#chapter one of my book of everything lol

[soo-won]

Suwon's character analysis: From being shown to showing

Suwon is really a character all about being watched and scrutinized, isn't he?

Of course he's not self aware he's a fictional character but his position as a King and in relation to Yona ironically put him in a position that gives him a similar awareness that if he did. Suwon is judged and analyzed by everyone, in and outside the story. He knows that when he shows himself (and appears in the story) he has to perform a certain way. He has a role to follow and perform until the end. The way he speaks, the way he stands, the way he moves...being King means controlling and being aware of all of it. The moments we see through this costume are moments where he's taken by surprise and becomes "out of character" for this role. Moments where he's literally called out by characters around him for it, making him fall in his expected role more and more. He has to behave a specific way, he has to wear specific attires, he is very aware he is the object of many gazes around him. When he performs his role perfectly he is judged but in ways he expects because it's others' roles as well. When he breaks out of this role, he is judged anyways for losing himself. No matter what Suwon does or says, others will judge him or love him and expect things from him. It is true in the narrative and outside of it.

The South Kai arc with chapter 221 and 224 has him desperatly try to stick to his role that is slipping through his fingers, he has to position himself in contrast and opposition to Yona, he has to be the King his father wanted until the very end, etc. Yet, Yona and Hak kept breaking these roles as well. Hak, in full armor from Kai, the enemy, arrives and gives the senjusou to Suwon, in full King attire at this moment. Hak enters the stage like a blast when the curtains were about to fall and turns all formalities and rules of distance and what is allowed or not to dust. He breaks the role he carried until now as the character that should hate Suwon forever and try to kill him, and saves him instead. The fact that Suwon is King then doesn't really matter, Hak did this as his former friend.

In chapter 243, Suwon wants to speak to Hak privately but is well aware that if he comes out and does that, he will be seen and judged, confirmed by the shadows in chapter 251. He is not allowed to be himself without any costume freely, hence the cloak and hood on. He is not allowed this one private moment, eyes are on him and not only Hak's that he very much expects as well. That's why Suwon's tone the whole chapter is so...ambiguous. At the beginning, he speaks matter of factly, maybe not as "Hak's King" but at least in a unpersonal way, like an anonymous messager. He tells him information. That's why he calls Yona "Princess Yona" too I think. It is Suwon trusting Hak and relying on him personally, yet he is not totally open yet, Suwon still has a role to play. The more it goes, the more the tone shifts subtlely, now calling Yona by her name, his hood falling when Hak hits the wall, and talking more personally. What he shares then is what he is resigned to do and accept given his position and role that he can't just give up on now, what is the most reasonable within the range of his actions from then on. What he conveys to Hak is that he will not break character and stop performing his role as King, the one thing changing being only how he passes it down to Yona.

However, there is one final thing that the manga makes perceptible for absolutely no one but Hak, that even the shadows can't hear and understand. Suwon's last word(s) to Hak is not digitally typeset like every other text inside speech bubbles, but handwritten so small it looks like muttering that we can't for sure confirm the full forms of. Since chapter 243 came out, I did try for a long time to decipher it, and many concluded it could be a "sayonara" or "arigatou", and it was also translated and typesetted in the official English translation as "Farewell".

But honestly, now I think it is something we should not and are not supposed to decipher. In my eyes, it was Suwon's attempt to have just one thing, one word that would not be scrutinized and broken down to pieces by the people that watch him with no regard to his agency. The only thing we break down is the unintelligible form of it. I'm sure that we are not wrong to think it was something along the lines of a "Farewell", but I can't help but feel like it's not right to take even that from them now. This page is also the trigger that makes Hak understands that their entire convo was in itself a performance that Suwon directed from the start and aimed at people looking at them (the shadows and the audience), and the real message that he conveys only to Hak and not the shadows is that he is giving him and Yona a chance to escape and never return, despite the fact it goes directly against what he told him clearly in their conversation. I think this is what breaks Hak's heart too then, and why Hak realizes that he indeed can't dream of walking on the same path as Suwon anymore. Because Suwon will keep performing a role that will constrain him this way and make him hurt Yona and Hak. That this is maybe the path awaiting them too. The best way is to escape from it when it's not too late. It is too late at this point for Suwon though, or so he thinks. Suwon is self-aware that he can't discard them by this point, so to me this is him trying to negociate these feelings of his (by leaving them one chance to leave) with his role and constraints as a King in this complicated, indirect way.

It's very telling afterwards how the moment from chapter 243 Hak remembers is Suwon's final word that we can't read, whereas for the shadows it is the moment he tells Hak he will make Yona the next ruler. The unreadableness of the former and the enhanced size of the text in the latter...yeah. Suwon's words removed from their full context often are enhanced like that, aren't they?

Suwon is at the same time forced and not allowed to change. He is at the intersection of clashing expectations. It is bad whether Suwon follows his role perfectly or whether he breaks out of it a little and tries something different. Suwon is cruel to Yona and Hak and should die for his actions, or Suwon is too nice and submitting to Yona and Hak (and the larger narrative). No matter what Suwon says and does, it will cause discourses after discourses from both those supporting him and those against him. It is cruel, because people around him are changing and looking him differently than before, whether it's good or bad. In chapter 242, he acts out perfectly as the determined and pragmatic King he is as always, yet now even Geuntae doesn't seem satisfied. Suwon, because of Yona's influence on the people and world around them, has also no other choice but to adapt to these changes in some ways, yet characters like the shadows that refuse any change from 10 years ago stand against it. Again, then chapter 243 to me is Suwon's way to still perform his role as expected from others by negociating with all these sides in some ways. But it's really so complicated, isn't it? And in the end, a chapter like 243 was painful and upsetting for everyone.

I read many people say that Suwon was not here enough in the castle arc and it was annoying that Keishuk was so much present instead, and I remember very well how desperate I was to see him more by then, but it makes sense too, no? After all, Suwon didn't want to be seen. By showing himself as little as possible only in the moments he knows he can perform well, he was still somewhat in control of what people saw of him. The illness made it that Suwon could just not perform more than he did. He didn't want anyone and especially not Yona and Hak to try to see him beyond the performance, yet they kept getting closer and closer, pushing Suwon to hide himself away more and more too.

Suwon knew very well that the second he came out in the open he was closely looked at, by Shin-ah of course, but Shin-ah is only the best example of this general feeling of being watched and judged I think. This is Suwon's interpretation of Shinah's gaze, and I'm sure there is part of truth in it but I think it is also heavily influenced by Suwon's own feelings. Suwon was judged and followed for isolating Yona when she learned of the illness and for imprisoning Hak, but those were things he was only /indirectly/ the cause of. Of course, Suwon didn't do anything to go against them and it was his responsibility this way, he knew and had the authority to decide different, but what I mean is it portrays very well how Suwon is aware, /feels/ the way others scrutinize him ever since he killed Il for every single negative (direct and indirect) consequences of all he does and is. He will never be free from it. People will never let go, even when Yona and Hak do. I think the wound on his shoulder or the pain of his illness he doesn't act on enough are also symbols of that. His present shoulder wound is the literal trace and scar of Shinah's gaze on him in chapter 249, and Suwon is okay with carrying it.

It's not like the story has never let us enter Suwon's mind before recently, after all the narrative doesn't strictly follow only Yona's POV, but Suwon from the beginning was still generally a character seen from the outside by others rather than followed from inside. All these iconic scenes of characters looking at him, whether it's only his back or in the eyes are very much about that. These scenes serve to show how Yona (and Hak) is the subject of the story and will always watch him and what he does, the way Suwon watched Il for 10 years. It also serves to confirm to him that they hate him and wants him to die, etc...

It is very interesting too that the majority of flashbacks we have of him (outside of the one in chapter 11 and some bits of ch1/185) are never from Suwon's POV, but from others and how they perceived Suwon and felt about him then. Hak in particular. Even the diary arc is not from his POV. It is always about the conflict between the characters' first impressions of him and other sides of him revealed to them later on. Suwon to characters and to readers alike is like a puzzle we try to resolve, picking him up piece by piece. Each POV about Suwon is important because he is seen differently by each character, they all see different parts of him and reveal new things about him in reaction.

But this is precisely where we differ from the characters individually and what makes the larger narrative not solely about Yona's subjectivity. As readers we can assemble each piece in a way characters, even Yona, cannot. Moreover, we are also shown some bits from his own POV that no one else inside the story get to see. That's why honestly...I don't see Suwon as a puzzle to piece together since a long time. Of course we don't know and maybe don't understand everything about him, but the characters' struggle to understand him is quite different from readers' position when they judge him one way or the other, in my eyes. The only way I can make sense of why the story would go out of its way to narrate things about Suwon only to us when he is a character all about being shown and seen, is that at the end of the day the larger narrative is and was never against Suwon, its scope includes him too, we are made to feel for him as well. It is only so hard with Suwon because he himself doesn't let us and has circumstances that doesn't allow him that. Akatsuki no Yona is very much about Yona's subjectivity above all, but not fully and totally either and it cares about other characters as well (whether it does it well or not is another topic), and the existence of a character like Suwon we are shown glimpses of the interiority of from the very first volumes highlights this well, I think.

Despite this, the characters' struggle didn't end. And that's where the nuance between what the larger narrative of Akatsuki no Yona tells us about him and what Suwon as a character-narrator shows and tells us is meaningful. Suwon is a fictional character that depends on a bigger narrator and author of course, but there are several layers of narration in comics art, some which embrace the mind and subjectivity of one chosen character and making them "independant", agent of what they show and tell.

When we are shown what Suwon thinks in chapter 217 or in chapter 221 for example, I don't think it was that Suwon as a character wanted to be seen, but only that he was breaking and vulnerable in a way that made these bits showable to us. The fact we see Suwon's thoughts is a representation of Suwon's emotional state. It's not something Suwon has agency over at his own level. He is not a narrator in those moments, but a character being shown.

More precisely, Suwon did try to resist the narrative in chapter 217. Inner monologues in comics and especially in shoujo manga can be represented in different ways and have different functions. In chapter 217, there is a visual contrast between the thoughts that "float" on the pages, his personal lingering feelings for hurting Yona, and the thoughts in the black boxes, that have him rationalize the situation. Generally, monologues in text boxes are said to be a more objective level of narration (I get this from the "How to draw shoujo manga" book by Shigeki Suzuki, a former editor for Dessert's magazine).

Obviously, Suwon is not objective here, but it represents his attempt to affirm his authority on what is told and narrated, his control on feelings he doesn't want to acknowledge and to get out in the open. He tries to be a narrator. The metaphor of a box that opens against his will is then perfectly fitting. There are the words typed in text boxes, and the words out of these boxes. In the very next page, the boundary between panels and text boxes is blurred thanks the magic of shoujo manga composition. The first two vertical panels could very much be text boxes on their own, and what he says in them is still him being pragmatic and rationalizing what he has to do. Yet, as we see, Hak is now in these boxes as well. It breaks the illusion of Suwon as a character-narrator here (which was already hinted at by the choice to make the bg of the text boxes so dark). He can't control his thoughts from going towards Yona and Hak, he is not showing that willingly.

What we see inside Suwon is him still performing the best he can. It's him trying to convince himself and push himself to fulfill his duties with no hesitation. It's still not all of him, there are still things that he tries desperately to hide and keep deep deep inside of discarded boxes. Inside and outside, he has to be the perfect pragmatic King his role ask, so all that is shown has to be that. He can't allow himself to be anything else, he has to shut off and erase any trace of different voices in his heart. Yona, by being a person that expresses and voices out her feelings more, brings these feelings Suwon doesn't want to show on the page, she shows them to us. Seen like that, Yona can maybe thematically be a representation of Suwon's repressed feelings.

(A bit differently but similarly, it is a similar process in chapter 221 where this time Suwon can't barely try in any effective way to narrate what he's thinking, what we see as panels and text boxes make no difference anymore, until it blows up for good when he has this flashback of Hak and Yona from chapter 11 and realizes he can't discard them. )

So, Suwon is a character that is shown to us in several ways. One, there is how he is seen from the outside, the way characters perceive what he shows to them or what is shown about him to them. This is the layer Suwon has the most control on in a way (even if not totally), as his position in the story makes him very conscious of his obligation to perform because people are watching him. He shows his full control and flexibility of his image in the ways he willingly pretends to be more naive and weaker than he really is to Geuntae, Soojin and Li Hazara for example. He plays with others' expectations and perception of him. Outside, Suwon is already full aware of how he is supposed to present himself, he already knows what is going to be shown or not for the most part. He allows himself to break out of character when he knows no one else watches him, which are the rare moments the narrative can show him when he's not performing. As the story advances however, these moments become much rarer as he is watched closely by more and more characters in his privacy.

On the other hand, there is how the higher narrative tries to show us his emotional state, his point of view and feelings. It is inherently something he as a character is very against of ever since he became King. Even then, what is shown to us at several occasions is Suwon's failure in showing us what he wants to show, instead having taken from/out of him what he doesn't want to reveal. The Crimson Illness is an interesting metaphor for it I think. It can easily be interpreted as a visible manifestation of Suwon's already existing struggles, after all. The Crimson illness makes all that is hidden visible to others. It gives it physical symptoms. Again and again, his illness and bloodline are revealed to others against his will. The illness is the crack to the performance Suwon tries to maintain as a strong King. It makes him vulnerable, forcing him to depend more on others. It breaks his role and how he wants others to see him. He wants to be seen as strong and independant and in control, but he can't control his episodes and when he is shown in a frail condition. It brings out what is inside, it makes his repressed thoughts visible to us readers as well, it's the reason why the narrative shows us his inner struggles more closely.

Suwon can only somewhat control and influence what is shown outside, which why I think he showed himself so little in the castle arc as an attempt to show himself only when he's in an "acceptable" state for it. In the end, he still pushes himself more than necessary when he has no other choice (and because he doesn't want to rely more on the people around him). However, after the South Kai arc Suwon knows important development. From then, Suwon has no choice but to face things for real : His is sick, heavily weakened and disabled by it, and is going to die soon. In parallel, he also acknowledges he can't discard Yona-Hak, and that he can and has to rely on them for Kouka's sake.

Chapter 243 is the very first time (Minsu aside I imagine, but we are not shown that) that Suwon himself tells someone directly about his bloodline and his illness. As said before, chapter 243 is an entire performance, but it's one where he got to choose the person he wanted to say these things to. However there is still a gap between what Suwon wants to show to Hak and what he doesn't want to show to others. The chapter is still framed not from Suwon's POV at all. Suwon has no privacy, even in a scene initially presented to be only between the two of them. The idea that at this point Suwon is allowed any privacy is unreliable framing influenced by Hak's flawed POV. Hak by then is not yet really aware of the existence and purpose of Suwon's personal bodyguards in detail. Suwon can convey messages undirectly, but because he still has to show himself a certain way to characters like the shadows he's not allowed to show things explicitely. He can only be seen through others' eyes, forced to rely neither on the images nor the text typed and shared by the narrator(s), but instead on the subtext and unintelligible scribblings. Suwon is still bound by the vow the Shadows made to themselves 10 years ago, but freed at the end by the vow bounding Hak to him. To Hak alone he can share his truth : that he can't and won't respond to his expectations, nor that he is only what he shows as King to others. No one else might understand, but he trusts Hak can get the message.

Then Suwon is attacked by Shinah, and at first we were not shown at all what Suwon was thinking and feeling. The second he wakes up in chapter 256, he leaves that behind him and thinks as a King again. However something important changed, obviously he still has people around him he has to act a certain way for, but the shadows are no more. The people left around him are more flexible and actually rejoice that Suwon decides to retreat. They don't know it was partly motivated by lingering feelings for Yona and Hak, but they're still more flexible and allows Suwon more privacy and agency.

So it brings us again to chapter chapter 261/262, which are to me the very first occurence of Suwon being allowed to be a character-narrator where he gets to truly show and tells his own story. Showing instead of being shown. Showing the experience and feelings of being seen. Chapter 262 doesn't only highlight the importance of gaze in Suwon's character, but is meaningful by making Suwon himself show it to Hak, and to us readers by proxy. This is what makes Suwon and Hak's interactions in this chapter so so important. Suwon, as already established, is still resolved to perform his duties as King until the very end. That's why he still doesn't show himself bare in front of the people of Kuuto, Mundok or Lili. He still has to be a strong King that inspires confidence and reassurance to them. He can't show that he is actually chronically ill and severely wounded. What citizens expect from the King is to be strong enough to withstand, resist, and win against all the disasters they face.

But when it's only Hak and Suwon alone next, Hak is of course annoyed. There is no one on the rooftop of the collapsing palace to watch and judge them. Suwon doesn't have to keep his armor, his King costume, and keep performing in front of him, acting like his wound doesn't hurt him this much and that he's perfectly collected. The shadows are no more, they're isolated from the city. Hak as we can see with chapter 200 or 224 is annoyed by all these roles and formalities and always go against them. This is what makes Hak free. Hak goes wherever he wants to be, will play any role needed to get there and let go of them when they get on his way. Hak says he sucks at letting go, but in a way he is much better at letting go of these things than Suwon is, even when he doesn't have to keep them.

Something interesting in this scene, as already pointed out by others, is the intent behind making Hak order Suwon to undress. Despite his tone, he still doesn't undress Suwon forcibly to then show him to all of us against his will, but encourages Suwon to act upon it himself. He is frustrated by Suwon's own passivity in regard to himself. Suwon has to ask for Hak's help, but it is still triggered by Suwon's own will. Hak forces Suwon to ask for the support he needs in order to have agency. Showing himself is difficult for Suwon, both literally because of his wound and emotionally because he is not used to it, so Hak helps him for it. Of course, the act of removing his armor and letting go of his father's sword is also when Suwon at long last can stop just performing as the King character he is supposed to be. Finally, through his trust in Hak, he can truly and openly show something different to us readers too.

Then Suwon talks about himself. Not just facts and objective information like he did in chapter 243, but how he feels and what /he/ sees. Finally, Suwon tells and shows.

This spread is one of my favorite of all times I think, because it just encapsulates everything I'm trying to explain with this post. Suwon is undeniably a character-narrator in this scene because of how he shows willingly and literally to someone else what he saw and felt, making this moment surreal. After all, it should be impossible for Hak to see that. The text in this spread is typeset like is any inner monologue and is not in speech bubbles. Hak, by the rules of narratology in comics is not supposed to hear any of it. They are thoughts inside of Suwon. However the last panel showing the bottom part of Hak's face seems to imply that Hak very much sees and hears it all. Hak here is in our exact position as reader, able to see, read, feel what Suwon is sharing inside of him. It's not something brought to the outside taken from him for it to be broken down, scrutinized and judged by others. Instead, Suwon makes us come to him inside. It is something incredibly private and intimate Suwon shows in full spread to Hak and us alone. It is precious. Suwon's narration transcends narrative layers to reach Hak's senses and ours at the same time. It represents how Shinah in dragon form is watching him, but by doing so he is very much the one to show himself and Shin-ah. It is not a first person narration where we would see things through his eyes, but a third person one, above. As a character-narrator, Suwon is obviously not at the top of the narrative hierarchy and Kusanagi is the one making all these narrative and laying out choices, but here, she lets Suwon carry the role of teller and shower. In chapter 249, she decided against showing that to us directly like she showed how he felt in chapter 221. She willingly gave Suwon the time and space to do it himself when he was ready to, to the person of his choice alone.

As Hak says at the end of chapter 262, Suwon can choose another path instead of repeating the same complicated one. As we've seen, his role as King indeed puts him in an overcomplicated and messy position where he has to jungle between clashing expectations and duties and his own feelings, making everyone and him first hurt in the end. From then on, Suwon can try another path for real.

In that same chapter before he removes his armor, Suwon also tells Mundok that he can't possibly influence the Heavens. So here, I have a final interpretation about this:

Aren't the Heavens the representation for a higher narrative layer? They're the ones making the "final" judgment and punishing characters or not, they're the ones making (one layer of) the narrative of the story through the prophecy. They can't be touched and reached for, they're in another world above the characters. Suwon is well aware that he is only a character with a defined role in the narrative, so to him, there is only so much he can do and it's pointless to fight against it. In chapter 268, Suwon says again that there's nothing he can do since they're not people. The Gods are the ones seeing and showing everything.

It is perfectly illustrated in chapter 268 with Yona. Yona didn't want to make it about Hak at all, she doesn't want to involve him in any of this, and doesn't openly mention and express her feelings for him inside the chalice because it is not her focus and priority then. Yet the Gods show everything against Yona's will and to her despair. They bring out and show her and us a majority of moments Yona shared with Hak, many that were supposed to be only with the two of them. But like the Shadows with Suwon, the Gods were always watching. Yona was able to make her own decision and was resolved to leave the chalice with the dragons before they brought this up in chapter 267. It is something shown about her and against her, they take from her any agency she had, she is trapped. Similarly to Suwon in chapter 221, she is forced to face feelings she underestimated the paralyzing power of.

However, I'd argue that Yona still managed to bring the Gods closer to us, at least from the invisible higher layer they were on the narrator hierarchy of the story to a layer inside the narrative. Again, she brought them on the page, she made them real, she made them characters and more "human". They're still entities with the power to show, but also visible characters that can be changed and talked with: they literally can be moved and influenced. Yona and Zeno showed them to us, in the sense of making them visible and revealing them to us readers. Maybe the way they treat Yona is their reaction against it, unconsciously. After all, bringing them on the pages of the story forced them to face their contradictions, it is threatening them. Unfortunately, by chapter 268 it still didn't strip them of their powers and ability to control the other characters' narrative.

But I think Suwon perfectly understood all of this. Suwon now has the power to show his perspective. Even if the Gods aren't people, he is free to choose the way he frames how he is seen and watched with his own subjectivity. He is now a subjective character, not only an objective (in the sense of being object) one. That's why his plan depends on getting the Gods' full attention on him. This page is so similar from Shinah looking at him in chapter 262 for a reason. Suwon now gets more control and freedom in what he can show and tell. Suwon literally brought the Gods down to us and showed them. It's not like Yona climbing up to them. Suwon has the power to influence the Heavens and the narrative, because Suwon is not only his static character role, but a character that can change and who we can openly feel for. He won't submit to the Dragon Gods' narrative like he was resigned to before. He is the narrative too. Like Yona or Hak or any other character we ever followed is. Akatsuki no Yona is a story about characters and their feelings, and Suwon can now fully embrace his power in it.

So I find the resonance between Suwon's developing agency in the narrative and the way readers engage with him really interesting. I guess Kusanagi didn't expect Suwon to be controversial the way he is to this day when she started the story and created him, but I like how she discusses it in the story and tied it so beautifully with his character arc. I said about chapter 243 that we shouldn't try to decipher Suwon's message, but actually I don't think that's true. I don't think Kusanagi is that pessimist about her readers. Sure, we see as much as the Shadows or as the Dragon Gods do but we're not them either. The characters share so much with us too, like seen in chapter 262. I think the story simply wants to encourage us to question how we engage with the characters and what we expect from them by representing caricatures of extreme fandom opinions (that can be pretty prevalent and very vocal unfortunately). Suwon himself was always a character we were encouraged to decipher, I think. Otherwise it would mean not trying to understand him at all because he played the role of an antagonist (or whatever he can be called) anyways, which is incredibly sad. I think we were always encouraged to resist against that and try to understand him despite his own resistance. Suwon needed to learn that it's okay to be vulnerable and show us, and that it won't make him less loved and cared for.

Suwon will probably always be a character that is scrutinized and judged in and outside the story, it keeps being so despite all recent developments. But today I am convinced that nor Suwon on his level as a character, nor the narrative will keep making him a character that is forever only seen by others anymore. Now we will see what Suwon sees and feels what he feels, he will show us. He will influence the Heavens and shake the narrative itself I'm sure, he will bring them all down to us.

I love you Suwon <3

[dazais-guardian-angel]

Well, at least Fukuzawa got his wish granted, I guess.... he's finally inside Fukuchi <3

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Outdrawn

f/f contemporary romance

two cartoonist who’ve been rivals since uni, and now have competing webcomics online, have to work together on the relaunch of a cult classic at the comic press they both work at

they both struggle with art-related physical and mental health issues, and complicated families

[lunarharp]

Very important conferences.

[autism-corner]

hes done it again

[xcziel]

has anybody else thought about how jk could easily manage sofia's parts of slow dance or is it just me?

[keeps-ache]

in a cafe rn. this place is nice :>

[cream-and-tea]

lmd chapter 13 my very best friend <3

[connormoving]

having a midlife crisis atm i think i might start reading [redacted] this is rly scary for me keep me in your thoughts

[cressidagrey]

64.media.tumblr.com

White Horse - Chapter 17: May 2024 - Part 1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

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

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

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

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent

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

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

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

Charles: Maman’s birthday next week—what’s the plan?

Arthur: Isabelle? You usually handle it.

Isabelle: Not this year.

Lorenzo: Sorry, what?

Arthur: Lol okay, very funny. What’s the plan?

Isabelle: I’m serious. I’m not doing it this year.

Charles: Wait. What do you mean you’re not doing it?

Isabelle: I mean you three can plan it this time. I’m not the family secretary. Not anymore.

Charles: Since when?

Isabelle: Since I realized I’m the only one who ever does it, and you all expect it like it’s a given. I’m not your personal event planner.

Arthur: Okay, but… you like that stuff.

Isabelle: I like when people contribute. I don’t like being taken for granted.

Charles: Whoa.

Arthur: Is this because I forgot to Venmo you for the gift last year?

Isabelle: That was two years ago, Arthur. And you still haven’t.

Lorenzo: This feels aggressive.

Isabelle: It’s not. It’s a boundary.

Charles: Okay but can’t you set it… after Maman’s birthday?

Arthur: Yeah. This is really inconvenient.

Isabelle: It’s not supposed to be convenient for you.

Charles: I don’t like this version of you.

Belle: I don’t like being the only adult in the room. So I guess we’re even.

Arthur: So you’re really not doing anything?

Isabelle: I am getting flowers from all of us. I am ordering the cake. I am doing my own gift for Maman. If you three want to do a joint gift, you can do that, but I am not planning it. One of you can book the restaurant.   

Lorenzo: This feels like a test.

Isabelle: It’s not. But you’re definitely failing it.

Charles: I feel emotionally manipulated.

Lorenzo: I feel abandoned.

Arthur: I miss the old Isabelle. The one who covered for us.

Isabelle: I don’t. She was a doormat. ***

Leclerc Brothers Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Charles and Lorenzo)

Arthur: Okay so we still don’t have a gift for Maman and Isabelle is being stubborn.

Charles: She said “boundaries.” Since when does she have boundaries?

Lorenzo: She said she’s not helping. She meant it.

Arthur: This feels personal.

Charles: I feel abandoned. I feel like I’ve been emotionally left on read.

Lorenzo: We should’ve started this earlier.

Arthur: We always start this last-minute and it’s fine because Isabelle does everything.

Charles: She’s so good at it though. She likes organizing things.

Lorenzo: We need to be strategic. What would Isabelle get?

Arthur: Peace. Quiet. 

Charles: So a spa day?

Lorenzo: We’re not sending our mother to the spa again. She’s starting to think we believe she’s stressed.

Arthur: She is stressed. We exist.

Charles: I had an idea last night. What about a puppy?

Lorenzo: Absolutely not.

Arthur: What if we just… get her a necklace? Generic. Safe. Shiny.

Charles: No creativity. She’ll know we panicked.

Lorenzo: We are panicking.

Arthur: You know what would solve this? If Isabelle told us what to do.

Arthur:  I feel like a neglected plant.

Charles: I feel like the plant someone gave Isabelle to water, and now she’s like “it’s not my plant.”

Arthur: Cool cool cool. So we’re getting Maman a plant and pretending we planned it?

Lorenzo: ...We’re hopeless.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Charles Leclerc

Charles: Okay but hear me out: What about a pottery class for her and her friends?

Isabelle: Charles it’s 2am

Isabelle: Go to sleep.

Isabelle: Maman doesn’t even like pottery. 

Charles: How about a goat?

Isabelle: A what?

Charles: A goat. Like a cute little goat. They’re trendy right now.

Isabelle: She lives in an apartment, Charles.

Charles: A small goat.

Isabelle: No.

Charles: You said I had to contribute. This is me contributing.

Isabelle: This is you spiraling.

Charles: Okay but this looks nice right?? (sends link)

Isabelle: That is a garden gnome wine holder, Charles. 

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon and Nico Hulkenberg)

Oscar: HE DID IT

George: HE ACTUALLY DID IT

Carlos: LAAAAAAAAAANDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Alex: My BOY MY TWITCH STREAMER MY EMOTIONAL SUPPORT CHAOTIC SUNBEAM

Daniel: I’M CRYING IN PUBLIC WHO LET HIM BE THIS FAST WHO ALLOWED THIS WHO HANDED HIM A TROPHY AND SAID “YEAH, OKAY”

Lando: guys…

Carlos: YOU’RE HERE? GO POP CHAMPAGNE

Oscar: Put your phone down. Go cry. We’re doing it for you.

Nico H: Congrats, man. Seriously. That was a hell of a drive.

Lewis: Five years. FIVE YEARS. You deserve this.

Daniel: Do we throw him a party? Do we kidnap him and fly to Ibiza?

Alex: Yes. Obviously. We ride at dawn.

Carlos: He’s never allowed to say “I’m not good enough” again. I will slap him.

Lando: Okay okay okay 😭😭 I just… can’t believe it happened I thought I was gonna throw up before the last lap

Daniel: I’m gonna rewatch the podium 14 times. You SMILED. Like, real smiled. Oscar was lowkey crying. Don’t let him lie.

Oscar: I WASN’T …shut up

Lewis: See? You’re loved. You’re really loved.

Sebastian: This is what we call earned joy. Enjoy every second, Lando. I’m so, so happy for you 🧡

Daniel: I’m printing out today’s timing sheet and framing it

Alex: We were on Norris Watch for years. YEARS.

Checo: Congrats, man. You’ve waited a long time for this. Really happy for you.

Nico R: You’ve had the pace for a while. Today you had the moment. Bravo.

Oscar: And now he’s won. And he’s still just a slightly dehydrated raccoon in designer sunglasses

Lando: I can’t even be mad

Kimi: Took you long enough.

George: Okay but do we start placing bets on win #2 now?

Carlos: Let him breathe 😭

Lewis: Enjoy it, mate. Every second. You earned this.

Fernando: It was inevitable. That’s all.

George: Do we throw him a party? I vote party.

Mark: He’s in Miami. The party’s coming to him.

Sebastian: Just don’t let Daniel plan the itinerary.

Daniel: I’M A DELIGHTFUL PARTY PLANNER. I’VE MATURED.

Lewis: No you haven’t.

Alex: Absolutely not.

Oscar: Zero evidence of that.

Lando: I love you guys. Thank you. Seriously

George: We’re gonna get so insufferable about this

Lando:I’m gonna go sob in the shower and then drink a really big coconut

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Lando Norris

Isabelle:  You did it. 🧡

Isabelle: You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know… I’m really, really proud of you.

Isabelle: You earned this. Every second. Every race you stayed calm. Every joke you cracked when you were hurting. Every time you smiled for fans even when you didn’t feel like it. You never gave up. And today? It all paid off.

