#I need to write more new stuff here for sure….

[acewithapaintbrush]

I saw the initial post by @wheretimegoestodie and @aroace-get-out-of-my-face addition about an Ella Enchanted AU with Stan and how easy it would be for Ford to accidentally activate the curse and it got me thinking, yeah but what if he does it intentionally cause he thinks he's helping Stanley? Cause, you know? The road to hell is paved with good intentions and all that.

I started writing and it kinda spiraled out of control so more under the cut. Trigger warnings for gross food stuff and non-descriptive vomiting.

Stanley rolls his eyes as Ford sighs obnoxiously loudly. It’s the kind of sigh parents use when they want their children to notice that they have done something wrong without having to spell it out for them. Too bad Stan is not an unruly child. He’s an unruly adult and as such he ignores his brother who is standing in the doorway with his arms crossed in front of his chest and a scowl on his face.

Ever since Ford found out about Stan’s little predicament he’s been overly careful with his words. Stan is thankful, really. It has made this house safer than any other place he’s ever been where people just tell you to do things without thought, mostly even without bad intentions. But it means that sometimes there are moments when they are in the same room but it’s just this overwhelming silence between them that presses down on Stan like an anvil to his chest. He’s never been bothered by silence before, not since his enchantment certainly, but it’s different with Ford. Everything is always different with Ford. He forgot about that.

Sometimes it comforts him, sometimes it makes his skin crawl.

Ford sighs again and Stan tenses. Usually ignoring his brother long enough does the trick and the guy will either tell him what bothers him about Stan this time or he’ll give up. A second, even deeper sigh is new.

“You have skipped breakfast again this morning,” Ford states in that way that is supposed to be a question.

“I had a banana,” Stan lies because he isn’t actually sure it’s the truth. The more he thinks about it, the more he thinks it might have been yesterday. It’s hard to keep track sometimes and there are more important things to worry about right now. Like making sure his brother eats and sleeps with that demon in his head, cleaning up the house to make that doom and gloom disappear. A little bit of dusting and letting some fresh air in has already done wonders to the place in the three weeks Stan has been here.

He glances at his brother in the doorway and nods to himself. Ford looks better. He is still horrifyingly sleep deprived, too afraid his possessed body will do something he’ll regret if he allows himself to fall into a deep sleep circle, but he’s less pale and doesn’t look like he’ll drop dead any second now. His old biker gang used to make fun of Stan’s mother hen tendencies but if they help make sure his brother doesn’t end up in an asylum it’s worth it.

Ford watches him move another box and his expression is a cross between pain and exasperation. Stan knows that his stubbornness is not making this easy for his brother but he can’t help it. He needs to do something, to keep busy. Make his stay here worth Ford’s while. Sometimes he thinks this desperate need to make himself useful, to feel needed, is just another side effect of the curse but then he thinks of all the people that mocked him for being so needy, so hungry for acknowledgment and affection, to be noticed and seen.

Maybe the curse was inevitable for someone like Stan.

“You need to-” Ford starts and when he sees Stan tense he quickly switches track. “I mean, a balanced diet is important, Stanley.”

Stan snorts. “Look who’s talking.” Ford starts to glare with real annoyance. Good. He’s been too nice the last few weeks. It has thrown Stan off, made him wonder when the other shoe is going to drop. His brother rubs a hand over his face and it must have been another all nighter. He looks especially rough, in a way he hasn’t for a while now. For a moment Stan feels guilty but he needs to get this room cleaned up and so he swallows any apology he could make and instead waves his brother away. “Go do your portal science stuff. I’ll eat something later.”

“We both know that's a lie!” Ford hisses between clenched teeth. He’s fiddling with his hands and alarm bells go off in Stan’s head. “And I’ll do what I want in my own home!”

“Easy, poindexter.”

“Don’t call me that!”

Stan feels the compulsion take hold but it’s okay. It’s an easy enough command to follow. Ford hasn’t even noticed and Stan won’t tell him. His brother slips up sometimes and it’s okay, at least he tries. (Okay okay okay, Stan repeats in his head multiple times, until he believes it).

“Easy Ford," he starts again but his voice is trembling. He’s on edge now, wrong footed, vulnerable. “Why is this such a big deal? I’m fine.”

“Because I’m worried about you, you dunderhead. And you are not fine. You are the farthest thing from fine. You look like you’ll fall over any second now.”

Stan rolls his eyes again because Ford being worried about him? Please. “Yeah. Sure.”

His lackadaisy response sets Ford off in a way Stan has never seen before. His brother seems to explode right before his eyes without any sound. His eyes flash, his teeth gnash together. He slams a fist against the door frame and tears at his sweater as if he wants to rip it off. Stan involuntarily takes a startled step back.

“I am!” Ford shouts and his voice sounds wrong, strangled, as if he’s trying to hold back tears even though his eyes are dry like the desert and blazing with fire. “I am, Stanley! You are working yourself ragged right in front of my eyes and I can’t watch this anymore. You need to eat!”

Stan freezes and this time Ford notices what he’s done. He can feel himself take a step towards the kitchen and Stan expects his brother to take it back like he’s done a dozen times before. His brother opens his mouth, his expression stricken and apologetic but then something else crosses his face. Fear, resignation, horror, sadness.

And then, worst of all, resolve.

“Go into the kitchen and eat. And when you are done I want you to go to bed and sleep for eight hours.” He’s averting his eyes as Stan pushes past him in the doorway. “I’m sorry Stanley.”

Stan wants to scream at him. Coward. Asshole. Traitor. He wants to punch him and beg him and curse him. He wants to do so much but all the curse allows him to do is walk towards the kitchen on wooden legs and listen to his brother sink to the floor behind him, softly cursing under his breath “fuck fuck fuck”.

His brother never curses. Stan almost wants to laugh.

Not that he’s allowed to.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Go into the kitchen and eat.

That command is easy enough to follow. Thanks to Stan the kitchen is well stocked with all kinds of food.

But that is the problem. Because his genius brother has given a very broad command.

Stan is supposed to eat and when he’s done, he’s supposed to sleep.

Not when he’s full. Not when the leftovers of breakfast are gone. Not when he’s eaten whatever he likes. Stan is supposed to eat until he’s done. And without a clear limit that means eating everything in the kitchen.

Fuck.

Stan’s feet carry him to the bananas on the counter first. Maybe a cosmic punishment for his earlier fib. Thankfully he peels them before shoving them into his mouth one after another, barely enough time to swallow before the next one follows. There are seven bananas and he eats them all and he already feels full and slightly nauseous. No one is supposed to eat so many bananas in one go.

“I’m done,” he thinks fretfully but the curse doesn’t care. There is still food in the kitchen. It makes his hand reach for the cereal standing next to the empty fruit bowl and tip the damned box up to pour the contents into his mouth. It’s the boring kind, fibers and nuts and raisins. He chokes on the dry food a little. His brother didn’t tell him to eat and drink, just eat, so he has to swallow it as it is without milk which would have made this a bit more bearable.

Once the box is empty (a lot of it fell to the floor but thankfully the curse doesn’t make him lap it up like a dog) his body turns to the sink and his heart skips a beat. There is a big chunk of minced meat defrosting in there. He had planned to make burgers later that day. The thought now makes him gag. He starts to reach inside the sink and he just knows that the curse won’t let him cook it first. Food is food.

With more mental strength than he thought he was capable of he focuses on the pickle jar standing ready next to the sink and makes his body reach for that one instead. As he takes off the lid and starts shoveling pickles and pickle water into his mouth he finally starts to cry because he knows it’s just a temporary relief, just a postponement of the inevitable. The raw meat is right there, waiting for him, mocking him.

A pickle gets stuck in his throat and Stan bends over, coughing it up. All the food he’s already eaten suddenly protests and combined with his terror at what’s yet to come Stan can’t help but bend over further and start to gag. With a cut off curse he vomits everything he’s just eaten back up again.

The mess spreads over the kitchen floor and Stan has a moment to think how much he doesn’t want to clean that up later when he hears footsteps rushing towards him. Ford appears in the doorway, lured by the sound of Stan throwing up. He takes in the scene, the banana peels and the empty pickle jar and cereal box and the mess on the floor and if Stan had any mental capacity to pay attention to his brother he might have been able to see the realization dawn on Ford's face in real time.

As it is, the curse is already forcing him to continue and it’s with a resigned kind of horror that he watches his own hand creep towards the sink.

“NO!” Ford shouts and when Stan still reaches for the meat he runs forward. His voice is pitched impossibly high. “Don’t eat that! I release you! Stop eating. For now, I mean. Stop eating for now. Only eat if you want to! Oh God, Stanley!”

Stan slumps to the floor. He would have facepalmed into the mess if Ford hadn’t grabbed him and pulled him backwards into his arms. The two of them sit down on their asses with so much force that it’s gonna leave a mark for sure.

Stan is still heaving, still gagging. Now that the compulsion is gone he can taste everything with so much more intensity. He’s never going to eat bananas again. Ford snakes his arms around Stan from behind and pulls him closer. It almost hurts, the way Ford is crushing him against his chest. Stan can feel his brother’s heart jackrabbit in his chest through their clothing, can feel Ford’s breath against the nape of his neck.

He wants to push him away, to fight his way free. To punch him, honestly. He tries but Ford just clings tighter with an almost animalistic whine and Stan slumps back, loose-limbed and exhausted.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! Moses Stanley, I’m so sorry. I just wanted to… I was just worried. I was so scared for you to- I’m sorry. Please, Stanley, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Stanley. Please.”

Stan has no idea what Ford is pleading for. His forgiveness? As if there was ever any doubt.

“It’s alright,” he rasps through an abused throat. It’s not alright, but if he repeats it often enough maybe he’ll believe it one day. He pats his brother's hand that is fisted in his shirt, the only part he can reach. ���It’s alright, Ford.”

It’s alright It’s alright It’s alright

For some reason that makes Ford sob and cling even tighter. He is shaking and a part of Stan wants to comfort him, tell him that he understands that Ford was just trying to help. But he is frozen, like an animal trapped in a snare.

“Never again,” Ford promises between sobs. “Never again, Stanley. I swear!”

“Okay.”

He’s tired. Maybe he won’t need Ford’s compulsion to sleep for eight hours.

This is actually good, he tries to tell himself. Stan was growing too complacent, too relaxed. He’s been waiting for the other to drop and there it finally is, dropped on his head like a ton of bricks. All that wrong sense of safety has made him forget the first rule of survival but he’s back on the right track.

He’s more familiar with this situation.

He knows how to handle this.

+++++++++++++++

The next morning Ford finds Stanley making enough breakfast for two and the table set for two people.

Ford goes into the bathroom and cries.

He's not hungry but he will eat.

Every last scrap.

********

Don't be too hard on Ford, he's got a demon in his head and runs on two hours of sleep, eight cups of coffee and spite

[homobrainjuice]

I WAS THINKING THE SAME FUCKING THING YEAH

I think I have my own rant on this myself as a hardcore final fan who had been waiting for this movie for god Knows how long.

so the thing that has irked me about a bunch of Final destination bloodlines stuff on here is that most of it is just Erik or Bobby. Mainly Erik. Erik is like, chemically engineered to be endearing to any 14 year old tumblr user. If he wasn’t we would have more art of other family members or the sky view (every shot in that opening sequence was gory gorgeous HELLO?!)

the thing is, final destination is a horror franchise that never really has characters at the forefront. No one in the final destination franchise has survived more than one movie except for Bludsworth and Clear. And guess what? They’re both dead now. Only the couple from the second movie has lived because they brought new life into the cycle (and even that used to be debated due to a newspaper clipping in final 3’s special feature.) my point is, everyone dies. You’re not really supposed to think of them as anything more than an archetype, and that’s exactly what Erik is. The emo boy tattoo artist who is “sad and fucked up💔” Just fleshed out a little with a thin film of character over it. Same goes for Bobby and every other character in the movie

there are so many and I mean many many many other “ships” in the final destination movies. The reason why no one talks about them like Erik and Bobby was because again they’re just archetypes with no real character because guess what THEY ALL DIE IN THE END. Sure it’s much scarier seeing seemingly real people get killed off in gruesome ways but a final destination character only really needs a few adjectives and they already serve their purpose, and as long as the death is memorable they’ll be remembered. And I mean yeah, Erik’s death is one of the best ones in the franchise.

my poorly executed point is is that final destination characters are not meant to be dotted on like traditional fandoms on here. Sure you definitely can (and I still see some awsome Erik art), but it’s kind of odd but also painfully obvious why Erik is receiving most of this attention. He’s a dude, emo, and somewhat conventionally attractive by tumblr standards. Is it weird that this gay incest ship is the only one I see? HELL YEAH? But that’s just fandom spaces, men always sexualized hard as hell. Weirds me out that this is the only final ship I see on here and it’s probably because it’s gay. So people just make excuses because they'll have a heart attack if a thing they like doesn’t have a gay ship in it. Look, I’m gay myself. I love writing lesbian ships because I’m a lesbian, but as a writer too I can’t help but emphasize the point that NOT EVERY STORY NEEDS ANY SORT OF ROMANCE TO WORK, ESPECIALLY FINAL DESTINATION.

stop forcing relationships where they don’t belong whether they’re, straight, gay and everything under our beautiful rainbow, ESPECIALLY IF ITS INCEST OR LOLI

Why the hell do so many people in the final destination fandom (specifically bloodlines) support the Bobby and Erik incest ship??? Yall do know that, despite them being half brothers, they ARE. STILL. RELATED.

I try to just avoid and block any of their incest shippers that I see but I keep finding it and it's so disgusting. If you're reading this and SUPPORT THAT SHIT, feel free to block me I don't care. I cannot repeat it enough about how VILE that is and I can already tell who you are as a person if you ship fucking family members.

Also, to the person that said Erik is incestuous, how the hell is he that??? There is no way in HELL he would have any kind of romantic relationships with any of his family members (ESPECIALLY Bobby).

This should be obvious enough but if you support incest or are a proshipper, PLEEAASSEEE get the fuck away from me and just block me, it won't hurt my feelings any, I promise you that.

[remand-me-barba]

okay okay but imagine this

barba who fucks u, carisis little sibling, cause he wants to catch sonnys attention, make him jealous.

its after hours and u r bent over his desk as he just rails u, and... sonny comes in.

Summary: Defense attorney Rafael Barba uses you, ADA Sonny Carisi’s baby sister, to get back at him during a case. And then your big brother walks in on the two of you.

Tags/Notes: Barba x Reader, Carisi x Reader, oral sex (reader receiving)

Content: Fem!Reader (sorry i know i try to be gn but), mentions of kinda stalking, possessiveness, manipulation, fauxcest (?), Rafael is revealed to have increasingly fewer morals, and a little anti-rollisi as a treat for just logan

A/N: So uhhh this is definitely kind of incest but you’re adopted? fauxcest? idk you’re not related but I do say “big brother” and stuff so if you’re not comfy with that, here’s the door no judgement: 🚪but idk this lowkey sucks shit anyway so whatever and also ur kind of annoying sorry :// also i literally did not even reread this

Word Count: 7k

Nobody had been surprised when Mr. and Mrs. Carisi started fostering teens once all their own children had moved out of the house. They loved kids and they wanted meaning in their lives. What did surprise people, especially their biological kids, was when they adopted you, making you an official member of the Carisi family (though you kept your last name, the only relic of your deceased parents) and the new apple of their eyes.

You’d always been troubled, of course, after years of bouncing around the system, and it didn’t stop just because you’d been adopted by a good Catholic family. You still struggled in school and swore like a sailor and pretended you never smoked weed all while being a sensitive, vulnerable kid. The biggest bright spot was that your new ‘big brother,’ a cop with a cocky smile and a chip on his shoulder, had been protective of you since day one. He was still in college when they adopted you, so he stayed over at his parents’ place most weekends in his old room. He’d drive you to school on his way to work so you didn’t have to take the bus, stand up for you when older kids treated you like shit (nothing like a grown man with a gun on his hip to make a teenage boy run away), and always made sure you had what you needed. 

All of that meant you were much closer to him than your ‘sisters,’ who were even older and who rarely visited and never tried to include you in conversations, writing you off as too young and inexperienced to join in on their talk about careers and relationships and adult responsibilities. Mostly because of Sonny, though, you like to think you’ve done a pretty good job making yourself a respectable adult. You’ve got a full-time job, your own apartment (with roommates, but still), and a bank account with more than $50 in it for the first time in a long time. The only issue is that you’ve bounced from boyfriend to boyfriend, never finding one who met Sonny’s strict standards for you. His approval meant the world, so you kept on trying.

Rafael Barba’s by far the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. He stops by your work to drop off flowers on his way into the office, he never forgets or cancels date night, and he makes you feel like you’re worth everything in the world. You’re certain that he’s the one Sonny will finally like enough to accept. It never even crossed your innocent mind that maybe Sonny never liked your boyfriends because he was jealous.

Your mom’s practically dancing around the kitchen as you and your sisters help her prepare Thanksgiving dinner. They’d all brought their own sides, too, and the whole house smelled of garlic and butter and goodness. Nieces and nephews sprinted around the house with happy shrieks while your dad sits in the living room with the husbands watching football.

Sonny arrives after everyone else – without his fiancee, Amanda. She’s been a mainstay at family events for a few years now and everyone feels her absence but nobody says anything. Sonny plants firm kisses on your sisters’ and mom’s cheeks and then pulls you into a warm hug. You notice he holds onto you extra tight this year; things have been rocky with his Amanda lately and seeing you always makes him feel better. He gives your forehead an extra kiss, his hand still on your lower back, and asks, “How’s my baby sister, hm? Been a few weeks since I’ve gotten to see you.”

Before you can answer, your mom’s lilting out, “Y/N’s boyfriend is coming to dinner tonight, so it’s safe to say she’s doing well, I think.”

“Oh yeah?” Sonny clenches his jaw briefly as he digs in the fridge for a beer. Once he pops it open and sips it, he gives you a prying gaze. “Finally someone worthy of meetin’ ma?”

You beam, unable to conceal your excitement at the idea of your family embracing the suave, sexy man you’d come to adore over the last few weeks. “Yeah, I think so.” You check your phone and smile at a few texts from him; you love having a man who isn’t afraid to double or triple text you. “He’ll be here in half an hour; he’s wrapping up at work now.”

Sonny’s eyes narrow. “What kind of psychopath works on Thanksgiving?”

You nudge him in the ribs. “Didn’t you have court this morning, counselor?”

With a conspiratorial glance, he smirks. “Yeah, but I have an important job.”

Mock-offended only because you fully expected Sonny to be standoffish and protective, you reply, “What makes you think he doesn’t?”

He mutters, “Because all your other boyfriends have been losers.”

Your dad enters the kitchen, too, and drops a hand on Sonny’s shoulder. “Don’t be rude, junior. I feel good about this one.”

Sonny grumbles and swigs his beer. “Your good feelings let Gina marry a dud. That’s not gonna happen to Y/N if I have anything to do with it.”

With an eye roll, you excuse yourself, “I’m gonna go get dressed. Mom, I’ll come back and set the table in a minute, alright?”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Go, go, get all dolled up.”

You hear Sonny mumbling something about how you shouldn’t be dressing up for some asshole as you cross the house. Upstairs in your old bedroom, which they’d kept exactly the same, like Sonny’s, you rummage through your suitcase for the outfit you’d brought. You’re staying for the long weekend and mainly packed ugly pajamas to lounge around in while your parents wait on you hand and foot. But you brought a showstopper for tonight. For Rafael, really. Not too much for a family dinner but enough to drive him crazy. A cozy, oversized sweater to appease your family’s more conservative side but a tiny, tight skirt to encourage wandering hands in secret moments and beneath the table.

A shy knock on your door pulls your attention from touching up your makeup. “Y/N? It’s your sunshine.”

You roll your eyes; he only goes for that particular nickname when he’s trying to be cute and sweet and pathetic. Angling for sympathy. You open up the door with pursed lips. “What?”

He steps into your room and closes the door. If nothing else, it was nice of him to knock on your bedroom door instead of coming through the bathroom of the jack and jill suite you shared like he did when he was being extra annoying. “C’mon, sweetheart, don’t be like that with me.”

You shake your head and continue getting ready, slipping on a pair of sheer black over-the-knee nylons with lace details at the top. Sonny’s addicted to watching your legs move. “I won’t be like that if you won’t be like that.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Sonny huffs, “Like what?”

“Dom,” you say seriously, putting away your things and finishing off your outfit with a pearl of pearl earrings. “I don’t want you to be an asshole to him. I know you’re my older brother, but you don’t always have to do the whole ‘bad cop’ routine. I want you to like him. I’m an adult. Treat me like one for once.”

Sonny sighs heavily. Even if he knows nobody will ever be good enough for you, he definitely doesn’t like to cause a frown on your pretty lips. “Okay, fine. Go ahead and tell me about the bast- guy, then. What do I need to know so I can play nice?”

You squeal and sit down on the bed next to him, your shoulders brushing. “He’s great, I promise. He treats me really well. Always pays for me, opens doors, shows me off to his friends.” Dreamily, you add, “I swear every word out of his mouth is more romantic than the last one. And, fuck, he’s so sexy. Like, his hands are-”

“Spare me the gory details.” Then, after a beat, you watch his eyes rove across your body in a way that feels anything but fraternal. Quietly, he asks, “And he, y’know, satisfies you?”

You snatch a pillow and bash him with it. “Sonny!”

He throws his hands up, snickering because he just said it to bug you. “That’s important in a relationship! I need to know you’re gettin’ taken care of.”

Cheeks turning deep pink, barely concealed by your foundation, you punch him on the arm, put on a voice that one-ups his, and decide to lie just to get him off your back, “You really wanna know? Fine. I always finish first. Usually more than once. He’s very good with his hands and his mouth and his dick is-”

“Okay, Jesus! I concede.” Sonny’s cheeks are even redder than yours and he stands up straight, cheating his body away from yours. He prays to god you can’t see his dick straining against his slacks. “He sounds great, kiddo, I’m glad you have someone who, ah, who takes care ‘a you.”

The truth is that, like all the guys you’ve been with, Rafael mostly gets you off by fucking you, not taking much time for foreplay. But that’s what you’re used to, so that’s what you take. You stand up with a laugh and try to keep your tone casual, blasé, as you add, “The only thing you’re not gonna like-”

“Here we fuckin’ go.”

“Dominick Carisi! Holy fuck, he’s not a murderer.” You shove him hard on the arm and sigh, “It’s just that he’s a little older than me.”

“A little?” He knows you well enough to know you don’t mean a year or two. “How much older are we talkin’ here, kid? Five years? Ten?”

Sheepishly, you cross the room to stand against the door, ready to get out of there. “I dunno. He’s, like, a few years older than you, probably.”

“Older than me?” Sonny storms over to you with fury in his blue eyes. He presses his hands to the door, trapping you between his arms. Something unfamiliar rockets up your spine as you see his taut arms on either side of your head. Matched with his aggression, it’s confusing the feelings in your stomach. “What the hell does a guy that age want to do with you? You’re a fuckin’ child!”

“Oh my god,” you protest, exasperated, “I have a bachelor’s degree and a 401k; stop treating me like a baby.” More than a little venomous, you add, “And stop acting like a pathetic jealous boyfriend. You’re gonna interrogate me about my sex life and then call me a child? You’re gross.”

At that, Sonny startles back, realizing he’s pinning you against the door, and curses under his breath. He runs his hand through his silvering hair and calms himself down with a deep breath. ‘Gross’ isn’t exactly the worst insult you’ve ever thrown his way during your heated arguments, but he knows how accurate it is this time around. Gently, pinching the bridge of his nose, he whispers. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I’ll be nice, okay? I promise.” Taking your hand in his, Sonny touches your chin to make you look at him. You both hate fighting with each other even if your tempers match. “Forgive me, doll? Please?”

Looking into his puppy dog eyes, you sigh and say, “You know I can’t stay mad at you, sunshine.”

He wraps you up in a hug, lifting you off your feet until you shriek out a laugh, and kisses your forehead. “Thank you. Let’s go and help ma set the table, alright?”

You nod and head back out to the family behind him. In the chaos of your family, you find routine in setting out the plates and glasses just the way you know your mother likes them. Sonny, of course, follows just behind, correcting your askew silverware and rearranging centerpieces because he does it the nicest. Even you can admit that.

