#his mother saying “hey hey” when he was about to cry harder THAT WAS SUCH A MOTHERLY THING TO DO I WEPT BROOOOO

[heyimkana]

Aleks Le elevated this scene even further for me. The shivers in his voice, the way he was crying so softly at first, the quiet whimpers and then full on sobbing... Jinwoo sounds even more vulnerable here and I thought it wouldn't be possible. He really cries like a little boy baring his feelings for the first time in front of his mother.

Aleks you are truly the 🐐 thank you so much for making me cry again at six in the morning.

[cheftsunoda]

hii, i have an idea for Kimi where he has a girlfriend that lives in another country but for his graduation she surprises him there even though he thought she was still in her own country

fairy godmother max— ka12

smau + blurbs

yn and kimi have been together since they were fifteen—growing up side by side, even as life started pulling them in different directions. now, with yn living in another country and kimi chasing his dream in formula 1, time together is rare, and the distance is harder than either of them expected. when kimi’s graduation day arrives, he assumes it’ll be just another milestone, another event she’ll have to miss. but what he doesn't know is that yn has a few surprises up her sleeve…with the help of a certain world champion.

fc : darianka on ig

(a/n) : i was waiting to post this until after kimi graduated and he officially has so yay kimiiiii!!!

—

yourusername

nyc📍

liked by kimi.antonelli, carmenmmundt, franciscagomes and 1,125,007 others.

yourusername : forever in love with the big apple but forever missing my boy 🤧

—

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georgerussell63 : real question is…when is the reunion and who is gonna tape it? uncle georgie needs a good cry

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ yourusername : dunno when it’s gonna be but I’ll have someone film just for you george

liked by georgerussell63

↳ yourusername : in the mean time i can just send you those depressing ads with the dogs if you want

liked by kimi.antonelli

↳ georgerussell63 : NO.

↳ carmenmmundt : the last time he watched one it took me 2 hours to get him off the couch

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

maxverstappen1 : i will send air-max to you rn if it means my child will stop being depressed

liked by kimi.antonelli and yourusername

↳ yourusername : thank you for the offer mother goose but sadly i have a shoot tomorrow

liked by maxverstappen1

↳ maxverstappen1 : well whenever you need it, it’s yours

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : can we all just start calling max mother goose?

↳ maxverstappen1 : no. yn is the only one who has that privilege. everyone else runs the risk of getting throat punched.

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kimi.antonelli : how am i supposed to focus on anything after you posted this 🧍🏻‍♂️

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↳ kimi.antonelli : sei così meravigliosa😻

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↳ kimi.antonelli : forever missing my girl, come home to me pls.

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↳ yourusername : omg i miss you so much. love you to the moon and back😭😭

liked by kimi.antonelli

franciscagomes : the prettiest angel in the world 😍

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↳ yourusername : keeeeeeks! it was so good to see you last week. i missed you sm

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↳ franciscagomes : was literally the highlight of my trip! love youuuuu

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carmenmmundt : I think it is safe to say that we ALL miss you. So get back to us ASAP!

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↳ yourusername : trying my best carms 😁

—

The screen lights up with his name just as you’re about to crawl into bed.

Kimi 💙 wants to FaceTime…

You smile instinctively, heart tugging even before you swipe to answer.

“Hi,” you say, and there’s a warmth in your voice that only exists for him.

His face fills the screen a second later — hoodie on, hair slightly messy like he’s been running his hands through it, eyes heavy with something unspoken.

“Hey,” he murmurs. And just like that, it’s quiet. The kind of silence that wraps around your chest and squeezes.

You can tell. He’s trying to be fine. But the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes tonight.

“You okay?” you ask softly.

He nods once. Then again. “Yeah. Just… I don’t know. I miss you.”

You sigh. “I miss you too.”

He leans back on his pillow, the phone angling just enough to catch the posters on his wall and the edge of his desk, cluttered with school papers and notes. “Graduation’s in a few weeks and everyone keeps asking who’s coming. And all I wanna say is you, but I don’t even know if you can be here.”