Lando: …you’re gonna make me cry again and I’ve already cried twice.  that’s my limit for the year

Belle: Sorry 😌 I’ll save the long, emotional voice note for later

Lando: Don’t you dare Actually Do it

Isabelle:  I will. After you finish that coconut

Lando: HOW DO YOU KNOW I’M DRINKING A COCONUT

Belle: Because I know you. And you looked like you were already planning it the second you stepped on the podium

Lando: okay fair thank you, Belle really

Belle: Always. Now go celebrate. I’ll be cheering from here.

Lando: From Monaco?

Belle: From the rooftop. With our cats. They’re proud of you too.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Isabelle Leclerc

Max: Going out with Lando for a bit. Post-win celebration. He earned it.

Isabelle: Aww 🧡 That’s sweet of you. Be nice to him.

Max: I am nice. I’m bringing him shots. That’s nice.

Isabelle: That’s dangerous. Try not to start a bar fight.

Max: Promise. Love you. 

[Monday, Much, Much Later]

Max: BELLE

Max: U R SO PRETTY

Max: LIKE. ACTUALLY. PRETTY PRETTY

Max: U should be here u’d hate it but like also u’d look SO HOT in this lighting

Max: lando said i’m soft now bc i said ur voice is my favorite sound so i punched him in the arm

Max: soft???? bro i’m in love what does he want me to do. deny it???

Max: anyway ur eyes r the best part of monaco u can quote me

Max: i miss u

[Much, Much Later]

Isabelle: Good morning, poetic disaster 💋 How’s the head?

Max: 🥲 Loud. Everything is loud. Why does my soul feel hungover.

Isabelle: Probably because you told me my eyes were the best part of Monaco and then threatened to fight Lando for calling you soft.

Max: …Did I actually type that?

Belle: Verbatim. You also called me “pretty pretty” and claimed I’d look “SO HOT in this lighting.” Capitals included.

Max: I hate myself

Isabelle: Don’t. It was very charming. Drunk and feral, but charming.

Isabelle: You did tell me my voice was your favorite sound.

Max: Okay that one stands. I mean it.

Isabelle: I know you do. Still going to make you suffer for the rest though.

Max: I was vulnerable. Weak. In my tequila era.

Isabelle: You were in love and dramatic. It was kind of perfect.

Max: You still love me?

Isabelle: Soft bro, I’m in love. What do you want me to do, deny it?

Max: 😤 Uncalled for.

Isabelle: Call me when you’re functional. 

Max: You’re too good to me.

Isabelle: I know. I’m Monaco’s best feature, after all.

Max: Can confirm. ***

Text Messages: Emilie Abadie & Isabelle Leclerc

Emilie: Okay so… Question

Isabelle: That’s always a dangerous start.

Emilie: Who is this Lando person And why is everyone crying because he won something

Isabelle: Oh my God. You really don’t know anything about F1, do you?

Emilie: Absolutely not. I know Max drives fast, and you’re too pretty to be emotionally stable, that’s it.

Isabelle: Valid.

Emilie: But seriously. My entire timeline is full of sweaty orange hats and people screaming “HE FINALLY DID IT.” What did he do? Did he climb a mountain? Invent a vaccine?

Isabelle: He won his first Formula 1 Grand Prix. He’s been in F1 for five years. Always came close. Never quite made it.Everyone’s been waiting for this.He’s a good guy. Deserved it.

Emilie: Huh. He’s the guy with the curly hair, right?

Isabelle: Yes.

Emilie: And the jawbones?

Isabelle: Yes.

Emilie: And the voice that’s suspiciously hot for someone named Lando?

Isabelle: …Why do you care?

Emilie: I don’t!!

Isabelle: You do. You’ve never asked me about a single driver. Not once. And now you’re googling him like a concerned historian.

Emilie: I’m just… doing research. You know. investigating the cultural phenomenon

Isabelle: Uh-huh. Is this cultural phenomenon wearing a papaya-colored race suit and has curly hair?

Emilie: Fine. He’s cute. He looked happy. The bar is so low.

Isabelle: He is cute. And he should be happy. He’s a good guy.

Emilie: You sound like you’re trying to sell me a family dog.

Isabelle: He’s very sweet! Loyal! Thoughtful! Max calls him chaotic sunshine. I call him emotionally transparent. You’d like him.

Emilie: So a golden retriever.

Isabelle: With slightly better hair.

Emilie: Does he bite?

Isabelle: Only when provoked. Or when Max makes a joke about his height.

Emilie: Hmm.

Isabelle: Oh no.

Emilie: What?

Isabelle: You’re thinking about him.

Emilie: Absolutely not.

Emilie: This is slander.

Isabelle: This is me knowing you better than you know yourself. And I’m telling you: he’s a good one. A little chaotic. But real.

Emilie: He smiled like…like he waited years for this. I noticed that. I hate that I noticed that.

Belle: Yeah. That’s why people cried. It wasn’t just about the win—it was about him. He needed it. And he earned it.

Emilie: …Okay maybe I get the hats now.

Isabelle: Give it three days. You’ll be watching fan edits on TikTok and pretending it’s research. I have been there. 

***

Belle had done what she said she would do—and no more.

She’d ordered the cake. She’d picked up her mother’s favorite flowers that morning: cream roses and blue hydrangeas, wrapped in soft white paper. She’d even arrived early to set them on the table herself, with care, because that was the kind of daughter she was. Or used to be.

Now, she was the kind of daughter who kept her word but stopped letting herself be steamrolled.

Pascale arrived right on time, kissed Belle on both cheeks, and immediately gave the restaurant a once-over.

“This place wasn’t my first choice.”

Belle smiled tightly. “Arthur booked it.”

“Ah. Well.” Her mother’s eyes skimmed the mirrored walls, the packed tables. “At least it’s… clean.”

Belle gestured to the bouquet from all of them, and the beautifully chosen gift bag she had chosen for her gift to her mother. It was a hand painted silk scarf from her mother’s favourite small boutique in Nice.  “Happy birthday, Maman.”

“Oh, thank you, darling.” Pascale barely glanced at them. “How thoughtful. Did you and the boys coordinate?”

“No,” Belle said evenly. “They’re doing their own gifts this year.”

Pascale’s brow twitched. “Oh?”

“I told them weeks ago.”

“Hm.” She lifted the bag without really looking at it. “Just from you?”

“Yes. Just me.”

The rest arrived five to ten minutes late, as if they’d all agreed to stagger themselves and then forgot the timing. Arthur looked panicked, Charles like he was trying too hard not to look panicked, and Lorenzo came with Charlotte in tow, who smiled politely and looked like she already regretted it. Alexandra walked in beside Charles and kissed Pascale on the cheek like a diplomat entering a war zone.

“Happy birthday, Pascale” Alexandra said. “You look wonderful.”

Pascale’s smile returned. “Merci, cherie. You always say the right things.”

“Unlike your sons,” Charlotte muttered under her breath, loud enough for Belle to hear.

Charles sat beside Belle and leaned toward her. “So… I take it the restaurant’s not a hit.”

Belle didn’t even glance at him. “What gave it away? The menu or Maman’s expression?”

As the waiter listed off the specials—every one of them garnished with fennel—Belle watched her mother’s face tighten.

“I thought I said last year I hated fennel,” Pascale said lightly.

Arthur mumbled, “It was the only place with a table.”

Charlotte’s voice was gentle. “It’s a beautiful spot though.”

“Yes,” Pascale said with a tilt of her head. “But not terribly thoughtful. I would’ve preferred a nice picnic at home,” Pascale muttered, opening her menu as though it had personally offended her.

Belle stayed quiet. She wasn’t the one who chose this.

Though the one thing she agreed with: Even the wine tasted horrific in this restaurant. She pushed her white wine glass far away from her, the acidic smell hitting her nose and making her want to scrunch her nose. 

The gifts came next. Or rather, the lack of them.

Arthur had hastily shoved a gift bag onto the table with the receipt still inside. Lorenzo offered wine. 

And Charles? Charles offered nothing but a vague “It’s arriving later, it’s like... experiential.”

“Experiential?” Pascale repeated, arching a brow.

“It’s a class,” Charles added quickly. “Pottery.”

Their mother stared at him like he had sprouted wings. 

“Pottery?!” Pascale asked and Charles swallowed, nodding, looking like he was regretting all his life choices. 

Belle didn’t look up, but Alexandra choked into her water and muttered, “I told you.”

Belle sipped her water.

“Oh,” Pascale continued, “and what’s this?” She picked up the card. “Just from you, Isabelle?”

“Yes,” Belle said simply.

“No group gift this year?”

“I asked everyone to handle their own,” she replied. “I did the flowers and the cake. And the card. That was enough.”

Pascale gave a little hum of amusement. “Well, I suppose you have become very independent lately.”

Belle met her mother’s gaze. “I’m not sure that’s a bad thing.”

“No, no, of course not,” Pascale said, voice breezy. “It’s just… you used to take such pride in pulling everything together. You were always so good at it.”

“That was the problem.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “To be fair, you didn’t exactly help us this year.”

“I told you what I was doing. You just didn’t listen,” Belle said calmly.

“You used to remind us,” Charles mumbled. “You used to care.”

Belle’s jaw twitched. “I still care. I just don’t want to be treated like the family secretary anymore.”

“I think she misses being in control,” Lorenzo muttered, just loud enough to be heard.

Charlotte glanced at him, sharp. “Or maybe she’s just tired of being taken advantage of.”

“Exactly,” Alexandra said. “God forbid she set a boundary.”

Pascale, still smiling, turned to Belle. “Cherie, no one’s saying you have to do everything. It’s just… you’re so capable. When you stop doing it, everything falls apart.”

“Maybe that means everyone else should step up,” Belle replied.

Pascale gave a laugh that sounded delicate and dismissive all at once. “Well, clearly no one stepped up today.”

She said it like a joke. Like a shrug. Like it wasn’t her sons who had forgotten, scrambled, improvised. Like it was somehow Belle’s fault for letting them fail.

Belle felt the burn in her chest—not anger, not really. Just exhaustion.

She’d done her part. More than her part. But it would never be enough, because the moment she stopped doing everything, the blame quietly shifted to her.

“You could’ve reminded them,” Pascale said again, softer now. “You know how your brothers are.”

“Yes,” Belle said. “I do.”

“Well,” she said lightly. “I suppose this is what adulthood looks like. Everyone suddenly too busy to remember their mother.”

“I remembered,” Belle said.

“You always do, darling. It’s just that this year… you remembered differently.”

And there it was.

Not cruelty. Not even anger.

Just the kind of soft-edged disappointment Belle had spent most of her life trying to avoid.

The rest of lunch passed in half-hearted conversation and clumsy attempts at jokes. The cake arrived—beautiful, perfect, and, predictably, unacknowledged.

Belle watched her brothers clap, watched her mother blow out the candles, watched it all carry on like nothing had happened.

Like she hadn’t just been told—kindly, sweetly, carelessly—that she was the glue, and glue isn’t allowed to come undone.

Alexandra leaned closer, her voice low. “You okay?”

Belle forced a smile. “I will be.”

As they all stood to leave, Pascale leaned in and kissed her cheek again.

“Next year, maybe we go back to the usual way. Less… disjointed.”

Belle didn’t answer.

Because she wasn’t sure the old way would ever return.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the point.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: I survived.

Emilie: Emotionally or just physically?

Isabelle: ...Barely both.

Emilie: How bad?

Isabelle: Let’s just say the cake was perfect and no one noticed. Arthur brought a gift bag with the receipt still inside. Charles gave her a pottery class. A POTTERY CLASS. And Lorenzo recycled a bottle of wine she gave him last year.

Emilie: I’m sorry. Did they try to offer her used wrapping paper too?

Isabelle: Honestly wouldn’t have been surprised. She looked at the card—my card—and asked if it was just from me. Then she said everyone was too busy to remember their mother. I reminded her that I remembered. She said: “You always do, darling. It’s just that this year… you remembered differently.”

Emilie: … Wow. Soft weaponized guilt in its final form.

Isabelle: I’m so tired. I did what I said I would. Flowers. Cake. My own gift. I set boundaries. And it still felt like it was my fault everything else fell apart.

Emilie: That’s because it isn’t about the gifts. It’s about control. You stopped doing everything, and instead of realizing they need to grow up, they decided you were the problem.

Isabelle: She said things “fell apart” because I stopped doing it all. Like it was inevitable.

Emilie: Because no one in your family wants to believe they’re part of the problem. It’s easier to blame the glue than to learn how to hold things together.

Isabelle: I didn’t cry. I thought I would. But I didn’t.

Emilie: That’s not because it didn’t hurt. It’s because you’re exhausted from caring so hard for so long. And you knew exactly how today would go.

Isabelle: Yeah.

Emilie: I’m proud of you, by the way.

Isabelle: For what? Ruining lunch?

Emilie: No. For not letting them pull you back in. You didn’t break your boundary. You kept your head high. You even brought the right cake like a damn queen.

Isabelle: I don’t feel like a queen. I feel like… a disappointed intern who can’t quit because the office is run by her family.

Emilie: Then consider this your resignation letter. Effective immediately. From now on, you only show up to enjoy the cake—not to organize the entire damn bakery.

***

The apartment was unusually quiet.

Max pushed the door open slowly, balancing a paper bag in one hand—her favorite pastries from that little place by the port—and shut the door behind him with a soft click.

“Belle?” he called.

No answer.

He kicked off his shoes and padded through the hallway. Her shoes were by the door, her bag hanging from the hook. She was home. But the lights were still off, the curtains half-drawn.

He stepped into the living room, expecting to find her reading or curled up with her laptop.

Instead, he found her asleep on the couch.

Belle never napped. She was the kind of person who filled silence with tasks, who felt guilty if she rested too long. Her idea of downtime usually involved organizing something or researching a new fabric for a client.

But now?

Now she was curled up in the corner of the couch, one arm tucked under her cheek, her breathing slow and steady. She’d kicked off her heels, and one strap of her dress had slipped slightly down her shoulder. Her brow was furrowed, even in sleep.

And all three cats were piled on top of her.

Jimmy was sprawled across her legs, completely dead weight. Lilly was curled protectively against her stomach, one paw gently resting on her arm. And Sassy—who rarely let anyone touch her—was nestled against her neck, purring like a motor.

Max smiled softly.

The cats knew. Of course they did.

He moved quietly, setting the bag of pastries down on the counter and crouching beside the couch. He didn’t wake her. He just watched her for a moment—her lashes dark against her cheeks, the faint smudge of exhaustion still lingering under her eyes. There was something heartbreakingly small about the way she’d folded in on herself. Like she’d tried to make herself take up less space.

He reached out and gently brushed her hair back behind her ear.

Belle stirred, but didn’t wake. Lilly opened one eye, flicked her tail, and went back to purring.

Max exhaled and whispered, “I’m sorry it was shit.”

She didn’t need to tell him. He’d seen the signs before she left: the tight smile, the perfectly chosen scarf, the way she’d stood just a little too straight. He knew Pascale. He knew her brothers. And he knew the weight Belle carried when they made her feel invisible for having a spine.

He reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch and pulled it over her gently, tucking it in around the cats. Jimmy let out a tiny grunt but didn’t move.

Max kissed her temple. Light. Barely there.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured.

He sat on the floor beside her, leaning against the couch, and let his hand rest on hers, careful not to disturb the cats. She shifted slightly, her fingers curling instinctively into his.

The apartment stayed quiet, but now it felt full. Safe.

Eventually, Belle would wake up. Eventually, she’d downplay it all, say she was fine, say it wasn’t that bad.

But Max would remember the way she napped in the middle of the day like her body had finally crashed, like she’d had to hold herself together for too long.

***

She woke up slowly.

There was warmth on her legs. Something heavy on her chest. A light pressure on her hand.

For a moment, she didn’t move—just let herself feel the quiet. The absence of expectations. The strange relief of not having to speak.

Then she blinked and registered the familiar weight of Jimmy on her thighs, Lilly tucked into her side, and—

Sassy. On her shoulder. Sassy, who hated everyone except Max and her. 

She turned her head slightly and saw Max sitting on the floor beside the couch, head tilted back against the cushion, his fingers still laced with hers. His thumb stroked over her knuckles slowly, rhythmically, like he’d been doing it the whole time she slept.

“How long have you been there?” she whispered.

His eyes opened. “Long enough to be offended none of the cats chose me.”

Belle gave a weak, sleepy laugh. “You didn’t bring treats.”

“I brought toys last week. I feel that earns me some credit.”

She stretched, only a little, careful not to disturb the cats. Her throat tightened unexpectedly. She looked down at their hands. Her voice was quiet when she said, “It was awful.”

Max didn’t respond right away. He waited.

“I knew it would be,” she continued. “I was ready for it. I thought I was. But—” She paused. “It still got to me.”

“Of course it did,” he said gently. “Because you’re not made of stone, no matter how good you are at pretending.”

She swallowed. “She didn’t yell. None of them did. That’s the worst part. Just these… little jabs. Like I ruined things by not doing what I always do.”

He brushed his thumb along the back of her hand again. “Because they don’t want to admit how much they rely on you. It’s easier to pretend you’re being difficult than to admit they’ve taken you for granted.”

“I felt like the villain for saying no.”

“You weren’t,” he said firmly. “You were the only one who showed up the way she deserved.”

“She said I remembered differently.”

“You remembered honestly,” Max said. “And with boundaries. That’s a good thing.”

Belle exhaled slowly. “I hate how tired I am.”

“That’s what happens when you carry everyone else’s expectations for fifteen years.”

She closed her eyes. “I just wanted her to notice. Not the card. Not the scarf. Me.”

Max was silent for a long beat. Then he shifted, stood, and gently sat on the edge of the couch beside her, nudging Jimmy out of the way with minimal protest.

“You know what I noticed?” he asked softly.

Belle looked up at him.

“You walked into that lunch knowing it would suck. You still brought the cake. You still picked out the flowers and got there early and remembered everything that matters. But you also stood your ground. You didn’t shrink. You didn’t apologize for having limits.”

She blinked fast.

Max reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“You didn’t fail them, Belle. They failed you. And she—she missed the point. But I didn’t.”

She let out a breath that trembled more than she wanted.

Belle reached for him then—slowly, tiredly—and he leaned down so she could rest her forehead against his chest. His arms came around her without hesitation, strong and warm and steady.

And for the first time all day, Belle didn’t feel like she had to hold anything together.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: The horse is here.

Emilie: WAIT WHAT???

Max: She’s perfect. Big eyes. Very soft nose. Looks at me like she knows I have no idea what I’m doing.

Emilie: Oh my god. Congrats! You now own 1.5 sentient drama llamas! I didn’t think you’d pull it off this fast!!

Max: Neither did I. I just nodded and wired the money whenever someone looked at me confused.

Emilie: Bold of you to admit that. How’s Fleur settling in?

Max: Good so far. The stable manager is in love with her. She’s very sweet…very gentle. But listen—can you help me with something?

Emilie: That depends. Do I need a forklift?

Max: No forklifts. But maybe a… horse stylist?

Emilie: ...Max.

Max: I want to get her everything she needs. Feed, brushes, gear, blankets, treats, toys, whatever. But I don’t trust myself not to forget something vital and end up buying her a dog collar by mistake.

Emilie: You think a grooming kit is the same thing as a dog leash???

Max: I bought a horse off emotional impulse, Emilie. Anything’s possible.

Emilie: Fair. Okay. Emergency horse wardrobe coming right up.

Max: You’re a lifesaver.

Emilie: I know. What’s the budget?

Max: No budget.

Emilie: …Max.

Max: Buy her the kind of things you’d buy if you were spoiling a horse for someone you love. Go full chaos. Embroidered halter, custom saddle pads. I don’t care.

Emilie: You just said the words “go full chaos” to me. You realize this is going to spiral.

Max: If the horse ends up with a Swarovski encrusted hoof pick, that’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Emilie: I’m making a list. She needs turnout rugs. Stable rugs. Lightweight blankets. Fly masks. Brushing boots. Halter. Lead rope. Hay net. Saddle pad. Grooming kit. Oh—and a personalized nameplate. Obviously.

Max: I’m overwhelmed.

Emilie: I haven’t even started color coordination yet.

Max: Color coordination???

Emilie: You think I’m putting Belle’s horse in random mismatched gear like some common gelding??

Max: …No?

Emilie: Good answer.

Max: Make her look like she belongs to someone who loves her.

Emilie: That’s easy. She does.

Max: Also... get something for the foal too. It’s still baking, but I want it to have everything once it shows up.

Emilie: You're going to be the most unhinged horse dad in the south of France.

Max: That’s the goal.

Emilie: Okay. I’ll drop everything and build Fleur’s shopping cart of dreams. Expect a delivery van full of horse nonsense by tomorrow.

Max: Thank you. Seriously. I just want everything to be perfect.

Emilie: It will be. She’s going to lose it. In the best way.

Max: That’s the plan.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Lando Norris

Max: Hey. You know about horses, right?

Lando: … Why would I know about horses?

Max: Because your sister and your mum ride. That makes you, like… horse adjacent.

Lando: Max. MAX. Being horse adjacent is not the same as being a horse expert.

Max: Do you know how to tell if a pregnant horse is okay?

Lando: MAX WHAT

Max: I got Belle a horse. Actually two. Well, one horse, and she’s pregnant, so technically 1.5 horses.

Lando: I’m sorry back up- You WHAT? YOU BOUGHT A PREGNANT HORSE???

Max: Yes. For her birthday. It’s the foal of her childhood horse. The horse passed away, but the daughter is alive. So I bought her. Fleur. That’s her name.

Lando: Jesus Christ.

Max: She’s perfect. But she’s in foal and due later this summer and now I’m spiraling.

Lando: Okay okay okay. Deep breaths. Why are you spiraling??

Max: Is it normal for her to not eat as much hay? She was eating like crazy when she arrived and now she’s just… slower. Max:  She seems fine. She’s drinking. She let me pet her today. Max:  But what if she’s not fine and I miss something and the foal is in danger and Belle gets attached and then—

Lando: MAX

Max: WHAT IF I’M A BAD HORSE DAD

Lando: Okay first of all: You are very much not a horse dad. You are a stressed boyfriend with access to wire transfers and too much emotional capacity

Max: Unhelpful.

Lando: Second: Flo and my mum both ride. Hang on, I’ll ask.

(Two minutes pass.)

Lando: Okay. Flo says: “Mares get weird when they’re in late pregnancy. Appetite changes, temperament shifts, they get clingy or distant. As long as she’s drinking water and not acting colicky or in pain, she’s probably fine.”

Max: What does colicky mean?

Lando: Horse tummy ache apparently. Signs: pawing at the ground, lying down and getting up a lot, rolling on her side, not passing gas or poop.

Max: She’s not doing any of that.

Lando: Cool. Then Flo says you can stop freaking out and maybe go touch grass.

Max: I would but I’m watching her through the stall window to make sure she blinks evenly.

Lando: You need a hobby.

Max: This is my hobby now. I’m going to be the best horse dad Monaco’s ever seen.

Lando: You’re terrifying. Flo says you should talk to a vet if you’re this stressed. There are equine pregnancy specialists.

Max: I already booked one. They’re coming Thursday. And I bought her a new salt lick. And a bigger water bucket. And more bedding. Just in case she’s nesting.

Lando: Nest??? You think she’s a raccoon now???

Max: SHE’S CARRYING A TINY HORSE INSIDE HER I DON’T KNOW WHAT SHE NEEDS

Lando: Okay wow. This is actually incredible You’re losing your mind and it’s so pure

Max: She’s not just a horse. She’s Belle’s horse. She’s family now. And her foal will be, too

Lando: Max Verstappen, 3x World Champion, is scared of a pregnant horse.

Max: You don’t understand. If anything happens to that horse, Belle will never recover. And I’ll never forgive myself.

Lando: Okay, I’m texting Flo again. You need like. A Horse Dad Hotline. She’s gonna make a guide. Expect a PDF.

Max: Perfect. I’ll print it. And laminate it.

Lando: You’re completely unhinged and I love it. Belle has no idea what she’s in for, does she?

Max: Nope. But I do. And I’m not screwing this up.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

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

Lando: UPDATE. Max has officially entered his next evolutionary stage: Horse Dad

Carlos: what???

George: what do you mean Horse Dad.

Lando: HE TEXTED ME FOR HORSE ADVICE. Apparently  he bought Belle a horse for her birthday next week…and said horse is pregnant. AND NOW HE’S SPIRALING.

Oscar: he bought her a pregnant horse???

Lewis: This man does not know how to do things at 50%.

Alex: Imagine being an unborn foal and your literal horse granddad is Max Verstappen.

Daniel: What was he panicking about ?

Lando: "Is it normal for her to eat less hay?" "She blinked too slowly." "Am I a bad horse dad." "I think she’s nesting." "I bought her a new salt lick just in case."

Oscar: nesting?? she’s a horse not a squirrel??

Sebastian: This is beautiful. I love this for him. And for the horse.

Checo: Didn’t he just buy this horse last week???

Lando: YEP. And he’s already at the stage of “watching her breathe through the stall window like a Victorian widow.”

David: I’m crying. Verstappen, World Champion, afraid of pregnant mare.

Checo: He deserves this stress. This is what happens when you spend 300k on a pregnant horse with no clue what you’re doing.

Mark: That foal is going to be raised like equine royalty.

Fernando: It will be a champion. I can feel it.

Alex: Do NOT let Max hear that. He’ll start building it a trophy shelf.

George: How did we get here

Lando: Anyway I told Flo and my mum and now they’re making him a Horse Dad PDF Guide

Alex: Max Verstappen: Race car driver, emotionally fragile boyfriend, horse dad with laminated charts.

Nico H: I’ve never been more afraid of him

Oscar: I just want to see Belle’s face when she finds out

Lewis: She's going to cry

 And then thank him And then cry again And then probably cry on the horse

Lando: And Max will cry because she’s crying. And the horse will just blink slowly like “why are the loud mammals leaking”

Oscar: i love love.

Fernando: We are watching the evolution of a man.

Daniel: Max Verstappen used to destroy the grid. Now he panics about hay consumption

Sebastian: This is growth.

Sebastian: Should we all send baby gifts for the foal?

Lewis: You mean we’re not already?

Fernando: I have already arranged a custom halter and embroidered blanket.

***

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Oscar Piastri

Lando: Okay this might be a stupid question

Oscar: Those are your specialty, go on

Lando: Should we get Belle a birthday gift?

Oscar: Like… us? Together??

Lando: Yeah. Like a joint thing. I don’t know. A friend gift. A “we know your family’s exhausting but we like you” gift.

Oscar: Honestly? I like it. She deserves it. Especially after Max went full Horse Dad™

Lando: Right?? Like, I’m not trying to compete with two horses but like… a little gift?

Oscar: Yeah, yeah. Something thoughtful. Wait—hang on. Lily’s reading this over my shoulder now.

Lily (via Oscar): YES. GET HER SOMETHING. I LOVE HER.

Lando: I mean that tracks. Everyone who meets Belle ends up weirdly attached.

Oscar: Max didn’t even stand a chance

Lily (still hijacking): Ask your sister for horse-related gift ideas!!!

Lando: You mean Flo?

Oscar: Yeah, Lily says she’ll know what would be good for a new horse owner or something cute Belle can use at the stable.

Lily (via Oscar):  Or something for the baby horse!!! They imprint, right??? GET THE FOAL TO IMPRINT ON YOU GUYS.

Lando: I don’t think we can plan imprinting, Lily.

Oscar: She says that sounds like quitter energy.

Lando: Okay but seriously I will text Flo.

Oscar: We could do like… a fancy grooming kit?

Lando: Or like a custom halter for the foal? 

Oscar: That’s actually so cute. What if we get it in Max’s helmet colors?

Lando: STOP I’M EMOTIONAL

Oscar: Lily is now googling “tiny horse birthday hats” so things are escalating. 

Lando: Belle gets Max, two horses, and emotional support F1 drivers

Oscar: Our love language is semi-coordinated panic

Lando: Okay. I’ll ask Flo for ideas. Lily can continue the hat research.

Oscar: She’s already measuring things on the screen. I think we’re locked in.

***

Belle closed her laptop with a soft sigh, the click of the hinge sounding louder than it should’ve. The apartment was calm—Max behind her, drying dishes from dinner—but inside her head, everything felt overfull.

She crossed to the counter, reached for a glass, and filled it slowly at the sink. Her shoulders ached. Her chest felt tight. Not in a dramatic way—just… tired. The kind of tired that curled up somewhere inside and stayed, no matter how many hours of sleep she got.

Max’s voice was gentle, behind her. “You okay?”

She nodded before answering. “I ordered something for Mother’s Day.”

He turned from the cupboard, brow raised. “For your mother?”

Belle hesitated, and that was enough for him to catch it.

“Yes,” she said, carefully. “For Maman. From all of us.”

There was a pause. She could feel his eyes on her even as she kept hers on the water glass.

“From you and your brothers?” Max asked quietly.

Belle nodded again. “Yeah.”

Another pause.

When she glanced back, Max was just watching her. Not angry. Not judgmental. Just… knowing.

“You’re still saving them,” he said.

Belle straightened slightly. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not,” she repeated, too fast. “I just… I don’t want another disaster. I don’t have the energy for more awkwardness or guilt. I just want it to be done. Clean.”

“You’re the only reason it won’t be a disaster,” Max said softly.

Belle looked down at the water glass. Her hand was trembling slightly. She hadn’t realized.

“I’m just so tired, Max,” she said, and the words came out smaller than she meant them to. Like admitting it made her feel even more fragile.

Max stepped toward her and touched her wrist, grounding her.

“Then why spend what little energy you have on something that only drains you more?”

“Because if I don’t,” she whispered, “Maman will be disappointed. And my brothers will make jokes. And the silence will feel like blame. It’s easier this way.”

“It’s not easier,” Max said. “It’s just more familiar.”

Belle didn’t answer. Her throat felt tight.

Max pulled her gently into his arms, wrapping her in the kind of hug that made everything quiet for a second. Belle leaned into it like someone letting go of something heavy she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying.

“You don’t have to fix everything to be a good daughter,” he murmured into her hair. “Or a good sister.”

She closed her eyes.

“Don’t remind them,” he added, quietly but firmly.

She pulled back slightly to look up at him. “What?”

“Don’t message the group chat. Don’t nudge them. Don’t drop hints. Let them forget. Let them feel what it’s like when you don’t carry it for them.”

She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “They’ll blame me.”

“Then let them,” Max said, brushing her hair back from her face. “You don’t owe them your peace.”

“I don’t know if I can ignore it,” she whispered. “It’ll just sit there in my chest like a rock. The whole day.”

“Then I’ll carry it,” he said. “Let me carry it for you.”

Belle’s eyes burned.

“Maybe next year,” she said softly. “Maybe next year I’ll be strong enough not to do it at all.”

Max didn’t push. He just nodded, kissed her temple, and held her tighter.

She didn’t have to say thank you. He already knew.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen

Max: Happy Mother’s Day, Mama ❤️ Hope you’re relaxing this morning.

