you meant filming. i promise to make it up to you. and your parents. please say they don't hate me."

george hoped it was enough, not that he wouldn't do anything she asked to get her to forgive him, but he couldn't stand the thought of her staying mad at him.

in y/n's head, he was forgiven. during her time alone, she realised she didn't even give him a chance to explain before locking herself in his room for the rest of the night.

"i'm sorry too," george was slightly taken aback by this, unsure what she was apologising for, "i shouldn't have stormed off like that. not even letting you speak before i disappeared all night. and my parents don't hate you. we can do dinner tomorrow if that's okay with you?"

"that's more than okay. i have my whole day free to spend with you and them. we can do whatever you guys want. i love you."

"i love you. so much. even if you are forgetful."

and george stuck to his promise. safe to say y/n's parents like george more than her.

a/n have this as an 'i'm sorry i haven't posted in a while present' <3

[chaostudee]

meeting the family, charles leclerc

summary : you are nervous about meeting charles's family but you feel at ease once they welcome you with open arms. warnings : none words :

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

charles gave your hand a small squeeze, soothingly rubbing his thumb over your palm as he pulled the car up into the drive. you had charles had now been dating for a year and you both had finally agreed that it was time for you to meet his family. although you were nervous about making a bad first impression you were excited to meet charles's favourite people.

"you okay?" he asked as he brings his hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. he could sense your nervousness.

"what if they don't like me....." you mumble, your inner thoughts being voiced.

charles sighs as he wishes that you could see yourself that he sees you. "i know that you don't believe me but they will love you i promise and even if they don't i love you and that is all that matters"

he places a small kiss onto your hand and you can't help but smile at him. in everyway he was perfect every time he touched you, you couldn't restrain the butterflies that emerged in your stomach.

"you always say the right words" you confess as you place a tender kiss on his lips, one that he greets with a smile.

a few moments later he pulls away.

"you ready?"

this time you nod confidently because now with charles by your side you felt much more relaxed.

charles hops out of the car and he gestures for you to wait as he walks around the opposite side to open your door for you. he grasps your hand as he helps you out of the car.

his childhood home made you gasp in awe. the garden was adorned with ferns and countless flowers and ivy creeped up the walls of the building. you turn to smile at him as you both walk up to the front porch.

charles knocks on the door, taking your hand and giving it one final squeeze.

"i love you" he mouths to which you reciprocate those words.

his mother is the one who opens the door and is immediately take aback by the sight in front of her.

"oh charles come here mon coeur" she gestures for him to give her a hug as she invites him in with open arms. "i missed you maman" he admits as he rests his head on her shoulder. she pats a hand on his back in comfort and then looks up to find you standing there awkwardly.

she pulls away from charles and smiles at you.

"and you must be y/n, god charles won't shut up about you whenever we call". you smile once hearing that and can't help but giggle when you see charles blush at his mothers words.

"come here my dear so good to finally meet you" she also invites you in for a hug which makes you feel simply at ease and when you notice charles give you a thumbs up all the anxieties fade away.

once you pull away from the embrace pascale closes the door and encourages you to come inside to the dining room.

"sorry charles but lorenzo said he couldn't make it because he is working or something but arthur is around here somewhere" pascale looks around, wondering where her son has gone off to.

"don't worry about it mother im just grateful for you for organizing this" he places a kiss on both sides of his mothers cheeks in gratitude.

arthur comes running in and stops in his tracks when he sees you. "omg charles is this y/n" he asks pointing to you.

charles responds nodding proudly at you.

"its so great to finally meet the girl who made this idiot fall madly in love like omg all he talks about is y/n this or y/n that like im so surprised that he hasn't proposed yet". arthur chuckles at his words but you were deep in your own thoughts. did charles actually want to propose to you.

what brings you out of your thoughts is charles hand slipping into your own. "c'mon baby let's sit down".

pascale and arthur join you. arthur sits across from you, pascale beside you and charles on the other side.

charles holds your hand in his lap as he catches up with his family, you listening intently, watching as his dimples showed whenever he smiled. you couldn't stop the blush creeping across your cheeks.

"so y/n tell me about you what do u do for work?" pascale asks as she takes a sip of her wine.

you hesitate and clear your throat before speaking. "well i've just finished medical school and now im looking for a nursing job in monaco so me and charles can be together when he's home". you turn to look at charles and he rubs your cheek comfortingly.

"she forgot to mention that she attended harvard" charles added never failing to voice your accomplishments.

"wow y/n im impressed" pascale reponds smiling at you and taking your hand. "i also have to thank you for taking such good care of my son and making him happy, i havent seen him smile this much in years".

you place your hand on top of hers. "it helps that i love your son very much and that his mother raised him right".

charles smiles at the scene before him, his girlfriend and mother bonding but he is brought away by a glipmse of arthur in the corner of his eye. arthur is holding up the left hand and pointing to wedding finger to which charles just rolls his eyes at him. truthfully he had been thinking about it and he was actually going to casually bring it up to get your thoughts about it.

after dinner had ended charles had offered to clean up, along with you also. you and charles had come up with a system. charles washes and you dry. as charles hands you a dirty dish you notice him give you a cheeky grin.

"why are you smiling at me like that?" you giggle as you bring the cloth to dry the plate.

charles stops scrubbing and pauses. "i'm just happy that tonight went well, my mum really likes you".

"i'm happy too"

charles sighs in relief. "i told you it would all work out".

he places a kiss to your forehead before returning to the dirty dishes.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

pascale pulls you and charles in for one last embrace and you both earn a wave from arthur as you both exit the house.

"take care you two" pascale calls out as you and charles walk down the steps to the car.