Before long, a knock at the door snaps you to attention. Your siblings give a low ooooh like you’re heading to the principal’s office, but you just roll your eyes, too excited to see Rafael to mind their teasing today. You practically skip across the house to the front door and fling it open, feeling Sonny only a few spaces back, ready to pounce. At the door, Rafael’s standing on your front porch in a terracotta three-piece suit, the details all cream and gold, perfectly tailored to the occasion and his strong frame. His salt-and-pepper beard is neatly trimmed and he’s got a pricey-looking bottle of wine under his arm. The picture-perfect boyfriend.

As soon as he sees you in that tiny skirt, he can’t help tugging you onto the porch with him, away from prying eyes. He kisses you hard, free hand going directly to your ass, and you melt into his commanding grasp. From the first moment, he’s known exactly how to touch you. As he nibbles up your neck, not hard enough to leave any trace but definitely enough to get you going, he groans, “God, baby, you’re so gorgeous.”

With a girlish grin, you giggle, “Hi, Rafi. You’re not so bad yourself.”

He hugs you close and sighs, “Mmm. I’m nothing next to you.”

You take a deep breath of his woodsy cologne before untangling your bodies. “Thanks for coming today. I know Thanksgiving’s kind of an intense ‘meeting the family’ date.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he replies easily, placing another kiss on your cheek. Then he takes another look at your outfit, noticing those sinful stockings for the first time, and he’s back on you. Because you’re on the front stoop, the curtains drawn and your family clustered inside, you let him grab hungrily at your body, fingers skating underneath the skirt’s hemline as his heavy breaths drive you absolutely crazy. Against your ear, he murmurs teasingly. “Of course, we could always skip this thing and go fuck in my car.”

You giggle against his lips. “Mmm. Tempting, but I t hink my brother would come looking for me.”

“Of course,” Rafael replies, dipping down to kiss you one more time before giving you a cute wink. “Your big bad brother. Come on, let me go and charm him into submission.”

When you turn around, you bump into Sonny waiting in the doorway. Watching. A little startled by his presence, you laugh, “Speak of the devil. Dominick, this is-”

Sonny eyes Rafael up and his voice is darker and meaner than you’ve ever heard it. “Counselor Barba. What are you doing here?”

Rafael’s expression is softer, smirking. As his left hand settles possessively on your waist, Sonny watching his every move, he reaches out his right hand. Sonny shakes it; you don’t notice the way they crush each other’s grips. “ADA Carisi. Good to see you outside of the courtroom.” Then he looks down at you and chuckles, “You never mentioned that your brother works at the DA’s office.”

Of course, Rafael knew that already. He’d seen your picture on Sonny’s desk months ago when they sparred over a minor case and had casually looked over your social media profiles back then because, well, you were cute and he was only human. When it became clear that Sonny would be his opponent on one of the most high-profile cases of his career, he’d gotten familiar with your schedule, slowly deciding that there was no better way to get in the prosecutor’s head than to toy with his baby sister.

On the exact opposite end, you know they’re both lawyers, but it never even occurred to you that they might know each other. Rafael’s firm is out in the Bronx defending wrongful convictions and Sonny’s some fancy government guy in Manhattan. In your mind, they occupy completely different worlds. You ran into Rafael randomly at the Bronx zoo, bumping into you as he picked out a present for his godson, not even close to the courthouse or the precinct you associate with Sonny’s career. But there’s a tension between them that you read right away that feels deeper than your brother being protective.

Through clenched teeth, Sonny eyes Rafael and confirms, “You’re dating my baby sister? You?”

You furrow your brows and cling closer to Rafael, searching your brother’s face for an explanation. “What’s going on?”

Rafael squeezes you and kisses the side of your head, soothing your nerves slightly, and lies, “Just your classic defense lawyer versus prosecutor animosity.” He gives Sonny a challenging look. “I’m sure by the end of the night we’ll be fast friends.” He gives you a smile and caresses your cheek, every gesture oozing with affection. “After all, we both love you, nena. Right, Dominick?”

You smile and give Sonny an expectant glance and a little nod to encourage him. He looks between the two of you, feeling his stomach turn with disgust, and forces a grimace for your sake. “Sure, Rafael. We’ll get along fine.”

You squeal happily and drag Rafael deeper into the house to meet your sisters and parents. It doesn’t surprise you that he’s effortlessly charming with your mom and just the right amount of masculine with your dad. Your sisters oooh and ahh over how smart and put together he is. By the time you all sit down to eat, you’re absolutely glowing from being on his arm (and from a few heavy-poured glasses of wine he hands you, always topping off your drink without asking).

The whole evening, Sonny’s lying in wait for a moment where he can corner Rafael and strangle him to death. Or at least interrogate him. He’s torn between his desire to protect you and his desire to make you happy. His absolute disdain for Rafael Barba and his better nature to give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s only ever seen Barba as a sleazy, slimy defense attorney with a mean streak and a knack for exploiting the legal system, but it’s not like Sonny knew him personally. Work Barba and boyfriend Barba might be completely different animals. At least he hopes that’s the case.

Over the course of dinner, though, he gets the sense that Barba’s exactly the man he thought. He schmoozes your mom with a heavy dose of compliments and talks about sports with your dad like he actually watches them, which Sonny knows for a fact he doesn’t. It’s like he’s done research to make each of your family members tick, from somehow magically knowing Gina’s old college roommate to making Bella tear up with some speech about the beauty of forgiveness and motherhood. It’s all so rehearsed, so calculated, and Sonny’s disgusted by the fact that you don’t see it. 

The thing he really doesn’t like, though, is how handsy Barba is with you. During dinner, with your boys sitting on either side of you, Sonny watches how Barba’s free hand is always on your thigh, way too far between your legs for him to be comfortable with. After, you help with dishes and he stands behind you, arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. Sonny’s jealousy forces him to wonder what it must feel like to have your ass pressed up against him instead. Once the family’s moved into the living room, Sonny notices how Barba follows every time you get up, his hand possessive on your lower back or between your shoulders.

And he’s shocked most of all by the fact that, when you leave the room with Barba, all the rest of the family does is gush about how wonderful he is. Your dad would’ve killed any of your sister’s boyfriends for touching them like that, but for you, the baby, whatever you want is what makes them happiest.

It comes to a head when, after your sisters and their families have left, Rafael kisses you long and deep and says, “I think I’m turning into a pumpkin. I’m going to get ready for bed, but stay up as long as you want, nena.”

You smile up at him, catch him in another kiss, and reply, “I’ll be up in a minute, just gonna finish my wine.”

He kisses your forehead. “Perfect.”

As soon as he’s up the steps, Sonny’s voice drops low and dangerous; you’d seen him reach for his gun alongside that voice plenty of times. “Ma, are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? You’re lettin’ some stranger stay under your roof with your daughter? Whatever happened to your-”

Dad smacks the back of his head and glares. “Don’t talk to your mother like that, junior. Rafael’s a good man and he knows our rules.”

Sonny’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “C’mon, dad, you know he’s gonna go up there and-”

You sigh as the fight continues, not wanting to listen anymore, and head upstairs without another word, leaving your unfinished wine behind. You feel Sonny’s eyes on you until you’re out of sight. Frustrated, you push open the door to your old bedroom – and find Rafael reclining on your small bed half-naked, in only his boxer briefs, playing with a skimpy, lacy pink thong you’d been planning on showing off to him tonight after you showered.

Once you’re in the bedroom, your stress melts off at his teasing gaze. “Are these an early Christmas gift for me?”

“Yeah, I think you’d look incredibly cute in pink lingerie.” You raise an amused eyebrow at him and climb onto the bed, straddling his lap and not caring that your skirt hikes up. “And why are you snooping in my suitcase?”

Rafael takes you by the hips and pulls you close, his fingers greedily running up your thighs. He lies effortlessly, “I was looking for some conditioner, amor. I thought you’d be more than thirty seconds so I figured I’d have a shower. Didn’t realize mine was empty.”

“You can shower in a minute.” With an accepting nod, you sigh and nestle into his shoulder. “I’m sorry Sonny’s been so…well, you know.”

Rafael tilts your chin up and cups your cheek. “Don’t worry about it, baby, he’s just being a good big brother.”

“He’s not,” you sigh, annoyed. “He’s being…I don’t know. Weird.” You cut him a curious look, not sure how much to pry. “You know each other, right? Why doesn’t he like you?”

Rafael shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m a defense attorney; he’s an ADA. We’re natural enemies.”

You giggle as he pushes you backwards, running his hands up underneath your sweater and beginning to massage over your unlined bra. But you try to focus as he touches you. “C’mon, I can tell it’s more than that. I’m not stupid.”

Rafael suppresses a laugh at that; if you weren’t stupid, you wouldn’t be here about to get fucked by him, blindly going along, believing his kindness, not knowing he was going to be gone before the night was up, leaving you spent and heartbroken just to get under your brother’s skin. He bites at your earlobe, trying to distract you, as he explains, “We have a case coming up against each other. You’ve probably seen it on the news already; that rapper the state is accusing of all kinds of bullshit.”

“Got it,” you breathe out as he tugs your sweater off and bends down to mouth over the tops of your breasts. “I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

Just to lay it on thick, he pauses and adds, “If I’d known he was your brother, I wouldn’t have intruded on your family dinner. I would’ve-”

“Don’t say that,” you whine, rolling your hips upward for more attention. “It doesn’t matter who my brother is; I want you to be here.” When he hikes up your skirt and shoves your panties to the side to expose your wanting pussy, you gasp out, “Need you, Rafi.”

“Is that so?” He chuckles against your lips, practically tears off his bottoms, and plunges his cock inside of you. You’re so turned on that you take all of it easily, breathless but knowing it well. “How about we stop talking about your brother and start talking about getting you off?”

You nod into his strong bicep as he starts to fuck you in earnest. It’s way too easy to get you to stop looking at whatever he doesn’t want you to. You’re too desperate for attention, for love, to ever question him when he’s taking you like this. You’ve made it so simple for him to get ‘caught’ fucking you so that he can shatter you into pieces and leave your perverted brother to clean up the mess he’s made. He knew Carisi would be so angry at him that he’d be distracted enough to lose just because of Rafael’s presence in the courtroom.

A soft knock on the door steals the moan from your throat. Sonny’s voice follows and blush shoots up to your ears. “Mom and dad went out to a movie; they wanted me to tell you before I head out. Can I get a hug to say bye, doll?”

Barba’s still unrelenting inside of you, his hand over your mouth, and he doesn’t stop as your eyes dart over to the door. He’s smirking devilishly as he calls back, “She’s, ah, indisposed at the moment. I’ll tell her to call you tonight.”

You hear the pained sigh in Sonny’s voice. The sound of him makes your pussy clench around Rafael and you pray he doesn’t notice. “C’mon, kiddo, I know you’re in there with him. I get that you’re mad at me, but-”

You accidentally let out a muffled moan against Rafael’s palm when he angles just right against your G spot. Sonny definitely hears it. His voice catches in his throat and white hot rage blanks his vision. Before you can even wonder if you remembered to lock the door, Sonny’s pushing it open and slamming it shut behind him.

You make eye contact.

You, skirt shoved up around your waist, a man’s hand over your mouth, your makeup smudged, your hair mussed. Him, anger written in his furrowed brow, sleeves rolled past his forearm, features contorted into something like a snarl. Rafael, above you, thumb firmly on your clit, fucking you senseless, moments away from making you cum.

Time slows to a stop, each beat of your heart feeling like a full minute. All you can do is watch as your brother barrels into your bed and harshly shoves Rafael off of you with a harsh growl of, “Get your fuckin’ hands off her.”

You let out a shriek and scramble up the bed to cover yourself as Rafael tumbles to the floor with a harsh thud. Sonny’s shoving Rafael’s clothes at him and creating a physical barrier between the two of you.

“Relax, Carisi,” Rafael spits as he struggles to his feet, “we were just having some fun.”

They’re chest to chest and you can barely breathe as he replies, “She’s not some toy for you to screw with.”

You try to speak, to protest, to calm things down, but it stifles in your throat when Rafael laughs, “She’s made an awfully good way to screw with you, though, hasn’t she?”

The floor drops out from under you as you realize exactly what this is. What you’ve been. A pawn in his game. Just a new type of courtroom strategy.

Sonny’s voice is made of ice. “You used my baby sister. She had no idea. She trusted you.”

“She didn’t exactly ask many questions,” Rafael chuckles, wiping spit from his lip. No shame on his face, he adds, “For such a supposedly smart girl, she was pretty easy to-”

Sonny snarls and grabs Rafael close by his shirt. “You don’t get to talk about her like that.”

“Sure I do.” Rafael sneers, “You’re mad because I touched her, but it’s not because I disrespected your sister.” His eyes are mean and cold and he’s smirking. “It’s because I beat you to it.”

Sonny clenches his jaw. “I don’t know what you think you’re talkin’ about, Counselor Barba, but you need to get the hell out of my house before you regret it.”

“Like you’d ever-”

Sonny’s fist collides with Rafael’s nose – sharp, pointed, quick. A single hit informed by a decade as a cop. Rafael staggers back. Blood streams down, staining his shirt, and he draws in a sharp hiss. He lifts his shirt to his nose and sighs, “Good luck hanging onto your license after assaulting opposing counsel.”

Sonny steps behind him and shoves him forward, toward the door. “Good luck hangin’ onto your life if you stay in this room another goddamn second.”

And Rafael’s gone.

At the same time, you realize the Rafael you thought you knew never existed in the first place.

With your bra somewhere on the other side of the room and your skirt up around your waist, you fold over yourself and cry. Your arms are wrapped around your chest and you feel so small and ashamed. Tentatively, Sonny walks over to you and touches your shoulder. He’s worried that you’re freaked out by what Barba said, especially being mostly naked, so he treads lightly. “Do you want me to leave you alone? Or should I-?”

But you grab him, tug him down next to you on the bed, and curl against his chest like you have a thousand times before. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

“Never,” he soothes as he wraps long arms around you, wholly enveloping you like only he can. As soon as you feel his comfort, your tears turn into sobs that make your body shake. Sonny holds you close and kisses the top of your head, trying so hard not to think about the way your bare breasts feel against his chest. “No, c’mon, y/n, love, don’t cry. He’s not worth it.”

You know he’s right – you should be angry, not pathetic and weepy – but you can’t help it. There’s still that small, vulnerable side of you that’ll always exist underneath your skin. So he holds you until it subsides, your tears drying up and leaving your lips and cheeks such a lovely red. Your cheeks turn even redder when you realize how naked you still are. You snatch up a blanket, pull it around your chest, and give a bashful smile. “You’re the best, Sonny.”

He wipes the tears from your cheeks with his strong hands. “You know how it is; if you need me, I’m here for you.”

You lean forward again so he’ll hold you more, which he does happily. After a minute, you murmur against his shoulder, knowing you’re staining his shirt with makeup, “I always need you.”

“Doesn’t seem like that much anymore,” Sonny laughs softly. “You’re all grown up now. Don’t need your mean big brother to fight your battles.”

“Clearly I do,” you snort and give his hand a quick squeeze. “Thank you, Sonny, for always watching out for me.”

He presses his lips to your forehead and sighs, “That’s what I’m here for.”

You hold onto his shirt a little too tight and ask with a wobbly tone, “Stay over tonight, sunshine?”

Sonny sighs, voice fraught with regret at what he’s about to say. “I’m supposed to go over to Manda’s and-”

“Forget I asked,” you dismiss with a wave. You try to offer up a brave smile. “I’ll see you for Sunday dinner anyway, right?”

Sonny pauses. He looks at the softness written all over your face and can’t resist giving in. “I’ll stay, baby girl. If you need me, I’ll stay.”

You pick at the skin by your thumbnail. “What about Amanda?”

“She won’t miss me,” he sighs. “You’re my girl anyway, right? At the end ‘a the day, I need to be there for you a lot more than I need to grovel for her to forgive me.”

Your brows furrow; Amanda’s always been way too critical of Sonny. To you, he can never do anything wrong. “What did you do?”

“She hasn’t told me yet,” he jokes, trying to change the topic. There’s a little bit of an edge to it, though. There always is. He pats your thigh, letting his hand linger, and says, “Let’s get you ready for bed. Y’need some rest after all that bullshit.”

With a sigh, you nod and hop out of bed. Sonny politely averts his eyes as you find your bra and tug it back on followed by shimmying your skirt back over your butt. That’ll do for now. You open up the door to your shared bathroom, his bedroom on the other side of it, and shake your head. “I just don’t know why I always go for men who just- who just wanna fuck me and then get rid of me.” As he follows behind, you look over him like you might find the answers in his eyes. “What’s wrong with me? Don’t I deserve better than that?”

Leaning on the countertop next to you, Sonny’s on the verge of tears as he says, “Don’t ever doubt yourself like that. You deserve to know what it’s like to have sex with someone who actually cares about you. Who isn’t just usin’ you. You deserve everything good, kid.”

You sniffle, mascara still running down your cheeks as you gaze at him with red-rimmed eyes. “I really thought I had it this time. Love, I mean. Respect. I thought he-” You sigh and huff at yourself. “God, I’m so stupid.”

“Hey, wait,” Sonny protests. He catches your wrist and says, “You’re not stupid. Assholes take advantage ‘a you because of everything you’ve been through. They see how sensitive you are. How sweet. How good. But that doesn’t say anything about you, got it? It says somethin’ about them that they think it’s okay to hurt you.”

You try to sit with that, holding onto Sonny’s praise with everything you have. After a quick, gentle touch to his face, you grab a makeup wipe and roughly remove the mask you’d put on for yet another man who’d never treat you the way you wanted to be treated. Sonny watches as you wash your face until it’s pink and clean.

With your hair down and your skin fresh, you go back to the bedroom and rummage through your suitcase, grabbing a pair of soft lounge shorts and a ratty old NYPD tee that Sonny had given you when he left the force. This time, you turn around to change, and Sonny drinks in the view of your back as you unhook your bra and tug on the familiar shirt without it holding you back. He can’t bring himself to drop his gaze when you bend over to peel off your stockings. He gets an ever-so-brief look at your pussy when you touch your feet and the sight goes directly between his legs. Clearing his throat, trying to sound casual, he stares unabashedly at your ass as you wiggle out of that too-small skirt and into something cozy.

“There we go,” you sigh and turn around, “back to myself.” Finally, you look at him with a sad little smile and shrug. “Who was I trying to fool, anyway? Nobody’s ever gonna want me like that.”

It’s too much.

He can’t bear to watch you, so effortlessly beautiful and kind and sweet, disparage yourself for another second. In a few long strides, he crosses the bedroom, takes your face between his strong hands, and kisses you without hesitation. Shock bubbles up in your chest and widens your eyes, but it softens quickly as you begin to melt. His lips are more tender than you’ve ever felt. A barely audible whimper falls from your throat and pools in your gut. You step onto your toes and let your hands go to his chest, feeling the strong muscles underneath his clothes.

But, despite your obvious want for more, Sonny doesn’t push. He pulls back. He presses his forehead to yours and closes his eyes. With a shaky voice, Sonny admits out loud for the first time, “I already want you like that, doll.” Brushing your cheek with his thumb, he murmurs, “I swear, baby girl, you’re so worth it all. You’re worth everything. I wish- I’m sorry nobody’s been able to show you that before.”

“Show me,” you whisper, desperate and needy. You take his large hands in yours, dwarfing your little fingers, and place them at your waist. An invitation. “Show me what it’s supposed to be like.”

Sonny drags in a long breath. He’s never been so tempted by anything; he’s reciting the lord’s prayer when he hasn’t been to mass in a decade. His voice is gravelly and mournful. “You don’t mean that, kiddo. I shouldn’t’a done that. Kissed you like you’re not my- I’m sorry. We shouldn’t-”

You cut him off with a kiss so soft it’s barely a breath. Then you tell him, “Don’t let my heart get broken twice in one night, Sonny. I need you.”

When  you say that, every dam inside of Sonny breaks. His hands tighten on your waist and then slink around to pull you into an embrace. “Oh, love. I’m so sorry.”

You breathe in his sharp, masculine cologne, letting it steady you. “For what?”

“You just needed me this whole time,” he breathes, looping his arms underneath your ass. He hikes you up off your feet and you cling to him as a giggle boils from your lungs. Nobody’s ever swept you off your feet so literally. He spins you around, drops you on the bed, and bears down on you in one fluid motion. His lips go to your neck and you whine for more, so much more, as he says, “I’m sorry for not givin’ it to you sooner.”

He kisses you again. You can’t believe how different it is from kissing any boy you’ve been with before. His lips aren’t frantic. It doesn’t feel like he’s just killing time to get from one thing to the next. To push you forward.

Sharing breath with you, he promises, “Gonna treat you so good, baby. The way you deserve. Nobody’s ever gonna hurt you again.”

Still feeling the sting of Rafael’s actions from earlier, you mutter, “You can’t promise that, Dom.”

His look is deathly serious when he pulls back. Sounding possessive and intense and warm and adoring, he assures you, “If we’re doin’ this, then we’re doin’ it all the way. You’re movin’ in with me and I’m gonna take care ‘a you.” His hand is on your neck but it’s not threatening or controlling; it’s grounding. It’s a foundation. “No more Amanda. No more boyfriends or hookups. If you’re mine,” he repeats, “nobody’s ever gonna hurt you again.” He slips down and removes your sleep shorts. When he spreads your legs and finally gets a full-on look at you, his voice is so thick with arousal it makes you squirm. Once again, he insists, “I’m gonna take care ‘a you, baby girl. You’re never gonna worry about anything.”

Then he drops down to your pussy, musky and ripe from already having sex once tonight, and inhales deeply. Consuming you. You expect him to be ravenous, to take, but he’s not. He’s so slow. He noses along your inner thighs, kissing lightly and activating the nerves on your soft skin. It’s almost ticklish but not quite. Spine tingling. His hands drag around your hips and waist, drawing you close, worshipping your every inch.

By the time he actually puts his mouth on you, you’re done for. A loud moan billows out of you and Sonny smiles into your cunt. “That’s right, angel, lemme hear how good I’m makin’ you feel.”

No sooner are the words out than he’s back on you. His tongue is mature and experienced and it’s clear there’s nothing on his mind other than getting to explore the depth of you. He’s gentle on your sensitive, swollen clit, keeping his tongue nice and flat and slow. Somehow that’s a thousand times hotter than if he fucked you hard and fast likes you’re used to. By not rushing, he’s showing you just how much he wants to be there. This isn’t about getting his dick wet; it’s about making you his.

When he slips two of his slender fingers inside of you, your whole body arches and tenses. Fuck fuck fuck. He curls his fingers back toward himself, right against your G spot, knowing how to stroke it firmly to make you roil. “That’s it, doll.” He smiles up at you, lips slick with your wetness, as you buck onto his fingers. when he touches his thumb to your clit, adding just the right amount of pressure, you whine loud and true. He praises, “Just like that. So good for me. God, your pussy’s pretty. Beggin’ for as much as I’ll give her.” As he kneels back down again, he says, “You’re beautiful, baby. I’ve gotta taste you when you cum.”

Now accompanied by his fingers, Sonny takes your clit once more. He’s thorough and sweet, only getting faster and harder until he finds the exact pitch and tempo that has you moaning and writhing to every single touch. And then he keeps you there. Not a single change to rush you through it or keep you away so he can fuck you. No, he works on your pussy like it’s a case, checking every box and leaving nothing unturned.

Warmth tightens in your abdomen and Sonny groans against you, feeling the contraction of your cunt around his fingers. He doesn’t let up at all, working you through it, making sure to give you every second of pleasure he can. If he’s going to blow up his own life for you, it’s going to be worth it. When you cum, shattering apart, he clings to you, savoring the new rush of sweeter slickness that coats his fingers as you clamp down over and over. He can’t wait to feel that same sensation around his cock, milking him dry.

Sonny brings you slowly back down to earth. When he removes his fingers, you sigh out heavily at the lack of fullness. You miss him filling you in any way you can get, even as he props himself up on his elbows to kiss you. Still breathless, you kiss him back, tasting yourself on his tongue, and grip his hair and beg, “Fuck me, Sonny.”

“I don’t usually bring condoms to holiday dinners,” he chuckles, clearly struggling to resist you. He can feel the heat radiating from between your legs against his clothed thigh. “Next time, love, I promise.”