Sophie: Thank you, sweetheart 💕 Just had breakfast with Tom & Victoria. Luka made me a card 🥹

Max: He’s a better artist than me already 😂 Your gift should’ve arrived by now. Did it get there?

Sophie: Yes! Just opened it ☺️You didn’t have to get me anything 😌

Max: Yeah, but you deserve it. Spa weekend for you and Vic—Belle helped me pick it. She remembered you mentioned it in passing once.

Sophie: Wait, the place in Provence? With the mineral baths?

Max: That’s the one. Belle remembered the name and everything. She’s… kinda incredible at that.

Sophie: Belle remembered that from months ago?

Max: She remembers everything. She’s scary-good at it.

Sophie:She really is the sweetest. You should’ve booked for three. Belle should come with us.

Max: I suggested it. She said she didn’t want to intrude.

Sophie: She would say that 😤 Tell her I’m demanding she join. It’s non-negotiable.

Max: …You sure? You and Vic don’t want a mother-daughter trip?

Sophie: She is like a daughter to me, Max. And Victoria loves her. You know that.

Max: Okay, okay. I’ll tell her.

Sophie:  I’m adore her. She fits. Like she’s always been here.

Max: Yeah. Feels like that to me too.

Sophie: So bring her over soon. I want to give her a proper hug for this gift. And for looking after you.

Max: I’ll try to drag her away from the horses. 

Sophie: Of course she is. Tell her thank you from me. Truly.

Max: Will do ❤️ Love you.

Sophie: Love you too, Maxie. ***

Text Messages: Charles Leclerc & Alexandra Saint Mleux

Charles: Merde. Is it Mother’s Day today???

Alexandra: Yes.

Charles: No one said anything?! Isabelle didn’t remind us this year. She always reminds us.

Alexandra: She’s not your personal assistant, Charles.

Charles: But she knows I forget stuff like this. She usually sends the group chat the schedule with reminders and emoji codes and—

Alexandra: She shouldn’t have to. You’re almost thirty. You should know when Mother’s Day is without your sister hand-holding you through it.

Charles: Okay, but she always does it. And this year she suddenly decides she’s “setting boundaries” and just lets me walk off a cliff??

Alexandra: You forgot your mother. That’s on you. Don’t you dare try to make it Isabelle’s fault because she finally decided to stop mothering you.

Charles: Wow. Okay. Didn’t realize you were on her side.

Alexandra: I’m not “taking sides.” I’m telling you that blaming your sister for your failure is weak. And unfair.

Charles: I’m stressed, okay? I forgot, I feel like crap, and now you’re yelling at me.

Alexandra: No. I’m calling you out because this isn’t the first time you’ve pulled this. The second something goes wrong, you look for someone else to blame.

Charles: That’s not fair.

Alexandra: Isn’t it? Last month it was your trainer’s fault for not updating your calendar. Before that, it was your PR team for not reminding you about a shoot. Now it’s your sister for not telling you Mother’s Day was coming?

Charles: I just didn’t expect this from you.

Alexandra: You mean honesty? Accountability?

Charles: I don’t need a lecture right now.

Alexandra: Maybe not. But you need to grow up.

Charles: Are you seriously turning this into a moral crisis?

Alexandra: You forgot Mother’s Day. You blamed the one person who used to quietly make sure you didn’t screw it up. And when I told you the truth, you made me the problem too.

Charles: Alex…

Alexandra: I love you, but I’m not going to pretend this version of you isn’t exhausting sometimes. Figure it out, Charles.

Charles: Wait—are you seriously mad enough to—

Alexandra: I’m not leaving. But I’m done coddling you.

Charles: ...Okay.

Alexandra: Start with a phone call to your mother.

Charles: Yeah. Okay.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

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

Charles: So… today’s Mother’s Day.

Arthur: Yeah. Not that anyone would’ve remembered.

Lorenzo: Would’ve been nice to get a heads-up this year.

Arthur: Right? A little calendar emoji would’ve gone a long way.

Charles: You always used to remind us, Isabelle.

Lorenzo: Kind of your thing.

Isabelle: I’m not doing that anymore.

Charles: We noticed.

Arthur: You could’ve at least said something.

Isabelle: I did. Before Maman’s birthday. I said I wasn’t organizing family events anymore. I meant it.

Lorenzo: Yeah, but Mother’s Day’s different.

Charles: It’s not like we’re asking you to do everything. Just a reminder. One message.

Arthur: Instead we’re all waking up to guilt and no plan.

Isabelle: Then maybe next year, plan ahead. Put it in your phones like everyone else.

Lorenzo: You didn’t even mention it once this week.

Isabelle: Because it’s not my job.

Charles: You used to care about this kind of thing.

Isabelle: I still care. I just care about my own mental health too.

Arthur: So what, we just look like idiots today?

Isabelle: I sent a gift from all of us. Card, flowers, everything.

Charles: Wait… seriously?

Isabelle: Yes.

Lorenzo: You didn’t tell us.

Isabelle: I just did it because I didn’t want her to feel forgotten.

Arthur: That’s kind of manipulative, Belle. Doing it and not telling us.

Isabelle: What’s manipulative is expecting me to do everything, and then blaming me when I don’t.

Charles: You’re really different lately.

Isabelle: I’m tired. So I handled it, one last time. You’re welcome.

Lorenzo: Well. Thanks, I guess.

Arthur: Next year maybe give us a little warning?

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

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

Pascale: My darlings ❤️ Thank you so much for the beautiful flowers and the card. They arrived this morning and made me cry (in the best way). You always know just what I love. I feel so lucky to have you. 💐✨

Charles: Aw, Maman ❤️ You deserve it!!

Arthur: Glad you liked it 🥹 Happy Mother’s Day!

Lorenzo: Only the best for you, Maman 😘

Pascale: You boys did so well! So thoughtful. And the message in the card… so sweet. Isabelle, you must’ve helped them pick it, didn’t you? It had your touch.

Lorenzo: We definitely had it covered 😌

Charles: Worked as a team.

Arthur: Isabelle deserves the credit though. She’s always the best at that stuff.

Pascale: Well, however you did it—thank you. I feel very loved. The flowers were perfect. Isabelle: Glad you liked them, Maman. Happy Mother’s Day.

Pascale: Love you all. 💕

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: She sent the Mother’s Day gift from all of them.

Emilie: Of course she did. Let me guess: they acted surprised and then took credit?

Max: Yep. Pascale sent a thank-you in the group chat. Her brothers responded like they’d done something.

Emilie: I’m going to scream into a pillow.

Max: Belle didn’t say anything. Just said she was glad Pascale liked it.

Emilie: She’s still saving them.

Max: I know. And they still don’t see it.

Emilie: They don’t want to. It’s easier to let her carry it all and pretend that’s normal.

Max: She told them she wasn’t going to be the family secretary anymore. Then she quietly handled everything anyway. Because she knew they’d drop it. And she didn’t want Pascale to feel forgotten.

Emilie: That’s the curse of being the responsible one. You’re punished whether you do it or not.

Max: Exactly. And now they’ll just expect it again next year.

Emilie: She deserves better.

Max: I keep telling her that.

Emilie: It’s not just about hearing it. She has to believe it. And she doesn’t. Not deep down.

Max: Yeah. I know.

Emilie: How is she?

Max: Quiet. Too quiet. She’s not upset, exactly—just… hollow. Like it’s easier to feel nothing than admit she’s hurt.

Emilie: I hate that I know exactly what that looks like on her.

Max: She just sat down after lunch and said, “It’s done now. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Emilie: That’s Belle for “I’m hanging on by a thread but don’t want to be a burden.”

Max: I wanted to say something. Call them out for her. But she just looked so tired.

Emilie: You’re doing more for her by holding her right now than anything they’ve ever done.

Max: I still wish I could do more.

Emilie: You do more just by noticing. By seeing her.

Max: I don’t want her to keep being the one who holds everything together.

Emilie: Then be the one who holds her together. That’s what she needs. Someone who won’t let her feel invisible.

Max: Yeah. That I can do.

Emilie: Good. Because I swear, if I see another “thanks for the flowers, guys!” message in that family group chat, I’m throwing someone into the harbor.

Max: I’ll drive the boat.

***

The water was warm from the sun, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue, and the city below hummed with distant life—Monaco moving through another glittering afternoon like it always did.

Max floated lazily on his back, eyes closed, one hand trailing through the water, while Belle sat on the pool steps, scowling down at the knot of her bikini top.

She tugged at the strap again, muttering, “This thing is definitely tighter than last time.”

“You said that last week too,” Max murmured without opening his eyes.

“Because it keeps getting tighter.” She frowned down at herself. “Did it shrink in the wash?”

Max cracked one eye open. “You sure it’s the bikini and not you?”

She gave him a look. “Subtle.”

“I’m just saying, maybe the girls are staging a growth spurt.”

Belle rolled her eyes, but her fingers paused against the fabric. They were… sore. More than usual. And she’d been bloated for days. And tired.

It was probably hormones. Or stress. Or the five cookies she’d eaten for lunch.

Max swam closer and rested his arms on the edge of the step beside her, his chin propped lazily against them. “If it’s bothering you, just take it off. No one can see up here.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You wish.”

“I absolutely do,” he said cheerfully.

She flicked water at him and leaned back, letting the sun warm her shoulders. The strap still dug in a little, but she tried to ignore it.

Max let his eyes drift closed again. “This is nice. Quiet. Feels like we’re the only people up here.”

Belle sighed. “We kinda are. You made sure of it, remember? ‘Private rooftop pool, non-negotiable.’”

“Worth every euro.”

She reached out and laced her fingers with his underwater. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

After a moment, she said, “You know my birthday’s on Monaco GP weekend this year?”

He groaned softly. “That’s criminal scheduling.”

She smiled faintly. “Right? Sunday. Race day.”

He looked at her. “Do you want to celebrate after the race? I could try to arrange something small—”

“No,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “No pressure. Let’s just do something the day after. Quiet. Just us.”

Max tilted his head. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” She kicked her legs slowly in the water. “Honestly, I don’t care about parties. I just want to sleep in, eat something sweet, and maybe hang out with the horses.”

He grinned. “You want a Belle Day.”

“Exactly.”

“I can deliver a Belle Day,” he said. “I will make an itinerary. I’ll laminate it.”

She laughed, and he leaned forward to kiss the tip of her nose.

“Day after Monaco,” he said. “It’s yours.”

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/OscarPiastri: Searching my family tree to find any trace of Monégasque roots

@/Charles_Leclerc: I can adopt you if needed. 

@/OscarPiastri: No need, mate — your sister already agreed to!

@/Charles_Leclerc: what

@/F1fanatic91: I’m sorry. WHAT.

@/girlsonpole: charles's WHAT????

@/chaoticprancinghorse: Isabelle Leclerc SAID SHE WOULD ADOPT OSCAR??? excuse me??????

@OscarPiastri (replying to himself a few minutes later): for context: Belle showed me around monaco when i first moved. Gave me the full tour. Taught me where to find the best bakery, the best dry cleaners, and which shortcuts avoid tourists. Basically made it feel like home. honorary monegasque confirmed. (Also later adopted my girlfriend, who I am quite sure, she likes more than me.) 

@/raceweekendchaos: charles offering to adopt oscar like a good pal only for oscar to casually reveal he’s already been adopted by belle leclerc is SENDING me

@/tifositalks: charles: i can adopt you oscar: too late mate your sister said yes charles: error 404 charles.exe has stopped working

@/piastriblues: i have been alive for 21 years and never felt this much secondhand embarrassment for charles leclerc

@/f1fluff:  this is so accidentally wholesome it hurts

@/gridgossip: ISABELLE GAVE OSCAR A WELCOME TO MONACO TOUR??? ARE YOU KIDDING THAT'S SO CUTE

@monacominis:  oscar piastri having isabelle leclerc as a big sister figure is EXACTLY the kind of off-track crossover i live for

@chillycharles: charles was offering adoption papers but isabelle already issued a citizenship through pastries and dry cleaning recs. elite move.

@/Charles_Leclerc (finally replying):  I see I am no longer needed. (Enjoy the bakery recommendations, they are very good.)

@/OscarPiastri: Thanks, mate. You're a great backup option.

@/scuderiawifey: ok but this is actually adorable??? like belle really just took oscar under her wing????

@/wheelnutsanon: also charles reacting like he just learned he has a secret second sibling is killing me

@/gridgossip: BREAKING: Oscar Piastri has been unofficially adopted into the Leclerc family. Charles found out through Twitter.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

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

Charles: What is this about you “adopting” Oscar??

Isabelle: Hello to you too, Charles.

Charles: Seriously, Isabelle. Twitter thinks you’ve absorbed him into the family. You couldn’t mention that?

Isabelle: He asked me where to get pastries when he moved here. I answered. That’s not exactly international news.

Lorenzo: So you adopted him through croissants and Google Maps. Makes sense.

Charles: And the internet’s obsessed with it. Again. This is exactly how the Lando rumors started.

Isabelle: Charles.

Charles: No—don’t “Charles” me. You’re always like this. You do some tiny thing in public, the fans lose their minds, and I get blindsided before quali.

Charles: This is not a joke. It’s race weekend. At home. I don’t need distractions right now.

Isabelle: Then maybe stop scrolling Twitter two hours before FP?

Charles: I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t always causing speculation.

Lorenzo: Are we back on the “Belle is dating Lando” thing?

Charles: YES. Because people think she adopted Oscar and is soft-launching into the Norris family.

Isabelle: I’m not dating Lando. Or Oscar. Or anyone in orange.

Charles: Can you just be low-profile until Sunday? 

Charles: I want to win at home without the press asking if my sister is secretly engaged to my teammate’s former teammate. Is that too much to ask?

Isabelle: Don’t worry, Charles. I’ll keep a low profile.

***

Belle exhaled slowly, settling onto a high stool of McLaren’s hospitality.

“This is so much calmer than Ferrari,” she murmured.

Lily tilted her head. “Too much espresso and shouting over there?”

“Too much everything. Ferrari feels like performance art fueled by adrenaline and barely restrained stress. The walls are tense. Even the coffee judges you.”

Lily laughed. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Our chaos is cozy. Loud, but cozy.”

They sipped their drinks in silence for a moment, letting the hum of track activity drift over them.

They sat in companionable silence for a while. Then, casually—too casually—Belle said, “So… do you happen to know if Lando is single?”

Lily blinked, turned her head very slowly. “I beg your what?”

Belle smiled innocently behind her sunglasses. “Just curious.”

“Is this like... a casual curiosity or a capital-C Conspiracy curiosity?”

“It’s for a friend,” Belle said sweetly.

“Oh my god.” Lily’s grin widened. “Your Emilie?! The one with the arched eyebrow and emotional X-ray vision?!”

“The very same. She asked about him after Miami and then insult-complimented him. Which means she’s intrigued.”

Lily gasped. “That’s basically a declaration of intent.”

“I thought so too,” Belle said smugly.

“She’d eat him alive.”

“He’d love it.”

Lily clutched her chest. “This is my favorite subplot of the season. And yes, as far as I know… Lando is tragically, gloriously single.”

Belle grinned. “Perfect. I’m just collecting data. Like a responsible friend.”

“You’re terrifying.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Belle finished the last sip of her iced coffee and stood, stretching slightly before reaching for her sunglasses case.

“I should head back,” she said, a little regret in her voice. “If I’m gone too long, someone at Ferrari will think I’ve defected.”

Lily grinned. “You’d be welcome. Just saying.”

Belle gave her a wink. “Good to know.”

They hugged briefly, and Belle made her way down the narrow stairs of the McLaren motorhome, back toward the paddock’s center. The roar of engines was slightly muffled here—just enough to hear the hum of conversation, the clicking of photographers resetting lenses, the low static of radios. She moved easily, weaving between teams and team staff.

She’d just passed the Pirelli tent when she spotted him, unmistakable despite the sunglasses and cap—Jos Verstappen, chatting with a Red Bull staffer, nodding at something on a clipboard. He looked up as she approached, pausing mid-sentence.

He was not an easy man—everyone knew it.

She’d seen the way people stiffened when he walked past. Heard the stories. Max never sugarcoated them. His childhood hadn’t been easy; Jos was hard, demanding, relentless. Too much, sometimes.

And yet, Max still loved him.

Not blindly. Not without scars. But intentionally.

Max called him after every race. He texted him when things went wrong

Max loved him.

That was the part Belle always circled back to. Not in blind forgiveness—but in this fierce, complicated loyalty that had shaped who he was. Max could talk about his father’s mistakes and still want to protect him in the same breath.

And Belle, Belle who had lost her own father earlier than she should have…she understood that. The absence still ached. Quietly. Persistently.

Belle had never been on the receiving end of Jos’s temper. Never once. He’d been gruff, sure—especially the first time they met. But not unkind. Not to her.

She suspected that made her an exception.

The paddock thought Jos was all bark, all judgment. But Belle had sat beside him during lunch more than once, sipping coffee while he quizzed Max on fuel mapping like it was a Sunday crossword. She’d seen the sharpness soften when Max smiled, heard the pride he buried under complaints about tire strategy.

It was strange, maybe, but she liked him. Not in a warm, fuzzy way—but in the way you respect a hurricane for what it is and appreciate it when it spares your house.

There was a rare kind of steadiness in people who didn’t lie to themselves about who they were. And Jos knew exactly who he was.

He’d been brutal with Max at times. Too harsh, too strict. But Belle had watched Max pour all that pressure into discipline, pour all that history into determination—and then let her be the place where he could rest.

And Jos saw that. Maybe that’s why he liked her.

He looked up as she approached, the stern line of his mouth twitching into something just short of a smile. For him, it might as well have been a beam of sunshine.

“Belle,” Jos said, his voice rough but warm. “There you are.”

“Hello, Jos,” she greeted, easy and open.

He stepped toward her with the kind of casual nod that could almost pass for affection. “Thought you were with Ferrari.”

“I was. Took a detour.”

Jos huffed. “McLaren has better lighting. Can’t blame you.”

They stepped to the side, out of the path of two mechanics wheeling a cart. Belle found herself watching him for a moment—his weathered face, the tightness still in his shoulders. 

She knew what people said about him, knew what he’d been like with Max as a child. Strict to the point of brutal. All pressure, all fire.

But Max still called him Papa sometimes, when he was tired or fond.

Still lit up when Jos showed up on a race weekend, even if he didn’t say it.

Love could look strange from the outside. And still be real.

She never pretended to understand it. But she respected it.

“You look good,” Jos said, nodding to her. “Max said Monaco’s treating you both well. ”

Belle smiled slightly, brushing a wind-blown strand of hair behind her ear. “It has been.”

Jos made a noise that might’ve been agreement—or amusement. “How’s Lilly settling in?”

“Still a menace,” Belle replied, smirking. “She shredded one of Max’s Red Bull shirts last week. Looked very pleased with herself afterward.”

He studied her then, for a long moment. Not judging—just weighing. Jos never said anything he didn’t mean. Which made what he said next hit harder than it had any right to.

“I know I wasn’t an easy father,” Jos said, eyes fixed ahead, as if the admission would be easier without eye contact. “I pushed too hard. Got too angry. Expected too much.”

Belle didn’t speak. She knew better than to fill silence when someone like Jos offered it willingly.

“But Max…” Jos exhaled. “He still calls. Still wants me at races. Still makes space.”

“He loves you,” Belle said quietly.

Jos nodded once, jaw tight. “He tells me things now,” he said quietly. “Little things. What you made for dinner. What you said when he had a bad sim race. How the cats sleep on your side of the bed.”

Belle felt her chest tighten—but not in a bad way. Just in that quiet, overwhelming way that meant this mattered.

“I used to worry,” Jos went on. “That he’d burn out. Too much, too soon. Like I pushed him past something soft he was supposed to keep. But with you...”

He trailed off. Didn’t finish the sentence. Jos didn’t need to.

Belle understood anyway.

With her, Max had something soft again. Something to rest in. Something to hold.

“I don’t want to be the only soft thing in his life,” Belle said gently. “But I’ll be there, if he needs it.”

Jos nodded. “He does.”

A pause. He looked at her again. “I’m glad it’s you.”

Belle’s throat tightened. “Thank you.”

“He’s steadier with you,” Jos added. “Not softer. But anchored. Like he knows where to land.”

Belle blinked away the sudden sting in her eyes. “He does the same for me.”

Jos’s mouth curved, just a little. “That’s how it should be.”

They stood like that for another few seconds, in the shifting quiet of the paddock—engines humming, people passing, a thousand things moving around them. But it felt still.

Then, as if remembering who he was, Jos cleared his throat and stepped back. “Go on, before someone accuses you of defecting to Red Bull.”

“I’ll deny everything,” Belle promised.

Jos nodded once, a final farewell. “Tell Max to call this evening. He never remembers.”

“He does,” Belle said, turning away with a small smile. “He just likes when you remind him.”

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/MonacoMadness:

Someone zoom in on this pic. She’s laughing at something Lily said.

THE EYE CONTACT.

WAKE UP SHEEPLE.

@/GarageGhouls: Me: they’re just friends. Also me: builds color-coded map of Belle’s appearances near Lando over 18 months

@/SprinkleTheory:

REMEMBER THE SPRINKLE CONVERSATION???

Don’t act like y’all forgot the sprinkles.

Lando and Belle. Ice cream. Eye contact. ENDGAME.

@/CharlesStan97:

Charles could be on fire and no one would notice because y’all are too busy shipping his sister with Lando.

@/OscarPSpyCam:

Meanwhile Oscar is just thrilled his girlfriend and Lando’s or Max’s maybe-girlfriend are bonding over iced coffee and judging everyone.

@/LandoNation94: She was with Lily later too??? Like fully laughing at something together like besties??? What do they know

@/BelleWatch2025: Everyone: She’s dating Max. Me, seeing her chat and giggle with Lily: 👀👀👀

@/MonacoMadness: Belle is either: a) secretly dating Lando b) adopting the entire McLaren team as her emotional support family c) both

@/RedFlaggedRomance: I’m telling you. Belle being with Oscar’s girlfriend all before qualifying?? That’s some soft launch energy

@/OpenYourEyesF1: She’s in the papaya now. The soft colors. The oat milk lattes. The laughing. Ferrari could never.

@/PapayaTheory: So what you’re saying is: Isabelle is now friends with Lily AND STILL INSISTS SHE’S “JUST A FRIEND” Right.

@/gridgossip: DID I JUST SEE ISABELLE LECLERC CHATTING WITH JOS VERSTAPPEN??? and like… smiling??? And he WAS TOO???

@/chaoticprancinghorse: That man growled at a cameraman last year and now he’s out here looking friendly because Belle showed up??? What kind of soft power diplomacy is this???

@/f1girldetective: Belle. Babe. What spell did you cast on Jos Verstappen and is it available in serum form??

@/paddockcryptid: you’re telling me jos verstappen—the same man who looks like he’s planning a coup 80% of the time—was out here smiling??? Because of isabelle leclerc??? i’m ascending

@/maxsmiletracker: First the wallpaper, now they are chatting in the paddock?!?

@/wheelnutsanon: BREAKING: Jos Verstappen spotted having a pleasant conversation with Isabelle Leclerc. Charles Leclerc reportedly still screaming into a pillow somewhere

***

Belle had barely stepped through the glass doors of Ferrari hospitality when Charles turned on her like a heat-seeking missile.

“Why were you talking to Jos Verstappen?”

She blinked. “Hi, Charles. I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

He stalked toward her, cap slightly askew, eyes wild in that very specific way he only got during Monaco weekend meltdown mode™.

“No, seriously. I just saw you outside. With Jos. Why?”

Belle exhaled slowly. “Because we ran into each other. We exchanged words. As people sometimes do.”

Charles narrowed his eyes. “It looked longer than words. You were smiling.”

She dropped her bag onto one of the hospitality chairs with more force than necessary. “What exactly do you think is happening here, Charles? Spell it out. Because first it was GP, then Lando, and now—now—you think I’m flirting with Max’s father?!”

“You smiled at him, Belle!”

“I also smile at dogs, coffee, and your PR assistant. That doesn’t mean I’m planning a romantic future with any of them.”

Charles scowled. “You don’t understand. The whole paddock watches you. They speculate. And it distracts me.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry my existence is personally offensive to your championship hopes,” Belle said flatly. “Do you want me to start wearing a paper bag over my head?”

Charles blinked. “That’s not—”

“You’re stressed. I get that. Monaco is important to you. But I’m not the enemy here, Charles. I’m not out there giving interviews or calling press conferences. I was walking back from McLaren. I ran into Jos. We talked. That’s it.”

“He’s Max’s dad,” Charles said, like it was the punchline to a joke she didn’t get.

“And Max is a person I know,” Belle replied, tone tight. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Charles narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”

Belle gave him a long, unimpressed look. “Nothing. Because I’m not doing this with you.”

“Belle—”

“No, Charles.” Her voice dropped, low and firm. “You’re rude. You’re exhausted. And instead of admitting that, you’re picking a fight with me.”

Charles faltered. “I didn’t mean—”

“You did. But it’s fine. You’ll be insufferable until Sunday and then pretend none of this happened.”

She walked past him, brushing lightly against his shoulder. “Next time, just say you’re scared of losing and stop dragging my coffee chats into it.”

Charles stood frozen, holding his espresso cup like it had betrayed him.

Belle didn’t look back.

[wileys-russo]

“I told you it didn’t look right.” Alexia or Leah, IKEA furniture building lol, my fave trope

no instructions II a.putellas

"the ash grey or the charcoal grey?" you questioned with a frown turning around and holding up both pillows as your girlfriend sighed tiredly, knowing too well the question was rhetorical and you already knew which one you wanted.

"whatever you like amor." alexia mumbled as she had done over and over as you'd dragged her around ikea for the last three hours.

if you asked her there was absolutely no difference between the two cushions you had in hand, and they wouldn't even be seen by anyone bit the pair of you anyway considering they were for the bedroom.

not that there was anything wrong with the masses of utterly useless throw cushions already taking up half the bed, but you watched one episode of grand designs and suddenly the 'aura' of the apartment was off and the 'makeover' was on.

"mmm i think the charcoal. ale?" you glanced at her over your shoulder as the footballer only hummed, leaning against the cart with her chin resting on her fist making you smile. tossing four of the ever so slightly darker cushions in you returned to her side.

"te amo." you spoke softly, well aware that shopping was only really enjoyable for one of you and that was not your girlfriend. "te amo." alexia mumbled back with a tired smile as you pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek.

"i think that is everything. we just need to go and find the desk, the outdoor table and four of those chairs we liked in the warehouse, pay for it, somehow fit it in the car, and then i will buy you some lunch grumpy." you teased, your girlfriend exhaling and straightening up, making you chuckle as she took off with the cart and you hurried to catch up.

"mi amor i am not grumpy. i am....eh what did you call it? hangry?"

~

"-and you are sure do not want help? not even from the instructions?" you hinted, waving the small stack of papers around in your hand as alexia firmly shook her head, everything laid out in front of her on the study floor where she was crouched down taking inventory.

"princesa. it is a desk, muy fácil! you are good at the buying, i am good at the building." the blonde flexed her biceps with a smirk making you roll your eyes and fake gag.

"vale! call me if you need me." you bent down to peck her lips, sending her a playful glare as her hand shot out and slapped your ass as you walked off.

"un accidente!" the midfielder grinned twirling a screwdriver around her fingers in an annoyingly attractive way as you hummed and narrowed your eyes at her with a small smile.

"sure it was putellas, sure it was."

an hour or so later you looked up from where you were curled up on the lounge with your book, a smile of amusement forming at hearing yet another thud and a groan.

some colorful language filled the air as you heard your girlfriend yell and curse at another inanimate object for for what felt like the tenth time since she'd commenced her expert building.

"bebé? want some help now?" you called out with a quiet chuckle. "no!" the blonde yelled back and you could hear the obvious scowl of frustration in her voice as you shook your head at her stubbornness and tuned back into your book.

easily another hour and six or so chapters later it was ripped from your hand and the midfielder towered over you with excitement plastered all over her face, loose baby hairs that had fallen out of her ponytail slicked to her forehead with sweat.

"i did it!" she announced proudly, marking your page for you and tossing the book onto the coffee table your feet were propped up on, puffing out her chest. "muy bien amor, and it only took you...two and a half hours! very speedy." you teased making her eyes roll as she held a hand out to help you up.

"watch your mouth." the blonde warned with the accented english you adored dearly, a grin still on your face as you pecked her lips a few times, allowing her to drag you off to the study.

"¡mira!" alexia dropped her hand and wiggled her fingers at the now completed desk, a slight frown curling into your features as you moved closer and inspected it. "que?" your girlfriends hands now dropped to her hips as she scowled at you in annoyance.

"are you sure this is right ale? it doesn't look like the display model." you hummed, ducking down to look at it properly as the blonde scoffed.

"de nada! i spend my day off shopping, building, driving. ni besos, ni atención-" the footballer threw her hands up in protest, frustration boiling over as you hid your amused smile by biting down on your bottom lip.

"okay okay okay! thank you mi vida, my big strong builder." you cooed playfully, craning your neck to kiss her as her head swiveled away from you with a huff and your lips met her sweat dampened cheek instead.

"ale. vamos, give me a kiss." you smiled, poking at her sides as she mumbled something under her breath and refused to meet your gaze.

"you know its very hot that you can build something without the instructions baby." your hands slipped up her tank top, nails scratching at her sides as her eyes dropped down to meet yours, slight pout on your lips as her face visibly softened.

"i can do a lot of things princesa." alexia assured, bad mood seemingly melting away as her grin matched yours, hands finding refuge on your hips as she leaned down to press her mouth to yours.

a content sigh left your lips as her large hands moved around to grip your ass, a quick tap to your thigh all you needed to jump up as she easily caught you, lips not even leaving yours for a second as your legs wrapped around her waist.

walking you backwards the footballers tongue made itself at home in your mouth for a moment before her teeth nipped at your bottom lip, tugging on it teasingly as she sat you down on the desk and pulled on the hem of your shirt wordlessly asking you to take it off.

but before you could even move an inch there was a squeaking and suddenly the desk was giving in, legs concaving as you let out a yell and grabbed out for your girlfriend who yanked you up and off the desk right in time for it to fall completely apart in pieces on the floor.

"alexia! i told you it didn't look right!"

[cheriedivine]

𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 | chapter 6

previous | chapter 6 | next

꩜ synopsis: you’re best friends. just best friends. except when she lingers a little too long at your door. except when she calls you her favorite, and it doesn’t feel like a joke. except when her fingers graze yours and neither of you pull away. except when you start to wonder if she’s wondering, too…

꩜ pairing: Ellie Williams x Fem reader (No use of y/n)

꩜ content warnings: none i think lol

꩜ WC: 10k (IT’S WORTH IT THO)

꩜ Author’s note: GUYS WE ARE SO BACKKKK and also HAPPY PRIDE MONTH I LUV YALL. this chapter took a lil too long (sorry) BUT I THINK IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT I WANTED TO GIVE YALL SOME SOFT MOMENTS AND YEAH. i hope u like this chapter and my ass is already brainstorming chapter 7 (might do a lil horny moment there lol) ANYWAYS LOVE U THANKS FOR 400!!