"you too" you call back giving one last wave before charles helps you into the car.

once charles had hopped in he started the car and you were off. you couldn't keep your eyes off him as he turned the wheel and moved the gearstick. in noticing that he took your hand and brought your knuckles to his lips.

maintaining his eyes on the road he speaks. "you know i love you right?"

you chuckle because anyone who had eyes could see that it was blatantly obvious. "i know and i love you too"

charles smiles to himself. he briefly flicks his eyes to you. "i'm going to marry you someday"

it was like all the breath left your lungs when he says those words. but those words excited you.

"pls say something" charles urges unsure if what he had said upset you.

"charles from the minute i saw you i knew i was going to marry you".

charles bites his lip before placing a hand on your thigh.

in this moment there was nothing that could make you happier than you are now. with your boyfriend beside you and a hopeful future ahead you couldn't wait to see what was in store for you.

[thatfanficstuff]

Family Be Damned - Alfie Solomons

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Shelby Sister!Reader

Warnings: nothing beyond canon

You loved your family. You did. But they were just so…much.

Your miscellany of siblings loved you just as you loved them in return, but they barely gave you enough room to breathe. Your twin Tommy was the worst of lot, and unfortunately for you, he was also in charge of your family, despite Arthur being the oldest. It was no surprise really that you ran off to make your own life in London not long after the boys returned from the war. You just needed peace. Needed to breathe.

One rainy morning a few months after you’d moved to the city, you were hurrying along the sidewalk, glancing over your shoulder as you went. The innate Shelby paranoia still impossible to shake no matter your distance from home.

“Oi, watch where you’re going!” The low, rich voice brought you out of your head as you snapped your attention forward.

A large man in a heavy coat, his hat casting a shadow across his features, stood before you. His eyes were sharp as they locked on yours. You sucked in a breath as his very presence filled the air around you with an intensity you hadn’t felt from anyone but Tommy. The stranger’s lips curled into a half-smirk as he took you in.

“Apologies,” you said. “Didn’t see you there.”

That smirk only grew as he tipped his hat in a gesture of mock civility. “Alfie Solomons at your service. And might I have the pleasure of your name?”

You introduced yourself and were surprised at the flicker of recognition in his eyes. Of course, the first man who piqued your interest would be familiar with your family.

After a beat, Alfie stepped to the side to allow you to pass. “Lovely to meet you, Miss Shelby.” A gentle hand on your elbow stopped you as you moved past him. “It is Miss, isn’t it?”

A genuine smile curved your lips. “Guess you’ll just have to find out, Mr. Solomons.”

You had gone months after you moved to London without ever seeing Alfie Solomons but after that morning, scarcely a week would go by without the two of you running into one another. Around the fifth random encounter, Alfie asked you to dinner. One date turned into two and so on until scarcely a day went by without you seeing one another.

One quiet afternoon, you were getting ready to go out when a heavy knock sounded on your door. You answered to find Alfie standing on the stoop. You frowned as you pulled him inside. “Are you okay? You’re early and you look exhausted.”

“Oh, Love, you have no idea. Pour me a drink, would you?” He kissed your temple before making his way to your sofa and dropping onto it. He took the glass from you and pulled you down to sit beside him. “We need to talk.”

You nodded but stayed quiet, waiting for him to speak.

“I need your help with something, love.”

“Of course, Alfie. You know I’ll help you however I can.” He’d never been this hesitant to talk with you and you couldn’t help but worry.

Before he could say another word, your front door crashed open. You shot to your feet as your three oldest brothers strode into your home. “Have you lost all the sense God gave you, Thomas Shelby?” you snapped. “Who gave you permission to burst into my home without knockin’? I know you were raised better even if you don’t act like it half the damn time.”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Just calm down, alright? We were in town, thought we’d stop by to check on you. Seems like a wise decision.” His gaze moved from you to Alfie as he rose to his feet beside you.

“What are you doing here, Solomons?” Arthur asked in his usual gruff tone, his eyes darting between you and your man.

“Well, I was invited, Shelby. Which is more than I can say for you as she didn’t even know you were in town.” Alfie shifted your position so he was between you and your brothers. As if they’d ever hurt you.

“Thought we’d come to an agreement that you would stay the hell away from our sister,” Tommy said.

Alfie huffed. “I agreed to nothing of the sort.”

You scowled at your brothers, mainly Tommy. “Why do you think this is even up for discussion? It’s none of your business who I spend my time with. I thought me leaving home would have finally gotten that through your thick heads. Guess I was wrong.”

“Out of the entirety of London, you just happened to end up with Solomons? You expect us to believe that’s a coincidence?” Arthur argued, trying to make you see sense.

You put your hands on your hips. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, come on,” John said with a sneer. “He’s only sleeping with you to get in good with us. Even an idiot could see that.”

Alfie’s body tensed, the insult a step too far for the man that had always treated you with the utmost respect. In a blink, Alfie’s fist connected with John’s jaw. The crack of the impact echoed off the walls. Chaos erupted in its wake as the men leapt at each other, fists flying.

“Alfie!” You yelled his name, terrified the fight would cause his injuries from the war to act up. Terrified your brothers would take it too far as they were wont to do when it came to you and Ada. Terrified that the love of your life was trying to hold his own against three of your brothers who were no stranger to brawling when it suited them.

“Stop it! Enough!” But your words were lost in the noise of their battle. You pushed through the tangle of limbs, trying to pry them apart. John stumbled back, panting as he swiped blood from underneath his nose. Tommy stepped aside when he realized you were in the middle of the fray, one hand reaching to pull you to safety.