You sigh, but you know he’s right because he always is. Soft and sure, you reply, “I like the sound of ‘next time.’”

“Oh, there’s definitely gonna be a next time,” he says with a lopsided grin that only comes out when he’s blissfully happy. He peppers kisses over your face until you’re laughing, too, and tells you between them, “When I leave in the morning, I’m breakin’ up with Amanda, pickin’ you up, and never lettin’ go again.”

For some reason, you feel like crying. His tenderness unravels everything you’ve been holding onto. A little tentative, you tell him, “I love you, sunshine.”

“I love you, y/n. You’ve got no idea how much.” The reply comes so quickly and effortlessly you have no choice but to believe it. Sonny turns on his side and holds you close so you can nestle into his chest, breath finally slowing and relaxing. “Your heart’s done bein’ broken, baby. I’ve got you now.”

[cherry-writes-stuff]

Reading my old stuff in here…I should be tied against a post and shot

[ancha-aus]

New Age AU Drabble - Feelings Above Duty

Heya @spotaus Spot!!

I swear new Age Ccino gives me brainworms. He is my Blorbo <3 So here we are! back at it again!

Timeline? We are right after Dream invaded the castle and got away. The group is hard at work at returning everything to normal, or as normal as they can.

So. 5 hours and 4750 words later and here we are! As always. No editing as always as it is a drabble but i am VERY happy wiht how it turned out! <3

*---------------------------*

It still feels wrong.

Everything feels wrong.

Even as things are calm. Even when things are clean. Even when there is not a single mark on the floors or walls. Even if the meeting with the council went alright and no one was difficult about him taking them over for a short time again.

Then again... It is not the first time.

Abigail, or Abbee as she prefers to be called, is a member of one of the old noble families. The noble family who has been in the council for generations on end.

When Ccino had walked in some of the newer members had looked confused. Abbee however had looked up with a deep frown on her face. Before anyone could reject him being there however Abbee had flown over and given him a hug. Happily greeted him and asking if the king had send him to stand in for a little while again.

Ccino had confirmed it and gotten straight to the point. Memories and old hard learned lessons coming back easily. Ccino is very lucky for all the careful notes that Night... Night... Nighty...

His hands shake as he drops the dish he had been holding. The plate clathers loudly on the counter and the sound seems to continue to bounce in his skull.

It feels too full. Everything is loud... Nothing makes sense.. He can't breath.

No.

No focus.

He looks down to pick up the plate. He spots it and reaches but-

Red... Red and silver and grey... Red liquid covering his hands... Two just barely different shades... lines of glittery silver swirling in it. Never mixing but there... Small grey particals. Starting to clump together.

He can't move. He can't breath. He can't-

"Ccino?" a hand on his shoulder and someone? he needs to... He needs to... soemthing...

"Ssh... Sshh it is okay. Breath. First you need to breath. First in. Hold it. Then out."

There is a hand. Pushing on his sternum when they say out. And releasing the pressure when saying in.

"Just follow my hand. Come on... Easy does it."

He fills the fake lungs. As he does the world becomes clearer again. His hands are white... covered with bubbles made of soap from the dishes... before him he sees the plate but it is broken and-

Red... there is red.

A hand pulls his hand away and a towel covers his hand "You were really out of it there Ccino... Easy..."

The ground is cold and hard but it pulls his attention. the arms around him as steady and secure and..

Oh...

"Sorry Robin... I don't know... I just..." He should be better at this. Even if that day when Nigh-... When he got taken is by far the worst day in his life... It is fine. He should be fine. He should be good at this. It is what he does. He manages.

He always manages.

Robin doesn't let go of him as she studies his hand "Lets agree to disagree... Ccino. What are you doing here?"

Ccino shoots her a look before sighing as he glances back at the dishes "Washing the dishes. After it I still need to prepare the meeting with the merchants. They should be here before the end of the week and if Ni-... I mean... our... Our..." Why can't he just say it! Why is his throat locking up?! Get it together! Just. Stop being a wreck. Stop being a burden! enough is going on. Get it together and do something useful!

Robin hums and with a flourish she finishes wrapping his small wound "Yeah I cna see that. Next question!" She looks at him questioning "Why are you here instead of where you want to be?"

Ccino feels called out a she glances back at his hand "I... I went by this morning..."

Robin nods "How is he?"

Ccino looks to the side "Still asleep... The healers say he is stable... Just resting... That he needs time to recover the lost blood, and mana... and energy... and... and... life-... lifeforce..." His hands had been covered... His clothes a mess. His whole bathroom had looked like a terrible murder had happened.

He had broken down again when he tried to clean it...

Robin had found him like that...

Robin ahd held him... much like this actually...

Heh... He is pathetic... So much for being worth all the trust Nightlight places in him... He can't even keep it together now.

The Knights are fine... Angry and worried but they can focus. They are working on locating Nightmare at this very moment.

Error is also helping. Crafting a sort of spell to track Ngihtmare's magic.

The are fine... They are managing...

He should be better.

Robin frowns at him "Sorry to hear that... It must be rough."

Ccino can't help but snort as he pulls his knees up and just lays on them "Harder for the Knights... I really have no right to be this undone by it all..." To hover as much as he is. To visit so often. Killer and him... They hadn't even been close... Ccino had... he had never truly tried to connect wiht Killer... Before because of Killer's own past... After that Ccino hadn't wanted to interfere with Killer's journey to self discovery... Shortly after that... Their small talk in the hallways and Ccino's few helping moments grew even smaller as Killer became a Knight.

The first Knight. The King's most trusted.

Then the others came around and Killer had his fellow Knights. His brothers in arms.

They still spoke... once or twice... When they came across one another in their own duties. Killer is always playful. Still that same smile as all those years ago...

They still dance...

At his brithday party... The Winter Ball...

Ccino had often wondered if Killer knew it was just Ccino under that mask. Ccino figures he knew. Killer is much more intelligent than he wants you to think he is.

But then it makes no sense that Killer still asks him for a dance... or six... and eating a plate of food on the balcony together...

A hand covers his hand and holds it. Moments later Robin interlocks their fingers together. She is warm. Almost all humans are. He glances at her before looking away again. Her face doesn't have her usual smile as she just stares at him worried.

"It is... okay... I will be..." not fine. He doens't feel fine. He can't feel fine. He isn't allowed to lie... "I will manage." Managing. That he can do. He can manage.

"Ccino... If you could pick anywhere to be right now... where would it be?" Robin just asks.

Ccino can't help but let out a snort as his mental to do list stares down at him. "Probably in... in the office... I need to reread deals and contracts... Make sure everything is being send out and on its way to the places that need them." There are multiple rebuilding projects on their way. Promised goods and gold need to be spread. The plans should be all done but Ccino needs to check them just in case some spy broke in and messed with them when their defences had been done. That is what... what Nighty would ahve wnated...

Robin tugs on their joined hand "No... Ccino... I mean. Where do you want to be right now. Not where you think you should be or where your next chore is. Where do you want to be."

Ccino frowns as looks at the ground. The ground is nice. It has curves and looks like tightly intertwines branches. But still completely flat. Honestly he doesn't take enough time to admire the castle and oh it is warm here. He should open a window and let the air cool. On tha tnote. When was the last time the castle got aired out? Especially after the fighting and all the cleaning they will need to open up the windows to make sure not resident chemicals bother people.

Maybe the fresh air will also help with his warm feeling face and horrible headache and-

An arm is wrapped around him "I think we both know where you want to be."

Ccino feels called out... Then again... Robin knows him... Robin has been there with him since the start. ten years older and so much smarter but she had pulled him up and helped him along. While people were mean or forced him to run. She had been the one to show him little tricks. Little ways to make it easier. Where to stash food. Wehre he could safely rest. Which hours the guards wouldn't patrol certain areas.

Ccino leans against her. His sockets hurt... form the crying... maybe from the staring at his roof in his room. Maybe it is the headache. It just feels better to lean agianst her "I gotta work Robs..." He mutters as he just leans against her. Familiar and safe.

Robin snorts "I can do that stuff Ccino."

Ccino shoots her a look "robin... I can't ask you that."

Robin looks highly amused "What exactly? That I do my job, that i am handsomely and very well paid for may I add. And you focus on some personal stuff." Her amusement becomes gentle "Ccino. The reason why you always do it is because well. You are amazing at it and yes, thanks to that I have very little to do on average when it comes to management." She makes him lookat her "But I got this. I can and will manage stuff. Lessen your load."

Ccino frowns and mutters "I cna handle it... I did it before..."

Robin nods "I know... but you don't have to Ccino. At least not alone. Please let me help."

Ccino sighs and nods "Okay... I... Okay... You know?" He isn't sure what he is asking.

Robin grins "Got the schedule memorised. Now... What will you do?"

Ccino looks back to the ground as he tugs on his fingers... The wrapping stands out against his other white bones. "I... I am going to check on him... After that I go to bed..."

Robin nods as she gets up and pulls him back to his feet "That is the spirit! go make sure your boyfriend is okay!" she grins and rushes off with a wave.

"He isn't my..." But she is already gone.

Ccino sighs as he rubs his throbbing head... Just a bit longer.. That is all...

He walks through the halls. He nears a turn but just turns towards a wooden panel. Just a small push and the panel shifts aside as he climbs in and he rushes in. The tunnel is cramped but thankfully cool. There are quite a few spiderwebs... Ccino will have to check wiht some of the spider monsters if these are relatives or if they need to do a more throughout cleaning.

He exits the tunnel and feels his soul do little flips in his chest. No stop. Don't be weird. It is... Nothing changed. He is still the same. They are still the same. They are just colleagues... maybe friends if he really pushes the definition. And that is fine. It was what Ccino wanted after all. Helps him focus. Helps him stay on the job. Helps him not grow attached for when people leave again and-

"Ccino."

he stops and turns around. Horror is here? No stop. of course Horror is here. Killer is here which means one of the knights visits often to amke sure he is okay. Usually it is Dust but horror is not uncommon to see around.

Ccino nods and gives the small half bow. Muscle memory kicking in "Sir Lion. What can I be of help with?" and he rises again.

Horror looks around before answering "Error's spell managed to get a signal. We are grabbing our supplies and leaving."

Shock.

He hadn't... He thought. He had thought the spell was still in the development stage-

Or it was two days ago... Something about it not being powerful enough... Did they figure it out? Had they had a plan? why dind't they tell him-

No stop. doens't matter. it doesn't matter. You got no plac ein this. Don't make it about you.

Ccino nods "That is well. Are you in need of any supplies?"

Horror shakes his skull "Dust is grabbing the few things we need and preparing the horses. Cross is talking with the Captain and sharing the location together with Error. Captain Rogers will be able to follow us with the reinforcements later."

Ccino nods. That had been the plan. The Knights move out to secure Nightmare. The guard moves out to capture those who attacked to begin with. The Knights strike hard and fast to enable success.

They don't care if this rebel group escapes and tries again. They know about them now and they will be better prepared to defend.

Getting Ngihtmare back takes priority.

Though.

Ccino frowns as he looks at Horror "You mean Sir Cross will go as well? Shouldn't he still be resting?" It is still ahrd to not call Cross Snow Leopart. Ccino had sat with Nightmare as Nightmare went over so many different animals that may fit and than later the list the mask maker had given him. Nightmare had been so proud to manage to settle on Snow Leopart. But the mask is still being made and so it is not exactly known just yet.

horror chuckles as he looks back up fondly "There is no stopping him. He did swear he will rest and not move out of the medical area for a full week when he is back"

Ccino knows he is frowning "Well... I do think it is unwise and risky but you three will know better if he will be able to help." He waits for a moment before speaking "However... if there is nothing I can help you with..." and he looks pointedly at Horror. He doesn't want to ask it ouright but why did Horror search him out.

Horror looks much more bothered as he rubs his neck "It is just... We wanted to... Ask you... We know you are busy." He looks down with guilt before looking back at him "Can you make sure Killer is fine? We know he is healing and he needs to just sleep but... It would be a load of our mind if you could check on him." He looks so troubled. Guilty as if he is asking for a terrible thing.

Ccino is... surprised... They just want him to check up on Killer? That... "That will be no problem. I will make sure to check in on him."

Horror just looks more troubled "It is just that... Dust seems convinced that Killer cna hear us you know... it would be nice if you could... tell him some stuff. Just small stuff... Nothing too long or bothersome it is just... Dust seems sure that Killer takes comfort in hearing us."

Ccino frowns but nods "If Sir Panther is sure." It wouldn't be the strangest thing. Ccino knows he has seen stranger stuff. One of which was Killer returning to life in matter of fact. He nods again as he speaks his answer in more words "I will make sure to talk to him." And if Dust really is right. Ccino likes the idea of bringing a bit of comfort to him. Even if it is just to talk about some of the boring days as servant.

Pure relieve covers his face "Thank you Ccino. It... It means a lot." He sighs and chuckles "When all of this is over we will need a break."

Ccino can't help but agree easily "I am sure our... king." he only paused for a second "Will be ready to give all three of you time off to spend time recovering."

Horror nods and sighs "It would be nice... Thanks again Ccino." a more boyish and mischivious grin "Finally get why they call you miracle worker." and he leaves.

Ccino sighs as he rubs his head "I am not... I don't..." He doesn't really make miracles happen... He is just creative in his solutions. He watches the hallway for a moment longer but it is quiet.

So very quiet.

He turns back around and continues his path. He gets to the wing with the healing bay easily but he stops. His mind spinning.

They will leave soon.

They will find Nightmare.

Oh how Ccino wishes he could go wiht them. To get to Nightmare. To hold him close and tell him it is okay. That he is safe again. But he would just get in the way. He would just be someone they would ahve to keep an eye on and be in danger.

He would endanger the mission.

His mind calls Ngihtmare to the front. So scared and alone... Would he even be allowed to keep his things? Would he be all alone without anything to bring him comfort? would they have taken his cloak? he has had his cloak since his crowning. It was meant to just make him look the part but for some reason it was a source of comfort for Nightmare.

Ccino wants to believe they wouldn't take his things. That they would look at Nightmare and see that young teen that he is. That they would at least be gentle and try their best to take care of him.

But he knows not everyone is nice to children. No matter how young they are. His own back aches with the memory.

No... It is unlikely that nightmare will have something to hold close to comfort him. To help calm him down. Exposed to everyone as his mask got broken and-

Ccino looks up and looks back the way he came. If he is fast. He walks away from the healing bay. He is two steps further when a few branches wihtin the walls, the very wall that looks like solid stone, moves and seem to wave in an nonexisting wind.

Ccino doesn't think as he mutters "My room please... Than the Knights." The wall shudders and caves inwards. A tunnel appears right before his eyes and he walks in, the walls behind him melt shut again and he walks through darkness. Just like always there is nothing to trip him. It is smooth and straight forwards. There is no rough incline or ramp. There is no sudden twist. There is nothing in his way.

The wall opens and the light floats his vision for a moment. It blind shim aside from these bright flashes as his skull throbs again. Right... No sleep.

He rushes to his bed and careully kneels beside it. He reaches under it and pulls out a small wooden box. He clicks it open adn inside lays it. The White Cat mask. On a velvet pillow, dark green in colour. A protective pillow on the top of the case as well.

He takes it out and the silver coloured ribbons are still as soft as ever.

He stares at the hollow eyes of the cat for a moment before getting up again. He turns towards a wall and a new tunnel is already ready for him.

He follows it and leaves the wall near the courtyard. Dust stands with his three horses, ccino beleives it are Basalt, Pearl and Limestone, each one being one of their personal horses.

Dust is already on Pearl's back and sees to be staring right ahead. A look of pure concentration on his face. Ccino never could feel the other's magic, but from what Nightmar ehad told him it was often overwhelming and the pressure got very high. Ccino has no doubt the other was planning to use that same power against those who stood against them.

He does however also see Error sitting behind Dust. focussing on the spell up in the sky as he seems to tug on a few strings. He wishes he understood magic better...

Doesn't matter.

His sight finds Horror and he marches over.

horror is tyign a small pack to the horse when he looks over worry covers his face "is something..." he seems scares to speak the last word for his question.

Ccino knows however what he is asking "Nothing is wrong. I just..." He hesitates for a moment before taking out his mask and hadning it to Horror. Hroror stares at it in awe and shock.

Ccino is honestly surprised is voice is even when he speaks "For our king. He lost his mask when he was taken. He will find comfort in not being exposed." and hopefully the familiar mask will bring him some comfort as well.

Horror nods and tugs it away in his armour "I... Yes... thank you... We will rbing him back"

He doesn't understnad why he thanks him. Instead he nods "Just bring him home..." Wiht that he turns and returns to the castle. He still.. He still needs...

The wall opens as soon as he turns a corner. Ccino walks in wihtout hesitation.

He exists right by the healing bay. His hand shakes when he opens the door.

Two different monsters look up. They smile as one stands up. A small monster, a red panda to be precise, smiles brightly at him "Mister Ccino Sir!" they immediantly blush in embarrassement. They are still very new to their position. Honestly the fact they remained after the fight is a good sign.

Ccino gives a small smile and small bow "Good day to all of you. I hope you have been well?"

The red panda monster, they never did introduce themselves fully, mutters and tugs on their clothes. Somethign about it being nice and calm and finally quiet again. By then the muttering gets so quiet that even Ccino can't figure it out anymore.

Laura, a peacock monster, looks at the other fondly as she walks over "Happy to have you sir! I am happy to report that we fired most of our patients. They are now on normal best rest schedules and will start up their training routine slowly." she looks very proud.

Ccino smiles and gives a nod "Any long term injuries?"

Laura shakes her head "No deaths and no long term injuries. The system Captain Rogers put in to always have a group of at least three near each other ended up saving the lives of about seventeen different people. As they were able to stabilise their group members long enough for help to arrive." Her smile drops "Well... Almost no long term injuries."

Cold sweat on the back of his neck. His breathing goes abit faster. He digs his own nails into his palm. Stay in the here and now. Don't fall apart. "How is Sir Tiger?" his voice isn't as even as he would like... There is a small edge of panic in there and it shouldn't be. He needs to project calm and control to help others remain calm and relaxed. If he is freaking out others will freak out as well.

Laura sighs "It isn't going better."

The red panda holds up their hands "Not worse either!! Just... No real progress. Everything is still stable but well.. there is nothing we can do except wait..." and they look down.

Ccino's throat feels blocked. It is hard to find his voice. To get it to speak "I see. We will have to be patient in that case. Keep supplies on hand for when he wakes up and can tell us how he feels." Please... "Could I see him?" please. Please just a moment.

Laura nods "That is alright. Not like you are bothering anyone now that it is just our Knight here with us." she looks relaxed as hse stretches "I am going to work on my files. Ria?" She looks at the red panda.

They shoot upright "Yes Ma'am?"

Laura nods towards the shelves "Can you make sure to fill everything up again and check the inventory?" Ria, so that is their name, nods and rushes off.

Ccino frowns as he looks at Laura "I thought Solus usually did that?"

Laura nods "He would. but he spend the whole night helping patients. He is catching up wiht lost sleep." she walks towards the office "You know where to find me for questions!" and she walks away.

He is left alone.

It isn't that he... dislikes them... They are nice. all three of them are.

It is just...

He hates being near anything medical or healers.

He walks over towards the private room. He knocks on the door before opening it "It is just me."

Killer is laying in the bed. Completely still. His mask next to him on his nightstand. There are different things conencted to him. Something about measuring his health and magic levels. Ccino isn't sure. He knows it got explained but he hadn't been all there for the explanation.

He pulls over the chair near the bed and sits in it by Killer ".... They are going... They will probably have left by now... They are going to get him back..." That is the most important part. Make sure Killer, if he can hear him, knows that.

Ccino doesn't know if he wants Killer to be able to hear them. Maybe it would be better if Killer didn't. If Killer was in a sleep deep enough that he doens't fully notice anythng around him. That for him it will truly be like blinking and falling asleep before being present again.

It would also be better for Ccino. Because otherwise Killer would know how often Ccino is here. How often he visits him.

At least he ahdn't done something as stupid and selfish as confessing.

Imagine.

Killer only just waking up? Hearing that Ccino managed to keep him alive until the healers could help him. Killer will probably always feel like he owns ccino something when he doesn't. And then hearing Ccino has a crush on him? Ccino doens't want to think that Killer would jsut... Try to... make it up or pay his debt or seomthign stupid...

There is nothing there. There can not be anything there. Killer is one of Ngihtmare's most trusted and precious people. Nightmare himself said as much once. Ccino is just the manager of the castle adn at most Nightmare's old babysitter.

Even if it felt as so much more. Even if he loves both those twins so much. Ccino isn't stupid or naive enough to forget his place.

He crosses his arms as he leans on the bed. Next to the other. He is breathing even. In and out. In and Out. in and Out. No hurry. No stuttering. No gasps and groans.

He is much too quiet.

His soul at least regained its colour. It is bright and red and... in a circle.

A bulleye shape.

It makes Ccino nervous. Killer's soul isn't that shape. Well it is sometimes. But every time Ccino saw him it was always in this more soul shaped shape. The characteristic upside down heartshape. Sure it wobbles and moves and shivers but Ccino just thought that was part of Killer. Killer who is energetic and always moving and always talking and laughing and experiencing life. Part of him being loud and having fun.

His soul is so still now. So even.

Had he messed something up?

When Ccino... When he touched that...

He can still rememebr how it felt.

How it hadn't hurt.

He takes a glance at his own hand and rubs his palm. Not a single mark. Not even a bruise.

He had been rushed here the day after that terrible first night. To check him in case of injury for the emergancy first aid to a soul. but there hadn't been any mark left.

No burns from the contact. No drain from his own magic. No shift in his magic hue.

It truly had... had seemed like...

ccino sneaks a look at Killer "I don't get it... Were you... there enough to realise that I was trying to help you? That you knew you could trust me? but then... how did you keep the instinct to protect your soul from harming me."

He just doens't understand.

Ccino lays his hand back down and lays his skull in his crossed arms.

He doens't understand.

But he will wait.

He is good at that. Waiting.

[alicepooryorick]

Like, I just need to talk about this again. Because it's my HUGE gripe with Brombal rn. He doesn't do much more than really surface level stuff, and I don't think he really understands that much? Like, by the metric of comparing him to someone that's obviously read equal amounts of Shiva&Cass. Equally, I don't think he actually CARES about Shiva. I thought he did, at first, but the more I think about it, the less I believe he does.

To my first point, Shiva's death is a big example of this. Tate can quote a million references, he can flash back to Richard Dragon Kung Fu Fighter, but he fundamentally misunderstands stuff. He doesn't take the time to truely understand what's going on. To use her death, I think similar to war games and Steph's death, it's a good idea in an elevator pitch. Even the shirt thing. The issue is, it's not... Given anything. It's done to look cool, to have a neat final part. The idea that Shiva was born and killed in sexual violence, that even she is not free of men viewing her for the parts of her body society views as sexual, is incredibly awful and interesting. It's something that could be REALLY important to look at! Shiva is STRIPPED as she's dying! Like holy shit! Instead, it leads to mg other gripe.

Brombal doesn't see Shiva as a character, really.

At first, I really enjoyed what he was doing. It felt fresh, nice even, to see a Shiva that acted differently than past interpretations. Was it perfect? No! But it wasn't blind demonization, and as it went on it got better. But especially with the new backstory, it's become increasingly obvious he cares about Cass, not Shiva. Shiva is something to drive Cassandra's Story forward. I already talked about her death, but her death, the way it was handled, was simply done for Cass. I know that sounds obvious, but it does nothing for Shiva. This entire run, really, does nothing for her besides give her a new more authentic name. The backstory is designed to give Cassandra a new set of storylines forward. It's adding to a character that's already under explored. Giving Shiva magic blood, a predestination to being Shiva, takes away from who Shiva was. Shiva was the story of a normal girl who threw away everything, even her morals, to become something new in grief. That part was always so, so deeply interesting to me. But surely this new backstory atleast explores the part of her backstory I know most Shiva fans were hoping for: O-Sensei, right? No, just a throwaway line that I missed the first read through. I don't think Brombal intentionally took a different approach to Shiva for the sake of trying to give her her old, pre-Dixon interpretation back. I think he knew he had stories he wanted to tell, and told them, making Shiva whatever best suited the story.