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧

You woke up with the taste of her still on your lips.

You could barely even remember how you got to bed last night, when all your mind could think about was Ellie.

And the kiss.

And her lips fitting so perfectly against yours, and the way her hands had gripped your waist like she couldn’t bear to let go. The nervous flicker in her eyes, like she couldn’t believe this was really happening. God. Those eyes.

Your cheeks were warm, even in the quiet chill of your bedroom, and the weight of last night pressed gently against your chest, not heavy, just… undeniable. You could still feel her hands at your waist. Her mouth. The way she said your name right before you left. Like she didn’t want you to go.

It made your stomach flip all over again.

Now it was 8:00 a.m., and your alarm was blaring obnoxiously on your small bedside table. You groaned, throwing a pillow over your face, and let it muffle the pathetic little noise that escaped you. Sunshine bled through your window, soft and persistent, warming your cheeks until you finally forced yourself upright, slipping your feet into your slippers with a heavy sigh.

You still hadn’t changed into pajamas. Just yesterday’s clothes, wrinkled and clinging to the scent of Ellie’s studio. Your makeup had melted into smudged shadows under your eyes, mascara streaked across your cheeks like war paint. Cute.

You stood in front of the mirror for a second too long, blinking at your own reflection like you were trying to place who you were now. Same eyes. Same face. Same everything. But you felt different. Like something had shifted under your skin.

A quick cold shower brought you back to life. You scrubbed away the sleep, the makeup, the evidence of how thoroughly Ellie had kissed you the night before. She was going to be at the diner. Like always. But this time it would be different. This time, you had a secret. One only the two of you shared. And you couldn’t help but smile.

Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad.

You tugged on your white blouse, the fabric soft and familiar as it slipped over your frame. You buttoned it slowly, smoothing it out with distracted hands. The black jeans you’d laid over the chair caught your foot when you tried stepping into them, nearly sending you toppling to the floor. You cursed under your breath.

The streets were still quiet when you stepped outside. Cool air kissed your cheeks, and the sky was that pale kind of blue that only really happens early in the morning, when everything feels just a little too bright. You let the walk to the diner clear your mind, headphones in, fingers gripping your bag, while your other hand was kept warm in your jacket’s pocket.

By the time you arrived, Maria was already inside, phone pressed to her ear and one hand flipping through a clipboard like it had personally wronged her.

“Morning,” you offered carefully, stepping behind the counter.

Maria barely looked up. “You’re on manager brain today, sweetheart. We’ve got vendors calling about next week, two broken coffee machines, and someone booked a field trip for high schoolers without telling me. Get ready.”

You blinked. “Good morning to you too.”

“Welcome to hell,” she said flatly, tossing you the keys to the back office.

The next hour passed in a whirlwind. You juggled emails, answered calls, restocked the front fridge, organized the new shipment of paper straws, and tracked down a missing invoice that had somehow ended up taped inside the freezer door. By the time you caught a breather, your hair was slipping from your ponytail, and your hands smelled like lemon cleaner and burnt toast.

And then—

The bell above the door jingled.

You didn’t even have to look up. It’s like your body just knew.

Ellie strolled in like she wasn’t twelve hours post-kiss. Like she hadn’t made you dizzy with her eyes and her mouth and the way she said “wait.”

She was wearing that same denim jacket, hair a little messy, camera bag hanging at her side like always. But the second her eyes locked on yours, something flickered in them. Something soft and knowing and only for you, making your heart stumble. God, it was unfair.

Maria glanced between you and Ellie. “Your girlfriend’s here.”

“She’s not—” you started, and then shut your mouth.

Maria didn’t press, just smirked as she went back to balancing the register.

Ellie walked slowly toward the counter, each step echoing louder than it had any right to. Her fingers toyed with the strap of her camera. You couldn’t look away.

“Hey,” she said, voice low and warm.

You swallowed. “Hey.”

She tilted her head. “Rough morning?”

You gave a weak laugh. “You try arguing with a soda vendor while scrubbing ketchup off laminated menus.”

Ellie leaned forward a little, elbows on the counter. “Need me to kick someone’s ass?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Take a seat, Williams. I’ll be right there.”

“Take your time,” she said softly, eyes not leaving yours. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And god help you, but that felt like a promise.

You didn’t have to hand her a menu to know what she wanted. It was Friday, still early. Which meant chocolate chip pancakes with extra whipped cream for Ellie, always. You headed toward the kitchen, called out the order, then grabbed the pot of freshly brewed coffee and made your way to her usual spot: the corner booth by the window, sunlight pooling across the table.

You slid the cup toward her. Your fingers brushed. Of course they did. Like a fucking cliché.

You poured her a cup, watching the steam curl upward in little swirls. Ellie looked down at the coffee for a second, then back up at you.

“So…” she said, eyes glittering.

You raised a brow. “So?”

She grinned. “Are you pulling coffee serving duty all morning, or do I get to talk to you like a normal person soon?”

You gave her a sideways glance. “You desperate already?”

She smirked, but underneath it…she was. She really fucking was. She wanted to grab you by the waist and kiss you stupid. Wanted to bury her face in your neck and breathe you in. Wanted to replay last night again and again until her mouth remembered the exact shape of yours.

But instead, she leaned back and said, “Talking about desperation like you weren’t all over me yesterday.”

You laughed loudly. A few heads turned from other tables, but you didn’t care. “Remind me,” you said, playfully squinting at her, “why I kissed you back?”

Ellie sipped her coffee, eyes on yours. “Because I’m super hot, obviously.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “You have a lot of confidence. That’s admirable.” And with that, you turned to greet a family stepping into the diner, your voice softening into that warm customer-service tone she’d heard a hundred times before, but now it made her feel dizzy.

Ellie watched you walk away, fingers curled loosely around her mug.

God. She was so fucking gone.

You moved around the diner like you owned the place, like you were stitched into the seams of this place. Saying hi to regulars. Refilling coffee. Smiling that shy, crooked little smile you thought no one noticed when you messed up a table number or dropped a fork. But Ellie noticed. She noticed everything.

She sipped her coffee slowly, letting it burn just a little on the way down. It gave her something to focus on. Something to anchor her while her brain replayed the moment your lips touched hers—over and over again like a skipping record.

You’d kissed her back.

You wanted her.

And now here you were, in your stupid little white blouse with your name tag slightly off-center and your hair pulled back messily and she couldn’t stop thinking about how it had felt to have your hands in her hair, pulling just enough to make her knees weak.

She tapped her fingers against the mug, trying to act normal. Chill. Casual. Like her whole world didn’t stop spinning every time you looked at her.

Yeah. She was doomed.

You slid into the booth across from her a little later, after Maria had waved you off for a quick break with an approving nod. Two plates balanced on your arm, hers stacked with pancakes, and yours with a side of toast and eggs you’d barely had time to nibble this morning. Ellie looked up, eyes softening, and immediately sat up straighter, like she hadn’t been anxiously fidgeting with the sugar packets for the past ten minutes.

“Bless your soul,” she murmured dramatically, eyes fixed on the plate of pancakes you set in front of her.

You rolled your eyes and sat down with your own food, hiding your smile behind your iced coffee. “You say that every Friday.”

“Because it’s true every Friday.”

She didn’t even pretend to wait, she dug her fork straight into the stack, scooping up a monstrous bite with melted chocolate chips and whipped cream hanging off the edge. You watched her with a smirk, resting your chin in your hand.

“God,” she said around a mouthful, “this healed something in me.”

You laughed softly, watching her chew. Her eyes closed like she was having a spiritual experience. “You’re such an idiot,” you said.

She swallowed and pointed her fork at you. “And you’re enabling me.”

You tapped your nail against the condensation on your glass, almost nervous. Picking at your toast for a second, then glanced up at her. “So uh… Sally’s out of town for the weekend.”

Ellie looked up mid-bite. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, her dad’s birthday or something. She left early this morning.” You tried to sound casual. Chill. Normal. “So I was thinking—” you traced a circle on your napkin, “—if you’re not doing anything tonight, maybe you could come over? Just hang out. Like we usually do.”

There was a beat of silence. This was normal. You did this regularly, but it felt so different now.

Ellie had frozen mid-chew, fork halfway to her mouth again, eyes fixed on you with that quiet, intense look you were starting to recognize as her version of spiraling.

Then she cleared her throat. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be cool.”

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your grin at bay. “I figured we could order food or something. Watch a movie. I don’t know.”

“Yeah sounds fun,” she replied almost immediately. “I’ve got a meeting later, but I can pick you up after your shift? If that’s okay?” Ellie’s voice dropped a bit.

“That’d be perfect.” Your voice came out a little too soft, a little too eager, but Ellie didn’t call you out on it. She just smiled like her chest might implode.

She looked back down at her plate, trying to play it cool, reaching for another forkful but her coordination was suddenly… not great. Her wrist knocked the edge of the plate and a glob of whipped cream splattered right onto the tip of her nose.

You blinked. Then stifled a laugh.

“What?” she asked, totally unaware.

You reached across the table without thinking, thumb brushing under her nose with practiced ease. Ellie froze as you wiped the cream off gently, and your thumb lingered…maybe a second too long.

You pulled your hand back and grinned. “That’s payback for that one time in my living room, remember?”

Ellie blinked. “What—what time in your—” Then realization hit her like a truck. “Fuck off. How do you even remember that?” Her cheeks were suddenly beetroot red, and she was wishing the earth could just swallow her right now.

You laughed, full and warm, and it made a couple customers glance your way, but you didn’t care. “You literally licked the sauce off your finger after whipping it from my chin, like some rom-com shit.”

“God forbid a girl is romantic,” Ellie hissed, face redder than the ketchup bottle behind you. “You’re actually evil.”

“I’m just observant.” You sipped your coffee with a smug little smile.

Ellie groaned dramatically and shoved another bite of pancake into her mouth to shut herself up.

But inside? Inside, she was losing it. You remembered something that proved just how long you’d been watching her. Caring. Storing pieces of her like treasure. And now you were inviting her over and smiling like she wasn’t the center of your goddamn universe.

You glanced up at the clock and sighed. “I should get back. Maria’s gonna start sending me passive-aggressive texts if I take too long.”

Ellie nodded, trying to pull herself together. “Yeah. Go rescue the ketchup bottles.”

You stood, hands lingering on the edge of the table. “I’ll see you later then?”

She looked up, mouth tugging into a lopsided smile. “You know the answer already.”

As you walked back behind the counter, Ellie leaned back in the booth with her heart racing. Her nose still tingled from where you touched her. She tried to refocus on her plate, but the whipped cream tasted like something entirely new now.

And god, she couldn’t wait for tonight.

She lingered in her seat for a little while, waiting for it to be time for her meeting. She watched you from afar, your every move, how you leaned in the slightest when a little kid was asking you for something, how you smiled politely to the old ladies sitting on the other side of the diner, and how your tone changed to a more bossy one when making calls to the vendors.

Her hands slipped inside her camera bag to grab the device, she turned it on with a little click and focused her lense on you while you weren’t watching.

Click.

Just a quick candid. You weren’t even looking at her. You were half-yelling into the phone, frowning over a clipboard, mouthing something to Maria. And still, you looked like a fucking angel. Radiant and infuriating. It made Ellie feel sick with how much she wanted you.

Her phone buzzed on the table, snapping her out of the haze. It was her reminder of the meeting she had, she quickly clicked on dismiss and got up, gathering her camera bag and leaving a five dollar bill underneath the empty coffee mug.

You’d just finished wiping down a counter and tossed her a small smile when she left. One of those stupidly soft ones that made her all warm and fluttery. She gave you small wave, trying to play it cool, but once she got out she exhaled hard, shoving her hands deep into her jacket pockets.

The door made a small tink sound as she stepped out the diner, boots thudding against the pavement making her way toward her truck, keys jingling on one hand. The weather was rather chilly for September, making most of the leaves fall and land directly on her windshield, fantastic.

The car ride to the meeting was peaceful, a soft indie song playing through the car speakers, windows slid down, hitting Ellie’s cheeks softly, almost as softly as how your fingertips had felt on her face. It was hilarious, how all she could think about was you, not like she didn’t before, but this time she didn’t feel guilty about it, she didn’t feel ashamed of it, of thinking about you, knowing that you felt the same way somehow.

She sat in the driver’s seat a beat too long, just staring at the wheel like it might talk to her, she didn’t even know why she got so anxious all of a sudden, the meeting was with one of those rich old dudes from the gala, the one that praised the work she had done for the fundraiser, and complimented her photography, so why the hell did she feel like she couldn’t breathe?

“Stop overthinking it for fucks sake.” she muttered to no one. She shut the door behind her as she got out of the truck, fingers tapping nervously against the fabric of her jeans, her bag slung loosely on her shoulder.

The building was sleek and modern, polished concrete, glass doors, tall white ceilings. Ellie stood in the lobby like she didn’t belong there, her camera bag strapped tight across her chest, her boots echoing faintly on the marble floor.

A receptionist with bright red lipstick glanced up from behind the desk. “Hi, can I help you?”

“Um, yeah. I have a meeting with Mr. Davis. I’m—uh, Ellie. Williams.” Her voice cracked a little, and she cleared her throat too late.

The woman smiled kindly. “You’re expected. Fifth floor. Take the elevator down the hall, I’m sure he’ll be in Conference B.”

Conference B. Ellie felt like she was walking into a damn interview. Or a trap. She hadn’t been in a proper office since college. She caught her reflection in the elevator’s metallic walls and ran a quick hand through her hair. Her jacket still smelled faintly like the diner, pancakes and vanilla and you. She blinked at her reflection. “Get it together,” she muttered.

The office on the fifth floor was quiet. Big windows let in the dull gray afternoon light, and modern art hung in minimalist frames on the walls. When she reached the door labeled Conference B, she hesitated for half a second before knocking.

“Come in,” a voice called, a gentle rasp to his tone,

Ellie stepped inside and found Mr. Davis at a long wooden table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, glasses perched low on his nose as he flipped through some papers. He looked up with a warm smile.

“Miss Williams. Glad you could make it, my assistant insisted on sending you an email but I told her kids nowadays are just a phone call away,” He laughed, eyes crinkling on the sides while he greeted her with a firm handshake.

“You can call me Ellie. Thanks for, uh… having me,” she said awkwardly, sinking into the chair across from him.

“I’ve been looking through your full portfolio,” he began, tapping on the table, cutting straight to business. “The photos from the gala were stunning. But your older work? That one portrait of the girl in the kitchen light?” He smiled. “That was haunting.”

Ellie’s heart skipped. He’d looked at her personal work. The stuff she didn’t even link on her website. The girl in the kitchen light… that was you.

Ellie blinked. “Wow. Um. Thank you. That means a lot.”

He nodded, steepling his fingers. “I won't waste your time, so I’ll get to it. We’re curating a series for the end of the year. One artist per show, all solo galleries. It’s meant to spotlight emerging voices. I’d like to offer you one of those spots.”

There was a ringing in her ears.

“I—I’m sorry, did you just say—?”

“A solo gallery,” he repeated, smiling. “Yours. End of the year. Full feature. We’ll handle the printing, marketing and venue costs. You just focus on the art”

Ellie stared at him. Her mouth opened and closed twice. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. You’ve got something special. We want to give it a platform, if you’re interested of course.”

If she was interested? Ellie almost laughed.

Instead, she cleared her throat. “Yeah. Yes. I mean—yeah, I’d love that. That sounds amazing.”

She sat there in stunned silence. It felt like her brain had detached from her body. Her fingers were numb. She could still feel the ghost of your lips on hers from earlier, like a dream she wasn’t sure had really happened…and now this?

“I—shit. Sorry. I just…” She rubbed the back of her neck, laughing breathlessly. “I don’t even know what to say. This is—I’m kind of freaking out.”

“That’s expected,” Mr. Davis said with a gentle grin. “You’ll have until the start of December to prepare. We’d like a cohesive set, preferably new work. But I can walk you through the logistics.”

“Yeah,” Ellie said, still dazed. “Yes. I’m in. Totally in. I just—I need to wrap my head around this. I didn’t even think I was gonna be in a gallery at all this year, let alone get my own one.”

“You earned it,” he said, pushing a folder across the table. “There’s a timeline in here, a tentative contract, nothing binding yet. Look it over. We’ll schedule a formal walkthrough next month.”

Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

Three months. A whole gallery exhibit. Her name on the wall. Her photos—printed, framed, hung—for people to actually walk through.

“Fuck,” she whispered, mostly to herself.

Roger laughed again. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

She nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Yes. I’m in.” She felt like her heart was beating in her throat. Her fingers gripped the folder a little too tightly. “Thank you,” she said, quieter now. “I won’t let you down sir.”

Mr. Davis smiled, “Good. Then I’ll have my assistant send over the details tonight. Deadline for prints is December the 3rd.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, some talk about lighting and framing and themes, but Ellie barely heard any of it. Her mind was buzzing. Screaming. Repeating the words “feature you” like a song lyric stuck in her head.

When she finally left the building, the folder tucked under her arm, her boots felt too loud against the floors again. She stepped outside into the cold air and just stood there, motionless, for a full minute. Ellie was halfway down the street before she remembered how to breathe properly. She climbed into her truck and just sat there again, heart slamming against her ribs. She stared through the windshield, hands loose in her lap, and let herself freak out a little.

This was real.

She was going to have a show.

Her art was going to be in a gallery.

She laughed still a little in disbelief and then immediately pulled out her phone.

Joel.

She needed Joel.

The phone rang twice before he picked up, voice low and familiar through the receiver. “Hey, kid.”

“Okay,” she said, breathless, “don’t freak out, but also maybe do freak out because—holy shit—I just had a meeting.”

There was a pause.

“And one of the old dudes from the gala just offered me a solo show. A fucking gallery show, Joel.”

“…You serious?”

“I’m dead serious,” she said, grinning so wide it hurt. “He said I’ve got three months to prep. Three. Fucking. Months.”

She heard Joel let out a long breath on the other end, like he was pacing or rubbing a hand over his face. “Ellie… damn, kiddo. That’s incredible.”

Ellie bit her lip, leaned back against the seat, her throat tightening for no reason. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

Joel laughed. A real one. Warm and deep and a little proud. “You better not. Not on the dashboard at least.”

“I don’t know if I can do it,” she said quietly.

“You can,” he replied firmly. “You’ve been doing it for years. You’re just finally gonna get the credit for it.”

She blinked fast. “Thanks.”

Another pause. Then, softer: “You tell her yet?”

Ellie’s stomach flipped. “Tell who what?”

“Don’t play dumb. The girl. The one you can’t shut up about. The one you kissed.”

“Oh my God,” she groaned, covering her face. Joel chuckled. “You called me last night sounding like you were thirteen again. I figured it happened.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Yeah,” Ellie finally said. “It happened.”

“And?”

“And… I can’t stop thinking about it.”

He was quiet for a second. Then: “Told ya, didn’t I?”

Ellie smiled again, that soft, private kind of smile that made her want to press her face into her jacket sleeve and hide.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “You did.”

The late afternoon lull had finally settled over the diner, sunlight filtering through the windows in long, golden strips across the checkerboard floor. You wiped down the last table, the damp rag dragging slow arcs across the laminate, more out of habit than necessity.

You weren’t technically stalling. Just... delaying the inevitable moment when you’d have to go into the back and deal with the prep list. Or think about Ellie again.

Not that you hadn’t been doing that all day. The image of her lingering by the front door earlier, had been playing on repeat in your head and you couldn’t shut it off.

You barely registered the footsteps behind you until a familiar voice cut in.

"That table’s gonna be the cleanest one in the county if you keep rubbing it like that."

You startled slightly, looking up to see Maria leaning against the counter, arms crossed and a knowing smile tugging at her mouth.

You blinked. "Oh. I was just—"

"Thinking about your girlfriend again?" she teased, raising one eyebrow.

Your face went hot instantly. "She’s not—"

Maria didn’t even let you finish. "You mean to tell me the girl who’s been hanging around like a lost puppy for ages isn’t your girlfriend?"

You sputtered. "She’s not— I mean, we’re just—"

"Oh my god," she said, grinning wide. "You kissed her, didn’t you."

You froze. A beat of silence passed, and then you just nodded, slow.

Maria’s eyes went huge. "I knew it. Knew it the second I saw the way she looked at you when you got that promotion. That girl was down bad."

You groaned, half-laughing, half-burying your face in the towel. “Jesus, Maria.”

She cackled, clearly enjoying herself. “I swear, this is like listening to high school gossip again. I’m just waiting for you to tell me it happened under the bleachers during a school dance.”

You groaned louder, now officially mortified. “Okay, I take it back. I never should’ve said anything. I’m taking it to the grave next time.”

Maria grinned, entirely unbothered. “Too late. You already let it slip, and now I need the details.”

You hesitated, heart still fluttering like a trapped moth. “It was… I don’t know. We were just talking and then it—she just kissed me. Or I kissed her. I don’t even know. I think I blacked out.”

Maria blinked slowly, amused. “You blacked out?”

“Emotionally,” you clarified, flailing a hand. “Like, my brain just completely short-circuited. One second we’re just looking at each other and the next I’m…God, it felt so unreal. Like we weren’t even us for a second. And now she’s coming to pick me up and I don’t know if she’s regretting it or freaking out or—”

Maria cut in gently. “Or she’s walking around somewhere with that same dumb smile you’ve had on all day.”

You paused.

“…Is it that obvious?”

“Like a neon sign over your head, honey.”

You groaned again, dropping your head onto the freshly wiped table. “I’m gonna die.”

Maria chuckled, stepping closer to squeeze your shoulder. “Honestly, it makes sense now. All those nights I’d catch guys slipping you their numbers and you’d smile politely and then throw ‘em in the trash five minutes later.”

You lifted your head with a tired laugh. “What? I wasn’t that bad.”

Maria gave you a look. “Please. The only time you ever blushed that hard was when Ellie showed up the first time with her dumb camera.”

You blinked at her. “You noticed all that?”

“I notice everything, sweetheart. It’s part of the job description.”

Something about the way she said that made your chest go soft and achy all at once.

Maria’s voice was gentle. “I don’t know where it’s going, and neither do you. But that girl’s been orbiting you for a while now. And from what I’ve seen? She’s got it bad. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s more scared than you are.”

You swallowed that familiar lump rising in your throat. “Yeah.”

Maria patted your back and leaned a little closer. “You don’t have to rush it. Just... don’t hide from it, either.”

You nodded, her words settling somewhere deep in your chest like the warmest kind of ache.

A long beat passed. Then Maria smiled and added, “I’ll wrap up for the day, you go back and grab your stuff before your girlfriend comes.” she teased, crossing her arms.

You let out a snort-laugh and tossed the towel at her. “You’re the worst”

“And yet, here you are, confessing your little secrets to me.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was lighter than it had been all day. Somehow, Maria always knew how to do that.

You pulled out your phone as soon as Maria ducked back into the kitchen, her laughter still echoing behind you. Your fingers hovered over Ellie’s contact for a second before you typed:

“I’m a free elf now, lmk when u are coming.”

You stared at the message for a beat before hitting send, then immediately locked your phone like that would somehow stop the nerves pooling in your stomach.

It didn’t.

A couple minutes later, the screen lit up.

“be there in 10. still got your weird radio station on.”

You smiled.

You spotted her truck as it pulled into the lot, the headlights washing over the pavement in lazy arcs. You grabbed your bag, gave Maria a parting wave, and stepped outside into the late evening air.

Ellie leaned over from the driver’s seat to push open the passenger door. Her expression was soft, like she’d been replaying the same spiral you had, alone in her car.

“Hey,” you said, sliding in.

“Hey,” she replied, her voice lower than usual, but with that familiar smirk plastered on her face.

Ellie’s truck smelled faintly like pine-scented air freshener, the radio murmured quietly beneath the hum of the engine, and the windows were down just enough to let the autumn air sneak in.

“So,” Ellie said, glancing over at you with a teasing grin, “Maria let you off early for good behavior?”

You raised a brow. “Obviously, ”

Ellie laughed, shoulders shaking a little. “Mhm yeah, sounds about right.”

“She also said I’ve been turning down guys since I started waitressing ‘cause I had a type. And apparently—” you shot her a look, “—you’re it.”

Ellie flushed immediately, gripping the wheel like it might run away. “Okay, wow.”

You laughed. “She literally called me out.”

“That’s just—” She let out a sharp breath, shaking her head. “Hilarious honesty, but now I'm intrigued… is it true or you just hate men.”

You grinned, the tension bleeding out of your shoulders. “Mmm maybe both.”

She glanced over at you, eyes crinkling. “Yeah right”

It got quiet for a second, but not heavy, just soft. You glanced at her hands gripping the wheel, tattoo in full display and that tiny freckle by her jaw twitching like she was clenching it. You suddenly felt hyper-aware of the space between you. Of the night before. Of her mouth.

Of yours.

You cleared your throat. “How was the meeting?”

Ellie exhaled, like she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in breath. “Insane. I’ll tell you everything, I promise. I just—I’m still kind of processing it. It doesn’t feel real yet.”

You nodded. “Take your time.”

She looked at you then. Really looked. Her eyes flicked down to your lips for just a second before darting back up. “We are going to yours right?”

“Yes ma’am,” you said softly.

Ellie nodded and turned onto the road, one hand loose on the wheel, the other fidgeting with the hem of her pocket. You watched the city roll by outside your window, the lights soft and unfocused. Neither of you spoke much on the way home. It was that comfortable silence that both of you fell into after a long day.

After a couple minutes, Ellie pulled into your driveway, turning off the engine of the truck, gathering her jacket and camera bag from the back seats. You stepped out and collected your keys from your bag, juggling with them for a second before getting the door open.

The moment you unlocked the door, Ellie followed you inside like she’d been there a thousand times before. And she had, but this time was different. This time, her eyes lingered a little longer on the curve of your back, her fingers brushed yours when she passed you her jacket, and when she toed off her boots, she did it quietly. Carefully.

“Make yourself at home,” you said, tossing your bag onto the couch. “I’m gonna go change into something less ‘I yelled at a Karen today.’”

Ellie let out a breath of a laugh. “Take your time.”

She watched you disappear down the hall before turning to your kitchen. She opened the pantry, hands stuffed into her back pockets, and leaned against the frame like she was just casually browsing.

But the shelves were... sad. A couple of half-eaten rice cakes, some stale cereal, two cans of chickpeas that had probably been there since last winter.

She made a face. “Wow,” she muttered. “Truly a feast.”

Ellie closed the pantry slowly and leaned back against the counter. She glanced toward the hallway, listening for the faint rustling of clothes.

God. She was in your apartment. After last night. After that.

Okay. Okay. Relax. It’s just her. It’s always been her.

But the way her palms were starting to sweat said otherwise.

You padded back into the kitchen in an oversized t-shirt and some sweatpants, your face was damp, and you smelled like deodorant and home. Ellie looked up from where she was still leaning against the counter with arms crossed. “Okay,” she said flatly, “your pantry is depressing me.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“There’s no snacks.” She stepped forward, opening the door again like you might’ve magically restocked while changing. “Just… corn kernels. Stale cereal. And two canned soups that look like they’re from the Cold War.”

You stared at her. “No fucking way. I bought snacks like… three days ago.”

She raised a brow.

You marched up and checked the shelves yourself, mouth falling open. “That stupid asshole. Sally’s boyfriend must’ve eaten everything. I swear, I had Reese’s, chips, even those sour gummies you claim to hate—”

Ellie placed a hand gently on your shoulder, “Hey it’s okay we can just order some food, or eat canned soup and call it a day.” she joked.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “We can make some popcorn. Stove-top style.”

Ellie smirked, stepping aside as you reached for the oil and a big saucepan. “You sure you know how to do this?”

You looked over your shoulder. “Why, you doubt my popcorn making abilities?”

Ellie didn’t answer. Instead, as you poured the oil and swirled it around, she stepped up behind you. Quiet at first, then let her hands rest lightly on your hips.

You paused, heat blooming across your neck.

Then she leaned in, slowly, and rested her chin in the crook of your neck. Her arms wrapped around your waist, fingers playing gently with the edge of your shirt.

“You know…” she murmured, voice low, warm. “I’ve been waiting all day for this moment.”

You laughed, a little breathless, pretending the way your heart stuttered was just from the heat of the stove. “Were you Williams?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled against your skin. “Thinking ‘bout you and yesterday.”

You turned your head slightly, enough to catch her eyes hovering near your jawline.

“Is that so?” you teased, biting back a grin.

Ellie smiled, and it was all mischief. “Mmhm.”

You turned just a little more, barely enough to meet her lips—your hand still holding the pot handle, her body pressed into your back. The kiss was brief, warm, almost lazy. A shared breath. A hum. Then another, this one just a little slower, laced with the taste of something that had been waiting far too long to be claimed.

You pulled back first, blinking at her.

But Ellie didn’t waste a second. Her hands were all over you, gripping your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush. Your lips moved in sync, a rhythm that felt like it had been waiting to happen. Meant for just the two of you. Your hands slid over her shoulders, then curled behind her neck, fingers tugging gently at the loose strands of her hair, making her lips part just enough for you to deepen the kiss. Tongues collided, fighting, teasing, tasting.

You pushed her back onto the couch, straddling her lap. Her hands roamed over your waist, down your back, fingertips pressing in like she was grounding herself. You kissed her again, this time letting her take control. Her mouth moved over yours with a hunger that was all teeth and tongue and years of yearning left unsaid. Desperate. Dizzying.

A soft moan escaped Ellie’s plush, pink lips as your mouth trailed down to her neck. Your stomach flipped at the sound. She tilted her head back, offering you more. Her skin was warm under your lips, and she smelled like cedarwood and something unmistakably home. It was driving you out of your mind.

You pulled back just long enough to flip your hair to the side. And God—the look on Ellie’s face. That alone made her flush deeper than she ever had before. As if that wasn’t enough to unravel her completely, you grabbed the collar of her shirt and tugged her back in, lips swollen, glossy with the mix of you both.

You felt her hand slide up, knuckles brushing along your side beneath the fabric of your shirt, warm and tentative like she was savoring every inch.

Your breath caught.

She looked up at you from under her lashes, lips slightly parted, like she wanted…needed permission to go further.

And you were ready to give it.

You leaned in, your fingers grazing the hem of her shirt now, about to tug it up, your mind racing ahead to where this was about to go. Ellie looked like she might just melt into the couch, or you, or both. One of your knees shifted, guiding her to lay back—

And then—

“Shit—!”

A sharp, bitter smell hit your nose, followed by a series of mini explosions.

Your eyes flew open. “The stove!”

You practically launched off her lap, Ellie blinking up at you in a daze as you scrambled into the kitchen.

“No, no, no—fuck,” you hissed, yanking the pot off the burner and tossing the lid aside. A cloud of burnt popcorn smoke wafted up like it was mocking you.

Ellie blinked, breathless, still sitting on the couch. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” she muttered under her breath.

You shot her a look, exasperated but trying not to laugh. “How can one fuck up popcorn?”

Ellie leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Ask the expert. Oh wait…”

You tossed a burnt piece at her. “Shut up.”

She caught it, smug. “Pizza or Chinese?”

You were still flushed from the kissing, your shirt slightly askew. “I think some cheese filled crust could brighten up my mood.”