But Arthur was lost in the violence, as he often was, and Alfie was doing his best to protect himself without harming you. Arthur swung wide, his fist arcing toward Alfie when your world suddenly spun as an elbow caught your temple. A burst of pain bloomed across your vision. A cry tore from your throat as you stumbled back, warmth trickling down the side of your face.

Tommy grabbed Arthur by the back of his coat and flung him away. “Fucking Stop. Look what you did,” he demanded, gesturing toward you. “Look!” he yelled when Arthur just looked confused.

When your older brother caught sight of your injury his eyes went wide. He moved toward you and you stepped back.

“Stop.” Your voice was low, quiet, hurt evident in your tone. “Just stay away from me.”

Your brothers listened, but Alfie pushed aside his own pain to move to your side. His handkerchief was pressed tightly to your temple and you hissed in pain. You took it from him before you stepped away from him as well.

“Didn’t mean to hurt you, sweetheart. You know that,” Arthur said, a begging tone to his words. “I’d never hurt you.” His fists flexed at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them if he wasn’t swinging them at something.

You swayed on your feet, your head filled with pain and irritation at the men in front of you. All four of them. “Get out. All of you. Just go.”

“Come on, love. Let’s get you patched up,” Tommy said, ignoring your demand as he moved toward you. You stepped away from him.

“No. You come into my home acting like a street rat, brawling in my living room without so much as a by your leave. Alfie takes care of me. He loves me and has been nothing but a perfect gentleman the entire time we’ve been seeing each other.” You huffed a breath of irritation as tears stung your eyes. “But you don’t care about that. You didn’t even ask me about him before you’re threatening him with god knows what.”

Tommy said your name, trying to get you to calm down, to listen. He’d never been able to stand your tears, even less so when he was the cause of them.

You shook your head, wincing at the pain the motion brought with it. “Just go. Please. I can’t do this right now.”

A flicker of doubt crossed Tommy’s features before he gave you a nod. “Alright, love. We’ll go. I’m sorry for this, but I’m not sorry for protecting you. I’ll always protect you.”

You snorted in disbelief. “Knock out job you did this time, Tom.”

He pursed his lips but said nothing else before pushing his brothers toward the door as they muttered their own apologies. He stood with the door open, waiting for Alfie to come with the rest of them. Alfie’s heavy gaze moved between you and your brother for a moment before he grabbed his things.

As he passed, he paused long enough to kiss your uninjured temple. “Goodnight, Love.”

With that they were gone and hopefully this whole fiasco was over. Of course, it was just as likely they’d moved the brawl somewhere else and continued pummeling the hell out of each other. You felt like you should care more about that, but you really didn’t. You slumped onto the sofa as tears slipped from your eyes. Why couldn’t they just let you be happy for once?

***

When the knock came shortly after dawn the next morning, you were already prepared for the day. Sleep had been hard to come by as you ran every possible scenario through your head. You figured one of the men in your life would appear first thing today, attempting to make amends. The question was which one. When you opened the door to find your Alfie, relief flooded through you. You weren’t ready to deal with your brothers just yet. If you were lucky, they’d headed home and you’d be spared their presence for a while yet.

“Why are you here, Alfie?” you said in lieu of greeting the contrite looking man on your stoop.

“I had to make sure you were alright.”

You studied him in silence, wondering what he thought of you now that he’d had to deal with your brothers. The Shelbys were a fucked up family, but they were your fucked up family.

“Can I come in?” he asked when you just continued to look at him. “Please, love. Just for a moment.”

“Wasn’t sure you’d open the door,” Alfie admitted as you stepped back to let him in. His rough voice wrapped around you, comforting you as it always did.

“Almost didn’t,” you admitted.

He grasped your chin lightly and turned your head so he could inspect your temple, wincing as he saw the bruising. “I’m sorry about last night, love. I should not have done that.”

You huffed a laugh. “What? Punch my idiot brother when he ran his mouth off like usual?” You shrugged. “It wasn’t the first time John has been punched and it certainly won’t be the last.”

Alfie tsked and stepped away to pace the floor. “I’m not sorry for teaching him to watch his mouth when it comes to you, but I should not have done that in your home. Your sanctuary. I should have dragged his sorry arse outside first.”

You watched him worry for a moment then moved over to sit on the sofa. “You might as well get it over with,” you finally said.

He turned with a frown. “What do you mean, love?”

“Go ahead and tell me we’re done. That it was fun while it lasted but my brothers are just a bit much. That business comes first. That I’m not worth the hassle.” You waved a hand through the air as if it wasn’t important. As if your heart wasn’t breaking. “I’ve heard it all before or some version of it anyway.”

Alfie immediately moved to your side and took your hand in his before kissing the back of it. “Enough of that, now. I’m not going anywhere.”

“What?” The word was little more than a breath.

His smile was warm as he said your name. “I’m not going anywhere, love. Your brothers are not going to scare me off, a fact I made rather clear to them when we left here last night. I love you with every bit of me and I will stand by your side until you tell me to piss off yourself, family be damned.”

It took you a long moment of studying his features, looking for any lie before you threw your arms around his neck and pulled him to you. He immediately returned the hug as he kissed your cheek. When you pulled away, you grinned at him. “I love you, Alfie Solomons and there will be no getting rid of me, I’m afraid. Family be damned.”