So far, Brombal's Batgirl has been slipping the more I think about it. Even on Cassandra's side, I don't feel like the story he's telling is the type of story we fell in love with Cass for. I know for me personally, I LOVED the civilian parts, I loved her out of costume moments, focusing on the character. We don't get that here, and it's a shame. I know times and comic trends have changed but... Especially with Cass, Batgirl isn't why I'm interested, really.

Idk, it's just some of my rants on this book. I'm pretty close to dropping it and just appreciating Thompson's Cass. I really love how Thompson is treating Cass rn, hopefully her or Alyssa Wong or... Hey fuck it, Chris Condon he seems incredible at writing, can take over soon. Emphasis on Wong with how Psylocke's been.

So, one thing that still... Gets at me about Batgirl 2024 (this isn't backstory ranting DW)

It's this page

That's Shiva's shirt, as seen earlier.

I don't really know what to say about this, tbh. It's just something I think about so often. That the woman created from sexual trauma was stripped in (assumed) death. Her shirt torn from her body as she saved the very thing that created her. I don't know where I'm going with this it's just... Yeah.

Edit: btw, because people think I hate brombal uniquely, I don't. I just... Nobody talked about shiva literally getting stripped? And I feel like it's a big issue with this run. Brombal has this very surface level, wikipedia knowledge of Shiva. He knows all the major events and stuff and can make references but he really didn't care about her and her story OR just... Idk. I don't think he's malicious and I'd ABSOLUTELY pick up other books by him, I just think he's WORTH critiquing.

[orcelito]

Been largely absent today bc I've been Out but CHECK THIS OUT

I bought this thang

Here's it in my actual new apartment. I wanna put it together so bad!!!!! But it's nearly midnight and I don't have the tools to put it together anyways

Later... later, I shall.....

[intertexts]

nhw dakota + virion guard dog / attack dog solidarity.......

[flovverworks]

pien

[writereleaserepeat]

Chemical Romance

Loosely inspired by @justplainwhump's story Pet Safety. In Pet Safety, the MC drops some details that suggest Romantics in their universe can be chemically altered to need another person nearby. I thought this was a brilliant idea and ran with it for a short story (that I haven't really edited or revised, fuck it we ball).

Summary: After countless trials and many failed experiments, X001 is the first chemically-altered Romantic available for sale. The scientist responsible watches over his subject as she is introduced to her buyer - and carefully-tailored chemical match - for the first time. X001 soon learns what it's like to need someone more than she needs life itself.

CW: institutionalized slavery, implied medical whump, chemical modifications, fade to black noncon/dubcon

X001 knelt patiently on the plush carpet beside the chaise. She could sense that her handler wasn’t quite as patient, particularly with the way he kept twisting the leash between his fingers, a gentle tug on her collar each time.

Perhaps her handler was just as excited as she was. Not just excited, but nervous. X001 hadn’t been this nervous since her first days in training. Today she was going to meet her new owner, her Master, the very person she had been working so hard to learn how to please. A chill ran up X001’s spine, a sensation she was barely able to swallow down. She couldn’t let her nerves show, not now, not when it mattered the most.

Voices murmured outside the door, warm words running together, the comforting hum of idle conversation. No commands came for her, not yet. X001 was certain if there was a command, she wouldn’t miss it. Every sense was attuned to her handler, and soon, to her Master. Her handler had told X001 that if her new Master was satisfied with their trial, she would get to go home with them.

Home was what she had been working so hard towards, wasn’t it? It's what she was made for.

---

“As you can see, ’01 is a physically spectacular specimen,” Val said as he gestured towards the one-way glass. The girl knelt unmoving where she was nestled in the thick pile of the carpet, her posture perfect, and her brilliant green eyes fixed glassily on some distant point. As unflattering as the training facility uniforms could be, it was hard to mistake the delicacy of her petite figure, and impossible to tear one’s eyes from the thick russet curls that cascaded down her shoulders.

At least, that’s what Val had been told to regurgitate from the facility’s marketing materials.

“That’s why I chose her,” the buyer said, his gaze transfixed on the subject, not once turning his attention back to Val.

Perhaps Val would have been irritated if he was in marketing. But that wasn't his business, never had been. He continued, unbothered.

“As you’ve surely been reminded by the purchasing agent, X001 is the first product available for sale with these particular modifications. Although our experimental models have shown great success and promise, there is no guarantee that X001 will perform to specifications.” Val also regurgitated this, all but verbatim, from the materials he’d been given. He wasn’t a salesman, no, he was a scientist.

It had been years of hard work and tireless nights. It had been dozens of destroyed products, specimens that were ruined beyond refurbishment, and millions of dollars of company money poured into equipment and supplies. It had been begging his superiors for another chance, promising them that he would make the company's next cash cow.

Eventually, it had also been a success.

“I hear you,” the buyer said, the patience in his voice slipping. “I’ve been told that same thing at least ten times now. I think it's worth the risk, especially for a pretty thing like that.”

Val’s grip on his pen tightened. He’d waited for this moment for many months now, and it was finally here. It was time to prove himself.

His heart thundered inside his chest, and Val nodded to himself as much as the buyer.

“Very well. Are you ready for your trial to begin?”

Lust dripped from the buyer’s tongue as he answered.

“Absolutely.”

---

A clicking tone came through the intercom, a sound which seemed to signal something to X001’s handler. She didn’t move as he unclipped the leash from the ring on her collar and pulled away. He took a single step, then paused, and she felt his hand rest gently on the top of her head.

“Remember your training. Don’t disappoint me, ’01.”

“Yes, sir.” The demure whisper was one she’d practiced until she’d become hoarse, but today, it was as smooth as honey. X001 was merely grateful it hadn’t cracked under the nerves that strained her body.

The comfort of the hand disappeared. Her handler exited the room, leash in hand, leaving X001 alone.

She knew what came next. It would settle in her stomach within the next thirty seconds, and over the course of five minutes, it would buzz throughout her body like electricity. That insatiable longing, the primal need to be close to a human person, would begin to broil to the surface. Her skin would get covered in gooseflesh, like she had been plunged into an ice bath.

To be isolated like this, utterly alone in a room, would slowly become agony.

X001 thought back briefly to the time before her body had been weaponized. Early in training, before she’d been dragged to the medical wing every morning for new injections and infusions, she hadn’t felt like this. She could be alone in her cell for hours, sometimes days, and be perfectly content with the solitude. Not just content, but grateful.

That had changed, though, and she didn’t know why. They'd done something. Something she'd never have the privilege of understanding.

All X001 did know was that she needed someone. She needed them now, at her side, before the pain in her chest became unbearable. Her handler, a different handler, her Master. Anyone would be enough to settle the unease.

---

“As you can see,” Val explained as gestured towards the subject that sat beyond the glass, “we’ve engineered a nervous response upon isolation from human contact.”

It had hardly been a minute since Handler Jones had left the room, and already X001 was trembling where she knelt. Muscles strained beneath her supple, tanned skin; her effort was apparent as she tried to keep still. Those stunning green eyes, once unblinking, now fluttered nervously.

The warmth in his stomach spread as he watched his experiment succeed, fulfilling his decade of promises to his superiors. Val continued his explanation eagerly.

“Part of this response is conditioning, and part of it is the chemical manipulation I discussed earlier. Her very brain chemistry and nervous system function have been altered to make her not just crave human contact, but require it for survival. The moment you walk in, you should notice her relax. She’ll be inseparable from you. Even in her sleep she’ll reach out for you, her body telling her that she needs your touch.”

The buyer hummed beneath his breath, and he watched ’01 tremble with a languid smile.

“And what if I do leave her alone?”

“That, sir, would be one of the most painful things you could do to her.”

---

Seconds became minutes, and the aching in X001’s chest mounted. Her heart fluttered uncontrollably, her muscles ached, and her head spun. Her training slipped away so easily when she got like this, when she was alone. The only thought she could hold on to was the thought of touching someone, curling up against their body, sinking against their naked skin. It was the only cure for her present sickness.

She dug her fingernails into the soft skin of her palms. Her hands were still folded neatly in front of her, but the subtle flexing gave her something to distract from the pain wracking her body.

No, it wasn’t pain, not exactly. She knew pain, she’d grown accustomed to it. This sensation was need. It was like thirst, or hunger, or desperation for air. Every part of her thrummed in its cadence.

Then the door handle clicked open.

It took all of X001’s training not to throw herself at the man who’d walked into the room. In an instant the discomfort in her body began to ebb, but the fluttering of her heart continued. She wanted to be touched, held, comforted. It was the only cure for the ache deep in her bones.

Although she hadn’t looked up at the man’s face – she wasn’t permitted to – she was drawn in by the intricate designs on his well-polished shoes. The well-tailored pants and unscuffed leather dripped with and air luxury, and a scent of burnt vanilla and whiskey seemed to follow as he entered.

The man sat down on the chaise beside X001, and she had to clench her teeth to stop from leaning into him. Her handler had made it incredibly clear that she was to remain in position, as perfect as she had been trained, until she was granted reprieve. She listened attentively, straining for the sound of a command, hearing as he settled into the soft plush of the furniture, then-

“Release. Come up here with me.”

X001 didn’t need to be told twice.

---

Val couldn’t help but smile, his cheeks aching as he watched years of work pay off before his eyes. ’01 slunk up onto the couch with that effortless fluidity all Romantics were trained in. She slid into the spot beside the buyer’s body, already cozy against his chest without a moment of hesitation. Her chin tucked against his collarbone, her nose buried against his neck, and her body shifted with a deep sigh.

“Shit, she never had this reaction with the test sticks you had us use in training,” Handler Jones said with disbelief.

“That was a very low dose of the buyer’s pheromones,” Val explained, attention only partially on the handler. A mere handler could never understand the beauty and complexity of what was unfolding beyond the glass. “She’s never been given unrestricted access to the source. It must be overwhelming her.”

“Bitch better be able to remember what we’ve worked on these last few months,” the handler grumbled.

If she couldn’t, Val wouldn’t be surprised. The experimental models had been almost delirious when they were first introduced to their chemically engineered pheromone match. This had been the most successful of the chemical alterations he had been pioneering, and X001 was absolute proof of that.

All humans had this reaction, at least, to some extent. Despite having some of the weakest noses in the animal kingdom, the human body still sends messages to other humans in smelling distance. And in these messages the body conveys arousal, genetic compatibility, and desire.

What Val had done was nothing more than play with these senses inside a laboratory's sandbox. It had taken a couple of years of development and chemical tweaking, but Val had finally developed a course of treatments that would make the buyer’s scent irresistible to the product. The treatments overrode the product’s innate senses, the natural desire to find genetic compatibility, something that only the subconscious animal mind could know.

A few weeks of daily injections and that innate instinct was overwritten. The product's true nature had been wiped out, replaced instead with the extact chemical makeup of their new buyer. The scent of the buyer would be irresistible, intoxicating. It would immediately invoke lust, and when coupled with a Romantic's conditioning, it would naturally create the ideal product.

The waitlist for chemically-altered Romantics had already surpassed the waitlist for standard-issue Romantics. After all, who wouldn't want their perfect match, a divine creature that believed in its animal mind that its owner was its perfect match?

---

X001 had never experienced anything like it before. The scent flooding her senses was not merely sweet. Sweetness was something found in baked goods, or the treats that her handler snuck her when she was performing well. This was ambrosia, a full-body sensation that drew her ever-closer to the man on the chaise. It was like the space beside him had been built just for her.

No matter how close she drew herself to the man’s skin, she couldn’t get enough. It was all she could do not to drag her tongue across the hot flesh. She was burning with need, the urge to sink deep into him and never leave.

Hands ran through her hair, across her hips, but she hardly felt them. Instincts from her training took over and she let them move her body. All she cared about was getting closer, her skin warm with the desire for contact with his. All of X001’s instincts were filling her with the need to be with the man, a need even greater than her own need to breathe. It was beyond intoxicating.

Relief and pleasure coalesced as his smooth hands grabbed her hair, her waist, her neck. Bliss. Relief. The understanding in her mind that this was her purpose, and this man is exactly who she was meant for.

If this was truly her Master, she couldn’t imagine anything better.

---

"Hey, labcoat, isn't your job here done?" Handler Jones asked as the buyer began the more intimate engagements of his trial run with X001.

Val pursed his lips and reclined in the seat in front of the one-way mirror.

"I'd like to see the fruits of my labor in action. You've worked in X001 for what, four months? I've worked on this project for more than nine years. This is my moment, my success."

"Whatever you say, man," Handler Jones muttered. "Call me when the bitch has had her fun. I've got two new trainees to worry about, no need for me to watch the show."

Val merely waived the handler off. Solitude is what he needed now, the opportunity to bask in his own success. After all, he deserved it.

No, the thought idly as a grin crept onto his face, I deserve one of these for myself.

[wardingshout]

hey guys have you ever heard about the game Star Stealing Prince? <- that's a rly cool link

sweet dreams and not so sweet dreams

[dollishmehrayan]

# “I NEED YOUR LOVING, LIKE THE SUNSHINE, EVERYONE’S GOT TO LEARN SOMETIME.” ── .✦ ( batboys when they have a crush on you ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ )

dollish note ౨ৎ: yes this is based off that one korgis song and if you know it, your elite marry me immediately anywayss I need like more cute events to do omgg and guys I’m going to look for a new divider edition but the bunny will always stay don’t worryyy tags: (batboys x reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

He’s so obvious. Everyone knows. Even villains probably know, even you probably know but we always play hard to get. (that’s js me sorry)

Overly casual compliments: “Wow, you look… good. Like, really good. Is that new? No? I just never noticed how great you always look??”

Purposely hangs around you way more than necessary. “Oh wow, fancy seeing you here again... at this coffee shop... at this exact time... for the fifth time this week…”, “uh.. sure okay dick.”

Gets physically flustered. You smile at him and he bumps into a wall.

Brings you little gifts like coffee, snacks, or something you mentioned once two months ago that he totally remembered.

Accidentally lets it slip to Barbara. You find out two days later because she’s evil (and supportive). GIRL BOSSSSS

RASON RODD (IF YKYK) ── .✦

Denies it to everyone. Even himself. “Me? Crushing? Pfft. Please. I'm just being nice. I’m always this nice. Shut up.”

Acts all chill and tough but turns into a sarcastic teddy bear when you're around.

Tries not to care but notices everything about you like when you’re tired, upset, or need space.

Gets really protective, then downplays it. “Yeah I threatened that guy because he was being annoying. Not because he was flirting with you. Nope.” ( our little nonchalant guy )

Will read/watch your favorite stuff in secret so he can talk about it with you, then pretends he hated it. “No, I didn’t like it. But the plot twist in episode 7 was wild. Just sayin’.”

Probably punches a wall the first time someone calls him out. Literally everyone in the family: “Just ask them out already.”

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Has a million tabs open on “how to tell if someone likes you back.”

Obsesses over every text you send. Sends a reply. Deletes it. Writes a better one. Deletes that too. Eventually sends “lol yeah same” and regrets it instantly.

Runs into you and forgets how to function for 3 seconds. “Hey—hi—hey. Sorry. I mean. Hello.”

Will research your interests so he can impress you or casually bring them up. “Oh, you’re into ___? I read a couple papers about that, super cool stuff.”

Accidentally calls you “cute” in passing, then vanishes for two days to a point you wonder if he might appear on the missing website thing.

You find out he has a playlist called “maybe someday” and the first song is something painfully romantic.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Pretends he doesn’t like you. Like, aggressively. But it’s so obvious.

Gives you weirdly thoughtful gifts and says things like, “I noticed you were using inferior supplies.”

Blushes if you compliment him. Denies he’s blushing. “Tt. The temperature is simply warm.”

Subtly changes his schedule to be around you more. He’ll be in the library when you’re there, in the gym at the same time it’s definitely not a coincidence (even though he insists it is).

Draws you. Like, sketches. Constantly. Says it’s “for anatomy practice.”

Acts annoyed when you talk to someone else, then pouts in a corner like a feral cat.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

He doesn’t even realize it at first. It hits him out of nowhere, like genuinely out of thin air.

Brooding increases by 200%. He stares off into space, thinking about you, and Alfred has to snap him out of it.

Becomes awkwardly formal. “Would you… perhaps… like to join me for dinner? I understand if that’s… inconvenient.” ( like despite being a former player and all and smoothhh as hell when he genuinely likes someone he can’t be smooth, your like his Andrea beaumont but if they worked out )

Totally asks Alfred for advice. Alfred gives him the same advice he gave him at 16.

When you smile at him, he short-circuits a little. You get a rare, soft Bat-smile in return.

Once he’s sure of his feelings, he’s all in but oh boy, it takes a while.

[missadangel]

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 1: Blind Date

series masterlist next chapter

Summary: You work as a housekeeper in a rich family's mansion and often have to deal with their spoiled daughter. One day, she asks you to pretend to be her on a blind date with a guy her dad picked out for her. Your mission is to make him not like you so he won't want to marry her. But here's the twist: will Harry end up hating you, or could he actually fall for you? That's the real question. Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Word Count: 4.8k for now, There will be a part two if you guys like it, but I'm not sure about the rest. Sorry for the poor writing; that was quick. authors note: I am not sure about his name. If there's any update, I will edit. English is not my native, so please be nice; this is my third fanfiction. Thank you for the reblogs, comments, and likes. Love you all!

"Ugh, this dress is so last season! Are you serious? Everything here is out of style—get rid of them! Call Elliot and have them send me another dress, or I'm going to be really pissed!"

As if tossed at you like a used handkerchief, another dress worth thousands of dollars—perhaps only worn once—landed in your hands. You sighed as you looked at the elegant dress you were now holding, the Gucci label glinting under the light.

"Story of my life," you mumbled.

Working as a housekeeper in a millionaire's house was hard enough, but dealing with his spoiled and ill-tempered daughter was exhausting. Yet you were determined that it would soon be over. You could no longer endure this physical and psychological torture. With the money you had saved, you planned to open your own restaurant—fulfilling your dream. You just needed to save a little more and hang in there a bit longer.

Your boss was a decent, kind man, but his daughter was so unbearable that every housekeeper assigned left the next day.

How do you even tolerate her? 

Because you didn’t have the luxury of quitting and waiting for a new job. You were still young and trying to establish yourself in the business. The extra pay you received was simply to endure her antics. Your kind millionaire boss had even promised you all the support you needed, suggesting you could quit your day job and focus solely on managing his daughter’s affairs. But how could you have known it would be so challenging? Still, you managed to get through each day and believed you could endure this for just a little while longer. After all, you had survived three challenging years already, right?

The mansion was enormous, and everything inside was meticulously organized. Everyone—housekeepers, gardeners, cooks, and even the owners—followed a disciplined daily routine. 

Except for the young lady of the house.

You never knew when she would wake up or come downstairs to join her family at the dinner table. She was stubborn, mean, and unpredictable, and you had to manage her behavior just as you managed her dresses, her dates, and her friends. Because you were responsible for her, there were times when you wished you could handle all the housework yourself and let someone else take care of her demands. Despite being just an ordinary housekeeper, your name was the one that echoed the most throughout this vast mansion.

Why? 

Because the young lady constantly called on you to fulfill her never-ending requests. And it was one of those moments again. Since it was evening, you guessed she was probably getting ready for a night out at the club, and you felt a surge of annoyance as you rushed to her room.

"I can't believe I was a size 8 before starting this job; now I'm down to a size 6," you mumbled to yourself, quickly making your way up the stairs.

One of the cleaners dusting the vases in the hallway shot you a wink and let out a sigh. Man, you’d do just about anything to be in her shoes, just taking care of that vase!

As soon as you knocked on the door, the young lady Melanie opened it, pulled you inside by the arm, and slammed the door shut behind you. You were taken aback—had you made a mistake? It had only been two hours since you last saw her; you had picked up her clothes off the floor and taken them to the laundry room. She had seemed content, busy texting on her phone. What could have possibly happened in such a short time?

“Is something wrong?” you asked, your eyes wide. For some reason, she looked super tense and nervous.  

“You’ve gotta help me,” she said almost desperately, which caught you off guard; it was pretty rare for her to ask for help like this, very rare.  

“Of course, if I know what’s going on…” 

“Remember that thing we did with the senator's son? I need you to do something like that again.”

You froze for a moment. She was referring to something you had helped her with before—something you weren't very proud of.

“Oh, but—” you frowned. “You said I’d never have to do anything like that again.”

Years ago, you had done your best to disguise yourself as Melanie to turn off the senator's son and prevent him from marrying her. It had worked, but lying to someone was a real headache. Thankfully, Melanie's father hadn’t suspected a thing, but the thought of risking it again felt scarier than anything else.

“I know, I know, but I’m in a tough spot. My dad has been speaking with a matchmaker again to arrange a match for me. After the scandal at the club last time, he's determined to marry me off for sure. Please, I need your help.”

How could she still act so childish in her late twenties? As she looked at you with those pleading eyes, memories of all the times she’d yelled at you and scolded you flashed in your mind. It was fine when you were more like her special assistant instead of just a housekeeper, but now it feels like you’re just a toy to her. When she wants to have fun, she plays with you—almost like you’re her little slave or something.

“I’m not here for that,” you said firmly. “That is not my job.” Your patience was running thin, and this was just too much.  

“But you’re supposed to help me,” she shot back, stubborn as ever. “And it’ll be easier this time, I promise.” 

You narrowed your eyes and said, “We got caught last time when the guy found out and cursed both of us. Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? And if your father discovers what we’re up to this time…”

She replied with a grin, “We won’t get caught this time because I already sent them your photo instead of mine. Besides, you know how my father is strict about always having my picture removed from newspapers and magazines.”

“You did what?” you wailed.

“Chill, it’s all figured out. I’ve been working on this since last week. You’ll have dinner with the guy, pretend to be me, scare him off, and boom! He won’t want to hear my name again. Easy peasy!”  

You rolled your eyes. “But he’s surely seen your photo somewhere; he can’t be that clueless.”  

“No, he’s a very busy businessman. He has lived abroad for years and has just returned from France. He’s looking to set up his business here in New York,” she said as she opened her laptop and pulled up a webpage with information about the man. “It seems he’s also looking for a suitable match,” she continued, glancing at his photo and pursing her lips.

You froze when you looked at the photo; he wasn’t at all what you expected. He appeared to be a mature, charismatic, and intelligent man. But how could you sit opposite this man and pretend to be someone else? The thought made you shudder, raising the tiny hairs on the back of your neck.  

“As you can see, he’s much older than me. I don’t think he’ll tolerate disrespect. If you’re disrespectful to him, he might get annoyed and just leave the table,” she said with a chuckle.

You laughed too, but for a different reason. You were sure that if she went to the meeting herself, he would get up and leave when he saw her personality.  

“I think you should go; maybe he won’t like you,” you suggested.  

She narrowed her eyes at you like she'd just caught you saying something crazy. “He won’t like me? Seriously?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder with a cocky grin. “Anyway, I can’t risk it. I don’t want to marry him or anyone else, and I definitely don’t want to be stuck in the same room with that old man.” 

As if I want it so much, you thought.  

“Come on, please do this for me! I promise I’ll be good; I won’t make you work too hard. I’ll ask Dad to give you a nice raise,” she said, clasping her hands together and trying to look cute.  

Well, good raise would mean you could quit your job and bail out of here earlier, right? You crossed your arms and glanced back at the laptop screen, staring at the photo of that guy—Harry Castillo. You made a decision that you had no idea would change everything in both his life and yours.

“Fine. When’s dinner?” you said, feeling a bit anxious.  

“Oh, you’re the best! I knew you couldn’t say no!” she said excitedly. “This Saturday.”  

“But that’s only two days away,” you pointed out, feeling even more nervous.  

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you all set. Just make sure you displease him,” she grinned.  

You sighed deeply, already sure you’d regret this choice.

“Don’t you think this dress is a bit… exaggerated?” you muttered, looking at yourself in the mirror.  

It was an elegant burgundy dress—strappy, satin, and adorned with pearl details—the kind of designer item you could never afford, even if you worked your entire life.  

“Am I trying to make him hate me or make him fall for me?” you asked, frowning.  

Melanie rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry; he’ll never fall in love with you,” she said arrogantly. This was typical behavior for her, so you chose to ignore it. “As much as you want to annoy him, remember that you represent me. I don’t want anyone gossiping that Melanie Johanson is wearing a lame dress,” she continued while picking out a matching purse.  