She stepped forward again, slow, playful. “Pizza it is.” Ellie chuckled, reaching past you to grab a glass of water like she hadn’t just had you straddling her five seconds ago. “Pick a movie?.”

“Alright” You replied as you opened a window to let the smoke out, heart still pounding—part from the near-kitchen-fire, and part because you were one step away from making out with Ellie Williams until the world ended.

And God—you wanted to pick up right where you left off.

The couch cushions let out a small sigh as you dropped down onto them, tucking your legs beneath you. Ellie followed, this time with a throw blanket she must’ve grabbed while you were trying not to burn your kitchen down. She tossed it over both of your laps like it was nothing. Like this was already routine.

You scrolled half-heartedly through whatever streaming platform you had which felt like ages, your finger hovering above a dozen thumbnails while your mind still replayed her mouth on yours.

Ellie stretched out beside you, one arm lazily draped across the back of the couch. “You’ve passed the same movie three times now.”

“Everything looks the same to me, bring back the 2000s rom-coms.”

That made her huff a soft laugh. “Uh huh.”

The warmth of the blanket, the scent of burnt corn still lingering faintly in the air, the glow from the TV lighting up her features, it all felt so surreal. You almost forgot about the pizza.

Then Ellie shifted, sitting up slightly, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of the blanket.

You glanced at her. “I’m kidding alright, I won't make you watch thirteen going on thirty again”

She hesitated, chewing her bottom lip for a second. Then—

“I got offered a gallery,” she said, voice low, like she still didn’t quite believe it herself. “A full solo show. End of the year. Big space. Real-deal art world shit.”

You blinked at her. “Wait. Wait—what?”

Ellie’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, a little unsure, a little dazed. “Yeah. I met with this man Mr. Davis. From the gala? He, uh… he said he loved my work since the gala and said some nice shit. He thinks I’ve got a voice or whatever.”

You dropped the remote. “Ellie. Holy shit.”

She rubbed the back of her neck. “I know.”

“No—like, are you kidding me? That’s insane! That’s incredible!”

Your excitement surged so fast that Ellie visibly flinched before a grin spread slowly across her face.

You reached over and rested your hand over hers, lacing your fingers together tightly. “You’re getting your own gallery? Your photos? On walls? Framed? With little name tags and wine and people pretending they understand art?”

She laughed, full and unguarded. “Yeah, that kind of gallery.”

You launched forward, hugging her so tight she made a little noise of surprise. “Ellie, that’s amazing. I’m so proud of you. Like—so proud.”

Her chin rested on your shoulder, breath warm near your neck. “I still feel like I’m dreaming.”

You pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes soft. “Well, if this is a dream, I hope you don’t wake up before opening night.”

That got a quiet smile from her. Not cocky. Not playful. Just… moved. She squeezed your hand. And didn’t let go.

“You know this means we will rewatch thirteen going on thirty right…” you whispered jokingly, but you were dead serious.

Ellie giggled, “Yeah I think it does.”

You were about ten minutes into the movie, giggling quietly every time Jennifer Garner appeared on screen, as if you hadn't watched this movie a dozen times. Ellie was mid-sip of soda when the doorbell rang. “That better be pizza and not your neighbor trying to sell crystals again,” she muttered, stretching her legs out beneath the blanket.

She stood with a dramatic groan. “I’m about to risk my life walking into the hallway in socks. You better thank me for this.”

“You’re my Matty,” you called after her, which earned you a middle finger over her shoulder.

She opened the door—and immediately froze.

The voice that followed was way too familiar. “Well… Hello there”

No fucking way. Ellie thought to herself, she really did have shit luck, it was the same delivery girl from yesterday, the one who attempted and— failed miserably at flirting with her.

She stood there without saying a word.

“If this isn’t a sign from the universe, then I don’t know what it is.” the girl said, smirking seductively at Ellie.

You straightened on the couch, was she flirting with Ellie? Your heart already dropping into your stomach.

Ellie laughed, nervous and strained. “Oh. Hey. It’s, uh—yeah.”

“Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon,” the delivery girl added, in that syrupy, unmistakably flirty tone. “Didn’t know you liked pizza too.”

You didn’t even think—you stood up and walked over, to the dining table where your bag was laid out and grabbed your wallet, pulling a $5 dollar bill and stepping right next to Ellie at the door with the calmest fake smile plastered on your face.

“Hey, babe,” you said sweetly, gaze flicking to Ellie, then to the girl. “You need some cash for the tip?”

Ellie blinked at you, clearly thrown for a second before catching on your little act. “Uh—yeah. Yeah, thanks, babe.”

You handed her the five-dollar bill, your hand brushing hers like it meant something. Then you looked at the delivery girl again, smile not reaching your eyes.

She scoffed softly, unimpressed, and passed you the pizza box. “Have a nice night.”

“Will do,” you said, voice sugarcoated and venom-laced all at once, shutting the door with a satisfying click.

You turned around only to find Ellie standing there… grinning like a fucking idiot.

“Is it bad that I’m lowkey turned on by that?” she said.

You rolled your eyes and headed for the couch. “Shut up.”

“Somebody got jealous.”

You tossed the pizza on the coffee table. “What the hell did she even mean by ‘a sign from the universe’?”

Ellie flopped down next to you, still grinning like a kid who got away with something. “Okay, so. Yesterday, before you arrived, she delivered the thai food to my place and she, like… full-on flirted with me at the door. Said she liked my tortured artist vibe? I don’t know shit was awkward as hell.” She said while biting onto a slice of pizza.

You blinked. “Jesus.”

“And then you showed up, all gorgeous and then we kissed. So I guess now she thinks she manifested it or something.”

You groaned into your hands. “Holy shit.”

“Don’t worry,” Ellie said, voice lower as she leaned in. “You won.”

You glanced over. “Damn right I did.”

She smirked and bumped your shoulder. “I prefer your pancakes all the way tho.”

You laughed. “Shut up, Williams.”

“Alright babe,” she teased, drawing it out like it was the best thing she’d ever heard.

You shook your head, cheeks hot, but the warmth wasn’t just embarrassment anymore. It was Ellie. And somehow, that made everything feel like it was exactly where it should be.

The movie played on, soft light flickering across the room, casting pinks and blues across Ellie’s cheekbones. She’d settled next to you again, one leg curled under her and the other brushing yours every so often. The pizza sat on the small coffee table, half-eaten, ignored now in favor of the quiet comfort settling over everything.

You rested your head on the back of the couch and glanced sideways at her.

Ellie was watching the screen, but not really watching, more like pretending to, eyes glazed in that way she got when something was brewing in her mind. You didn’t say anything at first. Just reached down, grabbed a slice, and took a bite.

“You’ve got that look on your face again,” you broke the silence.

“Mhm? Sorry, there’s just a lot going on my mind right now,” she said quietly, not looking away from the TV.

You swallowed. “Like what?”

She sighed but shook her head. “The gallery thing. I keep thinking I imagined it or like… I’m gonna wake up and—”

You blinked, then slowly set your slice down on the paper plate. “It’s real, Els. You earned that.”

She glanced at you, a flicker of something fragile in her eyes. “Yeah, but… I dunno. I guess part of me never thought I’d actually get a shot like this, you know? I always thought I’d just keep taking photos ‘cause I loved it and maybe, like, sell a few online, or get published in a zine or something. But a gallery? That’s like… big leagues.”

You tucked your legs under you and turned more fully toward her, elbow resting on the back of the couch. “It’s because you see people, Ellie. You don’t just take pictures—you feel them. That’s rare. People notice that.”

She looked down, rubbing the seam of her jeans between two fingers. “It’s weird. I was so scared going in. Like, full-on heart palpitations, sweaty palms, brain static. But then he said it. And for a second, it felt like all the noise in my head just… stopped.”

You smiled softly. “That’s how you know it matters.”

Ellie nodded slowly. “I think I’m still waiting for someone to yank it away and be like ‘just kidding.’”

Your chest ached at that—how deeply rooted that fear seemed. You reached out, brushing your fingers lightly against her arm. “No one’s taking it away. You deserve good things, Ellie. This is just the start.”

She looked at you, really looked at you, her green eyes glistened with something raw and hopeful, it made your cheeks burn and the moment stretched between you like a held breath.

“I think part of why I’m scared,” she said, voice low, “is ‘cause it’s not just the gallery. It’s everything. This. It all feels so fucking good that it terrifies me.”

Your breath hitched.

She kept going, like the words had been waiting at the edge of her tongue for too long. “I haven’t let myself feel like this in years. I didn’t even realize how much I missed… being seen. Being wanted.”

You reached up, hand gentle against her jaw as you turned her to face you fully.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.

The TV kept playing in the background, but it was pure background noise at the moment, because right now, all you could see was Ellie, and all you could hear was your own heart thudding on your chest. Ellie looked at you like maybe her dream was already sitting beside her.

She leaned in, resting her forehead against yours. “Don’t let me fuck this up.”

You smiled, your voice a whisper. “Don’t let me fuck it up.” eyes staring directly to her plush lips, and Ellie took it as permission to close the space between you two, the kiss was gentle. Slow, Like you were afraid you would break her apart.

You pulled away first, catching your breath for a second, Ellie’s pupils were dilated like she had taken the strongest drug in the world, And maybe she had. Your head rested on her shoulder now, cuddled beside her like you’d done a million times before.

The credits rolled long ago, but neither of you made a move to turn the TV off. The room was dim now, lit only by the soft glow of the screen and the occasional flicker of passing cars outside.

You were curled up against Ellie, head resting on her lap, one arm tucked beneath you, the other draped lazily across her thigh. She sat still as stone, hand moving in slow, lazy patterns through your hair, her other arm stretched along the back of the couch, fingers twitching every time you let out one of those sleepy little exhales.

Ellie looked down at you, breath catching just slightly at the sight. Your face was soft in sleep, mouth parted slightly, lashes casting shadows across your cheeks. You looked so pretty. So safe. And it wrecked her.

She didn’t dare move.

Didn’t want to wake you or disturb the peace that had settled so delicately between you. But eventually, you shifted a little, nose scrunching at some dream or distant sound, and Ellie whispered, “Hey…”

You barely stirred.

She brushed a knuckle across your cheek. “C’mon. Let’s get you into bed, yeah?”

You mumbled something incomprehensible, your voice thick with sleep, but you nodded faintly as Ellie slowly helped you sit up. You blinked groggily at her, eyes glazed and heavy.

“You fell asleep on me,” she said gently, tucking a bit of your hair behind your ear.

You gave a small, sleepy smile. “Your lap’s comfy.”

Ellie chuckled softly, helping you stand. “Let’s go. Don’t wanna wake up with your neck all fucked up tomorrow.”

You shuffled into your room, Ellie following close behind. She grabbed the throw blanket off the couch and trailed it with her, draping it over the bed as you collapsed onto it with a sleepy sigh.

She tugged the comforter over you, and then hesitated, standing there with one knee on the edge of the bed.

“I’ll head out now alright—”

But you reached out, fingers wrapping around her wrist.

“Stay.”

Ellie melted. Her smile was like she had just won the lottery, and she basically did.

She climbed in next to you, slow and gentle like she was scared the whole moment would vanish if she moved too fast. You scooted closer, tucking yourself against her chest, legs tangling beneath the sheets.

Her arms wrapped around you instantly.

And then—you exhaled.

Just like that, Ellie felt the last of the tension in her bones ease. Your warmth seeped into her skin. Your breath tickled the hollow of her throat.

She didn’t want to breathe too loud. Didn’t want to blink too fast. Her heart beat slowly, reverent.

You were here.

And you were hers. At least for tonight.

She pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head and whispered into your hair, “Night.”

You didn’t respond. Just sighed in your sleep, one hand gripping the hem of her shirt, like even in your dreams you didn’t want to let go.

Ellie stared at the ceiling a while longer, wide awake with something gentle and overwhelming blooming in her chest.

And then, eventually, she fell asleep too. Still holding you like a secret, like a promise, like the start of something real.

Morning came by, the faint sounds of the outside world filtering through the windows, along with the golden rays of sunshine. The light crept in slowly, warming the wooden floor and painting golden stripes across the bed.

You stirred first, eyes fluttering open to a blur of soft fabric and even softer skin. It took you a second to remember where you were. Who you were with, but the familiar weight of an arm draped across your waist and the steady rhythm of a breath not your own grounded you instantly.

Ellie was still fast asleep beside you, her face turned slightly toward yours, mouth parted just a little. Her lashes fluttered faintly, catching the morning light. The freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks looked painted on like a sky full of stars. Almost unreal.

You didn’t move.

You didn’t want to disturb this moment. The calm that wrapped around the two of you like a shared secret.

She looked younger like this. Softer. Her usual furrowed brow relaxed, her lips curved in the subtlest hint of a smile, as if even in her dreams she was at peace with you. Your heart swelled.

God, she was beautiful.

The kind of beauty that made you ache. The kind that made you want to write it down, sketch it, memorize every line and angle so you’d never forget what it felt like to look at her and feel this full.

An idea sparked in your head—sudden, stupid, sweet.

You untangled yourself as quietly as you could, tiptoeing barefoot into the kitchen where her camera bag still sat from the night before, right beside the empty popcorn bowl. The lens cap was off already. You adjusted the settings the way you’d seen her do a hundred times, and you padded back toward the bedroom.

Ellie hadn’t moved. You raised the camera, holding your breath. Just one.

Click.

The flash burst across the room.

Ellie stirred immediately with a groggy, confused little groan. “Wh—what the hell…”

You stifled a laugh as she squinted up at you, eyes barely open, face still squished against the pillow. “Did you just—did you seriously just take a picture of me sleeping?”

You shrugged, biting your bottom lip to keep the grin at bay. “You looked so peaceful it was a rare moment..”

She groaned, dragging the blanket over her head. “You’re evil.”

You took another step back, raising the camera again. “Don’t hide, I wanna frame this one.”

Ellie peeked out from under the comforter, eyes narrowing. “Gimme that.”

You squeaked as she suddenly lunged toward you, still tangled in the sheets. “No, no—”

But she managed to grab the strap of the camera, pulling you down with her, the two of you laughing as you half-fell onto the mattress. Ellie sat up, finally victorious as she took the camera from your hands.

Her eyes gleamed when she turned it toward you.

You blinked. “Wait—”

Click.

The flash went off.

You groaned. “Ellie—”

She grinned, entirely too proud of herself. “What? You look hot.”

You threw a pillow at her.

But she caught it with one hand, still looking at the photo on the screen with a stupidly fond smile spreading across her face.

“Gonna keep this one,” she murmured, voice soft now, a little sleepy, a little in awe. “You look cute.”

You felt your face flush. And for once you didn’t even have a clever response. You just reached forward and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yeah?” you whispered.

“Yeah.” Ellie nodded, eyes not leaving yours.

She set the camera down gently on the nightstand, eyes still on you, and leaned forward without saying anything. Her hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing lightly against your skin, and she kissed you.

Soft. Sweet. Morning slow.

You melted into it for a second before your brain screamed reality at you and you pulled away with a little gasp, covering your mouth.

“Nooo—stop. I’ve got morning breath,” you whined, ducking under the blanket.

Ellie just laughed, tilting her head to try and catch a glimpse of your face. “So what? I like your gross morning breath.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Ellie smirked, leaning back against the headboard with a dramatic sigh. “Can’t believe you’re denying me a kiss just because of a little dragon breath. Tragic.”

You peeked out from under the blanket, narrowing your eyes at her. “Can’t believe you slept in jeans. You’re literally insane. I could’ve borrowed you something.”

“Oh yeah? One of those little mini shorts you wear to sleep?”

You rolled your eyes, tossing a pillow at her chest. “Well you could always just sleep in your underwear.”

Ellie gasped mockingly, a hand to her heart. “You wanna get in my pants already? Damn, didn’t take you for that kind. Not even a coffee or anything?”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“But charming.”

You ignored her, even though the smirk tugging at your lips betrayed you. “But seriously,” you said more softly, picking at a thread in the comforter. “Maybe we should do that…”

Ellie raised a brow, eyes playful. “Get into my pants?”

You shoved her this time, laughing. “No, dickhead. I’m talking about a real date. Like… normal people. You know?”

Ellie blinked, caught off guard for a second. And then she smiled. That real, dimple-showing, eyes-creasing smile that made your heart hiccup in your chest.

She tilted her head. “You got me excited for a second there.”

You laughed, burying your face in her shoulder as her arms wrapped around you again, pulling you into a warm, lazy cuddle that felt exactly like falling into something right.

Ellie watched as you nestled back against her, laughter still faint in your chest, fading into a sigh. Your fingers toyed absentmindedly with the hem of her shirt, and she didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare speak.

She could stay like this forever. With the morning sun spilled over the sheets in lazy streaks, dust dancing in the air. The warmth of your body against hers. The rhythm of your breath. It all felt too good to be true. Like something she wasn’t supposed to touch but somehow still held in her hands.

Her eyes traced the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes fluttered slightly as you blinked slower and slower. You were getting sleepy again. Or maybe just really, really comfortable.

How the hell did she get here? How did she go from sketching alone in her bedroom to taking secret candids of you to this. It didn’t feel real. And yet, here you were. Draped over her like it was the most natural thing in the world. She knew she was in deep. Had been for a long time. But now, it wasn’t just in her head. It was real. Tangible. Yours and hers and something in between.

Ellie closed her eyes for a second, trying to memorize everything, to trap it in her secret treasure chest, and give you the key to all of it, all her thoughts, all her feelings, even her fears.

She pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

If this was a dream, or a hallucination, or some kind of fucked up joke, it didnt matter either way. She didn’t want to wake up from it.

Not yet.

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧

taglist ♡‧₊˚₊✧

@liasxeatt @80saturn @eleanorsghost @youusunshineyoutemptress @jazzyxox @lesoulew @fangirlinc @hitmehardmommy @liztreez @chwekriz00 @vahnilla @elliespotion @haithone @stwolfhardimaginez @thxtmarvelchick @purinukie @lavenderseedling @elliesfavwife @mikellie @iadorefineshyt @thebadwritersposts @gayandsuffering26 @flynnph0bias @adoreasellie @wwefan2002 @pinkcloudsmmr @ellliewilliamssgf @hufflepuffin92-blog @madsxh1022 @elliepoems @finnthehumanjakethedog @oneinameliann @sulliefimmie @lunshimmer @theangelwaltz @morticeras

lmk if anyone else would like to be added!

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Fourteen

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, jealous lando, protective grid, sexual content

Notes — Welcome to the 2021 Formula One season! (Testing, but still... it counts). Also... hehehehehehehe double update <3

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2021

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2021 F1 Grid

Lewis H. A warm welcome to our 2021 rookies! Mick, and Yuki :)

Lando N. Yeah, welcome or whatever More importantly, does anyone know if I can call up the Apple store in Woking and get them to deliver to me? Even though it’s closed rn

Lewis H. What happened? Did her iPad break?

Lando N. Yeah mate, completely toast.

Max V. Shit. I can have one express delivered to your flat, Lando. It is, of course, a work expense.

Yuki T. Uh hey I guess! I thought this was a work only chat? Did I get the wrong briefing?

George R. It usually is, but as admin I allow Amelia-based chat @Yuki

Mick S. Hey! Great to be here. Um, just curious though. Who is Amelia?

Max V. My lead technical engineer.

Lando N. My girlfriend.

Lewis H. Zak Brown’s daughter.

Fernando A. Her iPad is broken? I will bring her one now. Lando, send me your home address.

Mick S. Ohhh, I actually know Amelia Brown!

Lando N. ?????????? @Mick

Fernando A. Lando you have not sent me your address.

Max V. @Fernando I have already purchased the iPad.

Mick S. @Lando we met years ago, mate. She used to ski with her family where mine did in the winter.

Lando N. You heard the part where she’s my girlfriend, yeah @Mick?

Mick S. Yes…

Lando N. Good.

Fernando A. @Max She will need it delivered to her soon.

Charles L. It finally broke? Wow. Lasted far longer than I believed it would.

Lando N. @Charles Not a good time for jokes, mate. She’s devastated

Daniel R. Should I start carrying a spare iPad to races with me just in case? LOL.

Lando N. Wait that’s a good idea Somebody write that down Max write that down

Max V. I purchased three. I will carry the spares

Fernando A. Vamos, Max!

Pierre G. I bet the rookies are so confused lmao. Welcome to the grid group chat. We discuss penalties, race conditions, plane shares, and Amelia Brown.

Carlos S. @Lando How is she? Did she freak out?

Lando N. She’s good now. All chill.

Lewis H. Tell her that I just bought her a new bunny sticker book. I’ll give it to her at testing.

Lance S. If I buy her the entire Apple company, do you think she will come and fix the Aston Martin car?

Max V. NO.

Yuki T. This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen in any grid group chat, and the f2 chat used to get weird lol

George R. Welcome to the grid, Yuki. Keep your head on straight, and if you ever find a lost iPad with a bunny sticker on it anywhere in the paddock, make sure it gets back to Amelia asap

Lando N. Thats important for all of the rookies to know @Mick @Yuki 

Mick S. Sure I’ll keep an eye out!

Lando N. Actually I change my mind Mick if you see an iPad just leave it yeah :) 

Mick S. ????

Pierre G. This is going to be a great year. 

Checo P. All of the other drivers have this chat muted, yes?

Kimi R. Yes. 

— 

Amelia was crouched down by Max's car, her hand resting on the tire as she scanned through the data on her iPad. The numbers on the screen felt too slow, almost static, compared to the racing thoughts racing through her head.

Beside her, Jos loomed over her, a red-ink pen poised above her little black notebook. He was taking notes for her. Her mind was moving faster than her hands could keep up, and sometimes, just sometimes, she needed someone like him, methodical, steady, and patient, to help her process it all.

Her fingers flicked over the screen, swiping through the data from Max's morning run, when she paused, eyes flicking to Jos. “You see what I see?” she asked, her voice low, as if speaking any louder might break the delicate focus she’d managed to carve out for herself.

Jos nodded, his eyes scanning the information on the screen before looking back down at the scribbles he’d started in her notebook. “More rear stability in the high-speed corners. We’ll need to adjust the dampers again,” he said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact.

Amelia’s eyes tightened slightly as she thought. “We might need to soften the rear more. The front’s too reactive. Max is going to be fighting it in corners three and four, especially.” She tapped the screen lightly, zooming in on the section of the track map. “The car’s settling into a snap too fast, can’t keep up with the rear load in the high-speed sections.”

Jos made a mark in her notebook. “Front end’s still too eager, then?” He sighed. 

“Yeah, exactly,” Amelia made a face. “We soften that just a little bit more. Max needs more confidence in the corners. Less initial bite, more consistency. Maybe tweak the ride height slightly too.” Her words were coming faster now as the solution to their issues fell into place in her brain. 

As the day wore on, Max’s car was fine-tuned with the adjustments, and Amelia watched on with satisfaction as everything came together in perfect harmony. 

They had a plan. The tweaks would work. Max would be happy with the handling.

She turned to Jos when the mechanics started to wheel Max’s car back into the garage for the final time, day one of testing officially over, giving him a small but appreciative smile.

He pulled her notebook out of the pocket of his jeans and handed it over. “I hope you can understand my handwriting.” 

— 

Amelia sat opposite Max at one of the small team tables in the Red Bull hospitality unit. Most of the staff had already filtered out for the night, their voices fading down the hallway as engineers, PR reps, and mechanics headed for shuttles and taxis. But the two of them lingered — Amelia, still editing Jos’ scribbled notes from earlier in the day, and Max, who had quietly gotten into the habit of not leaving until she did.

It was almost sweet. He dropped her off to Lando at her hotel room at the end of every day like she was a preschooler getting passed between divorced parents. She hadn’t said anything about it, partly because it was practical, and partly because she didn’t mind it. It was nice not to have to worry about being alone.

Across from her, Max was hunched low in his chair, arms folded tight across his chest, mouth set in a hard line. His gaze flicked from the tabletop to her notebook and back again, a rhythm she’d seen a hundred times before. It meant he was thinking. Hard. Or more likely, overthinking.

She didn’t bother looking up. “Just say it.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been fidgeting with your straw for six minutes. It’s starting to irritate me.”

Max exhaled through his nose, leaning back into the bench with a groan. “You are very annoying.”

“Mhmm,” she hummed, finally meeting his eyes. “Max, tell me.”

He hesitated, then shifted forward, resting his elbows on the table. There was a pause, a rare, tentative kind, and then, quieter than usual, he said, “I’m nervous.”

That made her put the pen down.

“For the season?” she asked, although she already suspected the answer.

Max nodded. “Everyone keeps saying 2021 is my year. Like it’s inevitable. Like this is it. And I want it — Fuck, I want it so bad. I’ve worked for it my whole life. But now that it’s here, I don’t know…” He rubbed a hand down his face. “What if it doesn’t happen?”

“It might not,” Amelia said plainly.

Max looked like he wanted to argue, but stopped short, blinking at her. “Comforting.”

“You’re not asking for comfort,” she said. “You’re asking if you’re good enough. And yes, you are. But this sport doesn’t always care about that.”

He let that sit for a moment. Nodded.

Then, quieter still, “There’s something else.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow.

“I met someone. Over the break.”

She made a face. “Someone?”

He groaned. “Don’t do the eyebrow thing.”

She relaxed her face. “Who did you meet?”

Max scratched at the edge of the table. “I met her in Monaco. She’s nice. A lawyer . She thinks I’m just… Max. I didn’t tell her about the racing. About… everything. She doesn’t follow F1.”

Amelia leaned forward slightly. “So she doesn’t know who you are.”

He shrugged helplessly. “She knows who I am. Just not… what I do.”

Amelia tilted her head. “And you like that?”

“I think so,” he said. “It’s peaceful. She talks to me like a normal person. No hero-worship, no pressure. Just… calm.”

“You’re lying to her, essentially,” she said bluntly. “Not a good foundation for a relationship.”

He shot her a withering look. “Jesus. You’re worse than my dad.”

“I take that as a compliment. We have the same goal.”

“I know.”

She looked down at her notebook, flipping a page and skimming it for a second. “You think you can manage both? A relationship and a championship battle?”

He hesitated. “Is that selfish?”

“No,” she said, then looked back at him. “But it might be a bit stupid.”

Max chuckled dryly. “Thanks.”

“I’m not saying you can’t have both,” Amelia added. “I’m just saying that it probably won’t work.” 

He frowned, nodded slowly, then said, “But you’re managing your relationship and my championship.”

“I’m not the one driving the car, Max.” She argued. 

“Still,” he muttered. “You’re making it work. I could make it work.”

She shrugged. “Okay. Is she nice?”

Max nodded, “I almost ran her over.”

She blinked at him. “Oh. That’s… romantic?” She tried. 

He laughed shortly. “She was in a rush, didn’t look properly. I apologised and gave her a ride to work. She— she, uh, thinks that I’m just some wealthy businessman’s son, or something.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, anxiety curling in the pit of her stomach. “You should stop lying to her. I would… I would not like it if I was in that situation and I found out that I was being lied to.” 

Max sighed. Nodded. 

Then he stood, grabbed both their jackets, and slung hers over the back of her chair. “Come on. Let’s get you to your boyfriend before he starts texting me again asking where you are.”

She gave him a flat look. “He has a GPS tracker on my phone.” 

Max rolled his eyes. “Of course he does. Typical Norris.”

She shrugged. “It’s sweet. Sometimes I get lost and he has to come and find me.” 

Max laughed, and for the first time all day, some of the tightness left his posture. “Yeah,” he said, holding the door open for her. “Probably good that he has it, then.” 

— 

The lights of Manama twinkled in the distance, warm and hazy against the desert night. From the balcony of their hotel suite, the city looked like it belonged to another world; quiet and golden and slow in a way the paddock never was. The hum of the air conditioning inside was replaced by the occasional distant honk of a car, or the hush of wind weaving through the palm trees below.

Amelia was seated cross-legged on one of the outdoor chairs, wrapped in a white robe, her hair still damp from her shower. Lando, in a t-shirt and joggers, was fiddling with a tiny bottle opener, attempting to open a bottle of some obscure sparkling drink he’d insisted was “romantic, okay baby? Trust me.”

Their room service tray sat between them on the small table. Grilled flatbreads, mezze, roasted lamb. Lando had ordered for them and he’d gotten everything right.

“I don’t know how you always remember this stuff,” she said, dipping a piece of bread into a tangy yogurt sauce.

Lando grinned, finally getting the bottle open with a victorious pop. “Because I listen when you talk. I know the face you make when you think something tastes bad or has a yucky texture. I have eyes. Shocking, I know.”

Amelia gave him a pointed look. “Last week, you kissed my eyeball because you were being lazy and tried to kiss me with your eyes closed.”

“Shut up.” He huffed. 

She laughed quietly, curling into him, giving him a bit of the blanket. “I think Max might be in love,” she said suddenly.

Lando blinked. “Max? Verstappen?”

“Mm,” she nodded, chewing. “He told me today that he met someone over the winter. She doesn’t know who he is. Like, really doesn’t know. Thinks he’s just some rich guy named Max.”

Lando made a face. “That… feels impossible.”

“She’s apparently very disconnected. Doesn’t follow the sport. Max likes it.”

Lando nodded slowly. “Weird. But kind of sweet, I guess.”

She frowned at him. “I told him he shouldn’t be dating during a title fight.”

“Very romantic of you.” Lando teased. 

She shrugged. “I never said I was romantic.”

“No,” he said. “But you are.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t disagree. Instead, she reached for his hand where it rested on the table, her fingers brushing over his lightly. “I hope you do very well this year, Lan.” She told him, earnest and hopeful. “You deserve it.” 

Lando turned his hand over to lace their fingers together. “So do you. Deserve to do well, I mean. You’ve worked so hard this past year. You deserve to see it pay off.”

Amelia didn’t say anything right away. She just leaned over and kissed him; soft, sweet, clinging. It wasn’t meant to lead anywhere at first, just a thank you. But she didn’t pull away. And he didn’t let her go.

She ended up in his lap, her legs curled against his chest, her robe brushing his knees. His hands slid instinctively around her back, fingers splaying wide against the thin fabric, grounding her. Grounding himself.

They stayed like that for a long time. The balcony lights dimmed behind them. The city hummed faintly in the distance, the last remnants of dinner cooling on the table, the silence between them easy.

Then, gently, she climbed off of him and stood. Her bare feet whispered against the tile as she stepped forward, and she stopped just in front of where he sat, between his knees. Her eyes searched his face for a beat, then she reached for the hem of his t-shirt.

“Come inside with me?”

Lando’s breath caught slightly. He looked up at her, her expression steady, soft, open, and nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Inside, the hotel room was cast in warm light, golden from a low bedside lamp. The curtains were drawn against the city, muffling the world outside. The bed was turned down, sheets crisp, pillows fluffed. A quiet kind of invitation.

She tugged him by the hand toward the bed, and he followed without a word, heart thudding in his chest.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t awkward.

There was a kind of reverence to the way they undressed, slow, curious. Amelia’s robe slipped from her shoulders, caught briefly on her elbows before pooling at her feet. Lando’s hands hovered just for a second before brushing up her arms, like he was making sure she wouldn’t vanish if he touched her too quickly.