[margowritesthings]

A Job Well Done

pairing: Arthur Morgan x reader (f) word count: 4944 words warnings: 18+ minors dni, sexually explicit, oral (f giving), rough oral, a little choking, a touch of voyeurism, explicit language, it's pretty much a blowjob fic authors note: idk what to say... this started as a little drabble because me and my fiancé love having a little smoke together at night and.... well, here we are I guess?? i hope you enjoy you lovely lot, and if you've asked to be tagged and you're not please let me know!! I have a new system for keeping track of my taglist and I may have lost some requests in the transfer

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @mrsarthurmorgan7 @twola@the-marsh-harrier @wildfloweroutlaw @photo1030 @luvliewriting@pine4pple-b0i *if i've missed you please let me know!!!*

You pull Arthur’s jacket tighter around your shoulders, settling into the old wooden chair while it creaks beneath you. Thanks to being in the middle of the Lemoyne swamps, it isn’t too cold despite the moon hanging so high in the sky above you, the jacket is more for comfort. From where you sit, you can see near the whole camp, watching lanterns flicker off incrementally as each member of your makeshift family retires for the night. A few of the boys stay up, drinking by the fire, their voices muffled and distant in the thick air.

It’s been a week to the day since you last saw Arthur, before he left to track a rather sizable bounty down and attempt to cushion out the camp funds, and God do you miss him. The days feel so much longer, nights so lonely you’ve considered saddling up and finding the bastard yourself just to bring him home sooner. Comfort can be found, though, in the ways Arthur’s presence has bled so deeply into your life that his physical being doesn’t even need to be here. 

His smell lingers on the jacket he left (the one he wore every day before he had to leave just so you could wear it when you missed him), that perfect mix of tobacco and whiskey and something so ineffably Arthur that you soak up every time you wrap it around your frame. 

He’s there in the routines you've built your lives around, intertwined as they are, the ones you can’t shake even if he’s not beside you. The cup of coffee in a morning, his so much better tasting than yours but you try anyway. The first morning after he left, you made two, ending up giving the extra to a very grateful Abigail to save face.

There’s a nightly routine, too. The one where you get ready for bed, then climb through the window to meet him on your balcony. He’s always there waiting with a cigarette hanging from his lips, patting his lap ready for you to crawl on. He’ll drag a match across his boot, (or sometimes the bottom of yours, if you’re still wearing them) lighting up the smoke before handing it to you. You’ll pass it between each other, catching up on your days, limbs entangled just how they should be as you watch Shady Belle fall asleep around you. 

Without him, those routines bring you comfort, grasping onto the remnants of your cowboy until his safe return. That’s why you’re sitting in this spot, pulling a cigar out of the little tin stash box Arthur left behind. Normally it’s just a cigarette, you could never survive a cigar a night and have the throat to tell the tale, but there’s something inexplicably Arthur about this brand of smokes, something you’re seeking tonight. 

You pluck a match from the tin, striking it against the table beside you, never having gotten the knack of igniting the thing on your boot as effortlessly as Arthur does, and light the cigar between your lips. The all-familiar woody essence dances across your tongue, your tired muscles relaxing from the first few tokes. 

It’s just you, the moon and the crickets as you sit on the balcony, Arthur’s smoke between your lips. You wonder what he’s doing. He should be sleeping, but knowing him he’s probably up planning, or doing exactly what you are right now. You pray he’s safe, hasn’t been gotten by the law or worse, gotten himself killed. You can’t let yourself even think about that, the very idea bringing a tremble to your limbs. To combat the sudden spike in anxiety, the next time you bring the cigar to your lips you drag in just that bit more smoke, letting it soak down your spine. Not nearly as experienced in smoking as Arthur, you cough a little, but you recover much quicker than you used to. 

Memories of that first time, of Arthur offering you the little brown stick and you nervously nodding, bring a little smile to your face. Oh, how you spluttered, Arthur giving you his drink on instinct, only realising that the whiskey burn would do the opposite of help once it was too late. You’d have been in your right mind to be embarrassed as hell, but by the way he chuckled as he rubbed circles around your back told you that he found it nothing but adorable. 

You sit there for a few minutes, basking in the precious peace so seldom found nowadays and taking a drag every now and then, the smoke riding a sigh from your lips. Your eyes slip closed, trying to shut off as many senses as you can to really connect with that smell and taste, imagining him emerging from your bedroom window to be here with you. 

He’s much less graceful than you are, often catching some part of his person on the windowsill when he climbs out onto the balcony. So many nights spent patching up little holes in his pant legs, right where that out sticking nail used to be in the frame before he ‘bested it in combat’ (i.e. pulled it out with a hunting knife and threw it ceremoniously in the lake). 

Manifestation is a powerful tool, you’ve always believed that, but you still nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a large hand grasp your shoulder just as you imagined, Arthur’s gruff, hushed whisper tickling the words “hey, sweetheart” into the skin of your neck. It takes you a second to catch your breath, heart racing from the shock before everything registers and reality sets in. 

“Arthur?”

He’s here.

“C’mere, darlin’.”

You fly out of your seat, the rickety old thing nearly splintering under the force, launching yourself into his open arms to burrow yourself into him.  Every part of him consumes your senses and you drink it all in like an addict. The smell, the real thing, much more of that Arthur essence than the whiskey or cigars, probably because he forewent breaks in his journey for those little pleasures to get back to you sooner. 

He seems to be taking you in as much as you are him, inhaling long through his nose and sighing it out contentedly, feeling whole again after so long without you in his arms.

“I missed ya’, beautiful.” He says softly into your hair, holding you tight against him, his knuckles brushing up and down the small of your back through layers of clothes you’ve stolen from him. 

“I missed you so much…” You mumble into his shirt, hardly able to breathe through the wall of hard chest muscle you’re pressed against, caring even less. 

It’s only then do you remember the cigar, forgotten and abandoned, smoking away on the table propped up on a jar lid turned makeshift ashtray. Most of the boys don’t bother with one, and neither did Arthur, until a fateful night a few months before you started dating when you first handed him the jar and told him you read something about birds and rabbits eating the butts of cigarettes. He kept the little piece of junk right next to his bedside, waiting for you to find it after that first night together. 