“But everyone knows I’m not you, except that poor guy.”  

“I don’t suppose you were planning to wear one of your own skimpy outfits,” she remarked. “Do you want our game to be exposed?”  

That was too much—being scolded and being forced to do something so ridiculous for this spoiled girl.  

“Fine, go to that dinner yourself then,” you said, slipping off your heels.  

She grabbed your arms. “No, no, no, please. Okay, I’m sorry I was rude. But I need you; no one else would do something like this for me.”  

“It’s good that you realize that,” you muttered.  

“Here, take this; it’s time,” she said, giving you a smile.  

Honestly, putting up with Melanie’s constant demands, cleaning up after her, and covering for her felt like child’s play compared to what you were facing tonight. 

A nice raise, you keep telling yourself trying to soothe yourself. I’m doing this for my restaurant; I’ll get it started someday.

The restaurant was one of the most famous, expensive, and luxurious places in New York—somewhere you would never normally set foot in. But tonight, thanks to Melanie’s name, you could easily get in. You were overwhelmed by the incredibly polite behavior of the restaurant staff.  

Melanie may have been extravagant and reckless, but she had thought of almost everything for tonight—from the driver who brought you here to the all restaurant staff. 

All this effort was for one purpose: to rid herself of the matchmaker’s match.  

When they took your fur coat at the entrance and told you that Mr. Castillo was waiting for you, you took a deep breath. After one step inside, when you saw him, you nearly backed away. Harry was busy on his phone, scribbling notes in his small notebook. He looked really sharp and stylish—way more handsome and appealing than in the photo.

Damn.  

You wanted to escape; you wished to put an end to this nonsense before it even began. Without realizing it, your feet started to move backward. Just then, you turned around and accidentally bumped into the waiter behind you, causing him to drop the champagne glasses he was carrying on his tray. The glasses shattered, and champagne spilled all over his outfit. You cursed yourself for the mishap.

Before you could even respond, the waiter apologized. “No, it was my fault; I’m sorry,” you said nervously, trying to wipe off the champagne from his clothes.

The other waiter and the staff stared at you in shock. 

Yes, you were a wealthy lady now, but what harm was there in being polite?

"No, ma'am, I should have been more careful," he said before turning and walking away.

"Miss Johnson?" said a soft, deep voice. 

You turned around to meet him and felt almost breathless. There he was, few inches taller than you, with broad shoulders, curly hair, deep-set brown eyes, a sharp nose, and an attractive appearance. 

"Melanie, right?" 

"Y-yes," you stammered, batting your eyelashes. 

And that smile! For a moment, the world seemed to stop; all the sounds in the restaurant faded, and you almost forgot why you were there. 

"I'm Harry," he said, holding out his hand. It took you so long to look at his face that you nearly forgot to acknowledge his hand. He laughed again, that wonderful smile lighting up his face. "My hand has been waiting for a while," he said teasingly. 

You felt your cheeks flush as you realized what he meant. "I'm sorry," you replied, quickly reaching out to shake his waiting hand. His hand was big and warm. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," you mumbled, feeling embarrassed. You knew you needed to work up the courage. 

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “Shall we head to our table? Or do you want to stay here all night?” 

“S-sure,” you said sheepishly. 

Well, there wasn't much you could do about it. This wasn't just about him being wealthy or handsome. Even if it was a fake date, it had been years since you'd been on a date, and you didn’t know many men in your life. 

Dinner was harder than you expected. Even though you and Melanie had practiced what you should and shouldn't say, your fears came to light. Harry seemed kind and understanding, and it was difficult to lie to him, which made you hate every minute of it. It got worse when he started grilling you with questions, and you weren't sure how much longer you could keep up with this silly game.

When you excused yourself to go to the restroom, you called Melanie. 

"What do you mean he hasn't left the restaurant yet?" 

"I don't know; the conversation got a little long, and he kept asking questions about me, I mean you." 

"Do something to make him hate you already!" 

“But how? Throw wine at him? This is all ridiculous. I think we should just tell the truth.”

"Don't you dare!" she barked.

Her voice was so loud that you had to smile apologetically when the other women in the ladies room looked at you strangely, hearing your end of the conversation. 

"What am I supposed to do? Our plan isn't working." 

“What's up with this guy? He should’ve bailed by now.” Melanie grunted.

“He seems nice—I doubt he’d be rude like that.” 

“Rude! That’s the ticket; just be rude enough that he can’t stand it.” 

“What? Seriously?” 

“Yep, you heard me. Just be as rude as you can.” 

You let out a sigh, really wishing you could just bang your head against the wall right now.

“I said do it, or you'll ruin everything. Call me when you’re done.” 

“But what am I gonna— Hello? Darn it!” 

Beep… Beep… Beep… 

She hung up. 

You’ll have to be rude, how wonderful! But she was right; you needed to get rid of this man for the night to end and for you to return to your normal life. Why did he have to be so nice and kind? If he could ever act like a jerk, you would have done it by now, but he was just too sweet. As you looked in the mirror, you thought of all the rude things a lady wouldn’t normally do. Ah, that sounds familiar; it reminds you of Melanie herself. The very thought of her actions made you smile nervously. You took a deep breath and left the restroom.

Encouraging yourself, you gazed at Harry's handsome face from afar.

You can do it, you can do it...

Your first move: act indifferent.

You changed your facial expression as you approached the table and deliberately looked away from his face. He was smiling warmly at you. No, you couldn't look at him; it would only complicate everything. You were about to apologize for being late, but no, you can’t. Instead, you pulled your chair noisily on purpose, scraping its legs on the floor to create an annoying sound. You sat down and crossed your legs, positioning your body so it wasn't fully facing him. Harry seemed surprised by this sudden shift in your mood, but he didn’t comment.

A little later, as your desserts were served, he looked at you, “I like chocolate cake too, especially with pistachio sauce. We have similar tastes,” grinning at you.

You looked at him and then at the waiter. “I don’t want this,” you said angrily.

“But ma'am, you ordered it,” the poor man replied sheepishly.

“I’ve changed my mind,” you said. “I’ll go with the tiramisu,” you added after a quick look at the menu, making sure to glance away casually.

“Sure, I’ll change it right away,” he said, taking your plate and walking back.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked, concern creeping into his voice.

“I’m great,” you lied, forcing a fake grin.

He didn’t ask any further questions, but he seemed to suspect something had changed. When the waiter brought your dessert, you decided to eat it rudely. You were sure Harry would be disgusted as you devoured your dessert quickly and rather rudely as if you were starving. You didn’t look at him again until you finished your plate. When you finally glanced up, your stomach feeling a bit nauseous, the look on his face was not what you had expected. He was smiling at you admiringly.

What the hell was that? 

Shouldn’t he have shown disgust or displeasure, just like the people at the next table who were staring at you with disdain?

But not Harry, not him. Why, God, why? 

As if teasing you, he laughed and reached for a napkin on the table, wiping the remnants of dessert from the corner of your lips. “You’ve got quite the sweet tooth, don’t you, sweet girl?”

How could he be so nice, even after everything? 

“Want to eat mine too?” he joked again. Clearly, you were amusing him instead of grossing him out. Ugh, just what you needed. Why was this so hard? 

“It’s the cream in it,” you said, a bit defensive. If you were going to get into a battle of words, you might as well dive in. 

When he looked at you, confused, you thought you saw a glimmer of hope. Maybe you could annoy him with your gourmet knowledge. 

“The Marsala wine is in the cream; it’s a secret recipe,” you said, trying to sound smart. 

Harry paused eating his dessert, rested his elbow on the table, and gave you an admiring look. “Interesting. I didn’t know you were into cooking. That wasn’t in the info.” That familiar warm smile was back.

Crap. Another mess-up. 

“I get it—you’re keeping it under wraps from your dad. I want you to feel comfortable talking about your hobbies when you’re with me.” 

When you’re with him? Damn, that was supposed to be the first and last time you saw him. You started playing with your fingers in your hair out of nervousness. 

Think, think, think. All you had left was to use the only card you had.

“Look, Harry, I’ll be frank. I don’t plan to see you again.”

Suddenly, he stopped. “Didn’t you like me?” he asked softly.

Was it possible not to like this man? But damn it, you had to lie. You looked away; it was hard to read his expression.

“You’ve probably heard about me from the tabloids. I’m not the type of woman to get attached to just one man. My father put me up to this matchmaker thing; I didn’t intend to.” You admitted this indirectly. He deserved a little honesty, didn’t he? “I’ve had and will have many men in my life. I don’t plan to get married. I mean, you’re not special. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” 

When you looked at his face timidly, you realized you got the reaction you had been waiting for since the beginning of the night. His smile vanished; his expression hardened, and the color of his eyes darkened. 

But why did your heart squeeze when you should have felt relieved?

When they brought your coat, you thanked them and turned to Harry for the last time. You would probably never see him again. You felt fortunate to have had the chance to meet and get to know this man, even briefly. He would probably forget you anyway; why would he remember you? 

“Can I give you a ride home so we can end things on a good note?” he asked, sounding a bit unsure.

You definitely didn’t see that coming. You paused, trying to figure out what to say. It would’ve been easier to just say no, but his eyes were so mesmerizing that if he’d asked you to spill all your secrets right then, you might have done it without even thinking.

“Sure,” you replied, feeling shy.

When the valet brought Harry's car around, your jaw dropped. This black, late-model Mercedes Benz S was probably worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Your interest in cars stemmed from your childhood; your mother always complained that you didn't like dresses and jewelry like other girls—rather, you liked cars. It was clear you were different, and you had always been that way.

Just like the situation you found yourself in now. Maybe there was something wrong with you.

The two of you were silent the entire ride. You didn’t look directly at him, but you could feel his gaze on you out of the corner of your eye. However, you were more captivated by the interior of the car. When would you ever get to ride in such a luxury vehicle again? It wouldn’t hurt to take a closer look. As you glanced towards his side to check out the control panel and see how much horsepower the car had, he caught your eye, causing you to quickly turn your head away. You had to suppress your curiosity.

"We’ll turn right here," you said as you approached the junction. Down the street, the giant mansion loomed, so close to your destination. You stole a quick glance at him, realizing this might be the only time you would see this man in person. You wanted to remember his handsome face. 

Suddenly, Harry slammed on the brakes, and the car screeched to a halt. Your eyes widened in surprise as you looked at him, startled that he had stopped so abruptly near the mansion. What had caused him to suddenly halt? He didn’t say a word, just stared at you, and his eyes seemed to communicate something intense. Was he angry and no longer wanting your company? 

You unbuckled your seatbelt and reached for the door handle, only to find it locked.

“Stay still,” he said as he unlocked the car doors. 

What was he implying? He walked around the front of the car, reached your side, and opened your door. 

Was this chivalry? If so, why did he stay away from the mansion?

“Aren’t you getting out?” His voice was kinda cold.

You didn’t know how to respond. You stepped out of the car without saying a word.

“Thanks for the ride—” 

Suddenly, he grabbed your arm—not roughly, but with a firm, questioning grip. His gaze was intense, but why did he look that way? Had he figured it all out? Maybe he was about to confront you for making a fool of yourself. After all, you had been willing to be open, and now you felt you deserved it. But you didn’t have the courage to meet his eyes, so you lowered your head. 

“You were lying, weren’t you?”

Shit. 

You swallowed hard; this was the moment you had dreaded.

“I-I…”

What were you going to say? How would you even say it?

You were fucked.

Suddenly, Harry pinched your chin with one hand, forcing you to look at him while his other hand rested on your waist. He tilted his head toward you, his hot breath brushing against your face, making your heart race. His lips were dangerously close to yours, and you could feel your throat going dry. What the hell was he going to do? Kissing you or scolding you? After what felt like an eternity, he pulled you closer by the arm around your waist and kissed you.

It had been a long time since you kissed someone, so you were almost shocked by his sudden kiss. No matter how hard you tried to stop yourself, you finally closed your eyes and surrendered to him completely. Your surrendering gave him courage and he deepened the kiss, his hot tongue licking your lips and forcing them apart. While his expert hand lingered on the swell of your breasts teasingly, you moaned and opened your mouth for him and when his tongue touched yours, you could still taste the chocolate from the dessert he had just eaten. 

But suddenly, Harry pulled his head back, breaking the kiss and all contact. Instinctively mesmerized, you leaned forward, eyes closed and mouth agape. When you finally opened your eyes, you caught him snickering, and as the embarrassment of the situation hit you, you wished you could disappear. You instinctively pressed your hand to your burning lips and pressed hem together. Harry licked his lips and grinned. "Just as I predicted. You lied to me. There's no way another man has touched you recently."

For a second, your mind went blank, and you just stared at him, blinking in confusion. What the heck did he mean by that? "Y-you... w-what..." Great, now you couldn't even put together a simple sentence.

What next?

Just then, your phone started ringing. When you opened your purse to get it, Harry reached for it before you could. Fortunately, you had saved Melanie in your phone under a special nickname, not her real name. Harry laughed, raising his eyebrows in surprise and amusement. "Trouble?"

Yes, you had saved her as trouble.

"Can you hand my phone back, please?" you said, holding out your hands, but he caught them with one hand and gently pushed them away. 

“Your trouble can wait,” he said, rejecting Melanie’s call. He dialed a number on your phone, but realized what he was doing when his own phone started ringing.

“There, now you have my number,” he said, handing your phone back to you.

You frowned and grabbed your phone angrily, "What makes you think I’d actually call you?" 

Harry shrugged, pursing his lips. “Shouldn't I call you before I come to pick you up for our next date? I guess I could just come by your house and honk the horn instead.” 

“What?” you exclaimed.

He grinned.

You took a deep breath to release some of your tension. “Harry, why are you doing this? There won’t be a next date; I told you that.”

“One chance,” he said firmly.

“A chance of what?” 

"I want you to give me a chance. A real date. If, at the end of the night, you still feel the same way, I promise you’ll never see me again."

You shook your head. "But why? You’re a man who can have any woman you want. You’re rich, handsome, and kind—why waste your time on someone who doesn’t want you?"

You saw something in his brown eyes, something you couldn’t quite identify, but it was intense. “Because you're different from others,” he said sharply. “True, women are not unattainable for me; they are always around. But what I want is someone special, and I feel that you are the one. There’s something about you that has ignited something in me I haven't felt in a long time. I must admit, I'm surprised; I never thought I’d be attracted to you after reading the news about you, but it seems I was wrong. Can you give me a chance? Please?”

Oh, Harry, there’s so much you don’t know, you thought. Your heart was fluttering at the thought of saying yes, but how could you? How dare you? You weren’t Melanie, the daughter of a wealthy businessman; you were just an ordinary girl.

“You know I won’t leave without hearing your answer, right?” He grunted.

Just then, you heard a car approaching, and you freaked out. That was Melanie’s dad’s car. Your heart nearly stopped.

“You have to go, like, now!” you yelled in a panic.

“First, say yes,” he replied, frowning.

"Si, yes, okay, alright! But please, go now!" you urged, pushing him toward the back of his car. He chuckled in response.

You crouched down to hide your face as the other car drove toward the mansion and pulled him down with you.

“I want you to know I’ve never done anything like this in my life,” he admitted, snickering.

“Is that so funny?” you snapped.

"Okay, I get that you don’t want your dad to see us like this, and I’m curious why, but since you said yes, I’ll be a good guy and leave."

“Yes you do that,” you said with a sigh.

Harry took his phone out of his pocket and waved it before getting into his car. “You’d better answer it when I call,” he said, getting inside. He winked at your puzzled expression and started the engine. His car quickly disappeared from sight along the road. You turned toward the mansion, exhaled deeply, and murmured to yourself.

“I'm so fucked.”

thanks for reading, likes, comments, reblogs are appreciated ❤️

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 13: February 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, Me trying to write therapy sessions.

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

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Daniel Ricciardo, Carlos Sainz, Lewis Hamilton)

Lando: ok wait, are we sending flowers??

Oscar: flowers seem good

Daniel: FLOWERS YES but like what KIND of flowers

Lando: nothing too funeral Lando: nothing too romantic Lando: nothing too "you almost died but like in a chill way"

Lewis: you guys are the worst crisis team I’ve ever seen

Oscar: YOU’RE IN THIS TOO LEWIS

Lewis: i’m saying it with love.

Daniel: ok no roses…roses feel wrong

Carlos: no lilies either, too funeral

Lando: sunflowers??

Oscar: too happy Oscar: feels like "yay you survived!" party energy

Daniel: small soft bouquet?

Lewis: yeah Lewis: something like daisies Lewis: baby’s breath Lewis: stuff that feels gentle

Oscar: Lewis Hamilton out here secretly a florist

Lando: I KNEW IT

Lewis: I just have better taste than you idiots.

Carlos: confirmed.

Daniel: ok so like gentle happy survival flowers

Oscar: can we also send cookies?

Lando: yesssssssss

Lewis: i’m ordering them now Lewis: no glitter. Lewis: no weird colors. Lewis: keep it simple.

Daniel: who’s writing the card???

Lando: "Dear Belle: Sorry the world is trash. Love, some idiots who are rooting for you."

Oscar: perfect.

Carlos: send it.

***

Text Messages: Daniel Ricciardo & Max Verstappen

Daniel: Hey mate. Daniel:  Just heard from Lewis what happened last night. Daniel:  Wanted to check — is Belle okay?

Max: Yeah. Mild concussion. Some bruises. They kept her overnight for observation. She’s home now. Resting.

Daniel: Fuck, man. Daniel:  I’m glad she’s alright. Daniel:  That must’ve been scary as hell.

Max: It was.

Daniel: If you need anything. Daniel:  Or if she needs anything. Daniel:  You know — groceries, errands, new car — whatever. Daniel:  We’re all around.

Max: Appreciate it. Thanks, mate.

Daniel: Seriously, anything. Daniel:  Give her a hug from all of us, yeah? We’ll send flowers. Oscar insisted on Cookies too. 

Max: I’ll tell her. She’ll appreciate it.

Daniel: Good. Tell her we’re all thinking about her. ***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

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

Arthur: Hey, can you grab croissants on your way over?

Charles: And coffee. Please.

Lorenzo: Maman needs flowers for her lunch today.

Pascale: Isabelle, mon ange, if you have time, could you pick up some things from the market?

Isabelle: Yeah, no. Can’t. I was in a car accident last night.

Arthur: ???

Charles: WHAT.

Lorenzo: What do you mean you were in a car accident???

Arthur: This better not be a joke.

Isabelle: I’m fine. A drunk driver ran a red light and hit me. I spent the night in the hospital for observation, but I’m okay.

Pascale: WHY AM I ONLY HEARING ABOUT THIS NOW?

Arthur: Yeah, kinda rude to just drop that on us.

Isabelle: EXCUSE ME???

Charles: Were you driving too fast?

Isabelle: NO.

Arthur: Were you on your phone?

Isabelle: IT WASN’T MY FAULT.

Lorenzo: But are you sure you weren’t distracted?

Isabelle: I swear to God.

Charles: Okay, okay. Do you need anything?

Isabelle: Just rest.

Arthur: Sooo… no croissants?

Isabelle: ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW.

Arthur: Just asking.

Pascale: Isabelle, you should have told me immediately.

Isabelle: It was the middle of the night!

Lorenzo: You still could have texted.

Charles: Next time, at least let us know sooner.

Isabelle: Next time??? Do you think I PLAN to get hit by a car???

Arthur: …so that’s a no on the croissants?

***

Isabelle was curled up on their couch, a blanket over her lap, her hair still a little messy from sleep and bruises peeking out from under the neckline of his hoodie. She was nursing a cup of tea when Max came in from the kitchen with her breakfast.

“Here,” he said softly, setting the tray in front of her. “Eat something.”

She smiled up at him, touched. “Thank you.”

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, but as he sat next to her, she noticed his eyes drift toward her phone, still open to the Leclerc family group chat.

Max squinted.

“What’s that?” he asked, his tone already shifting.

Isabelle blinked. “Oh. Just my brothers being… them.”

Max, already suspicious, plucked the phone gently from her lap before she could stop him.

Scrolled. Read.

And then he went absolutely still.

When she finally looked at him, his entire body was tight with anger. Not explosive. Not loud.

Cold.  Sharp.  Deadly.

“They’re asking about croissants?” Max said, voice low and dangerous. “After you spent the night in the hospital?”

Isabelle opened her mouth. Closed it. Shrugged helplessly.

Max stood up abruptly, pacing a few steps across the living room like he needed to physically shake off the fury vibrating through him.

“They’re angry at you?” Max said incredulously. “For not calling them? After you got fucking hit by a drunk driver?”

Isabelle flinched. Not because he was yelling — he wasn’t.  Max’s voice had dropped into that awful, simmering tone he only used when he was one second from completely losing it.

“They’re blaming you?” he said, his voice rising just slightly, like he couldn't believe the words as they left his mouth. "Like you did something wrong?"

"It’s not that bad," Isabelle said automatically.

Max spun to face her. His expression was something brutal and raw.  "Don't," he snapped. "Don't defend them."

Isabelle curled tighter into herself, clutching the tea like it was a shield.

"They don’t mean it like that," she said weakly.

Max crossed the room in three strides, crouching in front of her again, his hands gentle even when his voice wasn’t.

"Belle," he said, fierce and low. "You could have died. You could have been killed. And their first reaction was to demand coffee and flowers and fucking croissants? To scold you like a child?"

Isabelle looked down, her throat burning.

Max caught her chin lightly, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"You are not their errand girl," he said, every word knife-edged. "You are not an afterthought. You are not disposable."

Tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them.

Max’s face softened instantly.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe — but she didn't want to breathe anywhere else anyway.

Max let out a breath through his nose, still fuming. “Next time something happens, you tell me before you tell them. Actually—just always tell me first.”

“I did.”

That made him pause.

She looked up at him, soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “You were the first and only person I called.”

The fight in Max deflated just a little. His jaw relaxed, and his shoulders slumped as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’ll never make you explain why your pain is valid.”

Isabelle pressed a kiss to his jaw, and despite the aches and bruises, she felt lighter somehow. Safer. Seen.

Max kissed the top of her head again, his voice low against her hair.

***

Text Messages: Sebastian Vettel & Max Verstappen

Sebastian: Hey, Max. I heard about what happened in Monaco. Isabelle okay?

Max: ... How do you—

Sebastian: Lewis.

Max: Of course.

Sebastian: He didn’t say much. Just that it was bad. And that you were with her. I figured I should check in.

Max: She’s alright. Concussion. Bruises. Scared the hell out of me, but she’s recovering. Resting at home now.

Sebastian: Good. I’m glad she’s safe. And I’m glad she has you.

Max: Thanks. Really.

Sebastian: Brave of you, keeping it from Charles. Man’s got a temper.

Max: So do I.

Sebastian: 😅 Fair enough. Sebastian:  But seriously — that’s not an easy line to walk. Sebastian:  Keeping something that important private.

Max: It’s not about him. It’s about her. She’s not ready for them to know. I’ll wait until she is. Whatever it takes.

Sebastian: Good. You’re doing the right thing. Sebastian:  (And honestly... I don’t think Charles deserves to know until she’s ready to make him see her properly.)

Max: Agreed.

Sebastian: If you need anything — if she does — let me know. Tell her I’m thinking of her.

Max: I will. She’ll appreciate that. She always liked you, you know.

Sebastian: I like her, too. Always thought she was the strongest Leclerc. Even if no one noticed.

Max: I noticed.

Sebastian: I know. That’s why she’s with you.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: Hey. Wanted you to hear it from me. Belle was in a car accident last night. Drunk Driver T-boned her. 

Emilie: WHAT. Emilie: WHAT DO YOU MEAN. Emilie: IS SHE OKAY???

Max: She’s okay. Bruised, mild concussion. No serious injuries. She’s home now. Resting.

Emilie: Max. You can’t just DROP that on me. I nearly had a heart attack.

Max: Sorry. Didn’t want you finding out through someone else.

Emilie: Thank you for telling me. Is she... really okay? I mean, really?

Max: She’s shaken. But the Volvo did it’s job. It could be so much worse.  

Emilie: Good. Emilie:  Protect her, Max. Or I’ll break your kneecaps. (With love.)

Max: Would expect nothing less from you.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW.

Isabelle: Hi??