Their kisses deepened, still hesitant but filled with intent, with the weight of everything they’d been building toward for over a year. Every laugh, every shared moment of delicate intimacy, every time they’d caught each other’s eyes across a garage or a hotel lobby, it all settled into the space between them.

Lando’s mouth trailed across her skin with an almost startled sort of wonder, like he was learning a language he’d been waiting to speak. Her fingers threaded through his curls, tugging gently when his lips brushed the hollow of her throat. They moved together with quiet urgency, limbs tangled, breath catching against skin.

At one point, Lando paused, hovering just above her, his eyes sweeping across her face, flushed, focused, real.

“You’re so... fuck,” he whispered, barely audible.

Amelia blinked, lips curling faintly. “Not sure that’s a compliment.”

He kissed the curve of her shoulder, then her collarbone. “It is,” he murmured. “It really is.”

And when they finally settled under the covers, tangled together with her head tucked beneath his chin, Lando let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

She didn’t say much, but her fingers curled into his shirt like she wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon, and that was enough. 

— 

The sunlight was already creeping through the sliver of the curtains when Lando stirred, warmth pooling low in his stomach before he was even fully awake. For a moment, he didn’t move, just blinked up at the ceiling, trying to remember if he’d dreamt the night before, or if it had really happened.

Then she shifted against him.

Amelia was tucked beneath his arm, hair a little wild against his chest, one bare leg tangled over his. Her cheek was pressed just below his collarbone, lips slightly parted, her breath steady and warm against his skin.

Definitely not a dream.

He smiled, slow, stupid, unbelievably content.

She felt it too, maybe, his laugh or the way his fingers brushed along her back, because she mumbled something that sounded vaguely like a complaint and burrowed closer, clearly not ready to be awake yet.

Lando tilted his head, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Morning, baby.”

She made a noise that was more sigh than word. “Mm. No.”

“No what?”

“No talking,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. “Too early.”

He laughed quietly, the sound muffled by her hair. “It’s almost seven.”

“Too early for you to be this cheerful.” She grumbled.

Lando shifted just enough to look down at her, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. “I’m not cheerful.”

“You’re smiling.”

He smiled wider. “Can you blame me?”

She cracked an eye open, blinking up at him. Her face was still soft from sleep, a little puffy and makeup-free, but to him, she looked... ridiculously beautiful.

“What?” she asked, because he was staring.

“Nothing,” he said, brushing his thumb along her jaw. “I just really like waking up next to you.”

Her expression shifted slightly. And then, a second later, she exhaled and said quietly, “I like it, too.”

Lando kissed her, just a little one, lazy and warm.

They lay tangled in the sheets, the morning light spilling gently across the room. For a while, neither of them moved, perfectly content to exist in the quiet, wrapped up in warmth and each other.

Eventually, Amelia stirred, shifting just enough to reach over to the nightstand. She blinked blearily at her phone and then sighed and glanced across the room.

“Shit,” she muttered. “I forgot to charge my iPad.”

Lando, still half-asleep, pressed a slow kiss to her bare shoulder. “I plugged it in when I got up in the middle of the night to go for a piss.”

She turned to look at him, her expression soft, a little surprised. Her voice came quiet. “You did?”

He nodded, eyes still heavy with sleep. “Didn’t want you waking up to it dead.”

A pause. Then she gave him the smallest pout, sleepy and affectionate and so purely her. “I love you.”

He broke into a grin, one of those quiet, full-body smiles that lived in his eyes. “Yeah,” he murmured, brushing her hair back. “I love you too.”

—

The McLaren motorhome was buzzing with early morning energy, the consistent hum of coffee machines working overtime. Amelia slipped through the front doors with her badge swinging around her neck, hair still damp from a rushed shower, and Lando trailing behind her, half-yawning into a croissant.

Zak spotted them first, already seated at one of the corner tables with Daniel, who was halfway through a heaping plate of scrambled eggs and talking animatedly about something.

“There’s my girl,” Zak called, waving them over.

Amelia dropped into the seat beside her dad with a tired sigh. “Morning, dad.” She kissed his cheek. 

“You sound tired,” he frowned at her, sipping his coffee.

Lando slid into the chair beside her, nudging her with his knee under the table. She handed him a napkin in response, gesturing for him to wipe the crumbs away from his face, and he smiled. 

Daniel looked between them, eyebrows raised. “You must be Amelia. I’m Daniel. Can’t actually believe we’ve not met properly before now.” 

“I know.” Amelia agreed, already reaching across the table for a muffin.

Daniel leaned in a little, grinning. “Lando talks about you all the damn time. In debriefs, pre-race meetings, on his radio—”

“Please stop talking,” Lando glared at his new teammate, clearly embarrassed.

“She’s worth talking about,” Zak laughed, patting Amelia on the shoulder with a fond smile.

Daniel smirked at Lando, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. Lando just narrowed his eyes at him, his cheeks flushing slightly.

Amelia took another bite of her muffin, savouring her food. But before she could finish, her phone buzzed violently against the table. It was from Max.

iMessage — 7:33am

Max Verstappen Are you here, sister? I want to talk about my steering set-up

Amelia On my way to you now.

She shoved the rest of her muffin into her mouth and stood up in one swift motion. “Okay. I gotta go.”

Lando looked up, surprised. “Already?”

Amelia kissed him quickly on the cheek, her lips lingering for just a second longer than expected. She gave her dad a quick shoulder squeeze before smiling at Daniel, her usual bluntness softened by a bit of shyness she wasn’t used to showing in front of him. “Max wants my advice.”

Zak called after her with a grin. “Tell Jos I want my daughter back for lunch.”

“No promises,” she replied with a glance over her shoulder, already speed-walking toward the exit. Her hair bounced with each step, and her phone was pressed to her ear before she even made it out of the motorhome.

Daniel leaned toward Lando as she disappeared down the hallway. “You’re screwed, brother.”

Lando shot him a look, kicking him under the table. “Shut up.”

— 

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2021 F1 Grid

Yuki T. I have Amelia’s iPad in AlphaTauri garage

Lewis H. Yeah, this has to be a new record.

Lando N. Lol she’s just been rly busy. Probably hasn’t noticed she hasn’t got it yet

Max V. She just noticed and started freaking out. @Yuki I’m on my way to get it.

Lando N. She okay @Max?

Max V. Yes mate, no need to worry.

Mick S. @Max Can I pop by your garage and say hi to her? It’s been years!

Lando N. @Max Say no. Max, say no. Max, say no.

Max V. @Mick No, she is too busy for friends.

Lando N. LMAO, REKT @Mick.

Mick S. Bro????? I really don’t want to steal your girlfriend 😭

Fernando A. You do not believe my Amelia is good enough for you, Schumacher?

Max V. What the fuck Mick

Charles L. Uh oh 😬😬

Pierre G. Bro that was NOT the right thing to say 😭

Max V. @Mick She wouldn’t even look your way. 

Lando N. Wild angle, mate @Mick

George R. We are witnessing a man dig his own grave live in chat

Daniel R. *shovels faster* Keep going, Mick. Say you think she’s boring next.

Sebastian V. This feels like bullying.

Yuki T. I think it is  

Carlos S. @Mick Just lie down. Accept it. The storm will pass.

Mick S. I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT 😭😭😭 I literally just meant she’s your girlfriend and I respect that! @Lando

Lando N. Sure you did. 

Fernando A. In my country we have a saying — "Schumacher has placed his own foot in his own mouth."

Lewis H. Pick your words better next time yeah? @Mick

Lance S. This is why rookies don’t get access to Amelia.

Esteban O. Wait does that mean I have access to Amelia?

Max V. No.

Fernando A. Absolutely not.

Lando N. You do not.

Valtteri B. I do not speak much in this chat but I just want to say: Mick, this is very funny.

Antonio G. +1

Nicholas L. same 😭

Sebastian V. Let it be a lesson to all of us. Never try to be polite in here. It will be weaponised.

Charles L. I miss when this chat was about tyre pressures and strategy.

George R. That’s adorable. It’s never been that.

NEXT CHAPTER

[pillow-coded]

To Have and to Hold — Chapter 1

Summary: finding a lost toddler's mother in the library wasn’t how Spencer expected to spend his afternoon. Later, when her mother arrives—panicked, breathless, and beautiful—Spencer starts to forget how to breathe. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn Series (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Brief depiction of a lost child, mild panic from a parent, emotional vulnerability word count: 5.3k

A/N: This is the first work I had the guts to post (genuinely scared lol), slow updates! (so sorry, but uni is killing me), and lastly, English isn't my native language, so please do let me know if i got any grammar mistakes! (also not proofread cause i'm too embarrassed to show any of my friends)

Series Masterlist

Libraries have always been a great comfort for me. It’s a place full of knowledge, warmth, peace. Maybe it’s the smell of old books and how I can easily link that smell to the amiable parts of my childhood.

Those Autumn nights when everything was fine, where my wires were still intact. Mom was doing well back then. She’d read to me those old books she collected from all her years of teaching. That’s how I saw them back then... Old, decrepit books that contained the most fun stories... At least, I found them fun. Like Shakespeare’s Tales Retold – child-friendly versions of Shakespeare’s works.

Nowadays, they’re more than just fond stories or old books. Those books are relics and a memory of when my mother was... well, more lucid.

What I loved most about libraries was the quietness of it all. I spent a couple of hours of my day when I could, basking in the quiet. It was nice not to have to hear the gruesome details of some innocent woman murdered in cold blood.

Days like these only made the quietness feel even better. Soft Autumn day, nearing Winter already. We had just come back from a tough case, children were involved. Thankfully, we managed to get on time.

I had watched that boy while JJ tried to talk to him, trying to understand what had happened to him. He was barefoot, his hair disheveled, and he looked achingly thin. We later found that the boy’s parents held a “discipline ring.” According to his parents, it was a “behavior modification” experiment—one they claimed was “research-backed,” designed to “train” their child into being the perfect prodigy. The boy was denied food, affection, and even basic care when he disobeyed. But worse? The parents live-streamed it all on private forums for a group of like-minded “disciplinarians.”

It didn’t matter that we caught his parents. That the live-stream was shut down. That the others in that so-called “discipline ring” were going to prison. None of it mattered when he looked up at me with those eyes—hollow but obedient. Like love was something he still thought he had to earn.

I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone more than I hated those people.

I’ve done a lot of pretending in my life. Pretended I wasn’t scared. Pretended I wasn’t lonely. Pretended I didn’t want a family of my own. But that boy—he didn’t know how to pretend. He didn’t know how to fake normal. He just waited patiently in that hospital bed for someone to love him back.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it, which is why I had decided to come to the library instead of resting after the case like a normal person. I needed a moment of peace, a moment of quiet.

That moment of quietness was rudely interrupted—torn apart by high-pitched, desperate sobbing. I turn to my left, and there's a girl at the end of the long corridor full of bookcases. A tiny one at that, since the whole corridor looked gigantic compared to her.

She couldn’t have been more than five, barely tall enough to brush the second shelf. A statistical outlier in this ocean of silence, suddenly very, very loud. There was something unsettling about how her tiny fists rubbed at her eyes. Children cried in a language everyone understood.

“Are you lost?” I ask hesitantly, not moving from my spot in the corridor. The little girl stops crying for a brief moment. Well, not stop, but slowed down. Her big eyes are still so full of fear and tears, but they open wide to look at me as if she hadn’t been expecting someone to help.

She doesn’t say anything.

Just looks at me—eyes still shimmering, lips trembling, chest stuttering around hiccuped sobs. She’s scared. That much is obvious. But it’s the way she clutches the fabric of her little coat that really gets me. Like it’s the only thing tethering her to the earth right now.

I walk towards her. I'm not close—just close enough to show I’m not a threat. A non-threatening stranger in a cardigan and tie, kneeling among the books like I’m part of the furniture.

She stares, still trembling, still silent.

“It’s okay,” I murmur gently. “I’m not going to come closer unless you want me to. I just want to help.”

Her little hand scrubs clumsily at her cheek. She sniffles, her shoulders curling inward. Still holding it in. Still trying to be brave.

Then, finally—after a moment that feels like something unspooling—she shakes her head. And her voice, when it comes, is a soft, crumpled thing:

“I can’t find my mommy.”

I nod, matching her quietness. “Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

A pause.

“I’ll help you find her, alright? No rush. We can check the kiddie section together. That’s probably where she’ll look first.”

I didn’t offer my hand. It felt like too much for both of us. Instead, I walked beside her, slow and steady, letting the silence settle between us like soft dust. She kept sniffling quietly the whole walk down.

I desperately needed a way to make the little cries stop.

“What's your name, sweetheart?” I asked softly.

She tilted her head back to look up at me—really look this time. She was so small she had to crane her neck to find my eyes. Her expression still carried that flicker of uncertainty, her trust not quite earned yet.

“I’m Spencer.”

She doesn’t answer right away.

Just stares for a second, like she’s still deciding whether I’m safe. Then, in the tiniest voice—barely above a whisper—she says:

“...Maddie.”

Maddie.

I nod, repeating it once under my breath to make it real.

“That’s a beautiful name, Maddie.”

She says nothing, but her fingers curl tighter around the hem of her coat. She’s still scared, but she’s not looking away anymore.

Progress.

I scan the rows of shelves ahead. The kiddie section’s not far now—colorful bean bags, tiny chairs, picture books splayed on wide tables.

“Do you like magic tricks, Maddie?”

She nods her tiny head, her eyes warming up to me at the thought.

I felt something in my stomach… I wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe yearning?

She nods—just once—and I see it. That flicker of trust, like a light turning on behind her eyes. Not quite safety, but something near it.

And something stirs in my stomach.

I don’t know what to call it. It’s not adrenaline, and it’s not fear. Maybe it’s yearning. Not for her, necessarily—but for what she has. What she’s lost. What she’s looking for.

For someone to come back for her.

For someone to call her name.

“Okay… how about I show you some magic tricks while we wait for your mommy to get here? that sound fun, Maddie?”

This time she nods enthusiastically. Her big eyes excited to see what sorcery I had planned to show her.

I dig the pocket of my pants, my movements slow and deliberate. I pull out a simple quarter. It’s nothing special. Just a plain, shiny quarter that for some reason, I’ve held on to for way longer than I should’ve.

“Behold,” I announce, holding it up between two fingers like it’s enchanted. “A perfectly ordinary quarter.”

She leans in, captivated—eyes locked on the coin like it’s something rare. A small smile starts to tug at her cheeks.

“It’s your everyday quarter,” I say, twirling the tiny thing between my fingers, doing my best to keep this unfamiliar girl comforted—as if her calm is the only thing keeping me steady.

“Watch closely.”

I place the coin on my open palm and slowly close my fingers around it. Then, with my free hand, I give the air above my fist a little wave—like I’m stirring something invisible.

“And now… it’s gone.”

I open my hand. Empty.

She gasps.

I see it—the way her mouth falls open, the way her eyes light up like I’ve just rewritten the rules of the universe.

I lean in, just a little. Not too close.

“Huh. That’s strange…” I murmur, pretending to look around her, behind her, above her. “Where could it have gone…?”

And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, I reach behind her ear, and pull the coin free like I just plucked a star from the sky.

Her breath catches. She stares at the quarter in my fingers like it’s a miracle.

“It was behind your ear this whole time,” I whisper, grinning.

She beams at me, her fear momentarily forgotten. Her laughter is soft but real, bright and bubbly and innocent in a way that makes something sharp tug behind my ribs.

“Are you a sorcerer?” She asks, her big, curious eyes staring into my soul, trying to get answers out of me.

I blink, “A sorcerer?”

She nods, completely serious, “like the ones in Harry Potter.”

I chuckle fondly at her question, “Well… I don’t have a broom. Or a wand. Or an Owl.”

“But you made the coin vanish…” She pouts slightly, and although the sight of her minor pout was adorable, I would’ve given anything to see her smile again.

I didn’t know why. Maybe it was the case that had me feeling so fond of a child I just met. Maybe it got all the loose wires within me, all frayed and sparking from things I still hadn’t worked through. But there was something about this moment—this tiny human with tear-streaked cheeks and a Harry Potter reference—that made something ache deep in my chest.

I felt it so sharply it almost hurt.

This... this mattered.

And I hated how much I wanted it—interactions like this. Not just the comfort or the connection but the permanence. The possibility of something that was mine.

Kids of my own.

I glance down at her, still wide-eyed, still waiting for more magic. Her little hands twitch with excitement like she’s ready to believe anything I say.

“Yeah, but it’s only a magic trick, sweetheart,” I murmur, trying to offer the truth gently, without breaking the illusion. Without hurting her feelings.

But maybe I shouldn’t.

Maybe I should let her believe in it a little longer. Let her live in the dream. Give her what I wish someone had given me at that age—a reason to believe in wonder.

So I sigh, dramatically, like I’m about to confess something world-altering.

“Okay… you got me. But you can’t tell anyone, alright?”

She leans in, eyes shining.

“I’m actually a wizard.”

She gasps, delighted. A smile blooms across her face so fast it nearly knocks the air out of me.

“I knew it!” she squeals.

“Yeah, you did,” I grin back. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you?”

She looks like she’s about to burst with thousands of questions. Eyes wide and shining with a special curiosity. I just hope her parent doesn’t murder me for fueling these wizard dreams that she has.

“Are you friends with Harry?”

I try my best to suppress a warm chuckle, but I can’t help the smile that shines through.

“Harry Potter?” She nodded so hard at my response that I worried her head might pop off. “Well… I haven’t seen him in a while. He’s mostly busy these days. But yes, we’ve met.”

She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, and this time, I couldn’t subdue the fond chuckles that her reactions got out of me.

“Can you show me more magic?”

I smile, helpless to deny her. “Alright. One more, but you gotta sit down for this one.” I say, holding up a finger like I’m laying down a rule neither of us will actually follow.

She hurries to a small chair in the kid tables. Wiggles in place, hands clasped in front of her like she’s bracing for something incredible.

I reach into my pocket again, fingers brushing against the familiar coolness of the coin.

“But you have to pay very close attention, okay? This one’s advanced wizardry.”

She nods like she’s preparing for a test at Hogwarts.

“We have, the very same coin from earlier,” I move the coin to the center of my palm, “But if I place it right here… and you keep your eyes on it…”

I curl my fingers over it, give them a little dramatic wiggle.

“This simple quarter will just…”

Disappear. Or—it’s supposed to.

Everything was going fine. The coin’s in my palm. My fingers close around it. I make the usual gesture—slight misdirection, a practiced flick of the wrist, the classic illusion.

Except this time… something goes wrong. There’s a soft metallic clink followed by—

“Ow!”

Not me. Behind me.

The little girl’s eyes go wide, delighted at first by the trick. But then her head snaps toward the voice—the one behind me, the one that just yelped in surprise.

And just like that… the magic disappears.

“Mommy!” She takes off running.

I stand and turn instinctively, ready to reassure the parent—let her know her daughter’s safe, that I was only trying to help. Maybe even apologize for the quarter that, somehow, made impact.

But then I see her.

And for a moment… I forget what I was about to say.

She’s standing there, breathless, eyes wide with relief, and the softest kind of panic still clinging to her expression. The kind that says she’s been searching—not just through the aisles, but through every possible worst-case scenario in her head.

And yet, despite the tension in her posture, despite the flurry of emotion on her face...

She’s—God, she’s beautiful.

Like something from another lifetime. Light catching in her hair. Autumn caught in her breath.

An angel.

I’ve always thrived on routine. Wake up, brush teeth, get dressed, go fulfill today’s duties… It wasn’t anything exciting, but it was dependable. Familiar.

That all changed when I had her.

My Madelyn.

Now, my mornings depend on a dozen unpredictable factors. Maybe Maddie wakes up before I do and cuts my desperately needed seven hours of sleep short. Maybe she had a nightmare. Maybe she wet the bed. Or—more often than not—she’s just too excited for the day and bursts out of sleep like it’s a celebration.

It’s exhausting.

But she’s my entire world. My sun. My moon. And I’d sacrifice every ounce of sleep or peace of mind a thousand times over if it meant making her life feel safe and full of joy.

Still, we do have one day of the week that rarely breaks pattern.

Saturdays.

Every Saturday, for as long as I can remember, I wake up early, make pancakes, get dressed, and head to the library—the one place where time slows down, where stories open like doorways and the world feels just a little quieter.

Bringing Maddie into that routine was surprisingly easy. I started taking her when she was just a month old. I would’ve done it sooner, but I was still figuring things out—how to be a single mother to a newborn. Just surviving those first few days was its own kind of story.

She loves our Saturdays.

Every Saturday morning, once the pancakes are ready, I head to her room—and without fail, she wakes up with the biggest smile.

She always knows it’s Saturday because of the smell. Like clockwork, the scent of warm batter reaches her tiny nose, and her whole body just springs to life. She throws off her covers, races into the kitchen barefoot and beaming, already asking for her syrup before I can even plate the first stack.

This Saturday morning was different.

I should’ve known things would go wrong the moment I decided to step even slightly out of routine.

“Good morning, princess,” I sing, beaming as I step into her bedroom—blueberry pancakes in hand. “Brought you breakfast in bed. Aren’t you a spoiled little princess today?”

Her face lights up like it always does. “Good morning, Mommy!”

She spots the pancakes, and her eyes sparkle. She bounces a little beneath her blankets, already reaching for the plate. “Blueberry?”

I nod, smiling. “Well, I know how much you like them, so I decided to change things up,” I say, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “Alright, eat up. The library’s waiting for us.”

She hummed as she ate, little legs swinging off the edge of the bed, syrup smeared near the corner of her mouth. It was such a small thing, but I remember thinking—this is what happiness feels like. A plate of blueberry pancakes and a five-year-old who thinks I hung the stars.

We left a little later than usual.

Just ten minutes. That’s all.

She insisted on picking out her own outfit—a striped shirt and a pink coat—and I let her. Another tiny detour from routine. Nothing dramatic. Nothing dangerous.

The nearest library, which we were used to visiting, was a three-story building. It was old, but they kept it clean. The library had a huge variety of books, from Children’s books to cookbooks.

It was just as it always was. Quiet. Warm. A kind of sacred.

We walked in together. I remember holding the door open while she skipped inside.

I remember telling her—“Stay close, baby.”

she nodding.

And then…Then I blinked. I looked up from the shelves. And she was gone.

I’ve never lost my Maddie before. She’s a curious child, and she loves to wander off on adventures. She probably inherited that from me. This need to find whatever’s glowing. I understand it. We’re moths, both of us. Fragile, flitting things, always blinded by the glow, unaware that it might hurt us.

But I’ve gotten better at spotting the danger.

At least… when it comes to her.

I watch everything. Every step she takes. Every handrail she climbs. Every crack in the sidewalk I gently guide her around. Not even the tiniest fruit fly gets near her without me noticing. I make sure of it. I always make sure.

So how did I miss this?

how did I lose her?

“Maddie?” I called out, trying to keep my voice steady. “Maddie, where are you, sweetheart?”

No reply.

Just silence. Just shelves. Just the sound of someone flipping a page somewhere far away.

I couldn’t see her.

I couldn’t hear her.

Panic bloomed in my chest, sharp and fast. I started moving���too quickly to think, too slowly to matter. I scanned every row, every corner of the first floor, spinning in half-circles, eyes darting, throat dry.

Think. You have to think. Breathe.

I forced myself to stop. Just for a second. Inhaled. Shaky. Exhaled. Useless.

That’s when I saw it.

A sign hanging above the staircase in soft, colorful letters:

Children’s Section – Second Floor.

I don’t think I’ve ever taken stairs that fast in my life.

I practically leapt two steps at a time, nearly tripping—twice—but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. My heart was pounding too hard, my breath caught somewhere between a prayer and a scream.

As soon as I reached the top, I heard it. Laughter. Soft, bubbling giggles echoing from the back corner of the floor.

Maddie. My sun.

I followed the sound like it was oxygen, rounding the shelves toward the children’s section—and there she was. She was fine. Smiling. Whole. Lit up with joy I hadn’t seen since breakfast.

I was so blinded by the sight of her—so completely caught in the gravity of that relief—that I didn’t see the small, shiny object flying straight at my face.

Thunk.

“Ow!” I yelped, instinctively pressing a hand to my forehead where the coin made impact.

“Mommy!” I blinked, still holding my forehead, and finally looked up to see my daughter running full speed to me.

I dropped my hand and opened my arms just in time, catching her as she flung herself into me.

The force of her little body nearly knocked the breath out of my lungs—and I didn’t care. I clutched her to my chest, my hands smoothing over her hair, her back, her arms—like I needed to physically confirm every part of her was still here.

Still mine.

“I was looking for you,” she mumbled into my shoulder.

“I know, baby,” I whispered. “I know. I’m here.”

I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and only then—only then—did I let myself breathe. Let myself relax and look around with a clear mind.

And that’s when I saw him.

A man—tall, gangly, cardigan-ed, and completely mortified. His wide brown eyes darted from the coin in the floor, to my face and back again like he wasn’t sure which deserved more immediate attention.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t—I mean, the coin wasn’t… is your forehead okay?” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence. He reached down and took the quarter in his hands.

He was nervous. The poor thing couldn’t even get a full thought out without stuttering or switching pitch. He looked like a deer caught in headlights—in the most endearing way possible.

I adjusted Maddie in my arms and slowly rose to my feet, brushing a hand over the spot where the coin had hit.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “I’m okay.”

“Mommy, that’s Spencer. He’s a wizard, but you can’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.” Maddie’s little voice cut in, muffled by my shoulder. Her tiny hands clung to my shirt like this secret was sacred. Like this moment mattered.

“Is he now?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

The poor man looked like he was about to spontaneously combust. His cheeks were flushed a deep pink, and he kept shifting like he wanted to disappear behind the nearest bookshelf. He was clearly mortified for making my daughter believe he was an actual wizard.

Meanwhile, Maddie looked like she might explode from sheer joy.

“He did magic, Mommy!” she beamed. “He made the coin disappear! And he’s friends with Harry Potter!”

I looked at him again—this tall, blushing stranger in a cardigan, holding a rogue quarter like it was evidence from a crime scene—and for the first time since the panic hit…

I smiled. No, not just that. I giggled.

“He’s friends with Harry Potter, sweetheart?”

“Yeah!” Maddie chirped, her little head nodding furiously against my shoulder. “He told me so!”

I glanced down at Maddie, still glowing with excitement in my arms, then back at him—this stranger with a guilty expression and a coin pinched nervously between his fingers.

“So you’ve met the famous Harry Potter?” I asked softly, more amused than anything else.

His mouth opened… then closed again. He looked completely out of his depth, like he wasn’t sure whether to defend himself or disappear behind the nearest bookcase.

“I… may have implied we’d met,” he said, almost apologetically. “In a—fictional sense.”

“Fictional,” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, eyes flicking anywhere but at me. “She asked if I knew him, and I just couldn’t say no. Plus, it calmed her down.”

My heart twisted, gently. Of course it did.

I crouched to set Maddie down, brushing a hand over her curls. “Don’t wander off, sweetheart.”

She nodded seriously—too seriously for someone who just believed she’d befriended a wizard—but she stayed put, her wide eyes still bouncing between me and the man standing awkwardly by the bookshelves.

When I stood, he was watching me. Not in a weird way. Just… watching. Like he wasn’t sure if he should say something, or leave before he embarrassed himself further.

I finally broke the silence.

“Thank you,” I said. “For keeping her calm. And for the magic tricks. Even if one of them involved hitting a complete stranger in the face.”

His eyes widened. “Oh my god—yes. I’m really sorry about that. That was not part of the trick. I swear it usually disappears. Like, away from people.”

I smiled again, gentler this time. “I believe you.”

A beat passed.

“You’ve got a very brave little girl.”

My chest squeezed.

“Yeah,” I whispered, looking over at Maddie, who was now spinning slowly in place, humming to herself like nothing had happened.

“She really is.”

I looked back again, and of course—despite being told not to wander—she had already drifted toward the toy shelf, her tiny fingers trailing along the edge of a plastic castle.

Moth. Always drawn to whatever glows.

He hadn’t stopped staring.

He kept looking at me like he wanted to tear me open—not in a violent way, but in that quiet, curious way. Like he needed to understand what made me me. Like he was trying to read my soul the way other people read books.

I hadn’t even noticed—Not until I turned my gaze back to him, and when I did, I nearly forgot how to breathe.

There was something behind his eyes—something searching. Gentle, but sharp. Not the kind of stare meant to intimidate. No, it was worse. It was the kind that saw. Saw too much.

The kind of look that made you feel like maybe you weren’t a collection of masks and moments. Like maybe you were a story he’d just opened to the first page.

It made my skin warm.

I looked away first. Not because it was uncomfortable—But because it wasn’t.

Because I didn’t know what to do with the way he looked at me like that. Like I was worth reading.

“So… she read the Harry Potter series?” he asked, breaking the silence.

His voice jolted me back to reality. I blinked a couple times, trying to shake myself free from whatever trance those hazel eyes had pulled me into.

“Has she read—? No, no. She still struggles a bit with reading. The only books she’s managed on her own so far are Frog and Toad Are Friends and The Tales of Oliver Pig.”

His lips twitched at that, like he was trying not to smile too hard.

“Do you mind me asking… how old is she?”

“She’s turning five in a couple weeks.”

He blinked. “And she’s reading at a first-grade level? That’s impressive.”

I smiled, soft and proud. “She’s always been a quick learner. Loves stories. I think it’s how she makes sense of the world.”

He nodded, like he understood that. Like maybe he did the same.

“So I take it she’s only seen the Harry Potter movies then?” he asked, circling back to his original question.

“Oh—no. I read to her a lot. We actually went through the entire Harry Potter series last summer.”

His eyebrows lifted, impressed. “All seven?”

“All seven,” I nodded. “It took us a few months, but she was completely obsessed. She didn’t want me to put the books down, not even to sleep. Had a million questions. Wanted to know why Harry had to live in the cupboard, how the time-turner worked, what butterbeer tastes like.”

He chuckled softly. “She sounds like someone I would’ve been friends with at her age.”

“You read a lot as a kid?”

He hesitated—not because he didn’t want to answer, but because he seemed to be sorting through too many memories at once.

“Pretty much all I did,” he said eventually. “Books were easier. Made more sense than people did.”

There was something in the way he said it—like it wasn’t just a fun fact, but a truth he’d learned the hard way.

I didn’t push. I just nodded, quietly understanding.

“Maddie’s the same,” I offered. “She talks to books like they talk back.”

He smiled at that. “That’s the best kind of kid.”

I was about to reply—to agree with the praise of my daughter, to maybe say something more—but then she came barreling back toward us, beaming.

“Mommy, Mommy! Look!” She held up a Rapunzel doll.

“Can I have her? Please? She has real brushable hair!” Maddie clutched the box to her chest like she’d just been entrusted with state secrets.

I chuckle, “That’s yarn, sweetie. You can’t brush it.”

“Can I have her? Please, Mommy?”

I looked at him, then at my daughter’s wide, pleading eyes. The panic from earlier was still fading in my bones, but the joy on her face grounded me again.