Your heart cracks just a little. “Kimi…”

“I’m not mad,” he says quickly, like he already regrets bringing it up. “I know you’re busy, and the flights suck, and F1 weekends don’t exactly stop for me to wear a silly cap and shake someone’s hand. It’s just… I want you there. Really bad.”

You don’t say anything at first. Because what is there to say? You want to be there too. More than anything. But your schedule’s been insane, and between time zones and obligations, it’s all starting to feel like you’re stuck behind a glass wall you can’t break through.

“I’m trying to figure it out,” you tell him honestly. “I swear, I’m looking at flights every day. I want to be there more than you know.”

He nods, eyes flickering down like he’s trying to hide the weight of it all. “It’s not even about graduation. It’s just… I’m tired of missing you. Tired of this screen being the only way I get to see your face.”

You swallow hard. “I know. Me too.”

“I’d give anything just to have you next to me right now,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Even if we didn’t talk. Just to know you’re here.”

You press your hand to your chest like that might hold it together. “We’re almost there,” you promise. “Just a little bit longer.”

“Promise?”

You smile, aching and real. “Always.”

He lets out a shaky breath and leans in just a little closer to the camera, like if he tries hard enough, he might reach you through the pixels. And you sit there, both quiet, both hurting, but both still trying—because that’s what love looks like from miles apart. Not perfect. Just worth it.

—

You scroll past the name twice before your thumb finally hovers over it. Max Verstappen. You haven’t called him in weeks — not because anything’s wrong, but because life has been busy, chaotic, distant. Still, he’s always made it clear: “For you and Kimi? Anytime. Anywhere. I’ll send the damn jet if I have to.”

And tonight… you need the jet. The phone rings once. Twice. Then you hear his voice — scratchy, tired, but still very Max.

“You’re alive,” he says. “Was starting to think you ran off to join a cult in New York.”

You laugh under your breath. “Hi, Max.”

“Hi,” he echoes, but softer this time. “What’s going on?”

There’s a pause. Not because you don’t know what to say — but because saying it makes it real. Your heart is already in Italy with Kimi, counting down the days to his graduation, to seeing his name called, to the one moment he’s been dreaming of since he was a kid. And you can’t miss it.

“I need to call in that favor,” you say.

There’s a beat of silence. Then a low chuckle. “I knew this day would come.”

“I’m serious,” you tell him. “I’ve checked every flight, every connection, and nothing gets me there in time. He keeps pretending it doesn’t matter, but it does, Max. I have to be there.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Say less. The jet’s yours.”

Your throat tightens. “Really?”

“Really. I’ll have it waiting. You just tell me where and when. And YN?” His voice softens. “You showing up? That’s going to mean everything to him. You two… you’ve got the real thing. I’ve always known that.”

You blink fast, suddenly overwhelmed. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“Good. Then we’re even,” he teases, a smile clear in his voice.

You shake your head, heart full. “I owe you.”

“Just send me a picture of his face when he sees you. That’s payment enough.”

And just like that, the plan’s in motion. Because sometimes, the people who love you don’t need explanations — they just show up. Or, in Max’s case, they send a jet.

—

You pace your room, nerves buzzing in your stomach like bees. Max has already confirmed the jet — it’s happening. You’re going. But there’s one more call you have to make before you start throwing clothes in a suitcase.

You scroll until you find the contact saved as Mamma Antonelli 💕 — because that’s how she insisted you save it after the first summer you stayed with them in Bologna. She picks up after two rings, and before you can even speak, her voice lights up.

“Tesoro! It’s been too long! Kimi told me you’ve been busy with work — are you eating? You always sound tired when you’re not eating.”

You laugh, heart swelling instantly. “Hi, Mamma. I’m okay, I promise.”

“Mm-hm. I don’t trust you. But I love you anyway,” she teases. You can already hear the clatter of dishes in the background — Sunday dinner prep, probably. “To what do I owe the honor?”