Arthur spots your momentary pull of attention, pulling his chest away to raise a brow down at you with a little chuckle rumbling his chest.

“Having a fancy smoke of a night, are we?” 

A cheeky little smirk- Arthur’s favourite, actually- tugs at the corner of your lips, waiting patiently for him to kiss it away.

“The smell reminds me of you…” you play coy, earring yourself that kiss when Arthur lifts you up to his height, kissing you softly, letting his world and yours fall back into place together. 

“Well I’m here now, angel. Wanna sit? Could do with a nice cigar with my girl to celebrate a job well done.” 

You’re eager to nod, heart fluttering at the prospect of getting to sit with him and hear all about his trip. He untangles from you to sit down first, patting his lap for you to crawl into. You fit perfectly together (you should do, you were made for eachother), head resting on his shoulder, legs splayed over his thighs with your arm draped over his shoulder. The cigar has gone out, so Arthur strikes a match so expertly on his spurs before shaking it out and placing his hand on the small of your back for support. You lean into him, watching him take puffs of the cigar and feeling the tiniest bit of tension leave his joints. He looks so natural with a smoke between his teeth, commanding an air of power with each movement he makes. Smoking doesn’t suit just everyone, you think, but God, does it suit him.

“We’re celebrating? You got the bastard, then?”

“Sure did,” he says, smoke spilling from his lips with each syllable. Arthur looks you over again, drinking in the dearly missed view, before kissing you on the forehead and flipping the cigar between his fingers to offer it up, “Eventually found him up in Fort Brennand, but he weren’t alone. Nearly lost a damn eye, but luckily only Woffard had to be brought in alive, so I dropped the other bastards and ran.”

You hang on his every word, your hero. You know he’s downplaying the fight, the danger of it all, but he does it so that you don’t worry every time he’s gone. It never works, and you always do, but you love him for trying. 

“Oh, Arthur, I’m so glad you’re alright…” You coo, pressing a hand to his cheek, feeling the weeks worth of stubble scratching against your palm. He nuzzles into your touch, not unlike a cat, and your find yourself keeping your hand there to mindlessly play with his hair, tipping his hat off to put on your own head. He chuckles, reaching to adjust it on you.

“Course I am, couldn’t leave you here all alone with this buncha’ fools, could I? Besides, someones gotta bring home the bacon around here, and you know Marston’s too trigger happy to bring a bounty in alive.”

“So you got the full price?” Your eyes gleam, the proudest smile on your features as Arthur nods and shifts both your weights for a moment to pull out a stack of bills and smack them on the table dramatically.

“You’re damn straight I did, baby.”

Of course he did. Arthur never fails, and God knows how much the camp needs this right now, freedoms diminishing by the day as Dutch makes more enemies and plans jobs that just seem to keep going wrong. But you don’t want to think about that right now. Right now, there is only you and Arthur, and the promise of a whole night spent with him uninterrupted. You hand him the cigar back, along with a stolen kiss, and he takes another mesmerising drag. The way he holds it, every so often tipping the ash into the first gift you ever gave him, it does things to you that you just can’t explain. It’s just a cigar, and yet you’re pressing your thighs together tight to futilely subdue the tightness coiling between them. 

“I’m so proud of you… I always am.” Unkempt locks of hair are twisted between your fingers, your face so close to Arthur’s you can pepper his cheek, temple and lips, whenever not occupied, with little kisses, Arthur’s hat sometimes tipping up against his forehead on your head. The two of you are always like this after a few days apart, unable to get enough of each other or keep your hands off one another. You shift your weight to access him better, catching his bottom lip between your teeth to press a long, tender kiss there. He hums under you, hand splaying under your jacket to grasp at your shirt. It’s seconds before you feel it, that hardening that nudges up against your thigh, prodding and reminding you just how much Arthur has missed you.

You pull away from the kiss, just enough to raise a teasing brow at how sensitive your cowboy is to your touch. He shrugs, unashamed, with that cheeky grin and those glistening eyes directed right at you. 

“What? I missed ya…” His words are accompanied with a pinch of your ass, which makes you writhe on top of his stiffness, the friction dragging a low growl from deep within his chest. 

“I can see that, cowboy… I missed you too. I missed you more.” You emphasise, nipping at his lip again and splaying your fingers across his chest. He rises to your touch, and you feel him stiffen more so under you. It takes a second of manoeuvring, but you’re soon straddling him, hovering above him like the angel he sees you to be. From this angle, with the moon behind you, you’re glowing. 

“You absolutely did not, you little siren…” He growls again, pulling at the flesh of your ass so that you’re grinding against him, the friction of denim against denim igniting you both and burning so wonderfully. 

“Oh, yeah? I can prove it.” There’s a little cock of your head, a raise of one teasing brow as you start to slide off him. He looks confused, disappointed, even, until your knees rest on the planks of wood on the balcony floor and he instinctively spreads his legs to give you the space between them. Your fingers splay across his thick thighs, and they tense under your touch, as does Arthur’s jaw. He’s starved after a week without you, clearly trying to reign in a control he’s struggling to possess. There’s no wonder, having his girl knelt before him like this. 

“You wanna take this to the bedroom?” He growls out, abandoning the still smoking cigar in the jar lid. You look up at him, peeking out from under the rim of his hat. 

“No.” You reach for the cigar, taking a few drags yourself before flipping it in your fingers just like he did and placing it between his teeth, “Finish your smoke.”

A distant laugh captures Arthur’s attention for a second, reminding you both just how close you are to the other gang members. You’re somewhat hidden by the railing, but if they looked in your direction, Arthur is fully visible from the chest up. A simple bob of your head- and you’re planning on plenty- would bring you into view. 