Emilie: DON'T "hi" me. Emilie: I just found out you were in a CAR CRASH??? Emilie: A drunk driver hit you?? Emilie: AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME???

Isabelle: I was going to... Isabelle: I just didn’t want to worry you. I’m okay. Isabelle: Bruises, concussion. That’s it. I promise.

Emilie: Isabelle. Emilie: You’re literally my favorite human being on this planet. Emilie: You do not get to almost die and then not tell me.

Isabelle: 🥺

Isabelle: I’m sorry. Isabelle: I really am. Isabelle: It was just a lot last night. And Max was already there and—

Emilie: WAIT. Emilie: Max was there?? Emilie: You called him first???

Isabelle: ... Yeah.

Emilie: 😭😭😭😭 Emilie: Okay. Fine. Emilie: At least SOMEONE was looking after you. Emilie: (Still a little bit furious tho.)

Isabelle: I deserve that. I’m sorry.

Emilie: You are not allowed to apologize for getting hit by a drunk driver you absolute gremlin. Emilie: I’m just glad you’re okay. Emilie: (And also kinda glad Max is apparently ready to physically fight Monaco if needed.)

Isabelle: He’s very serious about it 😅

Emilie: Good. Emilie: You deserve people who take your safety personally. Emilie: And you deserve better than people who think you should apologize for surviving.

Isabelle: 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 Love you.

Emilie: Love you more, Belle. Emilie: See you soon. Emilie: (Also, Max better share the couch or I will fight him.)

Isabelle: 😂 I’ll warn him.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: Hey. Need to tell you something.

Victoria: Everything okay??

Max: Yeah. Now it is. Max: Belle was in a car accident. Drunk driver hit her.

Victoria: WHAT. Is she okay????

Max: Yeah. Concussion. Some bruises. She’s home now. Safe.

Victoria: Oh my god. Max. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?

Max: Took a few years off my life. But yeah. Better now.

Victoria: I can’t even imagine. Seeing something like that happen to someone you love... Victoria: I remember when you crashed in Silverstone…For a moment it just…that feeling. That helplessness.  Like the world could just... rip the person you love away from you at any second. I know what that feels like.

Max: Yeah. Exactly that. One second everything’s normal. Max: Next second you’re standing in a hospital room wondering how you’re supposed to keep breathing if they don’t.

Max: Feels like everything inside me cracked open at once. Max: I’m never letting anything happen to her again. Max: I don’t care what I have to do.

Victoria: You can’t protect her from everything, Maxie. I wish we could. But you’re doing the most important thing already. You’re there. You love her. You make her feel safe. That’s more than enough.

Max: Sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.

Victoria: It always feels like that when you really love someone. It’s the cost. But it’s worth it.

Victoria: She’s lucky to have you. And you’re lucky to have her.

Max: I know.

Victoria: Give her a hug from me. And Max?

Max: Yeah?

Victoria: Give yourself a little grace too. You’re allowed to be scared. You’re allowed to love her that much.

Max: Thanks, Vic.

Victoria: Always.

***

The apartment was dim and warm, the only light coming from the small lamp in the corner. One cat was sprawled across Max’s legs, purring softly; the other had wedged itself stubbornly against the arm of the couch.

It was quiet, comfortable — but Max barely noticed.

He was too busy keeping an eye on the hallway, listening for any sound of her.

Isabelle finally padded into the living room, wearing one of his hoodies and soft pajama shorts, her hair damp from a shower. She carried a mug of chamomile tea between her hands like it was a lifeline.

Max’s chest tightened when he saw the bruises — angry marks along her collarbone, a purple smear near her temple just so peeking out from underneath the bandage that covered her stitches — but she looked a little better.

Softer around the edges.

Steadier.

She settled in beside him without hesitation, leaning lightly into his side.

“Hey,” she said, voice gentle and tired but still teasing, still her. “What are we doing for Valentine’s Day tonight?”

Max blinked down at her like she had asked him if he wanted to fight a bull barehanded.

He set the remote down and turned fully toward her.

“Nothing,” he said firmly. “You’re resting.”

Belle blinked, surprised. “Nothing?”

“You got out of the hospital this morning, Schatje,” Max said, brushing his knuckles carefully along her jaw. “You’re bruised, concussed, exhausted. You’re not putting on a dress or pretending you have the energy for anything.”

She smiled sheepishly. “I wasn’t thinking restaurant. I was thinking… I don’t know. Candlelight? Dessert? A dumb rom-com?”

Max’s heart softened instantly.

“That’s different,” he murmured. “That I can work with.”

For a moment, there was a lull — the safe kind — until Belle sighed quietly and looked down at her tea.

“I’m sorry I ruined it,” she said.

Max froze.

“What?” he asked, sharper than he meant to.

“Valentine’s,” she said, voice even quieter now. “We were supposed to have a real night. You always say you don’t care about this stuff, but you still try. And instead, I ended up in a hospital bed, and you had to spend the night watching me sleep in an awful chair.”

Max blinked at her.

Once.

Twice.

Then, without a word, he took the mug gently from her hands and set it on the table.

“Belle,” he said, low and serious, “you are absolutely insane.”

She frowned. “That’s not—”

Max cupped her face in both hands, his touch achingly tender, like he thought she might break if he wasn’t careful.

He looked at her like she had just split the world open and made everything new again.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said, voice rough with the force of it. “You scared the hell out of me. That’s all. The only thing — the only thing — I cared about yesterday was that you were still breathing.”

Belle blinked, stunned.

Max leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against hers.

“You’re here,” he whispered. “You’re breathing. You’re safe. That’s all I want.”

Belle closed her eyes tightly, a tear slipping free before she could stop it.

“I just wanted it to be special,” she mumbled.

Max pulled back just enough to see her face, his thumbs brushing lightly along her jaw.

“It is special,” he said, fierce and quiet. “You’re here. You’re with me. There’s nothing more special than that.”

He exhaled hard, trying to keep himself steady, but the fear — the pictures his mind supplied, of her bleeding and dazed in that broken car — hadn’t really left him.

“You could have died, Belle,” he said, voice shaking despite himself. “And if you think I give a fuck about Valentine’s Day after that—”

He broke off, swallowing hard.

“You’re sitting here apologizing because I didn’t get to give you overpriced flowers and a chocolate box?” Max shook his head, breathing out a shaky laugh that was half disbelief, half heartbreak.

Belle let out a breathy laugh too, her voice cracking.

“Well, when you say it like that, I sound ridiculous.”

“You are ridiculous,” Max said fondly, his voice dropping to something unbearably soft as he kissed her forehead.

“You’re my Valentine every goddamn day, Belle. You don’t have to do anything except be here.”

And as he tucked her into his side, wrapping an arm around her, Max made himself a quiet, blistering promise:

Whatever it takes — he would make sure she always had a safe place to land.

***

Alexandra Saint Mleux had always loved Valentine’s Day.

Not for the grand gestures, not for the over-the-top declarations, but for the little things.

 The small, specific ways Charles made her feel seen every year.

Last year, it had been a bracelet with a tiny charm that matched a doodle she'd made in a notebook once.

It was never about the price or the spectacle.

It was the way Charles remembered the quiet parts of her — the parts no one else seemed to notice.

Which was why she knew, before he even handed her the gift this year, that something was... off.

The box was beautiful — simple, elegant, wrapped in gold paper.  But when she opened it, it was a generic necklace. Pretty, but impersonal.

Something anyone could have picked out of a catalog.

Charles was smiling at her expectantly, the way he always did, waiting for her reaction.

And she smiled back — because she loved him, because she didn't want to ruin it — but a small, quiet ache bloomed in her chest.

It wasn't about the necklace.

It was about the feeling that something had slipped, unnoticed, between them.

They went out for dinner after — a cozy little restaurant tucked away from the paparazzi, candles flickering between them — but even there, Charles seemed... distracted.

 Tense in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

It wasn’t until dessert, when she asked casually about his family, that she got a piece of the puzzle.

"Isabelle was in a car accident," Charles said offhandedly, swirling the last of his espresso.

Alexandra's heart stuttered. "Oh my God — is she okay?"

He shrugged, too casual. "It was just a little fender bender. Nothing serious. She’s fine."

Alexandra frowned slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Charles said, waving it off. "She said she was fine."

He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t offer any more.

And Alexandra — who had seen the way Isabelle seemed to fold herself smaller whenever the family swirled too loudly around her — felt that same ache twist sharper.

Something told her Belle wouldn’t have made a fuss even if she wasn’t fine.

Something told her that Charles hadn’t really looked.

She said nothing, just smiled and let Charles change the subject back to racing, back to schedules, back to anything but the sister who maybe, just maybe, needed him to see her.

Alexandra tucked the necklace back into its box when she got home that night.

 It was beautiful.

 It just wasn’t quite hers.

***

The apartment smelled like coffee and something sweet.

Max had gotten up early — not because he was particularly good at mornings, or baking — but because Belle deserved something warm and comforting.

He’d managed toast, burnt only slightly, and found the last few frozen chocolate croissants buried at the back of the freezer.

Small things.

Safe things.

Belle was curled up on the couch in one of his old hoodies, knees tucked beneath her, Lilly on her lap, while Jimmy was laying on her legs and Sassy sat next to her like this was all beneath her, but was slowly inching closer, jealous to at she wasn’t getting any attention.

She looked small.

Tired.

Healing.

Max was wiping his hands on a dish towel when a knock came at the door.

He frowned, crossing the apartment in a few quick strides.

When he opened it, a delivery man stood there — arms full.

Two enormous bouquets, one a soft explosion of yellow and white, the other a careful arrangement of pink and cream roses, and a box tied up with a silky ribbon.

Max blinked.

Took the flowers and box with a muttered thanks.

Kicked the door shut behind him.

Belle looked up immediately, eyebrows lifting when she saw what he was carrying.

“What’s all that?” she asked, sitting up straighter.

Max set everything carefully down on the coffee table, tugging the little notes free from between the stems.

He read the first card — his mouth curving into a small, real smile, the kind he barely remembered how to make before her.

“This one’s from my family,” he said, tossing the card onto the table for her to see. “Flowers from my mom. Chocolate from Victoria.”

Belle’s mouth fell open slightly. “They didn’t have to—”

Max shrugged. “They wanted to.”

He kissed the top of her head before reaching for the second card, tucked between the wild, chaotic second bouquet and the neatly wrapped box underneath.

He read it, and let out a soft huff of laughter.

“And,” he added, setting the card down, “these are from the idiots.”

Belle blinked. “The idiots?”

Max leaned back against the couch, stretching his legs out lazily. “Lando, Oscar, Lewis, Carlos, Daniel. Group effort. They sent you flowers and a box of cookies.”

Belle stared at him, completely thrown.

“They said,” Max quoted dryly, “and I’m reading here, ‘Dear Belle: Sorry the world is trash. Love, some idiots who are rooting for you.’”

Belle let out a small, incredulous laugh — the first real one he’d heard from her since the hospital— and covered her face with her hands.

Max just watched her, something warm and achingly fond spreading through his chest.

When she lowered her hands, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes suspiciously bright.

“They’re ridiculous,” she whispered.

“They are,” Max agreed. “But they mean it.”

He shifted closer, resting his hand lightly against her thigh.

“Victoria sends her love, by the way,” he added. “Said next time you’re in the Netherlands, you’re not allowed to leave without a girls’ day.”

Belle laughed again — a softer, breathier sound this time — and toyed absently with the edge of her sleeve.

There was a pause.

A shift.

And then, almost too quietly to hear, she said:

“Your family’s starting to feel like mine too.”

Max stilled completely.

He turned, reaching for her hand instinctively, finding her fingers and curling his own around them.

Belle looked up at him, vulnerable in a way she almost never let herself be — open and a little raw, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say it out loud.

Max melted.

Utterly.

He cupped her face gently in both hands and kissed her — slow, deliberate, reverent — like he had all the time in the world just to love her properly.

When he finally pulled back, his voice was rough with emotion.

“They already think of you that way,” he whispered against her forehead. “You’re one of us, Belle. You always will be.”

She blinked fast, trying and failing to fight the tears burning her eyes.

Max just pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight.

Not too tight.

Just enough.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Victoria Verstappen

Isabelle: Hi Victoria, Thank you so much for the flowers and chocolates. It really meant a lot to me. You didn’t have to do all that.

Victoria: First of all: YES I DID. Second: you’re welcome. Third: you’re stuck with us now. No returns. No exchanges. No refunds. Family policy. Love you.

Isabelle: 😭 I love you too.

Victoria: Tell Max if he doesn’t keep spoiling you, I’ll show up and do it myself. (And make it VERY public and VERY embarrassing.)

Isabelle: 😂 I’ll warn him.

Victoria: Good girl. Rest up. Heal. And when you’re ready, come visit — Lio made you a "Get Well" card and it’s mostly just glitter but the intention was pure.

Isabelle: I can’t wait to see it. Thank you, Vic. Really. For everything.

Victoria: Always, Belle. Always.

***

Text Messages: Sebastian Vettel & Kimi Räikkönen

Sebastian: You’re not going to believe this. (Or maybe you will. You’re hard to surprise.)

Kimi: Busy. Make it fast.

Sebastian: Max Verstappen is dating Isabelle Leclerc.

Kimi:  Huh. 

Sebastian: That’s it? Huh??? I just dropped a nuclear paddock secret on you!

Kimi: Not my business. If they’re happy, who cares.

Sebastian: I mean. True. But still.

Kimi: Good for them. Hope she can handle him. Not many can.

Sebastian: I think she’s the only one who can.

Kimi: Makes sense. Quiet ones are dangerous. Good match.

Sebastian: Also apparently no one in her family knows yet. Including Charles.

Kimi: Charles will cry about it. Not my problem.

Sebastian: 😂

Kimi: Tell Max if he breaks her heart I’ll run him over with a snowmobile.

Sebastian: Will pass along the message.

Kimi: Good. Busy now. Kids want ice cream. Tell Max congratulations.

Sebastian: Will do. (Enjoy the ice cream.)

Kimi: Always.

***

Max hated this.

He wasn’t even trying to pretend otherwise.

He stood by the door, suitcase packed, keys and phone in one hand, looking like someone had asked him to do the impossible instead of board a plane for pre-season testing.

Belle watched him from the couch, a blanket wrapped around her, her bruises faded now but still faintly visible under the soft lamplight.

"You have to go," she said gently, reading his mind like she always did.

Max grimaced, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I don’t like leaving you."

"You’re not leaving me," she corrected immediately, voice calm, steady.  "You’re going to work. You’re doing what you love."

Max ran a hand through his hair, visibly struggling.

"You just—" he started, then stopped.  "You just got hurt, Belle. I should be here. I should be with you."

"You are with me," she said, rising slowly from the couch and padding over to him.

She reached up and cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

"Every time you call, every time you text, every time you think about me — you’re here," she said softly. "I’m not alone."

Max closed his eyes, leaning into her touch like he physically couldn’t help it.

"And you’ll be home before you know it," she whispered, brushing her thumbs over his cheekbones. "Then you can hover and fuss and drive me crazy again."

A reluctant, broken laugh escaped him.

"I don’t want to leave you," he said again, more quietly now.

Belle smiled, tears prickling her own eyes — because even now, even with the whole world pulling him in a thousand directions, he was still here with her first.

"You’re not leaving me," she said again. "You’re just chasing your dreams. And I’ll be right here when you get back."

Max bent his head, resting his forehead against hers.

"You’re my dream too," he whispered.

Her breath hitched.

"And you’re mine," she whispered back.

They stayed there for a long moment — just breathing together — until finally, finally, Max exhaled.

He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, like he needed to memorize her, and she kissed him back just as fiercely.

When he finally pulled away, it was with visible effort.

"Promise me you’ll rest," he said, brushing his knuckles down her cheek.

"I promise," she said. "And you — promise me you’ll drive safe. Listen to GP. Don’t try to out-stubborn the car."

Max huffed a quiet laugh. "Bossy."

"Someone has to be," she teased, smiling.

He kissed her forehead one last time, squeezed her hand, and finally — reluctantly — turned to leave.

Belle watched him go, feeling the ache of missing him before he’d even stepped outside the door.

But it was okay.

Because he would always come home to her.

And she would always, always be waiting.

***

Text Messages: Lewis Hamilton & Max Verstappen

Lewis: Mate.

Lewis: Did you just drop off a bag of stuff at my motorhome?

Max: Yeah.

Max: Belle made something for Roscoe.

Lewis: I just opened it.

Lewis: A handwritten note. And homemade vegan dog treats???

Max: She insisted.

Max: Wanted to thank you properly.

Max: Even though she’s supposed to be resting.

Lewis: I don’t even know what to say. The note made me emotional and Roscoe is probably going to try and mug me for the biscuits.

Max: Good. He deserves them.

Lewis: Tell her thank you.

Lewis: Seriously.

Lewis: She didn’t have to do anything.

Lewis: I was just in the right place at the right time.

Max: You stayed.

Max: It matters to her.

Max: It matters to me too.

Lewis: You’ve got a good one there, Max.

Lewis: Also, if Roscoe explodes with happiness, I’m sending you the vet bill.

Max: He’ll be fine. Belle double-checked the recipe three times.

***

GP had known Max Verstappen for a long time.

Long enough to recognize when something wasn’t sitting right under the surface — even when Max didn’t say a word about it.

He noticed it that morning, before Max even climbed into the car.  The slight tightness around his mouth.  The way his hands flexed once, sharply, before putting on his gloves.  The way his answers in the pre-session briefing were short, mechanical. Efficient, but colder than usual.

GP filed it away. Max would tell him when he was ready.

And he did — just after the second run of the day, in the shade behind the Red Bull garage, water bottle in one hand, telemetry printout in the other.

“She was in a crash,” Max said, his voice flat enough that if GP hadn’t been paying attention, he might have missed it.

GP frowned, stepping closer. “Who?”

Max didn’t look up.  “Belle.”

The name hit harder than GP expected.

“What happened?” he asked, more sharply now.

Max’s jaw tightened. “Drunk driver ran a red. T-boned her car. Hit the passenger side, just behind the front wheel. Sent her spinning into a light post.”

 Quiet. Clipped.  Words that barely scratched the surface of the horror GP could hear pulsing beneath them.

GP stared. “Christ. Is she—?”

“She’s alright,” Max said. “Bruised. Concussion. Hospital kept her overnight.” He paused. “But it could’ve been a lot worse.”

GP’s stomach twisted sickly.  He couldn’t — wouldn’t — let himself imagine Max getting that phone call in the middle of the night. Wouldn’t let himself imagine what it must’ve felt like to walk into a hospital room and see Belle curled up in a stark white bed.

And then Max said, in that same low, steady voice that somehow carried more weight than shouting ever could:

“The Volvo you helped me pick out for her? It saved her life.”

GP went still.

The memory flickered: Max months ago, texting him…asking for his opinion. 

Just buy her a Volvo. Safe. Reliable. Built to last. Also one of the best crash-tested brands in the world. You did say you were thinking about kids, right?

And now — thank god — Belle was still breathing because of it.

GP swallowed thickly, feeling a knot loosen somewhere deep in his chest.

“Thank fuck,” he said hoarsely.

Max gave a short nod.  No dramatics. No sentimentality.

But GP could feel the magnitude of it radiating off him like heat off the tarmac.

This — this — was the side of Max Verstappen few people ever saw.  The side that loved without conditions.  That protected without compromise.

“Thank you,” Max said quietly. 

No dramatics. No fuss.  Just that heavy, quiet sincerity Max reserved for the rarest moments.

GP reached out and clapped a hand to his shoulder — a solid, grounding gesture — knowing Max didn’t need anything else from him right now.

"I’d do it again tomorrow," GP said.

Max nodded again, and GP watched him turn back toward the data screens, pulling his headset on, ready to work like nothing had happened.

But GP knew better.

Max had always raced like he had something to prove.  Now, this season, he was racing with something to protect.

And GP would make damn sure everything — the car, the strategy, the team — was ready for that fight.

Then there was no margin for error anymore.

Not even a sliver.

He pulled his headset back over his ears and keyed into the comms with a calmness he didn’t entirely feel.

“Let’s run another systems check before lunch,” he said smoothly.  “And someone triple-check the safety settings while you’re at it.”

The comm crackled to life with quick affirmatives.

***

Text Messages: Gianpiero Lambiase & Eloisa Lambiase

GP: We’re getting you a new car.

Eloisa: ???

Eloisa: Good morning to you too?

Eloisa: What’s wrong with my car?

GP: Not safe enough.

Eloisa: You’re the one who picked it out, love.

GP: Doesn’t matter.

GP: We’re upgrading.

Eloisa: Did something happen?

GP: Yeah.

GP: Belle — Max’s Belle — she was in a crash last week.

GP: Drunk driver ran a light.

Eloisa: Oh my god.

Eloisa: Is she okay???

GP: Shaken. Concussed. But alive.

GP: Because she was driving the Volvo Max bought her.

GP: The one I told him to get.

Eloisa: Oh.

GP: Yeah. That’s why we’re getting you a better car.

Eloisa: Gianni…

GP: No arguments.

GP: Please.

Eloisa: …okay.

Eloisa: But only if I get to pick the color this time.

GP: Deal.

GP: Something with five stars on every crash test rating.

GP: I’m sending you options this afternoon.

Eloisa:  (And coffee. You owe me coffee for giving me a heart attack.)

GP: Already on it.

GP: Triple order.

GP: Love you.

Eloisa: Love you too, you giant overprotective marshmallow

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Max: We need to get you a new car.

Isabelle: Max, I’m fine.

Isabelle: The Volvo did its job.

Max: Exactly. Which is why we’re getting another one.

Isabelle: You’re serious?

Max: Volvo customer for life now. I’m about to put their logo on my helmet at this point.

Isabelle: You’re ridiculous.

Max: Not taking chances, Schatje.

Max: Same model or you want to pick something else?

Isabelle: …I did love that car.

Max: Same brand, non-negotiable. Colour’s up to you. Same as before or something different?

Isabelle: Honestly? I liked the old one. That dark green felt like me.

Max: Then we’ll stick with it. Dark green it is.

Isabelle: You don’t have to do all this, Max.

Max: I do. I’m not letting you drive anything that isn’t built like a tank.

Isabelle: You’re going to spoil me until I forget how to function on my own.

Max: That’s the plan.

Isabelle: You’re impossible.

Max: You love me.

Isabelle: Very much.

Max: Fortunately, it’s mutual.

Isabelle: Fine. Dark green Volvo. But I’m picking the air freshener this time.

Max: Deal. As long as it’s not something that smells like cupcakes.

Isabelle: No promises. And it was strawberry. 

Isabelle: Consider it payback for forcing me into an indestructible Swedish fortress.

Max: Best decision I ever made. Second only to falling in love with you.

Isabelle: You’re dangerous when you’re sweet.

Max: Only for you.

***

Alexandra wandered the halls, pretending to admire a modern art installation while covertly people-watching — one of her favorite pastimes when the pace of life let her slip out of the Ferrari bubble for a few hours.

She was standing near a collection of minimalist sculptures when she caught snippets of a conversation between two women nearby, both well-dressed, deep in quiet, intense discussion.

"I still can't believe it," one woman murmured, her voice low but urgent. "She could have been killed. Did you see the photos? That car was destroyed."

Her friend nodded, wide-eyed.  "Near the tunnel, right? Total mess. And poor Isabelle  — I mean, she's so sweet. She did that whole project for our office last year."

Alexandra’s heart stopped.

She took a tiny step closer, pretending to examine the sculpture in front of her.

"Isabelle Leclerc," the first woman said again, confirming what Alexandra already knew. "Such a shame. She's so talented. And to walk away from something like that — it’s a miracle, really. They said the drunk driver didn’t even hit the brakes."

Alexandra felt her stomach churn.

Destroyed.  Miracle.  No brakes.

That didn’t sound like a fender bender.

That didn’t sound like "nothing."

Another man chimed in, sounding grim. "I heard the paramedics said it was a miracle she didn’t have internal injuries. They were worried about a collapsed lung at first."

Alexandra blinked hard, the art blurring in front of her.

Collapsed lung.

Not a fender bender.

Not nothing serious.

She pressed her lips together, hands curling slightly at her sides.

The women moved on, voices fading into the low hum of the gallery, but Alexandra stayed frozen in place for a long moment.

When Charles had told her about the accident, he’d been so casual. So dismissive.