You sit on the edge of your bed, smile slipping into something more serious. “I… wanted to tell you something. Actually, I wanted to ask something.”

“Oh no. Are you eloping?”

You snort. “What? No!”

“Okay, okay, just checking. Then what is it?”

You take a breath. “I’m coming to Kimi’s graduation. Max is sending the jet. I haven’t told Kimi — I want to surprise him.”

There’s a pause, and then— “Oh, mio Dio. You’re going to make me cry.”

You smile, a little watery. “I couldn’t miss it. He’s pretending he doesn’t care if I’m there or not, but I know it matters to him. And I just… I need to be there. For him.”

You hear rustling in the background, her calling out something in rapid-fire Italian. Then Kimi’s dad gets on the phone, his voice warm and familiar.

“She told me. You’re coming.”

“I am,” you say, smiling into the phone. “But don’t tell Kimi. Please.”

“I would never,” he promises. “He’s been sulking around like a lost puppy. This will knock the wind out of him — in a good way.”

“He’s going to freak out,” you whisper, grinning now.

“He’s going to cry,” his mom adds in the background.

You laugh. “You really think so?”

“We know so,” they say in unison.

“Okay, then,” you breathe. “Let’s pull this off.”

“We’ll be waiting at the airport,” Mamma says. “And then we’ll get you hidden before he even arrives. We’ll make it perfect.”

You hang up a few minutes later, cheeks aching from smiling so hard. Your chest is lighter now — filled with excitement instead of guilt. This is happening. You’re going to be there. And Kimi? He has no idea what’s coming.

—

The jet is sleek and quiet, and somehow still feels completely surreal. You’re strapped into the soft leather seat with your hoodie pulled tight over your head, window shade half-closed as the engines hum beneath you. You can’t stop checking your phone — triple-confirming the flight path, re-reading texts from Max, and replaying the plan in your head like you’re about to perform a heist. And just as the jet begins to taxi down the runway…

Kimi 💙 is calling…

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“No, no, no, not now,” you mutter, scrambling to answer before the noise gives anything away. You slide down in your seat, like somehow that will make you less suspicious.

“Hey,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady and definitely not like you’re ON A PRIVATE JET.

“Hey,” he says, sounding a little breathless. “What are you doing?”

You blink at the window, watching the airport disappear into motion. “Um. Just… heading somewhere.”

“Somewhere?” he repeats, a soft laugh in his voice. “That’s vague.”

You gulp. “Work stuff. Last-minute thing. Super boring.”

You can hear the smirk. “That why you sound all nervous?”

“I’m not nervous,” you say quickly. Too quickly. “Just tired. Early morning.”

“It’s like… 3PM where you are.”

Shit.

“Time is fake,” you blurt. “It’s a construct.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Kimi laughs, low and warm, and somehow that makes everything worse. “You okay?”

“Totally. Totally fine. Just lots going on. Meetings. Presentations. Jet lag.”

You wince. Jet. Wrong word. Terrible word.

But Kimi, bless his oblivious heart, doesn’t react. “Well, I just wanted to hear your voice. I know things have been hectic.”

Your chest aches. “I’m really proud of you,” you say, suddenly emotional. “I know graduation is coming up and you’re probably pretending it’s not a big deal, but it is. You’re amazing, Kimi.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I wish you could be there.”

“I know,” you whisper, holding your breath so you don’t ruin everything. “Me too.”

Another silence. Then. “Okay. I’ll let you go. Call me later, okay?”

“Promise,” you say, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. “Love you.”

“Love you more,” he says, before the line goes dead.

You exhale, head dropping back against the seat. Somehow, you didn’t blow the surprise. Barely. And now, you’re flying toward the one person in the world who has no idea you’re about to show up and change everything.

—

The jet touches down with barely a bump, sunlight flooding through the window as the plane slows on the runway. Your heart is pounding, fingers drumming nervously against your thighs. You can’t believe you’re actually here. In Italy. For him. As the cabin door opens and the warm air hits your face, you quickly pull out your phone. There’s only one person you need to call first. Max Verstappen.