The look Arthur gives you when he quickly diverts his attention back from Marston and the others is downright feral, especially when your hands reach for his belt buckle. Nimble fingers make quick word of the obstruction, and you’re soon pulling Arthur’s thick, long length out from his jeans. He groans at your very touch, involuntarily bucking his hips up into your hand. 

You laugh, the sound a tempting little giggle as you tell him “Patience, cowboy…” 

He almost snarls in response, clearly having been goddamn patient enough over the last week where all he could do is fuck himself with your name on his lips and the thought of you knelt just like this between his legs at the forefront of his mind, always. 

Just as you lean in, when your soft lips trace over his rosy, swollen head, he pulls you back by plucking his hat from atop your head and throwing it to the side. He rests the cigar between the fingers of his free hand to free his mouth to speak to you.

“Need to see you while I fuck that pretty little moutha’ yours, angel…”

His words soak through you (and soak you through), and you just can’t wait a second longer, needy to have his cock deep down your throat, desperate for the burning of your lungs and the stinging in your eyes when he loses that control he so often vehemently clings to. 

Unable to wait a second longer, you run your tongue from base to tip, feeling every vein pulsing under your muscle and eliciting a deep groan from Arthur. When you finally take him in your mouth, his hand reaches to cup your cheek, following you down as you take as much of him as you can. 

“Fuck.” He groans, fingers reaching to tangle in your hair, scratching at your scalp. He’s probably louder than he should be, your eyes flickering to the general direction of the others as a warning, but they soon snap back to your cowboy, an intense eye contact burning at your skin as the head of his cock bumps the back of your throat. Arthur never takes his eyes off you, guiding you up and down his length and bringing the smoke to his lips. The tip of the cigar flares a deep, fiery orange, and smoke billows from his mouth with each laboured breath you coax from him. The way he’s sitting, fingers of one hand pulling at your hair, controlling your movements, and the other limply holding the smoke, he exudes a power many seek to master but never quite get. It makes your heart swell and your cunt throb for him, knowing on your knees before him is the only place you ever want to be, knowing only you inhabit it. 

You can taste Arthur, his salty essence leaking from the pure ecstasy you’re providing and spit pools in your throat, mixing with it and dribbling down your chin. Arthur catches it with his thumb, guiding you off his cock to push the digit into your mouth and let you suckle from it. You do, hungrily, adjusting on your knees to better take Arthur deep down your throat and-

“Arthur! That you?” 

Marston. 

For eyes widen at each other, Arthur instinctively pushing you a little lower by your shoulder to keep you out of sight. John hasn’t seen you, and you’d like to keep it that way, being in the incriminating position you are between Arthur’s legs. 

You spot the irritated sigh, the twitch of Arthur’s jaw as he plasters a fake friendliness onto his features and peers over the balcony to see his brother standing on the clearing below. 

“Sure is. Whatchu’ want?”

Straight to the point.

“We didn’t hear you get back. How long’ve you been here?”

All that tension you’ve worked so hard to dissipate comes back to Arthur’s form with a crashing force. You can almost hear his plea for just one second a’ goddamn peace, merely by the way he sighs before answering. 

“Not long, thought I’d try and sneak past you fools and get some shut eye.”

Subtle, cowboy.

Ever oblivious, or simply not caring, John continues, “How’d it go, then? You got the bastard?”

He has you pressed against his thigh to hide you from sight, cock standing to attention right beside your face. It’s too tempting, especially with a none the wiser Marston stood right below. When your tongue darts out, hovering above Arthur’s twitching, aching cock, his eyes flick down to you, warning residing deep in his eyes. You take it as less of a warning, more a challenge.

You wouldn’t.

Oh, but I would.

And you do. You lift up, just enough to fit the head of his throbbing cock past your lips and slide the whole length in. It bumps the back of your throat, but upon hearing Arthur’s strangled, poorly hidden groan, you can’t seem to stop yourself.

“Y-uh… Yeah, I got ‘em…” 

It’s impressive, how he can just about hold a conversation despite his cock being so far down your throat his balls rest on your chin. 

You can’t see John, but you can only imagine how his head must tilt and his brows must pull together at the strange response from Arthur. 

“You alright, brother?”

He won’t be.

You blink up at Arthur, feigning an innocent, near angelic expression as you inhale through your nose and push him even further into you. You hum, low and quiet, letting the vibrations pass through him. Arthur whimpers, instantly knocking any and all sounds you’ve ever heard from top spot and replacing them as your favourite in the whole world. 

“I-I’m fine. Just tired.” He tries to hint again, to no avail. His fingers are digging into your shoulder with a bruising force, that control slipping bit by bit with every passing second, every little movement. Tears prick at your eyes, that burning in your lungs you’ve been reaching for finally igniting. You’re stuffed with him, feeling so full that it’s hard to breathe. When you go to release him, to be able to gasp for precious air, you realise you can’t, Arthur’s huge hand holding you right in place with his palm flush against the back of your neck. Revenge. 

“Where’s the Mrs?”

A raise of a brow. You’re not married, but everything is so naturally right between you and Arthur that the gang just seem to have defaulted to that. It makes you beam, wanting nothing more than to be this man’s wife, the kind of wife that makes him cum down your throat while he has a menial conversation. 

“S-She’s- fuck…” When he grips harder at you, you gag around his length, tears now streaming down your cheeks and mixing with your spittle and the little bits of precum that leak out from Arthur. “She’s in bed. I-I better go check on her, a-actually.” He whimpers again, fingers now gripping into your hair to keep you in place. You’re not sure how much longer you can last like this, struggling to breathe, overflowing and, God, so wet for him. 