“Fine,” I said with a knowing smile. “Let’s check her out and ask if she’s ready for a new home.”

Maddie squealed and ran ahead toward the counter.

He straightened, glancing at me with the softest grin.

“She’s something else,” he said.

I met his eyes, the warmth still lingering between us.

“She really is.”

He smiled—soft, sheepish. A little unsure.

There was a pause.

My eyes flicked between him, the floor, and Maddie standing at the counter, rocking on her heels with the raggedy doll held up against her chest.

I didn’t know what it was about him. Maybe it was the way he spoke to her, so tender.

Maybe it was the way he panicked when I first approached them—all flustered and apologetic, tripping over his words like he hadn’t spoken out loud in days.

Maybe it was his eyes—big, toffee-colored, and far too curious. The way he kept looking at me like I was a puzzle he genuinely wanted to solve.

Despite everything in me that usually resisted introducing new people into our lives, I felt it—that pull.

I wanted to know him.

“I should get going,” he said, his voice low, like he didn’t really want to.

I nodded, even though something in me quietly hoped he’d stay just a little longer.

“Of course. Thank you again. For everything.”

He looked down, then back at me, like he was still trying to memorize something.

“It was… nice meeting you. Both of you.”

“It was nice meeting you too.”

He took a step back, then paused.

“I hope she keeps believing in magic,” he said, glancing toward Maddie with something almost wistful in his eyes.

“She will,” I said, smiling. “She has a good reason to.”

He didn’t say anything after that. Just smiled once more—brighter this time—before turning and walking away.

And even though I knew I’d just met him… I wanted to call out after him. Maybe invite him to eat with us, I had the pretense of him keeping my daughter safe. It would be so easy, just go, “hey wait!”

But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Because despite having every reason to call out to him, to try and integrate him into my life, the fear in me always ended up eating my intentions up.

Still. I had a feeling that wouldn’t be the last time I saw him..

I stayed still for a moment, just watching him leave.

It wasn’t until he disappeared from view that I finally moved—walking to the counter where my daughter was waiting, still cradling her new doll like a prize.

“Where did Spencer go?” she asked, as soon as I appeared beside her.

Spencer. So that's his name.

It fit him, somehow. A little old-fashioned, a little too soft around the edges for someone who carried so much weight in his eyes. But now that she’d said it out loud, I couldn’t imagine him being called anything else.

“He had to leave, sweetheart.”

Her little face fell just slightly. “Will we see him again? I want to see more magic.”

I crouched beside her, brushing her hair back behind one ear as I pulled her into my arms. The weight of the day finally caught up to me—settling in my chest like something too big to name.

“Who knows, Maddie,” I murmured, holding her tight. “Maybe someday.”

I pulled back just enough to look her in the eye.

“I need you to promise me something, okay?”

She blinked up at me, her Rapunzel doll dangling loosely from one arm.

“Don’t ever wander off like that again. Spencer was kind, and he kept you safe. But not everyone is like him. You could’ve gotten hurt.”

She nodded, serious now. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“I know, baby,” I whispered, holding her again. “I just need you safe.”

“I promise, Mommy.” She murmured.

“Thank you, honey.” I kissed her temple. “Now… let’s buy you this doll and go get something to eat.”

She grinned, her earlier worry forgotten, clutching Rapunzel to her chest like she’d just made a new friend.

We walked out hand-in-hand, the late morning sun spilling through the library doors as they shut behind us.

And even though I told myself it was just another Saturday…

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something else had quietly begun.

Next Chapter

[potatoplace]

Can't Help Falling In Love

The Afterthought: Chapter 6 | series masterlist

ACOTAR x Archeron!Reader

chapter 5 | chapter 7 | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: Your gained independence has brought you more friendships, a companion, and, surprisingly, a new romance.

Warnings: shitty Feyre, very mild drinking, iiii honestly think that's it? I cannot think of anything else, let me know if I missed something pls

Words: ~11.8k

Author's Note: omg so I'm tired so there might be mistakes BUT everyone let me know what they think!!!!!!!!!! IM SO EXCITED TO HEAR WHAT YOU THINK CAUSE OMG IVE BEEN SO EXCITED FOR THIS MOMENT. Also. Peep the fun lil cameo I made (I am sure you all will guess it easily lol it's p obvious imo. Also. I will share pictures if people ask 🤭) I hope you all like this chapter!! ps the title is from an Elvis song but I know it from Fools Rush In but that's what they dance to at the end

18+ only pls

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Mor returned just a few minutes after you finished getting dressed, in a soft, thick navy cotton nightgown, your feet clad in soft, fuzzy white slippers.

You had already set the table- another purchase from the secondhand furniture store that you had made yesterday, coming with four matching chairs. The scuffed walnut wood matched your bed frame, which had been a good enough reason for you to choose it.

And, that you'd been able to carry it home. Slowly, but you had, and you'd returned for the chairs promptly, each time apologizing to the seemingly annoyed shop owner who had said nothing each time, only stared at you over the top of his book.

You let Mor in after the first knock, giggling when you saw everything she was carrying. She had a small duffel bag, a bag filled with food, and another bag filled with... well, you weren't sure yet, but it was stuffed to the brim.

"Did you bring enough stuff, Mor?"

"Oh, hush you," Mor said, breezing past you to deposit the food on the stable, her other bags deposited next to your bed. "I brought pasta! There's a creamy one that has a seafood blend, and some good old spaghetti with meatballs. Plus-" Mor pulled another, smaller bag out. "Breadsticks!"

"Did you get anything healthy?" You asked, taking the breadstick that she handed to you and taking a bite.

"Nope," Mor said through her own bite. "I mean, unless you count tomatoes being a fruit. Which I totally do. So actually, yes."

You shook your head and laughed as you sat at the table, Mor following right after. "As long as there's tomatoes, then. What's all the other stuff?" You asked, pointing your breadstick at her other bags.

"Well, one is my clothes for tonight and in the morning, and the other is full of housewarming presents!"

You let out an exasperated sigh, but you couldn't help the smile that spread across your face. "More housewarming presents? I don't know how much of this I can take."

"Oh, you will take them happily," Mor said sternly. "They're just some small things that I thought you might need, nothing big. Though I would love to help you find a couch tomorrow, if you're up for it?"

You looked at the bag, and back to Mor. "That depends on how much you got me, Mor."

Mor smiled brightly. "Ahh, so you can be convinced. Do you want to know what they are now, or food first?" You glanced down at your breadstick, and quirked a brow at Mor. "I mean the pasta, silly. So?"

"Uhh... Presents first, I suppose, as long as the food won't get cold."

"That should be no problem, if we keep it in the bag. I'll go change into my pajamas really quick, and then you can see what I got you!"

A few minutes later you were sat on your bed, Mor beside you, pulling your first present out as you held your eyes shut.

"Go ahead and open!" Mor said after placing something that felt like a book in your outstretched hands.

It was a book- and upon opening, you saw that it was filled with handwriting exercises, and beginners words. Meant for a child, yes, but...

"Mor, thank you," you said tearily, pulling your friend into your arms. "This is- oh, this is so amazing. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Mor giggled beside you. "You're welcome, Y/N! I know that glass Nuala and Cerridwen gave you is helpful for understanding letters, but I also know you'd prefer to do it yourself. Now, close your eyes again!"

The two of you repeated the process over and over again, until you'd received every present Mor had picked out for you.

She had gifted you a beautiful quill set, with a selection of colored inks along with a larger inkwell filled with the standard black. A diary, in a delicate shade of pink, along with matching letter paper and envelopes, a small kit to do wax seals for when you decide to send letters. Mor had also picked out a few lovely bars of hand soap, along with two cute crystal dishes to hold them. And Mor had brought you two new blankets, one a dark blue, and the other in a dark purple.

"You can never have enough blankets, Y/N. Never," Mor said seriously as the two of you moved back to the dining table, each of you having a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

"I agree with you completely, Mor. And really, thank you for everything," you said sincerely, squeezing her hand.

"It's my pleasure, Y/N. I'm always happy to go shopping! Now- do you want some of both dishes? Cause... I do," Mor admitted with a grin as she pulled the to-go boxes out of the bag.

"I'd be happy to have both," you giggled, grabbing another breadstick from the bag, this one slightly cooler than before. "So- tell me what's been going on with the Hewn City? Unless you want to avoid work completely."

Mor sighed as she dished out some of both pastas for both of you, onto the pretty clay plates you had bought two days ago, with painted flowers decorating its surface. "Well, Keir has been a pain in my ass, using every available connection he has to try and stop the upcoming election. He's been holding these stupid little rallies at the nightly revels, trying to convince the citizens to stage a coup. Though why he thinks that would work when Rhys or Feyre alone would be able to shut it down, I don't know. Just... He's being a pain in my ass!"

"I'm sorry, Mor. Isn't there anything that Feyre or Rhys would be able to do? Or maybe... Maybe remove him from power, imprison him for attempting to overthrow their rule?" You suggested, then took a bite of the seafood pasta- absolutely delicious, the creamy sauce complimenting the scallops, shrimp, and shellfish well, the pasta tender.

"I've tried telling them that it may be the only way forward, but they don't seem to understand how bad it's gotten as of late. Azriel's been busy in Autumn or Illyria for the past few months, and Cassian's been monitoring Windhaven specifically as of late. And Feyre is pregnant, meaning Rhys is unlikely to send her to the Hewn City without him, which would leave only Amren in Velaris. So..." Mor took a dejected bite of a breadstick.

"So you're stuck there?"

"Pretty much," she sighed. "Though I made Rhys promise to give me at least one day off every week, so I'll be able to come back home, and I'll be able to see you!"

You smiled. "Good, I'm glad. I missed you a lot over this last month, Mor."

Mor's expression matched your own. "I missed you too, sweets. Now... Tell me how everything's been going with you?"

It was your turn to sigh after you swallowed your bite of spaghetti- also delicious, with the slightly spicy sauce and meatballs.

"Things have been... They're looking up now. Now that I've moved out, at least. And working has been really nice. Things around the River House... Besides Azriel, they've been really tough for me. Nesta and Elain... They make me so uncomfortable, and they hate me for no reason. At least, that's what it feels like. And Feyre doesn't seem to care, either..." You shoved another bite of food into your mouth, letting the flavor soothe your pain.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I really thought that Feyre would have tried to make them stop, especially after how rude they were dress shopping for Starfall," Mor said. "But I'm glad to here that things are looking up for you- And that Azriel has been sweet. And working at Sevenda's! You've done amazingly for yourself, love, all on your own. If..." Mor paused, considering her words. "If you decided to not have them in your life anymore, I wouldn't blame you. Feyre I would give another chance, but Nesta and Elain... They're taking their anger about their own situation out on you, I think. And that's unforgivable, seeing as they know how much it's hurt you."

Tears had welled in your eyes at her words, at how well she understood your feelings. "Thank you, Mor," you managed to choke out before the tears fell.

"Oh, sweets... Come here," Mor said, standing from her chair and pulling you up and into her arms, squeezing you tightly, a hand stroking your hair soothingly. "How about we do a face mask and eat chocolate? Does that sound good?" Mor asked after a while, pulling away from you a bit. You nodded your head, not trusting your voice quite yet.

"Let's do it, then."

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The next morning was lazy, with you and Mor sleeping in and laying in bed for an hour, talking about everything and nothing. You felt like you were sharing hushed secrets together, like you had so long ago with Feyre when the both of you laid awake at night, your other sisters sleeping the night away as the two of you dreamed of a life you wanted to live, not just an existence of scraping by.

Eventually, you were dragged from the cocoon of your bed by your bladder, and after you had washed your hands you jumped on the bed, right on Mor.

"It's time to get up," you sang as you laid on top of your friend, giggling when she half-heartedly tried to push you off of her. "You said you wanted to go couch shopping, right?"

"Yes, but not this early," Mor groaned beneath you.

"If you want any chance of paying for it, you've got to get up now!"

"Okay, okay! You've convinced me, you're impossible to give things to unless I've already bought them," Mor laughed, and this time you let her push you off of her- not that you doubted her ability to do it if she truly wanted to. The two of you made your way into the bathroom, going through the steps of washing and moisturizing your faces. "We're stopping for breakfast in a café, though, I'm dying to have a muffin and some coffee."

"That's fine by me Mor," you laughed. "You can change in here, I'll change in the main room."

"Okay, just let me know when you're dressed so I don't accidentally peek on you," Mor said after she had grabbed her bag and returned to the bathroom. That left you to quickly strip out of your nightgown, down to your underwear. You slipped on a simple peach brassiere and into a clean, black woolen dress, in a similarly modest fashion to the one you had worn yesterday.

"You can come out, Mor," you called out, and a moment later the bathroom door swung open.

"Let's get going, I'm starving," Mor complained as the two of you slipped on your boots and outerwear, you of course wearing all of the items Azriel had bought for you. "Oo, I like these," Mor said, stroking the cape with an ungloved hand. "Did you buy it recently?"

A blush spread over your cheeks against your will. "Oh, uhm. Azriel gave the set to me, for Solstice."

A smile spread across Mor's face. "Oh? Azriel bought it for you?" Mor asked.

Your cheeks heated further at her actual question. "It's not like that, he's just being nice..." You mumbled.

"And what if he wasn't?"

You blinked at Mor for a moment, dumbstruck by her suggestion before you laughed. "No, no. I don't... That's not a possibility, Mor."

Mor shook her head. "But you want it to be- and it is. Any male or female would be lucky to have you, Y/N," Mor said gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Now. Let's go get breakfast."

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Three hours later, you and Mor were carrying a couch through the snow covered streets of Velaris, the legs dragging through the white powder. Its pink velvet fabric was a near match to the chair you had already bought, and had a low enough back to allow winged individuals to sit comfortably.

Not that you'd taken that too much into account, it was just a nice benefit for when Azriel came to visit.

Which he would be, tonight. The two of you had agreed to have dinner tonight, as your way of repaying him for your bed. It was the one night he would be in town this week, and since you had the day off it had seemed to work perfectly.

Mor was going out with some friends tonight at Rita's, an activity that you were fine not being involved in, and she had to return to the Hewn City early in the morning.

The two of you said goodbye in the late afternoon, a long hug and promises to coordinate time together and write to each other- you would even attempt to tell her about your week, if you were able.

You spent the time before Azriel turned up cleaning your apartment some, washing the dishes that you and Mor had used last night and putting away the gifts she had given you.

Then? You collapsed on the couch, a blanket spread over you as you enjoyed how soft the cushions were.

A shadow tangled in your hair moments before a knock landed on your door, and you shook your head at the silly little thing.

"Hello, Azriel," you said as you opened the door, face to face with the Shadowsinger, a round, covered dish in his hands. His shadows seemed antsier than usual, a few of them breaking away to swirl around your feet, a tiny smile creeping onto your lips.

His eyes tracked them, tightening for a moment before they met yours, hazel softening as he looked at you. "Good evening, Y/N."

Your smile grew. "Come in, you need to choose a recipe so that we can go shopping," you said brightly as you opened the door further, letting him into your apartment. "You didn't need to bring anything, you know."

"Thank you. I just brought dessert, and it was my pleasure. And I'd be happy to have anything you make, Y/N," Azriel said as he followed you into the kitchen, where you had two of your cookbooks set out on the counter. The ones that Nesta and Feyre had gifted you. He set the dish to the left of them, and you were tempted to peel back the foil covering it.

"None of that, you're going to choose a recipe that you want," you demanded, fully aware that you are being more assertive than you'd been with him... Well, ever.

But he seemed similar to you, in the way that you never liked to accept much of anything from others.

Azriel stared you down for a moment before sighing, a small smile creeping onto his face. "Okay. But you have to let me know if it's a recipe you wouldn't like," Azriel said firmly, waiting to open a cookbook until you had nodded your agreement. "Good."

He flicked through the pages until he settled on a dish you both thought sounded good- chicken and dumplings. "It was my favorite when I was younger," Azriel confessed as the two of you walked to the Palace of Hoof and Leaf, his shadows clearing your path as they had taken to doing over the past month.

"I can't imagine you younger, somehow," you giggled as you looked up at him, trying to imagine him as a gangly teenager. But the image never came, leaving you staring at the very masculine male next to you.

Azriel let out an amused snort. "That's fine by me, I was... I was awkward, back then. But, so were my brothers."

"You? Awkward?" You shook your head. "I don't buy it. You're too calm, all the time."

"That's now. Back then I was a nervous wreck," Azriel admitted, rubbing the back of his head.

"Well, if you're ever nervous now, you do an amazing job of hiding it," you said as you picked out the vegetables you would need, handing over your bank card to the stall owner for a moment, thanking them as you left. The vegetables were placed into the cloth bag you had brought with you, which Azriel plucked from your arms despite your protest.

"If you're paying for everything and cooking, the least you can let me do is carry the ingredients," he insisted. "Now, what else do we need?"

You looked down at your list, squinting at the poorly printed ingredients that you had written down before leaving. "Uh... Chicken, obviously."

"Right. There's a butcher shop just a few stalls down," Azriel said, leading you gently with a hand on the small of your back.

The intimacy of his touch made your breath stutter for a moment, before you reminded yourself that Azriel is your friend, nothing more.

Shopping flew by, easy, light conversation flowing between the two of you while you were in the outdoors.

Azriel carried everything for you, prying every item out of your hands after you had paid for it. But you didn't feel patronized by it, rather... You felt touched, that he wanted to carry the groceries back to your apartment, that he wanted to help out in some way. It was nice.

His helping hands attempted to extended into the kitchen, at which point you fixed him with your toughest stare, demanding that he stayed still.

"Just sit there and let me cook! Enjoy your wine!" You said to him as you dropped the dumplings into the pot. "This is me repaying you for my bed in the one way you would let me- so let me!"

Azriel sighed, but you could almost hear the smile he was wearing. "I cannot believe my shadows are siding with you."

"What?" You asked, turning away from the pot to stare at him, laughing at the sight you were met with. "Oh my- that's hilarious!" You giggled at seeing Azriel, covered in his own shadows as they held him to the chair, even lifting his glass of wine up for him.

"So you say, I find mutiny much less amusing," Azriel said, shaking his head with a smile on his face. "It smells amazing, Y/N."

Your smile grew, nose scrunching at his words. "Thank you, it should only be a few more minutes."

"I'm fine right here, no matter how long it takes."

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Azriel had left your apartment near eight in the evening last night, after he had insisted upon doing the dishes, of course. Dinner had been such a pleasant affair, with Azriel telling you about his work in Autumn and Illyria, and you talking about the small dramas of your fellow kitchen staff.

You could confidently say that you were friends now. Even better, you had gotten Azriel to agree to have dinner with you when he had a rare evening in town that wasn't taken up by court matters or inner circle dinners, though it hadn't been tough to convince the male. The next time you would see him would likely be on Saturday, though he had promised to send a note with one of his shadows if something came up.

Currently though, you were at work, nestled between Josi and Torma.

You'd woken up with an ominous feeling pooling deep in your stomach, one that you still hadn't shaken. But, you'd gotten yourself out of bed and to work; for that, you were proud.

Josi and Torma were going back and forth about where they should go for drinks that night.

"I think we should go to Rita's. Then we can dance!" Josi said excitedly, even doing a little jig, bumping her hip lightly into yours which drew a giggle from you. "See! Y/N thinks it's fun!"

"Dancing would be fun, that's true Josi. But I'm feeling more like sitting and talking a bit tonight, which is why Blue Bar would be a much better choice," Torma explained, giving Josi her best puppy dog eyes as she looked over your head.

Josi sighed. "What if Y/N comes dancing with us? Would you go to Rita's then?"

Your eyes widened at the suggestion. "I don't think-"

"Oh, please Y/N?" Torma begged, setting down her knife and putting her palms together. "Please please please? You haven't gone out with us yet!"

You scrunched your face at the idea. Drinking, dancing, and being near so many people... Was not your idea of a relaxing evening. "I'm not sure... I don't really drink," you said quietly.

"But you don't have to drink! You can just watch us be silly and bad at dancing," Josi enthused, setting down her own knife. "Come ooon, you know you want to see us make fools of ourselves!"

The thought of them stumbling around together on a dance floor did bring a smile to your face. "As long as you guys don't abandon me," you decided, your words resulting in enthusiastic high fives from your coworkers, only making you smile wider.

"Yes! Okay, we can either pick you up from your apartment at seven, or you can meet us at Rita's at the same time," Josi said.

"Uhh... Pick me up from my apartment, I think. Otherwise I might just stay home," you admitted sheepishly.

"Then we'll pick you up at seven o'clock sharp," Torma declared.

The rest of your shift passed quickly, with you leaving around five. You bid goodbye to your coworkers, promising them that you would be ready and enthusiastically awaiting their arrival in two hours.

You walked home, enjoying the slightly warmer weather that Velaris was having today. The sun was shining brightly, even as it began its descent below the horizon.

Still, even the lovely weather couldn't shake the feeling in your bones that something unexpected would happen today, good or bad.

And you were proven right when you arrived to your building, Feyre standing outside of the locked door, looking...

Angry.

Furious.

Your heart picked up in your chest, beating rapidly as you tried to assess why she would be angry... The only reason you could come up with was, well... Why you were standing outside of an apartment building.

"Hello, Feyre," you said, as neutrally as you could with your heart hammering in your chest.

"Y/N," Feyre said coldly, her hands pointing to the doorknob. "Let me in?"

Your brows scrunched together, but you unlocked the door, letting Feyre pass through before you. You led her upstairs, pausing before your door. Should you let her in...? You sighed and unlocked the door, allowing Feyre to enter your apartment. Your safe space.

You only hoped it continue to feel that way, after this visit.

"So... You moved out without telling me? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? How worried I've been?!" Feyre growled at you once the door was shut behind you.

"Worried?" You asked with a mirthless chuckle. "You've been worried? I was gone for a week, Feyre! A week, and you couldn't be bothered to notice until Mor did!" You yelled at her, your own anger at your situation bubbling up. "Besides, it's not like I could leave the fucking city without your approval anyways, so what do you have to be worried about?! That I'm making my own life, with people who actually care about me?!" Feyre opened her mouth to respond, but you didn't give her the chance. "I felt like nothing but a burden, an annoyance in that house," you hissed. "And if you had actually cared about me, you would've noticed I moved out last Wednesday. And you would've noticed when I got a job. And you would have remembered that I cannot. Read." Tears filled your eyes as you brought up that little tidbit, the sting of it fresh whenever you thought of it. Water had begun pooling in Feyre's eyes, and you knew that if she spoke you would forgive her, even if you didn't want to. "Now get out, Feyre, unless you've decided that my apartment is now your property as well. Come back when you actually realize why I moved out," you said coldly as you opened the door, staring expectantly at her.

She did as you asked, passing through the doorway mere minutes after she entered. Feyre turned to you, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "I do care for you, Y/N. But you've got to stop acting like living at the River House was torture."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, slamming the door in her face and locking it tightly.

Not that it would stop her, if she really wanted in...

You spent the rest of your time before your coworkers showed up curled in your bed, pillows piled around you and blanket pulled over your head. It was only when you peeked at the clock and saw it was ten to seven that you pulled yourself from your cocoon.

Hair brushed out and a small amount of eyeliner and pale pink rouge and lipstick applied, you quickly changed into a different dress. Your cozy black cotton dress was changed to a flowing, sapphire blue silk gown. The sleeves were loose, wider once they met your forearms, and the modest cut and floor length skirts left you feeling secure and covered. You felt pretty in it, one of the few nicer gowns you had taken from your closet in the River House.

You had just pulled on your boots and cloak when a knock fell on your door, Josi and Torma waiting outside.

"How did you get in the building?" You asked with a laugh as you locked up.

"Well, one of the other tenants had just walked in when we arrived, so we slipped inside!" Josi explained, locking arms with you as the three of you left the building.

"Ahh, that explains it."

"Yes. Now, let's get to Rita's! It's cold as balls out here," Torma groaned, taking your other arm and dragging the two of you along faster.

The air in Rita's was hot, a welcome reprieve from the winter chill outside. Josi went to order drinks for the three of you, while Torma led you over to a booth in the back of the bar.

The two of you had just settled in when Josi came back, four drinks in her hands. She set two in front of you, one was water, the other was pink and sparkling, smelling of strawberries and a hint of alcohol.

"I know you said you don't drink, but I thought I would get you something just in case! I had the bartender make it less strong for you. And if you don't have it, I'll drink it anyways," Josi giggled as she slid into the booth next to you, already sipping her own drink.

Normally you wouldn't have dared to touch alcohol, but your conversation with Feyre earlier... You could use a distraction. And, you were with your trusted coworkers.

You took a small sip of the drink, delighted at the way the liquid was fizzing in your mouth. It tasted as it smelled, primarily of strawberries with the slightest hint of alcohol- champagne, you thought.

"Thank you, Josi, it's delicious."

"I'm glad you like it! Oh- Torma, we have to dance to this one!" Josi squealed, setting her drink down and sliding out of the booth, pulling Torma along with her.

You watched them dance, sillier with each song as Josi had said they would, sipping your drink. You started feeling light, tipsy like you had at the one party you'd drank at, when you still lived in the human lands.

Maybe that was why you hadn't noticed him, until he was standing directly in front of you, wings tucked in behind him.

"Oh- hi, Azriel," you said quietly, a flush on your cheeks as you smiled at him.

"Hello, Y/N. I didn't expect to see you here," Azriel replied, sliding into the booth across from you. "You look like you're having a nice time."

You bobbed your head to the beat of the music. "I am. Josi and Torma convinced me to come out tonight. And I am glad they did, otherwise Feyre would have ruined my day," you giggled, the sting from your interaction with her not present with the alcohol running through your veins.

"You spoke with Feyre?" Azriel asked, a curious look on his face.

You sighed heavily and took another small sip of your drink. "Yeah, she was at my place when I got off work, and was mad that I moved out without saying anything. But really, it took her a week to notice!" You vented. "Not to mention she didn't even remember that I couldn't read... Nesta and Elain I understand since they hate me but..." you trailed off, a frown on your face.

One of Azriel's hands slid over your own, grasping it gently. "I'm sorry that you've been let down so thoroughly by your sisters, Y/N. I am happy to know that you're still living how you want, and making friends too."

You smiled dreamily at him. How was he so nice to you? "Thank you, Azriel. I'm glad that you're my friend, you're really nice."

Azriel smiled softly at you, his hazel eyes crinkling at the edges.

One of his shadows tangled itself in your hair, rubbing against your neck and drawing your eyes away from Azriel's. "Your shadows are so silly," you giggled, tickling the shadow with a finger.

"They seem to like you a lot," Azriel remarked, watching as more of his shadows nuzzled themselves against you. "By the way, I wanted to ask you if you're up for a surprise on Saturday, before we have dinner."

You blinked at him for a moment, your thoughts coming more slowly with what you'd drank. "Uhm... Is it a fun surprise? Or like... dragging me to a family dinner surprise?"

Azriel's lips pressed together, the corners of his mouth still tilting upwards. "A fun surprise, I promise. And if you don't like it, we can leave right away."

"Mm... Sure, I don't see why not," you said, trying to come up with what kind of surprise he would plan.

"Good," Azriel smiled. Josi and Torma had wandered back over to the table, fresh drinks for themselves in hand. "I'll let you spend time with your friends," he said, sliding out of the booth.

"Thank you for saying hi, Az," you said sweetly, smiling happily at him. "I'll see you on Saturday!"

Azriel nodded, a slight flush on his cheeks as he turned away, going back to whichever table he had been at.

"Oooh," Josi said from beside you, elbowing you gently in the side. "Someone has a crush on the Shadowsinger!"

You scrunched your face at her, but couldn't get the smile to slide off of your face. "No I don't," you whined.

"Oh yes you do," Torma joined in, poking your leg with a foot. "And I dare say he has one on you as well."

You blushed further at that idea, shaking your head. "No, no, we're just friends!" You insisted, but both of them gave you a knowing look.

"Uh-huh," Josi giggled from beside you. "Just let us know when you start dating, hmm?"

"It's not like that!" You giggled, gently slapping her on the arm. "It's not!"

Torma rolled her eyes playfully at you from across the booth. "Sure, Y/N. Now, do you want to dance with us?"

You looked out at the dance floor. You'd never been one for dancing, since you'd missed out on the years of lessons that Nesta and Elain had gotten. But...

You drained the rest of you drink, about a third of it, and scooted into Josi. "Let's go dance!"

🤍🤍💙🤍🤍

The next morning, you'd woken up with a slight hangover, which had been easily cured with a large glass of water, some dry toast, and a long bath.

Josi and Torma had grinned at you the whole day, talking about how they needed to take you out more often now.

You wouldn't say yes every time but... It had been nice spending time with them, and dancing had been more fun than you'd thought, with a bit of bubbly running through you.

The five days before you would see Azriel again- when you would know what surprise he had planned- passed by quickly at work, but dreadfully slow while you were alone at home.

You had taken to filling out the handwriting book that Mor had given you, your letters improving with every time you wrote them. And you felt you were nearing the point that you could attempt to read children's books, perhaps the book of fables that Rhysand had given to you for your birthday.

Feyre had yet to visit again, something you were grateful for. If she couldn't understand that being trapped and kept here like a forgotten pet, or worse, a chew toy for your sisters, was your problem? Then you didn't want to see her.

You were lonely while you weren't at work, but you could handle that. After all, you had time with Azriel after work today, and you and Mor were having another sleepover tomorrow night.

You had just started washing up to leave work when a shadow snuck into your hair, alerting you to Azriel's presence, likely in the dining room. You giggled at it, gently poking it with a wet finger before you dried off your hands. Sure enough, Azriel was stood in the dining room, talking with Sevenda in a hushed tone, both of them quieting when you walked through the curtain separating the kitchen from the front of house.

"Ah, Y/N! Someone came to pick you up," Sevenda said with a smile, winking at you when Azriel had his head turned.

You rolled your eyes at her, turning your attention to Azriel. "Come to take me to the surprise?"

"I am, in fact," Azriel nodded, extending a hand to you.

You took it without thinking, letting him lead you out of Sevenda's restaurant and into the snowscape of Velaris. His hands were soft, even with the scars that you knew covered them, and the calluses that you knew he should have, being a warrior and all.

His shadows were buzzing around the two of you excitedly, mirroring that of their master. Something about where you were going had Azriel as close to giddy as you could ever see him getting, a slight smile stuck to his face, his wings twitching every now and then.

Soon enough you came to a stop in front of a large building, various magical creatures painted onto the sign above the door.

Velaris... Animal... Shelter?

You blinked at the sign, confused. Surely you hadn't read that right.

"Come inside, I think you'll like it," Azriel said, gently tugging you into the building. Once inside, your ears were met with so many different sounds: meows, barks, bird trills, growls, hisses. There were a few rooms, all separated with glass walls and doors, filled to the brim with animals.

You were instantly drawn to the room housing felines- there were so. Many. Kittens!

"Oh my gods, can we go in?!" You asked Azriel, your face flushed from excitement and the cold as you met his hazel gaze.

"Of course we can, we just need to keep all of them inside the room." Azriel opened the door for you, letting you pass through first.

"Oh, they're so cute!" You squealed, approaching a pile of kittens, all conked out. You sat on the floor next to them, petting all of their fuzzy little heads and milk filled tummies, delighting in the squeaks they let out.