He picks up on the second ring.

“You landed?”

“Just now,” you breathe, already smiling. “Max… thank you. I know you always joked about sending the jet, but—”

“I wasn’t joking,” he interrupts casually. “I’d do it again. And again. You two are disgusting and adorable and give the rest of us hope.”

You laugh, a little choked up. “Seriously. I don’t know how to repay you.”

“Like I said…all I need is proof of his reaction. I want to see the exact moment his brain breaks in half.”

You grin. “Done.”

“Good. Go get your boy.”

You hang up just as you spot them — Kimi’s parents, waiting just outside the private terminal with barely contained excitement. His mom is the first to see you.

“TESORO!” she yells, rushing toward you with open arms.

You barely have time to drop your bag before she’s hugging you so tightly your feet actually lift off the ground. “You’re here! You’re really here! Oh, mio Dio, he’s going to collapse.”

“I missed you too,” you laugh into her shoulder, overwhelmed in the best way.

Kimi’s dad pulls you into a hug next, his hand warm on your back. “He’s going to lose his mind,” he says with a proud grin. “He’s been pretending he doesn’t care, but he’s been moping around like a ghost.”

“And now,” his mom adds, wiping tears from her eyes, “you’re going to walk in and ruin him. Perfectly.”

“Thank you both,” you say, heart full. “For keeping the secret. For being part of this.”

“We’d do anything for you,” his mom says, cupping your face. “You’re family.”

And as they lead you to the car, laughing and chattering about the plan, your heart feels light again.

—

You’re crouched behind the kitchen counter, holding back a laugh as Mamma Antonelli calls out, “Maggie! Tesoro, come here for a minute!”

Tiny footsteps echo down the hallway, quick and full of purpose.

“What?” Maggie’s voice is high pitched and dramatic in the way only ten year olds can manage. “I’m making Kimi a card! And I used the fancy markers!”

“Just come, piccola,” Mamma says, smiling wide as she stirs a pot on the stove. “I have something to show you.”

Maggie stomps into the kitchen, all pink socks and hair in a pink headband, holding a glittery construction paper card in one hand and a scowl on her face. “This better be good.”

You slowly peek out from behind the counter.

“Surprise,” you say softly.

Maggie stops immediately.

Her whole face drops—eyes going wide like saucers, mouth falling open as she stares at you. For a second, she doesn’t say a word.

Then—“YN?!”

You barely have time to nod before she shrieks and runs at you, throwing her tiny arms around your waist with all the force her little body can manage. You stumble back a step, laughing through the sudden sting in your eyes.

“You’re really here?” she asks, voice muffled against your hoodie. “For real real? Not just on my iPad?”

“For real real,” you promise, hugging her tightly. “Just for Kimi. But I had to see you first.”

She pulls back, cheeks flushed with excitement. “He’s gonna cry. I just know it. He’s been all moody and weird and saying stuff like ‘it’s fine’ even though it’s clearly not fine.”

You giggle, wiping your eyes. “That sounds like him.”

“I’m gonna help!” she declares. “With the surprise! I can distract him or hide you or pretend there’s a present and then BOOM—it’s you!”

You glance at Mamma Antonelli, who’s trying not to cry into her wooden spoon.

“I think we just found the mastermind,” you say.

Maggie beams. “I’m so good at secrets. Except for that one time I told Papa about the broken vase, but that was different.”

You ruffle her hair. “We’ll be careful this time.”

She nods like she’s just been given a secret mission. “He’s gonna be so happy. You’re his favorite person.”

Your chest aches with love. “He’s mine too.”

And as Maggie skips off to start planning “Operation Surprise Kimi,” you take a deep breath and smile—because in this house, with this family, you’ve never felt more at home.