John sounds unconvinced. You’d giggle, if you could.

“Alright… Well, g’night, brother.”

Arthur barely manages a grunt, and you can feel his thighs tensing and twitching from the sheer effort of not bucking his hips up into you and giving the pair of you away. He stills, most likely waiting for Marston to fuck off already, before he rips you away from him and pulls you to your feet, gripping your aching jaw with force enough force to keep it open. 

“You goddamn siren.” He isn’t mad. He’s trying to be, but you know Arthur far too well, and he’s burning with a fire far hotter than mere anger. Need. 

The mischievous glint in your eye is all you can offer for response, what with his iron grip on your face, but you do manage to slip your tongue out and lick the pad of his thumb, tasting the mixture of fluids still lingering. 

It’s all getting too much, knowing what you just did and who you did it around, hearing Arthur unable to string a sentence together because of you. You don’t think you’ve ever been so turned on in your life, so desperate for a release that you’re pathetically writhing in Arthur’s hold. He notices, forced anger on his features replaced with a cockiness that only comes from knowing he’s regaining the power in the situation. 

Your cheeks tingle when he releases you, sitting back in the seat and leaning back, one elbow resting on the arm of the old wooden chair and picking the cigar back up. God, you could ride him in that chair till morning, if you thought the wood wouldn’t splinter under the force. 

“You gonna finish what you started, my little siren?” He asks, taking an especially long toke from the smoke while he waits for you to drop to your knees before him. Your cunt throbs, screaming out for his attention, but it would seem your antics have earned you punishment. 

Your knees hit the wood with a force, though an involuntary whimper escapes you, hips grinding pathetically against nothing. Arthur notices, smirking like a goddamn cheshire cat at his little wanton whore. 

“Patience, angel.” Your own words echo back to you like a slap in the face. You definitely deserve this.

The grip you had on the power in this game you’re playing with Arthur officially disappears when his hand snakes around the back of your neck, grasping at your hair and winding it around his wrist like a leash. You have to tilt your head so the tugging at your scalp is a mere burn rather than a sharp pain, but that’s just where he wants you. 

“Now, little siren, I’m gonna teach ya’ some manners, and you’re gonna finish what you started, alright? And if you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll think about getting that sweet little cunt of yours off…”

It’s all it takes, the promise of Arthur’s fingers deep inside you while he sucks on your clit just how you like it, lapping up your juices like a man starved, and the defiance in your eyes dissipates. Arthur bends you to his whim, messy, sloppy putty in his hands as he drags you onto his weeping cock. You’re all but drooling for him, leaking out of the corners of your mouth when he slips into you. Your scalp tingles with the pull, especially when Arthur involuntarily tightens his grip with a hiss of his breath. His tip bumps the back of your throat, but he doesn’t stop even when you’ve fit all of him in that you can.

“Fuck, good girl, just like that baby girl…” he groans, and when you open your eyes to look up to him, he is watching you with a gaze so intense you feel like it could tear you apart. The tension burns between you, coiling so tight the chirp of a nearby cricket could snap it. 

There’s an unspoken question in your eyes when you start to nearly choke on his length of when you’ll be released, but his eyes darken, “Come on, baby, you can take more, can’t you?” 

He seems to register your fear, but it phases him little. It seems more a challenge, really, coaxing him into rocking his hips into you, pushing you even further onto his cock until you feel it start to breach past your throat in a way you didn’t even know possible. You splutter, wriggling and writhing as you try your hardest to breathe through your nose. 

“Shh… good girl,” he coos, a ravenous look taking over your usually so lovable cowboy. You’ve pushed him, and God do you live for it. “Not much further… wanna see you take all of my cock, alright? You gonna do that for me, angel?” 

You can’t nod, but it isn’t much of a question, not much choice available with your limited movements and the way Arthur has completely commandeered your body. You’re irrevocably his, body and soul. 

It doesn’t feel possible to fit more of him in, your throat burning for relief that won’t come until Arthur is satisfied, but when he bucks his hips into you, you feel his base press against your nose. He groans hard, the noise initially from the sensation of having your throat wrapped around his cock, but when he sees the sight of you, tear stained and gagging on him, the moan is pulled out into a noise of pure ecstasy. 

“Good girl… my good fuckin’ girl.” 

His thumb rubs lovingly over your wet cheek, a sensation you cling to as the corners of your vision get fuzzy. Fuck, you’re not sure how much longer you can hold out, but you’re so desperate to feel Arthur’s spend trickling down your throat, feel him lose control and moan just for you that you’d honestly be willing to die for it. 

Your expression, complete with lust-fogged, watery eyes, and beautifully flushed skin, teases the last of Arthur’s restraint like a razor thin blade against that final thread. When it finally snaps, you’re allowed one gasp for air, before he’s thrusting back into you hard. You can feel him stiffen, even more so than before, as his hips splutter into your mouth and he starts to tumble over the precipice into that realm of pleasure that only the two of you share. 

“F-Fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna-” But he interrupts himself with a visceral, primal groan, the vibration of it shattering the both of you. You take advantage of his practically inebriated state to regain some of your own anatomy, managing to swirl your tongue around his pulsing head inside your mouth. The hot, salty spend blooms across your tongue at that, Arthur guiding you by the cheek to bob up and down on his cock while he paints your throat white. His moans are a melody you’ll never tire of, animalistic and vulnerable all the same. 