Alexandra swallowed hard against the knot forming in her throat.

Isabelle hadn't been fine.

Isabelle had survived something horrific.

And Charles — either through ignorance or unwillingness — had looked the other way.

Again.

Alexandra didn’t know what bothered her more: the fact that Charles hadn't seen it, or the gnawing fear that maybe he did — and just didn’t know what to do with the parts of his sister that didn’t fit into the neat, tidy picture of the world he needed to believe in.

She glanced down at her phone, thumb hovering over Isabelle name in her contacts.

For a moment, she debated it — reaching out, saying something, offering something.

But what could she offer that wouldn't sound hollow?

Her family saw her as nothing more than background noise and Alexandra loathed to admit that she was guilty of the same on more than a few occasions. 

It was just…so easy not to think about Isabelle. Which sounded horrible, the longer she examined that thought. 

Isabelle was so happy in the background, so sweet and kind in a way that never seemed to want any kind of attention for it. 

 So easy to overlook. 

***

Text Messages: Alexandra Saint Mleux & Charlotte Di Pietro

Alexandra: Hey, random question. Did you know how bad Isabelle’s car accident actually was?

Charlotte: ?? I thought it was minor? That’s what Lorenzo said when I asked.

Alexandra: It wasn’t. I overheard people talking at the gallery tonight. Paramedics thought she might have had a collapsed lung. Car was totaled. Impact was bad — drunk driver didn’t even brake.

Charlotte: No one told me any of that. Lorenzo made it sound like a dented door and a headache.

Alexandra: Yeah. Charles too. He brushed it off like it was nothing.

Charlotte: …They’re acting like it’s an inconvenience.

Alexandra: Exactly. It’s been sitting wrong with me all night. Like there’s something broken there that no one’s talking about.

Charlotte: Maybe. But I do know they love her.

Alexandra: I don’t doubt that. But love isn’t the same as seeing someone. I’m not sure they know how to see her properly.

Alexandra: I am not sure we know how to see her properly. None of us thought to invite her to lunch…you know, when we ran into her. 

Charlotte: You are right…They aren’t the only ones guilty of forgetting her…

Charlotte: Speaking of forgetting. 

Charlotte: Guess who forgot about Valentine’s Day until the morning off. 

Alexandra: Oh? (Spill.)

Charlotte: Valentine’s Day. Lorenzo didn’t plan anything. Literally nothing.

He said, "Well, it didn’t feel like a big deal this year."

Charlotte: Later he grumbled that "normally Belle helps" and "everything feels off without her."

Alexandra: Wait, what?

Charlotte: Yeah. Apparently Belle used to remind them, plan ideas, even organize half the stuff so they wouldn’t forget.

Alexandra: …Oh my god. Alexandra: That tracks. Alexandra: You know, her friend once joked that Isabelle was the one who bought all my birthday presents from Charles.

Charlotte: Wait, seriously??

Alexandra: Apparently. Alexandra: I didn’t take it seriously at the time — Alexandra: Thought it was just teasing. Alexandra: But now… Maybe it was true.

Charlotte: She shouldn’t have to carry everyone. Charlotte: It’s not fair.

Alexandra: No, it’s not. Maybe it’s a good thing they’re feeling the consequences now.

Charlotte: Let them sit in it. They need to learn.

Alexandra: Agreed.

Charlotte: (Also. Are you ready for Arthur's dramatic downfall?)

Alexandra: LOL. The girlfriend disaster?

Charlotte: The girlfriend disaster. At this point, I’m tempted to bet how long until he posts a sad song on Instagram.

Alexandra: 100 euros says it’s before Thursday. Bonus points if he posts cryptic black-and-white stories too. With quotes he definitely doesn’t understand.

Charlotte: You’re on.

Alexandra: God help us all.

***

The Bahrain paddock buzzed under the heavy sun — mechanics shouting, tires rolling, the faint scent of burning rubber hanging in the air.

Charles leaned against the barrier separating the hospitality areas, sipping from a bottle of water as he chatted with Pierre, both of them still in their race suits, unzipped halfway down against the heat.

Pierre had just casually asked, somewhere between a joke and genuine concern, "Hey, by the way — your sister’s alright, yeah? Heard she had some kind of accident?"

Charles waved it off immediately, flashing a small, tight smile.  "Ah, yes. Isabelle is fine. Just a little fender bender."

Pierre nodded, a little relieved but still wary. "Good. Glad she’s okay. Monaco drivers, man."

Charles laughed lightly. "Exactly. Probably more dangerous in the city than on track."

But before he could say anything else, a voice cut through the air, calm and deliberate.

"It wasn’t a fender bender, Charles."

Charles blinked, turning instinctively toward the sound.

Lewis Hamilton stood a few feet away, gloves dangling loosely from his fingers, expression unreadable.

Charles frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

Lewis shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest. "I was there."

The words dropped like stones into Charles’ stomach.

"I saw the crash," Lewis continued, voice low and even. "Drunk driver ran a red light. Slammed into her side full speed. Spun her into a pole. The car was totaled."

Charles opened his mouth — but no words came out.

Lewis wasn’t finished. "Isabelle was trapped in the car. Shocky. Barely able to talk. I called the ambulance. Stayed with her until they got there."

Charles’ heart kicked hard against his ribs, cold and sickening.

He tried — for a second — to picture Isabelle in that moment.

 Tried to imagine her small body pinned in a wrecked car, blood trickling down her forehead, gasping for breath.

It made something twist inside him — sharp and ugly and guilty.

"She’s lucky she survived," Lewis said quietly. "Don’t call it a fender bender."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Lewis gave him one last look — not angry, not cruel — just disappointed.  And then he turned, walking away toward the Mercedes garage without another word.

Charles stood frozen in place.

Pierre cleared his throat awkwardly after a beat. "Uh," he said lightly, "maybe you should... check on her properly. Yeah?"

Charles didn’t answer.

He just stood there, staring after Lewis, feeling — for the first time in a long time — the uncomfortable, foreign sensation of having missed something important.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Daniel Ricciardo, Carlos Sainz and Lewis Hamilton)

Lewis: Guys. GUYS.

Oscar: uh oh

Lando: what happened now

Lewis: Charles just called Isabelle’s crash a "fender bender." fender bender. LIKE. MINOR. INSIGNIFICANT.

Daniel: ...oh no.

Lewis: IT WAS BAD. Lewis: Bad enough that the car was crushed against a streetlamp. Lewis: Bad enough that she couldn’t even get the door open. Lewis: Bad enough that she was shivering and barely breathing and covered in cuts and glass.

Lando: Lewis is going full caps lock. This is bad.

Oscar: It’s worse than bad. He’s spiraling.

Lewis: I WATCHED HER BLEEDING IN A BROKEN CAR. Lewis: I HELD HER HAND UNTIL THE PARAMEDICS GOT THERE. Lewis: AND CHARLES IS OUT HERE LIKE "lol oopsie minor incident"????

Daniel: Breathe mate Breathe

Carlos: Yeah, deep breaths. We need you alive.

Lewis: HE CALLED IT A FENDER BENDER. I AM GOING TO LAUNCH HIM INTO THE SUN

Oscar: Not before Max does.

Lando: Max is gonna find out eventually and we will ALL need to evacuate Monaco

Lewis: I literally saw it. Lewis: I thought she was dead for a second. Lewis: And Charles didn’t even know how bad it was. Lewis: Didn’t even ask. Lewis: Didn’t even CARE.

Daniel: You okay mate?? Do you need snacks?? Or wine??

Carlos: Or a punching bag???

Oscar: Or a very large blunt object???

Lewis: I need Charles to grow a brain cell.

Carlos: Welcome to the nightmare brother.

Daniel: We have t-shirts.

Lando: and wine Lando: lots of wine

Oscar: and emergency stress snacks

Lewis: I’m bringing tequila next meeting. Lewis: We’re gonna need it.

***

Leclerc Siblings Group Chat

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

Charles: Isabelle. Why didn’t you tell me the accident was that serious??

Isabelle: Because you didn’t ask.

Arthur: Wait what? Serious?? I thought it was a little crash?

Charles: It wasn’t. Lewis told me today during testing. He was THERE. He said the car was totaled. You got spun into a post. You were trapped in the car, Isabelle.

Lorenzo: What do you mean, trapped?!

Isabelle: I didn’t want to worry anyone. I’m fine now.

Charles: You said you were fine. You made it sound like you got a scratch and drove home.

Lorenzo: That’s not the point.

Charles:  You lied to us.

Isabelle: I didn’t lie. I said I had a concussion and bruises. And spent the night in the hospital. Which was all true. I said I was okay. Because I am.

Lorenzo: Isabelle, why didn’t you say anything?

Isabelle: Because I knew this would happen.

Isabelle:  Exactly this.

Isabelle:  You’d all get angry or guilt-trip me or turn it into something about you.

Charles: Of course we’re angry!

Arthur:  You scared us, Isabelle.

Lorenzo:  Do you think Maman could handle hearing you almost died?

Lorenzo: We are not going to tell her.

Lorenzo:  I’m serious.

Lorenzo:  It would crush her.

Lorenzo:  Better she thinks it was nothing.

Isabelle: So let me get this straight.

Isabelle:  You’re mad at me for not telling you…

Isabelle:  And now you’re also deciding for me that Maman shouldn’t know?

Isabelle:  Because you think she can’t handle it?

Lorenzo: Exactly.

Isabelle: Okay. Noted.

***

Raymond Vermeulen prided himself on knowing everything about Max Verstappen’s career — both on and off the track.

It wasn’t arrogance. It was necessity.

You didn’t manage Max Verstappen successfully by being two steps behind. 

You stayed ahead. You anticipated. You knew.

Which was why, when Jos Verstappen of all people leaned over during a quiet moment at a post-testing dinner and casually said: "Max is serious about a girl,"

—Raymond almost dropped his fork.

He blinked, slowly, suspiciously.

Jos didn’t do casual. Jos didn’t mention Max’s girlfriends unless it was a complaint. Normally, the subject was treated like some embarrassing injury you didn’t talk about in polite company.

Raymond cleared his throat, playing it cool. "Oh? New?"

Jos grunted. "No. Been a while."

Raymond narrowed his eyes. "And you’re... okay with this?"

Jos shrugged. Shrugged.

Like Max Verstappen — his pride, his legacy, his entire life project — dating someone was just fine and normal.

Raymond was officially in uncharted waters.

"Who is she?" he asked carefully.

Jos reached for his beer, nonchalant. "Isabelle Leclerc."

Raymond froze mid-sip of his wine.

Isabelle. Leclerc.

As in Charles Leclerc’s little sister.

As in Ferrari’s golden boy’s little sister.

As in political nightmare fuel if the media ever got hold of it.

"You're telling me Max is dating Charles Leclerc’s sister," Raymond said slowly, like he was trying to defuse a bomb.

Jos grunted again. "Mmh."

"And you’re fine with this?" Raymond pressed.

Jos actually — God help him — almost smiled. "She's good for him."

Raymond sat back in his chair, stunned.

Not just because Max was apparently neck-deep in a secret, long-term relationship.

 Not just because it was Isabelle bloody Leclerc.

 But because Jos — notoriously impossible to please, allergic to softness — actually liked her.

Jos approved.

Raymond processed that for a long moment.

The earth hadn’t split open. The sky wasn’t falling.

Miracles did happen, apparently.

"Well," he said finally, recovering some professionalism. "That’s... good."

Jos nodded, unbothered. "She makes him happy."

Raymond exhaled slowly. If Jos was using words like happy, it was serious. Monumentally serious.

And suddenly, Raymond understood something deeper:

This wasn’t a passing thing.

This wasn’t a fling.

This was real.

Max had gone and fallen in love — quietly, stubbornly, like he did everything else — and somehow, without anyone noticing, built himself a life outside the machine of Formula One.

Raymond reached for his phone under the table.

Because if the media ever got a sniff of this, he was going to need a very detailed contingency plan.

And maybe a drink.

Or several.

***

The office was quiet.

Soft light filtered through gauzy curtains.

A pot of chamomile tea sat untouched on the side table.

Isabelle sat curled into the corner of the couch, sleeves of her sweater pulled over her hands, staring at the stitches in the rug instead of at Simone.

Simone waited.

She always waited.

Finally, Isabelle exhaled a shaky breath.

"It’s so stupid," she said quietly. "I shouldn’t be this upset. I didn’t even get badly hurt."

Simone didn’t flinch at the deflection.

She just tilted her head slightly.

"You’re allowed to be upset, Isabelle. Something frightening happened to you."

Isabelle bit her lip, fingers tightening in her sleeves.

"I didn’t even want to tell them," she said. "My family, I mean. I knew how it would go. And it did."

Simone’s voice stayed soft. "Tell me what happened."

Isabelle shrugged stiffly. "I mentioned it. Just… dropped it into the family group chat. Like ripping off a band-aid. Thought maybe they’d be a little worried, and then we’d move on… " she admitted softly. 

Simone waited again.

Isabelle’s mouth twisted bitterly.  "Arthur and Charles kept asking if I was distracted or speeding—like it was somehow my fault."

Simone’s brows furrowed slightly.

“And then a few days later, Charles found out that it wasn’t just a little fender bender. And suddenly they were angry with me. Because I didn’t tell them how bad it was. But I did. I told them that I was…I told them I had a concussion and bruises…And then Lorenzo," Isabelle continued, voice tightening, "he said—he said he wasn’t going to tell Maman. Because it would 'crush' her."

She laughed, a thin, broken sound.

"Apparently, I’m a bigger problem for them if I exist hurt than if I just… pretend everything’s fine."

Simone stayed silent, letting the words hang in the air between them.

Isabelle blinked hard, willing herself not to cry.

"It’s always been like that since Papa died," she said eventually, quieter now. "Maman either sticks her head into the sand—pretends bad things aren’t happening—or she panics. Makes everything about her fear."

Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, and she pulled her knees tighter to her chest.

"So I learned to make myself smaller. Easier. Less trouble."  She smiled bitterly. "Invisible, sometimes. That’s the safest way to survive it."

Simone leaned forward slightly, her voice still low, but firm now.

"Isabelle, what happened to you wasn't your fault. Not the accident. Not your family's reaction."

Isabelle closed her eyes.

"It feels like it is," she whispered.

"It isn’t," Simone said. "You are allowed to take up space. You are allowed to be hurt. You are allowed to need help, without carrying their feelings on your back."

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Daniel Ricciardo, Carlos Sainz Jr. and Lewis Hamilton)

Lando: okay Lando: hear me out

Oscar: this is already a bad start

Lewis: absolutely not

Daniel: proceed Daniel: i love bad ideas

Lando: what if Lando: instead of everyone panicking about charles finding out Lando: we just... Lando: tell him softly???

Carlos: what the fuck does "softly" mean

Lando: like, we ease him into it Lando: drop hints Lando: plant the idea Lando: subtle Lando: caring

Oscar: you're insane.

Lewis: he'll kill us all.

Daniel: ok but i kinda wanna see where he's going with this

Carlos: no Carlos: lando’s plans never end well

Lando: NO LISTEN Lando: like maybe Lando: i casually say Lando: "hey charles did you know belle’s been hanging out with max lately" Lando: and when he starts freaking out Lando: we just Lando: soothe him Lando: with like Lando: positive reinforcement.

Oscar: you think he's a puppy???

Lewis: lando. Lewis:  this is the worst plan anyone’s ever had.

Carlos: you’re going to get us murdered.

Daniel: actually i’m free next thursday if we wanna die then.

Oscar: i vote no. Oscar: hard no. Oscar: hardest no of my life.

Carlos: softly = we still die  Carlos: but maybe slower and more painful

Lando: NO NO Lando: like Lando: we sit him down Lando: give him snacks Lando: maybe a hug Lando: and then just... you know... gently mention that max is in love with his sister

Oscar: lando.  be serious.

Lando: I am serious

Lewis: this is the worst idea i've heard in a long time

Daniel: give him snacks???  what is he, a wild animal???

Oscar: you’re going to get us killed.

Lewis: softly telling charles is still telling charles.  he’s gonna go full Leclerc rage no matter what.

Daniel: AND THEN MAX IS GOING TO KILL US

Lando: ok but hear me out again Lando: what if we tell him Lando: and then IMMEDIATELY leave the country

Oscar: i'm already packing my bags

Carlos: dibs on Spain

Lewis: i'm going to pretend i don't know any of you

Daniel: same

Daniel: i’ll be in australia by the time charles processes step one.

[dhruvkumaar]

How to pull off descriptions

New authors always describe the scene and place every object on the stage before they press the play button of their novels. And I feel that it happens because we live in a world filled with visual media like comics and films, which heavily influence our prose.

In visual media, it’s really easy to set the scene—you just show where every object is, doesn’t matter if they’re a part of the action about to come or not. But prose is quite different from comics and films. You can’t just set the scene and expect the reader to wait for you to start action of the novel. You just begin the scene with action, making sure your reader is glued to the page.

And now that begs the question—if not at the beginning, where do you describe the scene? Am I saying you should not use descriptions and details at all? Hell naw! I’m just saying the way you’re doing it is wrong—there’s a smarter way to pull off descriptions. And I’m here to teach that to you.

***

#01 - What are descriptions?

Let’s start with the basics—what are descriptions? How do you define descriptions? Or details, for that matter? And what do the words include?

Descriptions refer to… descriptions. It’s that part of your prose where you’re not describing something—the appearance of an object, perhaps. Mostly, we mean scene-descriptions when we use the term, but descriptions are more than just scene-descriptions.

Descriptions include appearances of characters too. Let’s call that character-descriptions.

Both scene-descriptions and character-descriptions are forms of descriptions that we regularly use in our prose. We mostly use them at the beginning of the scene—just out of habit.

Authors, especially the newer ones, feel that they need to describe each and every nook and cranny of the place or character so they can be visualized clearly by their readers, right as the authors themselves visualized them. And they do that at the start of the scene because how can you visualize a scene when you don’t know how the scene looks first.

And that’s why your prose is filled with how the clouds look or what lights are on the room before you even start with the dialogues and action. But the first paragraph doesn’t need to be a simple scene-description—it makes your prose formulaic and predictable. And boring. Let me help you with this.

***

#02 - Get in your narrator’s head

The prose may have many MCs, but a piece of prose only has a single narrator. And these days, that’s mostly one of the characters of your story. Who uses third-person omniscient narrator these days anyway? If that’s you, change your habits.

Anyway, know your narrator. Flesh out their character. And then internalize them—their speech and stuff like that. Internalize your narrator to such an extent that you can write prose from their point-of-view.

Now, I don’t mean to say that only your narrator should be at the center of the scene—far from it. What I mean is you should get into your narrator’s head.

You do not describe a scene from the eyes of the author—you—but from the eyes of the narrator. You see from their eyes, and understand what they’re noticing. And then you write that.

Start your scene with what the narrator is looking at.

For example,

The dark clouds had covered the sky that day. The whole classroom was in shades of gray—quite unusual for someone like Sara who was used to the sun. She felt the gloom the day had brought with it—the gloom that no one else in her class knew of.

She never had happy times under the clouds like that. Rain made her sad. Rain made her yearn for something she couldn’t put into words. What was it that she was living for? Money? Happiness?

As she stared at the sky through the window, she was lost in her own quiet little corner. Both money and happiness—and even everything else—were temporary. All of it would leave her one day, then come back, then leave, then come back, like the waves of an ocean far away from any human civilization in sight.

All of it would come and go—like rain, it’d fall on her, like rain, it’d evaporate without proof.

And suddenly, drops of water began hitting the window.

You know it was a cloudy day, where it could rain anytime soon. You know that for other students, it didn’t really matter, but Sara felt really depressed because of the weather that day. You know Sara was at the corner, dealing with her emotions alone.

It’s far better than this,

The dark clouds covered the sky that day. It could rain anytime soon.

From her seat at the corner of the room, Sara stared at the sky that made everything gray that day. She…

The main reason it doesn’t work is that you describe the scene in the first paragraph, but it’s devoid of any emotions. Of any flavor. It’s like a factual weather report of the day. That’s what you don’t want to do—write descriptions in a factual tone.

If you want to pull off the prior one, get to your narrator’s head. See from their eyes, think from their brain. Understand what they’re experiencing, and then write that experience from their POV.

Sara didn’t care what everyone was wearing—they were all probably in their school uniforms, obviously, so I didn’t describe that. Sara didn’t focus on how big the classroom was, or how filled, or what everybody was doing. Sara was just looking at the clouds and the clouds alone, hearing everybody just living their normal days, so I mentioned just those things.

As the author, you need to understand that only you, the author are the know-it-all about the scene, not your narrator. And that you’re different from your narrator.

Write as a narrator, not as an author.

***

#03 - Filler Words

This brings me to filler words. Now, hearing my advice, you might start writing something like this,

Sarah noticed the dark clouds through the window. She saw that they’d saturated the place gray.

Fillers words like “see”, “notice”, “stare”, “hear” should be ignored. But many authors who begin writing from the POV of the characters start using these verbs to describe what the character is experiencing.

But remember, the character is not cognizant of the fact that they’re seeing a dark cloud, just that it’s a dark cloud. You don’t need these filler words—straight up describe what the character is seeing, instead of describing that the character is seeing.

Just write,

There were dark clouds on the other end of the window, which saturated the place gray.

Sarah is still seeing the clouds, yeah. But we’re looking from her eyes, and her eyes ain’t noticing that she’s noticing the clouds.

It’s kinda confusing, but it’s an important mistake to avoid. Filler words can really make your writing sound more amateurish than before and take away the experience of the reader, because the reader wants to see through the narrator’s eyes, not that the narrator is seeing.

***

#04 - Characters

Character-descriptions are a lot harder to pull off than scene-descriptions. Because it’s really confusing to know when to describe them, their clothing, their appearances, and what to tell and what not to.

For characters, you can give a full description of their looks. Keep it concise and clear, so that your readers can get a pretty good idea of the character with so few words that they don’t notice you’ve stopped action for a while.

Or can show your narrator scanning the character, and what they noticed about them.

Both these two tricks only work when a character is shown first time to the readers. After that, you don’t really talk about their clothing or face anymore.

Until there’s something out of the ordinary about your character.

What do I mean by that? See, you’ve described the face and clothes of the character, and the next time they appear, the reader is gonna imagine the character in a similar set of clothes, with the same face and appearance that they had the first time. Therefore, any time other than the first, you don’t go into detail about the character again. But, if something about your character is out of ordinary—there are bruises on their face, scars, or a change in the way they dress—describe it to the reader. That’s because your narrator may notice these little changes.

***

#05 - Clothing

Clothing is a special case. Some new authors describe the clothes of the characters when they’re describing the character every time the reader sees them. So, I wanna help you with this.

Clothing can be a way to show something about your character—a character with a well-ironed business suit is gonna be different from a character with tight jeans and baggy t-shirt. Therefore, only use clothing to tell something unique about the character.

Refrain from describing the clothing of characters that dress like most others. Like, in a school, it’s obvious that all characters are wearing school uniforms. Also, a normal teenage boy may wear t-shirts and denim jeans. If your character is this, no need to describe their clothing—anything the reader would be imagining is fine.

Refrain from describing the clothing of one-dimensional side-characters—there’s a high chance you’ve not really created them well enough that they have clothing that differs from the expectations of the readers. We all know what waiters wear, or what a college guy who was just passing by in the scene would be wearing.

You may describe the clothing of the important character in the story, but only in the first appearance. After that, describe their clothes only if the clothes seem really, really different from the first time. And stop describing their clothes if you’ve set your character well enough in the story that your readers know what to expect from them in normal circumstances—then, describe clothes only when they’re really, really different from their usual forms of clothing.

***

#06 - Conclusion

I think there was so much I had to say in this article, but I didn’t do a good job. However, I said all that I wanted to say. I hope you guys liked the article and it helps you in one way or the other.

And please subscribe if you want more articles like this straight in your inbox!