"This is an amazing surprise, Azriel," you told him once he sat down next to you, his wings drawing the attention of some of the active kittens.

"Being here isn't the only surprise," Azriel said. "If you'd like, you can take one home. I've already picked out some possible furniture you might like for the little one, if you decide to have one."

You gaped at him, completely shocked. "I can... I can take one home?" You asked, looking back at the kittens with new eyes. You could have a companion... Someone just for you.

"You can," Azriel said warmly, a smile on his lips when you looked back at him.

A grin spread across your face and your launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

His arms wrapped around you for a moment before you pulled away. "You're welcome, Y/N. I thought you might like to have a companion at home."

"Well you were right," you said giddily, turning back to the kittens. All of them were so adorable, so sweet while they were sleeping. But you would want one that was calmer while awake, matching your energy levels.

You and Azriel stayed in that room for two hours, playing with kittens and talking about what you'd both been up to over the past five days.

"The elections are heating up, and thankfully Rhys and Feyre sent me to the Hewn City to help protect the candidates going against the current leaders," Azriel told you as he let four kittens climb over him, even onto his shoulders and head. "Mor sends her love, by the way."

You smiled, both at the sight and the mention of your shared friend. "That's sweet of her, we get to have a night together tomorrow, which will be even more fun with my new little one," you said. "I still don't know which one I want, though."

"Take your time, you want to get one that you'll bond with well," Azriel suggested.

You looked around to room, trying to find any kittens that you hadn't interacted with yet. There, on one of the shelves... Mostly hidden behind a fluffy bed stuffed onto the shelf was a tiny kitten with glowing green eyes, her beautiful silvery coat shimmering even in the slight darkness of the shelf. You crawled over to her, extending a hand back to let her sniff. She hissed softly at you once, but let you run your fingers across her head, purring at the first touch.

Oh yes. This one.

She seemed slightly afraid of everything, hissing gently when you plucked her from her spot and cradled her in your arms. She was so tiny, and her fur was so soft and puffy, you wouldn't be surprised if she turned out to be a total fluff ball. Her tummy fur was the palest pink color, absolutely adorable. And her silvery fur had streaks of light tan running through it, along with slightly darker streaks of grey.

She was perfect. And the way her eyes closed as you pet her was so comforting to watch, you knew that you had found your fur child that you wanted to take home.

"I want her," you said to Azriel, tilting her in your arms so he could see her better. "She's so cute, and she seems nervous, like me."

Azriel laughed softly. "She's very cute, Y/N. Do you know what you'd want to name her?"

You looked down at her, trying to think of something that would suit her. At the same time, she let out the tiniest little squeak, that sounded like a soft 'eek.'

"M'aiq. Cause she's mine, and she made a little eek noise," you said, nodding your head at the name.

"M'aiq... That's a cute name for a cute little Starfall kitten."

"Starfall kitten?" You asked, wondering if that's why her eyes glowed green.

"Yes, every year, in the two months after Starfall, about one in every litter is born with a Starfall spirit inside of them. Or, at least, that's the explanation I've heard for why their eyes glow," Azriel explained, beginning to place the kittens that had climbed onto him back on the ground.

"Awe... You're even more special, my little M'aiq," you said cheerily, nuzzling your nose against hers.

Azriel led you out of the glass room and to the counter, where a fae took M'aiq and put her into a small carrier. He then led you into the shelter's store, where they had plenty of furniture, toys, and anything else you would need in stock.

You picked out a tall, carpeted structure that had a few platforms that M'aiq could rest on, as well as four different beds meant for small felines. A magically cleaning litter box and several food and water dishes also came home with you, as well as many, many toys.

His shadows sent everything to your apartment besides M'aiq in her little crate, which Azriel picked up for you. You tried to pry it out of his hands, but instead he slipped his free hand into yours and began leading you back to your apartment. Along the way you stopped in the Palace of Bone and Salt, picking up the things you would need for a simple pot roast dinner, seeing as you would be distracted for the rest of the evening.

Once you were inside the apartment, you immediately snagged M'aiq's crate from Azriel and pulled her out of it and into your arms.

"You're so cute," you cooed to her, petting her tiny head slowly.

You felt Azriel's eyes on you before you saw them, glancing up and smiling warmly at him. He looked away, the slightest blush on his face.

He is, too.

You placed M'aiq into one of the many cat beds now decorating your apartment, this one placed at the foot of your bed. "Stay there, sweetie, while I make dinner," you told her, her nervous green eyes on you. "I'll make you something, too, don't you worry."

Azriel was smiling softly at you when you turned to the kitchen, the expression making his face even more beautiful than normal.

You'd never understood how a male could be pretty, until now. But now you knew why Feyre called Rhysand the most beautiful male she had ever seen, because you thought that might be true of the winged male in currently in your kitchen.

"Did you need help with dinner?" He asked as you approached the bag of food he had placed on the counter.

"Hmm... I suppose since this isn't me paying you back for anything, you can help this time," you decided, setting out two cutting boards and handing him a knife. "Cut the potatoes into halves then quarter the halves, slice the carrots half an inch thick, and the onions into eighths please."

Azriel nodded and began rinsing the potatoes and carrots, while you grabbed some chicken from your cold box, dicing it after you started a flame under a pan with a bit of oil in it.

You balanced cooking the chicken for M'aiq and braising the roast while Azriel cut all of the vegetables, finishing at the perfect time, right when you needed them all to be added to the pot.

Azriel took over seasoning the roast while you fed M'aiq for the first time, grinning from ear to ear as you watched her devour half of the chicken that you had cooked for her. You'd get the portions down in no time.

With the roast in the oven, you and Azriel relaxed on the couch for a while, M'aiq in your lap.

After a little bit, Azriel had his shadows bring him a few reports after he made sure you would be okay with it, quietly filling them out with the scratch of his quill on the paper.

You decided, since you had tipsily told him that you were illiterate at Rita's anyways, that you would work on your handwriting in the book Mor had given you again, fighting the blush that had overtaken your cheeks.

But he said nothing about what you were doing, only giving you one curious glance before returning to his own work.

He was thoughtful like that. He thought about what would make you uncomfortable.

Your heart thumped in your chest at the feelings you were developing, ones that you had been fighting so hard to keep at bay.

But you were failing.

You were failing because this sweet, caring, thoughtful male did nothing but make your life brighter, Shadowsinger or not.

Doing your best to keep your attention on your workbook, you passed the rest of the time until the roast was done in a comfortable silence, the scratching of quills, crackling of logs, and M'aiq's soft purrs the only sounds in your ears.

Azriel checked the roast for you, after you had complained about having to move M'aiq when she was so comfortable and sleeping... And then he brought a bowl over to you along with a napkin, eating his own on the couch as well.

You felt so comfortable near him, even sitting so close, unaccompanied by anyone else. Two and half years ago you would have balked at the idea, the impropriety of it. But Azriel had been nothing but gentlemanly toward you, even when he had flown you up to the House of Wind.

And really... You would never be the whore that Nesta claimed you to be, after all you had never even been kissed in your twenty years of life, let alone had relations with someone. Just the thought of that sent anxiety through you. No, you would not have sex with someone until you were married, as you had been raised to do. You even... You even found it romantic, to save yourself for your future spouse.

So, being alone in your apartment with Azriel? That was an impropriety you were willing to overlook.

Azriel left your apartment near eleven at night, having spent extra time with you while you helped M'aiq settle in to her new home.

When you shut the door behind him, your heart fluttering from his presence, and now absence.

You turned your attention down to the fluffy ball in your arms. "What do you say, M'aiq? Are you ready for bed?"

Her soft squeak was enough of an answer for you. You settled her on the bed, next to your pillow while you washed your face and dressed for bed.

You laid down next to her, covers pulled up to your shoulders, with a hand poking out so you could pet her as you went to bed.

You didn't feel quite so lonely, laying in the dark now.

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

As soon as you exited work, you were assaulted by way of an aggressive hug from a bouncy blonde. Mor swung you around, giggling.

"I'm so excited to see you!" Mor yelled, squeezing you tightly.

"I'm excited to see you too, Mor!" You giggled after she set you on your feet again. "So, what's the schedule like for tomorrow?"

"Well," Mor started as the two of you began walking to your apartment. "I have to be back in the Hewn City by noon, and... I have a family dinner to go to tonight," Mor said with a sigh. "So I won't be with you for dinner, but I'm planning to book it out of there and have dessert with you!"

You nodded in understanding. "That's fine, Mor, but you should come to my apartment first! I have something to show you."

"Oh?" Mor asked, quirking a brow at you. "What is it?"

"If I told you now, it wouldn't have the same effect!" You insisted as you let her into your building, following her up the stairs. Your door swung open, and you heard the skitter of claws on wood. "Oops, I think the door spooked her."

"Her?" Mor asked, looking around before her eyes locked the far wall. "She's under the bed."

"Oh, M'aiq!" You called as you pulled off your boots before crawling next to the bed. "Come on out, sweetie, Mor is your friend," you said softly, rubbing your fingers together to draw her out. No luck, though, especially when Mor kneeled down to peer under the bed. M'aiq actually hissed at her, spitting and everything. You hated that she was distressed but... She was so cute.

"Awe, she's adorable!" Mor whispered. "And she's a Starfall kitten, oh that's so sweet. You know, they tend to bond strongly to their owners, some are even able to communicate with them. Not talking," Mor giggled when you gave her a wide eyed look. "More like... Their emotions can be shared with you, similar to daemati, but it's just a connection between them and their person. Maybe your little M'aiq will do the same."

You looked back to her, where she was now sitting, pressed tightly against the wall but no longer hissing. "That would be so cool," you whispered.

Four hours later and Mor was back in your apartment, lounging on your bed with you, M'aiq laying inbetween.

"So, besides the kitten, what else is new?" Mor asked you, popping a chocolate into her mouth a moment later.

"Well..." You blushed. "I... I like Azriel..."

Mor grinned at you. "I knew you would! And honestly, I don't see why he wouldn't like you. The two of you are so well suited for each other."

You shook your head. "I don't think so Mor, I'm... I'm human," you whispered, your eyes stinging.

"And what does that have to do with anything?" Mor asked seriously, tilting your chin back up so you would look at her. "So, you're human. Why does that matter?"

"Well, because... Because I won't be around for long, and it's cruel to shackle someone to me when I'll be old and grey in such a short time," you admitted, finally giving voice to your doubts.

"Who says you'll get old and grey?" Mor asked. "Maybe there's a way for you to not age, we just haven't found it yet. And besides, it's Azriel's choice if he decides to pursue you, he would know the possible outcomes. You deserve to be happy, Y/N," Mor said softly, her own eyes shining with tears. "I know that you're stuck here, and you would prefer to be in the human lands, but you still deserve to have happiness here, and if that means having a partner? Then that's what you should do, sweets."

You sniffled at her words, willing your tears to not fall as you stroked M'aiq. "Maybe... Maybe you're right... But I still don't think he likes me in that way," you said quietly.

"Well, I think what you think is wrong. I've never seen Azriel smile as much as he does when he's with you," Mor giggled, causing you to do the same. "And the two of you look so cute together!"

"Mor, stop," you laughed. "I don't want to get my hopes up..."

"Okay, okay. I'm just saying..."

You scrunched your nose at her. "Different topic. Tell me how things have been going with the election?"

"Well..."

🤍💙💘💙🤍

Friday night you and Azriel had planned to spend the evening together, but you were surprised to see him on Wednesday evening, after knocking on your apartment door.

"Hello, Azriel," you greeted. "What are you doing here?" Your eyes darted down, seeing his shadows swirling around his legs, a few darting out to brush against your legs. But more interesting was the box in his hand, pink with a matching ribbon tied in a cute little bow wrapped around it.

"I, uhm-" Azriel stammered for a moment before taking a breath. "I came here today because I want to ask you on a date, Y/N."

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart stopping. "I- what?"

Azriel's mouth tilted up in the corners. "I want to take you out on a date. I want to spend time with you, have a chance to court you. I like you, Y/N. And I was thinking we could go out for dinner on Friday night, if you decide to say yes."

Your brain short circuited. He- he likes you?

"I- Is this a joke?" You asked in a small voice, your heart bracing for the answer you were dreading.

Azriel's eyes saddened for a moment, his hands twitching where they were holding the box. "No, Y/N, I would never joke about this. I like you, very, very much. And I would very much like it if you joined me for dinner Friday night at seven," Azriel said softly, his eyes locked on yours. They shone with nothing but the truth, soothing your worries and sending heat to your cheeks.

A small smile slid onto your lips. "I... I'd like that very much, as well."

Azriel's smile at your words set your heart ablaze, the fire of your feelings stoked by the knowledge that he shared them as well. "Good, good. This is for you," Azriel said, placing the box into your hands once you held them out, his fingers brushing against yours. Just that little touch sent flutters through you, your blush deepening. "It's Elain's recipe, the white chocolate raspberry cake that you love," he explained. "I thought, even if you did not share my feelings, that you might like something sweet anyways," Azriel admitted, rubbing a hand against the back of his head.

"Thank you, Azriel," you said softly, touched that he would still care for you, even if you'd rejected him. "I'll... I'll see you at seven on Friday?" You asked shyly, still in disbelief.

"I'll see you then, Y/N," Azriel said, raising one of your hands and pressing his lips to the back of it. "Sleep well, dear."

Your heart thumped in your chest, hard enough you thought it might beat out of your chest. "You too," you said quietly, watching as he smiled once more at you, before disappearing down the stairs.

You shut the door, leaning against it after you locked it.

Had that really just happened?

Your eyes drifted down to the box in your hands, proof that Azriel had visited, had brought you it, had... Had...

Oh gods, you had no idea of what to do for a first date!

You set the box on a kitchen counter, opening it to see an adorable, heart shaped cake, decorated with pretty pink swirls of icing. It made you giddy, knowing that the cake was a present from a suitor. From Azriel. You cut a slice for yourself and grabbed a fork, taking the plate over to the table.

The cake was as delicious as you remembered, and M'aiq jumped onto the chair next to you, watching as you ate.

"If only you could give dating advice, little cutie," you mused, having another bite. No, you'd have to go see Mor for help.

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

The next morning, you knew that Mor was in town, visiting the River House to give a report on the upcoming elections to Rhys and Feyre- early, too, before you started your work day.

You bundled up early, your nerves getting the better of you. You needed her advice, and you needed it before Friday. Which meant this morning was your only option, even if it meant going to the River House...

You entered your former home, filled with anxiety. There was no way to tell how this would go, given your last encounter with Feyre, but you were determined to get what you needed, and that was a conversation with Mor.

Luckily for you, she, Feyre and Rhys were sat at the dining table, having breakfast. Mor was chugging coffee until she saw you, setting her cup down and rushing out of her chair.

"Oh, Y/N! I'm so happy to see you!"

"I am too, Mor, I was-" You looked at Rhys and Feyre. "I was hoping I could talk to you, if that's alright?" You asked nervously.

Mor glanced back at the two of them before nodding. "That's fine, sweets, what did you need?"

"Uhh... Can we go outside, to talk?" Mor nodded and followed you to the front door, slipping on her coat before leaving the warmth of the River House. You walked a little bit away before talking, you didn't want anyone besides Mor to know. "Okay, so... Remember how you said that Azriel might like me...?"

"Oh mother!" Mor exclaimed. "He asked you out, didn't he?!"

You blushed and nodded your head. "Yes, last night, and for tomorrow night. But I- I've never been on a date before," you confessed, wringing your mittened hands together. "I don't know what to do, I don't know what's expected. I've never- I've never even been kissed!"

Mor placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Oh, hon! Nothing will be expected except for you to give it an honest try, and to be yourself! And as for never being kissed, I could change that," Mor offered, wiggling her eyebrows at you.

You swatted her arm, shaking your head at her. "You're very pretty, Mor, but I don't like you that way," you giggled. "But... But what if he... What if he doesn't understand that I'm... saving myself," you whispered, "For marriage?"

"Y/N, if Azriel is in any way demanding sex from you, then he doesn't deserve you. I also don't think Azriel is that kind of male, he seems like a true gentlemale, in my opinion."

Her words soothed the anxieties in your chest, calming you down. "I don't think he would either," you said shyly. "But I... I also don't know what to wear."

Mor's eyes lit up even more, and she clapped her hands together. "Oh, oh! We can go shopping when you get off work today! I'll make sure I can stay in town until eight tonight, okay? And I'll see if I can come over tomorrow evening before you leave and help you get ready, if you'd like?" Mor asked.

"Really, Mor? That would be lovely," you said, hugging your friend. She squeezed you back. "Thank you, I'll see you at five, yes?"

"Yes you will, sweets. Now, you get to work, and I'll get back to that meeting. See you later!" Mor said with a wave, turning around the way you came.

Your shift passed incredibly slowly, your mind drifting to every way that the date could go right- and also wrong. You had nearly driven yourself crazy by the time you had washed up and left the building, Mor waiting by the door with two steaming cups of tea in each hand.

"Let's get shopping, sweets!" Mor said brightly, handing a tea to you and leading you to a dress store in the Palace of Thread and Jewels. It was a different one than you had gone to for your Starfall dress, for which you were thankful.

Mor lead you through the store, showing you dress after dress in styles and colors that you loved. All the while, she gave you little tips of advice, most of them along the lines of "be yourself and know that he is just as if not more nervous than you are."

After trying on ten different dresses, you settled on a rose pink silk dress with a modest neckline and floor length skirts. The sleeves billowed out before coming in at your wrists, the silk laying across your body in a flattering fashion. You could safely say that your body had filled out over the past month, what with you eating a small lunch at work and having dinner most nights. Your curves were more pronounced, a bit closer to how you had been before being taken to Velaris.

Mor had also insisted on buying you heeled boots in a matching shade of pink, a gold heart buckle keeping the strap in place. They were cute enough that you didn't fight her on accepting them.

She walked you home, parting with a strong hug and a promise to come by a bit after you got off work tomorrow.

But for tonight? You had another slice of cake, then snuggled up with M'aiq under the covers, using her purrs to chase away your racing thoughts.

🤍💙🤍💙🤍

"You look gorgeous, Y/N!" Mor squealed as she stood back, having put the finishing touches on your makeup. "What do you think?"

You looked in the mirror, taking in the very light blush on your cheeks, the softly glittering pale pink eyeshadow on your lids, brown eyeliner complimenting your eyes, making them look even softer than normal.

"I agree! You do an amazing job every time, Mor," you praised, standing to hug your friend tightly. "Thank you so much for helping me get ready, today and yesterday."

"Oh, sweets, it's no trouble at all! In fact, it's been so long since my own first date that it's bringing back this memories, how fluttery your stomach gets when you see them..." Mor sighed happily. "Well, I should get going, otherwise Keir will riot."

"When are the elections over, again?" You asked as you walked her to the door.

"In two weeks, thank the mother," Mor groaned. "Then I get a nice, long vacation for three weeks."

"Just two more weeks, you can do it!" You encouraged, wishing there was something you could do to make it shorter.

"Yes, I know... And you had better tell me everything that happens tonight!"

You giggled at her words. "I will, Mor!"

"Everything!" Mor yelled as she went down the stairs.

You shut the door looking at the clock. Half past six. That was plenty of time for you to feed M'aiq her dinner and get dressed. And luckily for you, cooking something would keep your mind occupied enough to not panic about Azriel's impending arrival.

Your little child was fed and your dress pulled onto your body, pink boots slid onto your feet. All you had left to put on was your cloak, mittens and scarf, but that could wait until right before you left. Five minutes passed dreadfully slowly, and at 6:57 you pulled on your winter gear and descended the stairs after saying goodbye to M'aiq.

Waiting for you just outside the building door was Azriel, a bouquet of roses- red, lavender and white- in his hands.

"Hi, Azriel," you said, a blush instantly coming to your cheeks at the sight of him in a fine black shirt and pants, a change from his normal Illyrian leathers. The shirt clearly showcased his physique, something that you could appreciate. He had no knife belt on him tonight, his waist looked a bit barren without it.

"Good evening, Y/N." He pressed a kiss to the back of your mittened hand before pressing the bouquet into your hands. "I thought you might like some flowers," he said with a small smile, one that you easily returned.

"I love flowers, and these are absolutely beautiful," you said, raising them to your face to smell them. "And they smell lovely as well."

"I'm glad to hear it. Would you like to take them upstairs, or my shadows can, if you'd like?"

You bit your lip. If you went back upstairs... You might chicken out. "If your shadows could take them, that would be nice." In the next moment, the bouquet was out of your hands, whisked away by his shadows to the vase in your apartment. "So, where are we going for dinner?" You asked, locking your arm with his after he held it out, your hand holding onto his muscled forearm.

"It's an Illyrian restaurant, I helped the owner and his cousin leave the camps sixty or so years ago, and I've found that, except for your cooking, it's my favorite restaurant in all Velaris," Azriel explained as you strolled towards the Palace of Thread and Jewels.

"Really? That's so amazing, that you're part of the reason their dreams came true," you said, even more enamored with the male beside you. "You're going to have to recommend things to me, I wouldn't know where to start," you giggled.

Azriel smiled down at you. "How about we share a couple of dishes? That way you can try whichever ones catch your eye."

You met his eyes, a smile on your own lips. "That sounds perfect, Azriel."

His eyes sparkled as he opened a door for you, a hand on your lower back guiding you through, sending a renewed flush to your face.

You were seated a moment later, in a cozy booth near the back of the restaurant, two menus placed on the table. Azriel ordered a pot of tea for the two of you to share, which warmed your heart.

He already knew you so well.

"Now, what sounds good to you, dear?" Azriel asked, the pet name sending your heart into overdrive.

You looked down at the menu, but with your excitement and still somewhat illiterate eyes, you were lost. You bit your lip for a moment before deciding what to do. "What if you order your favorites, because I am overwhelmed by choice?" You asked, relieved when Azriel nodded his head.

"That would be their beef stew, made with Illyria native vegetables and their roasted Illyrian trout with roasted vegetables. Do those sound good?" Azriel asked. You nodded your head- both of those sounded fantastic, and you were excited to see what he enjoyed most.

When the server returned with your tea, Azriel ordered the food before returning his attention to you, the weight of it making your breath catch in your throat.

"So..." You started, entirely unsure of what to say.

"I'm glad you decided to come out with me," Azriel said, his eyes soft as they met yours.

"I am too," you said shyly. "I'm still... Shocked that you asked me to come out, though."

A soft frown slipped onto Azriel's face, and you wanted nothing more than to wipe it away. "Really? I'd thought..." Azriel's own face heated a bit. "I thought that I was rather obvious with my affections. I might be the spymaster of this court, but I'm woefully inept at hiding my own feelings, at least... When it comes to you," He admitted, voice low and gentle.

"So... We both like each other... And thought we were bad at hiding it?" You giggled.

"I suppose so," Azriel chuckled. "But truly, I am very happy that you're here tonight, with me. Now, tell me- How is M'aiq settling in?"

Now that was a subject that you could go on and on about, with only having her for a week now.

You had covered how she was doing wonderfully at your place by the time your food arrived, with Azriel dishing your plate for you. The gesture made you smile, all the little ways he took care of you already.

The food was absolutely fantastic, flavor bursting along your tongue. Both of the dishes were spicy, but not so much that you couldn't handle it.

Conversation flowed between the two of you as you ate, just as it always did. You talked about your dreams for the future, the few that you did have at this point, your brain already working Azriel into them- not that you admitted that to Azriel, it was a bit early for those sentiments. Azriel told you a bit more about his upbringing, glossing over the parts of his life before he had befriended Rhysand and been taken in by his mother. You didn't pry, but you were a little curious to know every part of his story, everything that had shaped him into the male you cared for.

Soon enough you were stuffed full of warm, delicious food, the plates in front of you empty. More than that, you were filled with joy from Azriel's company, from how he clung to your every word.

He led you from the restaurant, his hand placed on your lower back once more, the warmth of it radiating through the fabric of your dress. You walked along the Sidra slowly, leaning your head against Azriel's arm, trusting him to keep you from falling.

You were almost halfway home when you heard the most beautiful music, coming from two musicians playing next to a bar, one with a violin and the other with a cello. You slowed your pace, Azriel's arm tightening around you as you did so. Listening for a moment, and gazing up at the brilliantly shining stars above you, you had an idea.

"Azriel, would you dance with me?" You asked him quietly, tilting your head to look at him.

His eyes met yours, a smile glowing within them as well as covering his lips. "I'd be honored, Y/N. So long as you call me Az."

You smiled brightly at him. "It's a deal, Az." You let him turn you in his arms, clasping your right hands together and placing a light hand on your waist. Your other hand came to rest on his shoulder, grasping it lightly.

The two of you swayed together in a small circle to the lovely music, the light of the stars shining down on you.

It was the date of your dreams, if you were being honest. Lovely conversation and food, and such a romantic partner, willing to dance in the snow with you because you asked.

So when you finally arrived at your apartment, you were a bit sad the date was ending. But more than anything, you were excited for everything that lay in the future for the two of you.

Azriel smiled down at you softly, his eyes warm despite the cold temperatures. His wings twitched behind him, just before he leaned in a bit.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked as one of his hands came to cup your cheek gently, so, incredibly gently.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. He leaned in further, allowing you to close the last, tiny gap between your lips.

And when you did, you knew that you would never be the same. His lips were so soft against yours, so gentle and sweet that it stole your breath away.

Your mouth followed for a moment when he pulled away, your eyes fluttering open- you hadn't even realized you'd closed them.

"If it's fine by you, I'd like to see you when you get off work tomorrow," Azriel suggested softly, gaze flicking between your lips and eyes.

"I'd like that," you whispered into the space between you, the tilt of his lips more than worth having to speak so soon after such a life changing kiss.

"It's a date," Azriel said with a smile. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Az," you breathed, unlocking the door of your building. He waited to leave until you were safely inside, the door locked behind you.

You just managed to get into your apartment before you collapsed against the door, overwhelmed by just how perfect the night had been. How perfect Az had been.

🤍💙💝💙🤍

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao @twismare

The Afterthought Taglist: @darkbloodsly @angelbunny222 @uniquedreamsblog @romantasyreader28 @that-one-bibliophole @idkmyoldonewasembarassing @deathtopistachios @saltedcoffeescotch @sleepylunarwolf @babypeapoddd @kingshitonly @bravo-delta-eccho @bluebries81 @liahaslosthermind @deepestmentalitypersona @historygeekqueen @hermajestysworld @marina468 @esposamultifandom @astrokitty18 @larissa01-blog2 @acourtofbatboydreams @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @thelov3lybookworm @weekendlusting @dxjaaaa @thejediprincess56 @casiiopea2 @butterfix @sirenpearldust @marrass @satiresunflower @mae-foster @boo-shalala @optimisticbabydreamer @sttvrdustt @bunnybella186 @demon-master-zero @jaybbygrl @goodvibesonlyxd

[atzloverr]

My favorite fics/blogs!!!

(multifandom)

The answer by @berryunho

this might me by favorite ateez fic y’all… It’s literally so GOOOODDDDD I’m obsessed… (atz x reader, cult au)

@freyaphoria

this entire blog is everything !! (never stop posting girl your stories are amazing) lovely yandere atz x reader stories

@yankpop

A blog with lots of yan bts x reader and I’m here for it!

Abundance by @angelicyoongie

ot7 hybrid bts x reader, I’m literally obsessed with this story and I still hope that the author picks it up again 😭

Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea

(ao3) LOVE this ot8 ateez x reader fic!! The story is so good I’ve literally cried reading it…

Polarity

(ao3) yandere Jungkook x reader. I don’t need to say more. Read it.

The obsidian pearl by @angelicyoongie

yandere mermaid!Seokjin x reader, only a few chapters, but still amazing!!!

Complete

(wattpad) I don’t know how many times I’ve reread this story… It’s my comfort fic i think😭 a bts x reader soulmate au fic.

The four kingdoms

(wattpad) another AMAZING bts x reader story. This fic is the first part of the “blue eyes” series, and I’ve read all four parts like a million times… The following parts:

pyramids, dynasty, mist (mist isn’t finished)

Seven sins

(wattpad) seven deadly sins!bts x reader.

Blood ink

(wattpad) tattoo artist!Jungkook x reader, gang au

Circus by @lani-heart

A sweet (and angsty) fic about ot8 hybrid!ateez x reader!!! I highly recommend it! (ongoing)

@cheollipop

suuuuuch a good blog, has atz x reader and some svt x reader

@angelicyoongie

Amazing bts x reader stories!!! (two of them are mentioned in this post lol)

@xosannie

lovely nsfw ateez x reader, I’m so happy I found this blog likeeee, obsessed with their work dirty little secret (mingi x reader)

Guerilla by @sorryimananti-romantic

serial killer!Yunho x reader, literally obsessed with this and their entire blog!!!! And I’m Yunho biased so this hit the spot

@bro-atz

One of if not THE best atz nsfw x reader fics… Literal art, go follow right now!!!

Heavy and sticky by @k-hotchoisan

some filthy Seonghwa x reader smut!!!

When flowers bloom in the dark by @makeitmingi

Already so invested in this mafia au Hongjoong x reader story. It’s sooo good

Atz as boyfriends (nsfw ver) by @sorryimananti-romantic and @eightmakesonebraincell

explicit ateez ot8 headcannons (I’m obsessed)

The feral drabbles by @mint-yooxgi

Ateez (and skz but I haven’t read) x reader one-shots/drabbles!!! Includes darker themes (yandere), and omg this writing is so good!!!

@last-words-ofashootingstar

such good ateez x reader fics and drabbles!!! this blog has yandere content as well! Love their work allure

@gyupinkys

amazing svt x reader and atz x reader!!! I love their work like crazy (yandere Seonghwa x reader)

Our leaves must fall before our flowers can bloom by @eightmakesonebraincell

poly ot8 atz x reader and ice hockey au, I literally died when reading this the writing is insanely good

Mist of celeste

(ao3) craziest read in my life. Space pirates atz x reader and this is a literary masterpiece. Read. It.

@holybibly

THE ONE AND ONLY QUEEN (atz x reader)

Sentinent by @trivia-yandere

(Oneshot) Yandere android namjoon x reader, omg I am obsessed with this and the author’s other works!!

Bloodline

(ao3) INSANE READ. I literally pray to god that this ot8 atz x reader story continues!!!

Case: It’s You by @potatomountain

Ahhhh this poly!atz x reader story was so amazing!!!! The twist in this was absolutely crazy, and I can’t wait for book 2 to get released! This author ate the enemies to lovers trope

Charade

(ao3) I just LOVE this ot8 atz x reader!!! This story is a zombie-apocalypse au!

@smileysuh

I love this blog so much!!! I love their NCT and SVT fics, and I strongly recommend their fic daylighter (vampire!Wonwoo + Werewolf!Mingyu x reader)

Finders keepers by @starlightkun

I AM OBSESSED with this alien!Jungwoo x human!reader fic!!! It’s absolutely adorable and you have to read it NOWWW!

@neonacity

I love this blog and especially the work Lucid (yandere nct dream x reader)

I’ll update this post if I find new works that I enjoy!

my masterlist