It feels like it never stops, Arthur’s spend filling your mouth up and leaking out from the corners of your lip. You can hardly stay still, writhing your needy cunt against your own heel, desperate for a reward you’re earning when you look him in the eye and swallow it all down. Pride blooms across Arthur’s features, saturated with a love that warms you from the inside out. His thumb caresses your face softly, wiping the tear tracks as you finally release his cock from your mouth and he guides you to your feet, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then nose, then lips.

“My good girl…” He coos, barely above a whisper as you breathe each other in, both as breathless as the other. Your throat aches, your jaw burning, but you’d do it a thousand times over to experience what you just did all over again. 

“Now…” He splits the sentence with another kiss, catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “Get on inside, sweetheart, I think you’ve earned yourself a reward.”

[natailiatulls07]

Can you do part 2 of it’s okay please 🙏

It's okay Pt.2

Arthur Leclerc Charles Leclerc Lorenzo Leclerc Pascale Leclerc & Leclerc!reader

Summary - In order to find her way in life, Y/n Leclerc runs away in the dead of night only leaving a note

Warning - Y/n being very anxious

A/n - You asked so you shall receive lol 😚

People in screenshots above (Not a tag list xx) -

@dreamerrosie @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @alldaysdreamers

-

Eventually Charles managed to lead Y/n to the passenger seat of the ferrari, if the two were seen together the paparazzi would have a field day.

The car journey was silent but comfortable. Every so often Charles would glance over to his sister, taking in her puffy eyes, sniffly nose and tear lines where they ran through her delicate makeup.

He really did miss Y/n. The days, weeks, months and years after her disappearance, everyone in the family could feel that missing piece. Her.

There was so much he wanted to say. So much to ask her. Charles' mind raced no pun intended. "How are you?" His voice broke that silence, but he couldn't wait. He had waited long enough.

There was small hesitation before Y/n soft voice spoke up. "Y-Yeah good, I um..." She stops, taking in a deep breath before chuckling. Confusing Charles. "I actually came back to Monte C to um...see you guys again, I missed you guys..."

It took him a few seconds for that to sink in before Charles spoke again. "Really?" He laughed, somewhat not believing his little sister.

Smiles captured both of their lips, Y/n nodding laughing along with Charles. "Yeah, I guess my plan sort of worked out..."

"Well you're lucky chérie, everyone is going round Mamans tonight..." Surprise filled her face, her luck this evening was immaculate. "I was at Lorenzos to pick up some bits and then you called"

-

They pulled up to Pascales house, and a wave of tears wash off Y/n. It was the first time in years since she had been home, the place where she took her first steps.

The white front door and the beige shutters, everything all still there. Y/n thoughts were interupted by the voice of her brother. "Oh I guess we're the last ones here. You ready for this princesse?"

With a nod and a deep breath, Y/n climbed out of the Ferrari. Walking up to the front door; she was messing with her hair, clean down her outfit and wiping away any smugged makeup. This was the first she would see her family after so long, she wanted to make a good impression.

Charles walking slightly ahead of her, chuckling softly at her. "You know they won't care what you look like. I mean you could walk in wearing a trash bag and a birds nest for hair and we'd still be happy to see you..."

It's true. She had been gone for so long that the family would do anything to hug Y/n and talk to her again. Her hands slowly lower from her hair, nodding cautiously.

Side by side they both walk up to the front door. Charles doesn't even knock or ring the doorbell, he just walks in. "Maman? Arthur? Enzo?" He shouts through the house, wondering where they are. The two siblings hear a faint shout from their mother.

"In the kitchen Charlie"

It was like time stood still for Y/n. She hadn't heard her mothers voice in such a long time, and oh how she missed it. Tears clouded over her eyes.

A rough hand slipped into hers, Charles was now leading the almost frozen Y/n to the kitchen. As they walk through the hallway, she notices how alongside photos of Charles, Lorenzo and Arthur are pictures of Y/n. And not just old photos before she ran away, no photos from her career.

One photo she takes notice of is from when she was in Swan Lake as Odette, the Swan princess.

They're just outside the kitchen when Charles turns to Y/n. He smiles gently, looking into her glossy eyes. "Let's do this yeah?" And with that, he walks her into the kitchen.

Pascale looks up from the chopping board expecting to see Charles but stops when she spots Y/n stood next to him with glistening eyes. Arthur turns from the fridge and stops mid sentence. "Charles, did I tell you about-"

Theres a heavy silence in the room, only interupted by Pascale dropping the knife and rushing over to her daughter. The two female collide into a hug, both sobbing.

Lorenzo and Charles connect eyes, both happy that Y/n is back home. "Oh maman, Je suis désolé, tu me manques..." The rest of the family hear Y/n's voice crack, and they all swear they feel their hearts crack slightly.

Y/n feels Pascale shaking her head. "C'est bon, c'est bon bébé" Pulling away from the hug, she cups Y/n's wet cheeks. Eyes taking in the grown womens features. But their silent interaction is cut short by Arthur lightly moving his mother out of the way.

He takes his little sister into his arms and spins her round, laughing loudly and cheerfully. "Oh my god you're back! You're back!" Arthur puts her down after a few spins. "I can't believe you're back!"

Y/n smirks slightly and replies back to him. "Best believe it!" Which earns her a playful slap on the shoulder. Arthur steps back and the now reunited family gather around the kitchen island. "I miss you guys, I actually came back to see you guys again..." Biting her lip slightly, Y/n waits for their response to her comment.

Smiling softly, Charles laughs. "Well I don't know about anyone else but I feel honoured. Y/n Leclerc, pro ballet dancer takes the liberty to visit her family" The kitchen lights up in laughter whilst he moves across the isle and give the young female a side hug.

"Get used to me Cha Cha, I'm on break for the summer"

~

yourusername

Surprise! I am a Leclerc girl oops <3

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