[likeumeanit9497]

| after hours c.s. |

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: chris practically begs his best friend to massage his back, but after an awkward discovery, y/n finds it difficult to keep her hands -- and her eyes -- on the job.

warnings: smut; established friendship; oral (m/f receiving); fingering; hand job; squirting; unprotected p in v; dirty talk(!!!!); 18+

notes: whew! long time no see! life has been putting me through the absolute ringer lately! i haven't felt like a real person in months! i still don't tbh! im working on it! but i have absolutely missed writing and tumblr and u all so much! pls forgive my absence on here i literally haven't even been able to open this app since october when my life went south. my semester is over now so i have one major thing off my plate, so im hoping i can be a bit more consistent with writing. I MISSED U ALL SO SO SO SO MUCH and i hope u enjoy this chrissy one shot that i started months ago and just finally finished it today. love u all <33333

“No Chris.” I chuckled, standing up from my couch and walking to my kitchen to put away our leftover dinner. “Please,” I heard him whine behind me, “My back is killing me Y/n.” I turned around, facing my best friend still sitting on the couch where I left him. I laughed at his fake expression of misery, and the hand pressed to his lower back was a nice touch. “Chris, you know I’ve made it a rule not to massage my friends in my free time.” I explained, putting my hands on my hips. He groaned dramatically. “But why? You have all your stuff in the next room!” He began standing up from the couch, being sure to make it seem like a painful struggle.

He was right. I was a licensed massage therapist, and had recently started my own practice from the comfort of my home. I had turned my den into a massage room, fully equipped with a massage table, calming music, and essential oils. But I had made it clear to all of my friends — especially Chris — that I wasn’t going to massage them after-hours. Of course, I would treat them free of charge, but they had to book during normal hours. I was brand new in this career, and I wanted to ensure professionalism right from the start.

“You already know why.” I replied, turning away from him and opening up the fridge to put away my leftovers. As I leaned down into the fridge, I gasped as I suddenly felt a hand press against my lower back. “Just right here.” Chris whispered behind me, circling his thumb along my lower back. “It’ll only take five minutes.” I shuddered at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his touch. Chris had a habit of turning on his sex appeal when he needed something from me, and even though him and I were only friends, it unfortunately worked.

I turned around and closed the fridge, coming face to face with my friend. His eyebrows were knit together in what I could only assume was faux pain, because there was a playful smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Sighing, I ran a hand through my hair before pointing at the closed french doors leading to my massage room. “Go in there, take off your shirt and lay on the bed. Call me in when you’re under the sheet.”

A smile consumed his entire face, and before I could change my mind he walked over to the room and shut the door behind him.

Chris’s POV:

As I shut the door of the massage room behind me, I stood for a moment to take in the room. She had never let me in the room before, in fact she made it known that she considered it separate from her home and so she didn’t like going into it when she wasn’t working. I always joked around with her because of that, asking her if it was really a secret torture room, but as I saw it for the first time, I couldn’t help but smile. It was professional, but still had personal touches that made it clear that it was hers.

The lights were dim, enough to see clearly but dark enough that everything had a blurry haze to it. It smelled like that shit she diffuses in her bedroom — I think she told me once that it was lavender or something. I noticed the various candles dotted around the room, and took it upon myself to light a few of them. As I lit the last candle on the small table beside the bed, I noticed an old phone connected to a small speaker. Finding that the phone didn’t have a password, I opened it and hit play on the playlist that showed up first, smiling at the title: music that makes strangers fall into my bed.

I chuckled to myself. Not so professional, sweetheart.

Typical spa music filled the small space, and I couldn’t lie, it did add to the meditative atmosphere of the room. Looking at the massage table in the middle of the room, I remembered what I was actually in there for and felt a wave of excitement hit me. I hadn’t been lying when I told her that my back had been hurting — not exactly, at least — but I had definitely been exaggerating. The truth was, I just really wanted to see what her hands could do. Not wanting to waste any more time, I took of my clothes and climbed onto the table, slipping my lower half under the thin white sheet.

“Y/n!” I shouted, “I’m all set!”

Y/n’s POV:

From my place at the kitchen counter, I heard Chris’s voice and my stomach did a flip. I wasn’t sure why I was so nervous, I had given a few of my other friends massages before, but for some reason I had been dreading the idea of giving one to Chris. Maybe it was because him and I had such a playful relationship, and I was so used to being professional with my clients, I couldn’t quite envision how combining my two personalities would go. Still, I took a deep breath and headed for the room.

Once I opened the door, I noticed the candles were lit and soft music was already playing. Looking at Chris, laying face down on the table, I chuckled. “I see you made yourself comfortable.” I remarked. Heading towards him, I noticed the pile of his clothes on the floor, including his sweats and boxers. “Uh Chris,” I began, stopping at the top of his head, “I said you only had to take off your shirt, remember?” He lifted his head from the table, looking up at me briefly. “I know. It’s just that the pain goes pretty low down my back and I figured it would be easier to just take everything off.” There was a playful look in his eyes. “It’s what I’ve seen them do in the movies.” He added softly, making me chuckle.

“It does make it easier,” I replied, moving so that I was now standing on his right side. “It’s really just about what you’re comfortable with.” As I spoke, I began running my hands down his back, from his shoulders down to his tail bone, to check for any tightness. He remained silent underneath me as I applied pressure on certain areas. “So, you said right here is sore?” I asked, pressing down on the same spot that he had when demonstrating on me. I heard a muffled hiss and watched as he nodded his head. “And the pain kind of shoots down to here.” He added, awkwardly moving his arm behind him and trailing it from where my thumb was down to just below the white sheet.

I hummed in acknowledgment, pumping the bottle of massage oil beside me and rubbing it in my hands. “Okay, I’ll get started. Let me know if the pressure is too much.” I said the same thing that I said to all of my clients robotically, before working against his muscle. It was pretty tight, but definitely not as bad as he was making it seem before on the couch. Like I do with my other clients, I stayed silent to encourage him to relax against my pressure. A few groans of pain fell from his lips as I worked, but he encouraged me to keep going each time I asked if he was okay.

I noticed him shuffle a few times under the sheet. “Are you uncomfortable?” I asked him softly, wondering if maybe the massage table was too hard. “N-no, I’m fine.” Was his reply, and even though there was a slightly panicked edge to his voice, I took his word for it and continued working my hands lower down on his back. I felt my cheeks grow hot as my hands pulled the white sheet lower to gain access to his pain. I had never seen this much of Chris’s body before, and even though I was trying to be professional, I felt like the act was a little too intimate.

I rushed to finish up, and after about fifteen minutes I was satisfied that the knot in his back had improved. “Alright, I think I’m done. Want to flip onto your back for me?” I asked, pulling the sheet up slightly. “W-why?” Chris asked, his tone filled with alarm. “I usually finish every session with a neck massage. Sometimes the neck gets stiff from the way it lays when you’re on your stomach.” I replied. “Oh, uh, it’s okay.” He replied, refusing to move. I rolled my eyes. “What? Not even 30 minutes ago you were begging me for a massage, and now you’re turning it down?” I crossed my arms and moved over to his head, “Come on, turn over. It won’t take long.” I reassured him.

He sighed, and, holding onto the edge of the sheet, slowly turned over. I stifled a gasp, because between his legs, the thin white sheet had tented, and I could clearly see the outline of his erection. I was thrown off, unable to take my eyes away from it, but quickly recovered — clearing my throat and dropping my eyes to his face. His eyes were still closed and his cheeks were flushed; I could tell he was embarrassed. In a normal circumstance, I would think that I would have made a joke about it, and he would have just told me to shut up. But at that moment, there was something so real about his exposure and humiliation, and so I knew that I would just ignore it.

I began massaging his neck, trying to focus on my actions and regain my professionalism. But, I couldn’t stop looking at the white sheet; it being the only thing between his cock and my eyes. I could tell that it was huge, and I watched as it grew harder and harder as I continued working his neck. It went from standing straight up and wobbling in the air as Chris breathed, to being pressed right against his front. The sheet draped around it, perfectly outlining its girth, and I could see a small bead of dampness taint the sheet a translucent shade of white at its tip. My mouth watered and my mind wandered. I felt my own body begin to react to the sight in front of me, and the tension in the room began to grow so heavy that I began to gasp for air.

“I-is the pressure okay?” I asked, doing my very best to keep my voice strong as I worked his neck. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed nervously before nodding his head. “It’s good, Y/n.” His reply was so simple, but there was something about the gruff undertone, the almost indiscriminate breathlessness as he said my name, that caused my knees to weaken and my throat to turn into a desert. Suddenly, I could no longer hear the soft music playing throughout the room as my blood pumped deafeningly in my ears. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from his bulge for more than a few seconds at a time — it seemed so hard that it had to be painful. My eyes continued to flutter between his flushed face and pulsing member until suddenly, when my eyes returned to his face, his bright blue eyes were wide open and staring right at me.

I felt a new wave of heat crawl up my face at the fact that I had just been caught red-handed staring at the one thing in this room that both of us had been actively ignoring. I opened my mouth to attempt to explain myself, but his words beat me to it. “I’m sorry.” He murmured sheepishly, his face turning the same shade of red that I imagined mine to be as he squeezed his eyes shut. Immediately, I began shaking my head rapidly. Partially as a reassurance to him and partially as an attempt at erasing the last two minutes of my life. “No! Don’t be sorry. It happens all the time.” I rushed out, doing my best to make light of the situation. “No it doesn’t.” He replied flatly, with a hint of disbelief in his voice. I forced a chuckle. “Okay fine, it doesn’t happen all the time. But its not not normal.” I tried again, brushing a soft curl out of his face.

Chris was silent for a moment, his eyes still squeezed shut in either embarrassment or concentration. I had stopped massaging his neck, but my hands were still on his damp skin; my thumbs drawing gentle circles against his rapid pulse. After a moment, an exasperated sigh fell from his lips. “It won’t go away.” He said, his voice laced with genuine disgust. “I’m sorry Y/n, this is creepy.” A forced laugh, then another sigh.

The room fell silent again as I tried to find the right words to fill the space. Words that would reassure him more genuinely than more “it’s okay’s”. Because, from the way my pulse had quickened, and from the way my core had grown so slick from arousal that I could feel it dripping steadily onto my panties, it really was okay. It was more than okay. So, instead of trying to find the words that could possibly portray just how okay it was, I leaned down and pressed my lips to his.

I felt him tense at the first brush of my lips against his, clearly shocked by the sudden close proximity of our mouths; closer than they had ever been before. So, I pulled away for a moment, finding his piercing eyes to search them for whatever thought is running in his mind. They were wild, racing across my face trying to make sense of what just happened. But there was something else there, something erotic that was blurring the line between right and wrong. Between professionalism and spontaneity. Between friends that fuck around and friends that fuck. I could tell that we were both balancing on that same fine line, but when I brought my lips back down to his, and when he opened his mouth to welcome mine with the kind of hunger than can never be satiated, I knew that we both came to the same conclusion.

Our lips moulded together in rhythmic wonder as our tongues explored each other. Immediately, I felt his body relax as his hands reached up and wrapped themselves in my hair. A soft moan of satisfaction fell from his lips as I nibbled on his bottom lip, causing my body to react in a way that was foreign to me. I felt goosebumps raise up across my skin as if his hands were all over it. He pulled his lips from mine and used his grip on my hair to tilt my head to the side, giving his swollen lips access to my neck. He sucked and nibbled against my electric skin just below my ear, and I felt as though I could fall apart and dissolve into a puddle just from that. “L-let me make you feel better.” I managed to moan out through the waves of pleasure I was feeling. My eyes wouldn’t leave the rock hard bulge under the white sheet, just barely out of my reach. Chris groaned against my neck at my words, and I watched as his cock twitched under the sheet as if it heard my words itself and was begging me to help it.

After another moment of Chris devouring my neck, tasting every inch of it as if he couldn’t get enough, his grip on my hair loosened and he allowed me to straighten up. I looked down at his face, now even more flushed than before. His lips had gone bright pink and were so beautifully swollen from their journey against my skin. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and, after a short moment, his eyes fluttered open and landed on me. “You sure you want to do this?” He asked, his voice slightly tentative, and I knew what he meant.

A kiss between friends is one thing. It can be brushed off as a slight moment of weakness, can be something that the two friends can one day laugh about as they look back on their friendship. It can be never spoken of again, can be hidden from their other friends deep in the vault of the minds of the two people that shared it. But anything more than that, any other touching, or licking, or exploring of the other person is not as easily ignorable. In friendships there is deep love and strong understanding of the other person. Once that love and understanding collides with the act of literally merging together, of being as physically close to another that you can be in this lifetime, it’s not so easy to ignore. My mind may not be able to shut out the events that transpire with Chris tonight ever again. We may never be able to chalk it all up to a moment of weakness, or keep it a secret from our mutual friends. We may never have the same friendship we had before I agreed to this massage. But there is no way to know that for sure. What I did know for sure in that moment, with Chris staring up at me with eyes filled with intoxicating desire, with my own body vibrating with lust, was that I wanted this.

So without a word, I walked down his body towards his beckoning cock. I took a moment to just gaze at it, closer to it now than I had been all night. I rested a hand on his thigh hidden beneath the sheet, and watched as his cock once again twitched. I chewed on my bottom lip in an attempt to keep myself from moaning just from the sight, and after a moment let my eyes flutter back up to his face. “I’m sure Chris.” I replied softly, searching his expression. “Are you?” I asked, realizing that he was likely considering the same potential outcome that I had been. He kept my gaze for a brief moment, his eyes focusing on different parts of my face. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He replied finally, a cheeky smile growing on his face. I felt my own expression mirror his own, and without wasting another second I began peeling the thin sheet down his waist.

My smile fell the moment his bare cock was finally exposed, and was replaced by what I knew was the expression of desperate hunger. His length was impressively long, and I felt my mouth water at the thought of running my tongue along its veins up to its swollen head. Reaching to my left, I pumped some massage oil into my hand. I brought my cupped hand above his upright cock and let the oil drip between my fingers and coat him. He released a sharp hiss at the feeling of the oil as it trailed down his length towards his base, and I watched as his hips thrust forward desperately from the barely-there contact. A bead of pre-cum suddenly dripped from his slit, and I used my thumb to collect it before finally pumping my hand up and down his shaft. Immediately, a deep moan fell from Chris’s lips as I worked his oiled cock in my hand. I focused on his body language as I adjusted my movements to figure out exactly what he needed to feel good.

When I went slow, I watched his breath grow steady, telling me that I should pick up the pace. When I used a softer touch as I moved along his cock his hands would stay relaxed at his side, but I knew he liked it when I used a bit more pressure along his tip as his hands would tighten into fists against the sheet. But when I used both hands, twisting in opposite directions with the occasional brush against his balls with my pinky, I discovered that was what he liked most of all. A deep grunt followed by a moan fell from his lips, and his right hand flew to my upper thigh; where he gripped so hard I was sure that he would leave a bruise. “Fuck, Y/n.” He breathed out as I continued with these movements.

His hand traveled further and further up my leg until his fingers slipped under my loose-fitting shorts. I continued to stroke him with both hands, even when I felt the tip of his fingers just milimetres from my trembling core. They brushed against the ever-so-soft place between my pelvis and my pussy, and I bit back a moan. Subconsciously, I adjusted myself so that my legs were wider apart; giving him access to touch even more of me. My hands continued to work his cock as his fingers inched closer and closer, before finally, I felt the very tip of just one of his fingers reach my core and dip into its warmth. My knees buckled at the barely-there contact just as he released a muffled moan. “Jesus fuck, Y/n,” My eyes flew to his face and the translucent arousal that I found all across it was almost enough to push me over the edge. “Put that on my face right fucking now.”

His demand was so jarring, his voice so gritty and raw, that I didn’t hesitate before peeling my shorts down my legs, lifting myself onto the massage chair, and straddling his face. Immediately, his hands gripped onto my thighs and pulled them apart; giving his eyes untethered access to my glistening core. “You’re fucking soaked.” His words came out in an almost-whisper, as if he hadn’t actively planned on speaking them aloud. Still, they shot straight to my lust and I leaned forward, resting my head against his chest to allow him to see even more of me.

I gasped as I felt his thumb against my slit, collecting my arousal. I heard a wet sound and then another deep moan. “So good.” He whispered before suddenly his warm mouth was suctioned to my clit. Immediately, I dissolved into a puddle of desire as his tongue swirled and licked against my sensitive bundle of nerves. Moans fell from my lips as my brain turned to mush from the relief of finally having his mouth on me. I began moving my hips against his face, chasing a high that I so desperately needed. Satisfied moans slipped from his mouth into me, and I felt a sharp slap against my ass cheek that added to my intense need.

I had turned into nothing more than a dead weight on top of him, his lethal tongue paralyzing me. But as I opened my mouth to release a guttural moan, I felt my lip brush against the tip of his cock. Without a second thought, I slipped his cock into my mouth and began pumping up and down. Another moan fell from Chris, vibrating against my clit and causing me to moan around his girth. “Fuck.” Chris muttered against me, and I responded by deep throating his cock until my nose pressed against his bare thigh. “Mmmm, Y/n.” Chris breathed, removing his mouth from my clit. I stopped my movements as well, waiting on shaky legs for him to continue.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna cum.” He began, gently running his knuckles against my ass cheek. “And I don’t want to do that yet.” He slipped two fingers into my core effortlessly, causing me to immediately begin rocking against them. “Mmm. Thatta girl.” He breathed, presumably watching for a moment as I rode his fingers just inches above his face. “What I want you to do is focus on making a mess all over my face, then after that I want to cum with these tight walls wrapped around me.” His words caused my eyes to roll to the back of my head, and a sharp moan fell from my lips. “Sound good?” He asked, his voice muffled as he reattached his mouth to my throbbing clit. I nodded my head maniacally as he resumed his impressive movements against my nerves. He kept his fingers inside of me, and as I slid my soaked cunt against his face, I cried out at the added sensation of his fingers filling me.

“Fuck C-Chris.” I moaned, my words nearly incomprehensible as I grew closer and closer to my climax. He could tell that I was quickly approaching, and tightened his grip on my ass cheek with his free hand; pressing my cunt so hard against his face I was afraid that he would suffocate. “G-gonna cum!” I warned him just before the tumultuous waves of my orgasm took over. My body began shaking as I came hard against his face. I had never before felt so out of control of my own body, and relished in the feeling as my back arched and a plethora of moans fell from my mouth. I felt a gush as I squirted against Chris’s mouth, and trembled at the guttural moan he released as he began lapping me up.

Once my mind reattached to my body and my orgasm had finishing ripping through me, I rested my head against his stomach as he ran his hands along my tense back and dropped gentle kisses against my sensitive core. He let me lie there on top of him for a few moments, catching my breath and slowing my heart rate, before gently lifting my limp body off of him and sliding off of the massage table. I sat up on the edge of the table, facing his standing figure before me, and my gaze landed on his excruciatingly hard cock. He grabbed my chin and lifted my head up before pressing his wet lips harshly against mine. He tasted like me, and immediately a new wave of arousal filled my core.

As his tongue flicked into my mouth, I reached between our bodies and began stroking his cock. He thrusted into my hand instinctively, and a moan fell from his lips as his hand shot to my core where he drew torturously slow circles against my over-stimulated clit. Caught up in how good we were making the other feel, our kissing slowed and our mouths eventually turned into matching O’s; eyes shut in pure bliss. I dropped my forehead against his bare chest, and watched as our hands worked on the other’s body, slowly working up the nerve to do the one thing we hadn’t yet done with each other.

“You still want to do this?” Chris asked, his voice strained. I jolted slightly at his words, shocked at the fact that he seemed to be reading my mind. A sharp wave of pleasure hit me from his fingers and I moaned softly before looking back up at him. “Mhmm.” I breathed, meaning it. “Do you?” I asked in return as I felt his cock jump in my hand. “So much.” He replied before lowering his head and planting another deep, wet kiss against my mouth. After a moment, he grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and pulled it over my head. He took a moment to admire my bare chest before kissing each of my painfully pebbled nipples. “God, you’re unreal Y/n.” He moaned, running firm hands against my completely naked frame. I arched my back against his touch and shut my eyes blissfully.

He leaned forward and ran his tongue along my collar bone. “You ready?” He asked. I felt his hand replace mine on his shaft, and bit my lip as I felt him line the head up with my soaked core. He used his free hand to hold firmly onto my lower back, and I wrapped my legs around his waist; using the grip to press him against me. “I’m ready.” I replied breathlessly, looking up at him through my eyelashes. Without wasting a second, Chris kept his glazed eyes on mine as he slowly pressed his hips into me. My jaw dropped as his girth stretched my walls out further than I thought possible, and the intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain that can not truly be described with words turned my brain into mush.

Chris hissed as he bottomed out in me, his cock taking up every inch of my cunt. He remained still as he rested his forehead against mine, his breath erratic and hitched. “Fuck.” He finally groaned out, his body more tense than I’d ever seen it. “You okay?” I asked, wrapping my arms around his neck. He nodded. “I’m gonna cum in, like, record speed here Y/n.” He replied, taking deep breaths and keeping his forehead pressed to mine. I couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s okay Chris,” I replied, running my hands through his hair. “Just give me what you’ve got.”

My last seductive whisper seemed to give him the motivation to power through, because immediately he snapped his hips into me. I released a sharp moan from the depth of his movements, and that was enough to bring him fully back into it. Using the grip he had on my lower back, he plowed into me relentlessly. My eyes were rolled into the back of my head as I felt my walls stretch with each thrust; allowing him to hit my g-spot each time. “Jesus!” I cried out, gripping onto his shoulders in a weak attempt at holding onto my sanity.

“You’re so f-fucking tight.” Chris groaned into my shoulder as he continued to drive his ruthless cock into me. The room filled with the sounds of our bodies smacking against each other, adding to the indescribable arousal I was filled with. Chris’s hands began travelling all across my body, taking his time on my tits as his thumbs drew circles around my hardened nipples. He gave my tits a harsh squeeze before travelling down my stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps on my skin as he reached my clit and began rubbing it in rhythm with his thrusts. “God, keep going baby.” I moaned, wrapping my legs even tighter around Chris’s waist, “F-feels s-so good!” I cried just as Chris lifted me up off the table and slammed me into the wall. I released a sharp gasp from the shock, but as he continued pounding into me, my pleasure was intensified.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Chris growled as he nibbled against the skin on my neck. “You always this fucking wet?” His dirty words make my head spin. “N-no. I’m n-not.” I reply honestly, feeling my juices spread all over his front. A wicked smile covers his face. “Just for me then, huh?” His tone was arrogant, but there was an undertone of overwhelming arousal in it that told me he needed it to be true. I nodded my head rapidly. “Y-yes Chris! O-only this wet f-for y-you.” I managed to reply just before my second orgasm swept in and overtook me.

Just as I began riding my high — my nails digging into his skin and my mouth sputtering out profanities — Chris stilled inside of me and released a ragged “Oh fuck!”. I felt his cock pulse inside of me, painting my walls with his warm seed as my orgasm milked him dry. He released soft grunts against my neck as he rode through his own high, and I relished in the feeling of his cum as it dripped from my cunt.

After a while, both of our bodies relaxed and we rested against one another as we caught our breath. I waited for the overwhelming feeling of regret to wash over me, as one would expect it to after fucking your best friend, but it never came. In fact, I was so relaxed in that post-sex liminal space, pressed against the wall with Chris’s softening cock resting in my core, that I almost couldn’t believe that we had never done that before.

I was pulled from that thought by Chris placing a deeply passionate kiss to my lips. There was no lust, no untethered desire attached to it; it was almost as though this kiss was the end of one chapter of our lives and the beginning of a new, more exciting one. Our lips moved in slow motion, as if we had kissed like this a thousand times. With his lips still on mine, Chris slowly helped me down so my feet were on the ground. After another moment of our mouths merged as one, I pulled away and was immediately wrapped in a hug. Chris’s warm body felt so familiar, even more familiar than before, and I closed my eyes and took in the moment, as I knew it was the start of something new.

“Well, I think we have some things we should figure out,” Chris said, and I felt a soft chuckle against my head tucked into his chest. “Because I don’t know about you, but there is no way I can go the rest of my life without doing that again.” It was my turn to laugh, and I pulled myself out of his arms and looked up at his face. “I think I am officially under your spell.” I replied, feigning a smile. “Let’s go sit down and figure this all out.” I grabbed my discarded shirt and threw it over my head before walking towards my living room. “Oh by the way Y/n,” Chris grabbed me by my waist from behind as we walked through the door, “My back feels great now, in case you were curious.” I rolled my eyes with a smile and continued walking. “You have magical hands.” He whispered, and all I could do was laugh and give him a half-hearted shove.

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