—

The sun is warm and golden, spilling over the ancient stone buildings that line the courtyard. There’s laughter in the air, shouts of congratulations in Italian, the occasional champagne cork popping in the distance. Red laurel crowns sit proudly on graduates’ heads, marking the end of years of hard work. And Kimi?

Kimi Antonelli is right in the middle of it all, standing in his white linen shirt, the crown just slightly crooked on his head, cheeks flushed from the sun — and maybe from emotion he’s not letting himself show. He’s smiling for photos, thanking professors, dodging confetti and hugs and the occasional overzealous cousin, but something is clearly missing. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. And you see it. From where you’re hidden behind a group of olive trees with Maggie and his mother, your heart aches for him. You should’ve been standing beside him. But not for long.

“Kimi’s still over there,” Mamma Antonelli whispers, lifting her phone to start filming. “Max and George said to absolutely not miss the moment. Max said he’s taking bets on whether Kimi cries or faints.”

“I think both,” Maggie whispers gleefully. “Or maybe he’ll scream like a goat.”

You’re trembling a little, heart hammering as Mamma gives you the softest little nudge. “Vai. Go.”

You nod, swallow hard, and step out from behind the trees. Kimi is turned slightly away, laughing at something his best friend just said. His crown has slipped further down his forehead. His hand is gripping the side of his phone like he wants to text someone — probably you. And then, he hears it.

“Nice crown, graduate.”

He freezes. His body stiffens. His head snaps up. Slowly, like he doesn’t quite believe it, he turns around.

And there you are. Standing a few feet away in the same sundress you wore the summer you first visited Bologna. Hair curling from the humidity, eyes shining, heart in your throat. You’re smiling — already crying — but smiling. For a full five seconds, Kimi doesn’t move. Then he drops everything — the diploma folder, the champagne glass someone handed him, even his crown slips a little more off his head — and he runs.

His arms are around you in seconds, lifting you clean off the ground like he can’t believe you’re real. You’re laughing and crying into his shoulder, fingers buried in the back of his hair.

“You’re here,” he says, over and over again. “You’re here. You’re really here.”

You nod, pressing your forehead to his. “Surprise.”

Kimi pulls back just enough to look at you, tears now clearly in his eyes. “How? How are you here?”

You grin. “Max sent the jet.”

He blinks. “Max?!”

“And your mom helped. And your sister. And George’s only request was that you cry. So, you know. No pressure.”

He laughs through the tears, breath hitching as he leans in and kisses you like he’s starving for it — like months of distance and missed calls and sleepless nights dissolve in that one moment.

Behind you, you hear Maggie yell, “HE’S CRYING!” followed by the sound of Mamma Antonelli’s voice narrating in shaky, emotional Italian for the video.

“Look! Guardalo! Max, George — sta piangendo come un bambino innamorato!”

You break the kiss, burying your face in Kimi’s neck as he holds you tighter than ever.

“I didn’t want to miss this,” you whisper. “I couldn’t.”

“You didn’t,” he breathes. “You’re here. That’s all I need.”

And as red petals and confetti rain down from the sky, as friends cheer and his family watches with misty eyes and proud smiles, Kimi kisses you again — this time slower, softer, like a thank-you, a promise, a homecoming all in one. You showed up. You always would. And for the first time in a long time, everything feels exactly right.

—

The sun is low by the time you arrive at the Antonellis’ countryside home, warm golden light spilling across the terracotta tiles and olive trees. Kimi’s laurel crown sits on the dashboard of the car like a trophy, slightly bent but still proud. He holds your hand the entire drive — knuckles white, like if he lets go, you might disappear again. You don’t blame him. You still can’t believe you’re here either.

As you step out of the car, you’re immediately hit with the familiar scent of garlic, tomato, and fresh basil — the kind of smell that makes your heart ache with nostalgia. Mamma Antonelli is already out on the porch in an apron, yelling something toward the kitchen window.

“You brought her home and you graduated? Finally, we can breathe again!” she announces dramatically, wiping her hands on her apron before pulling you in for another warm, crushing hug. “You’re sitting next to me. I don’t care what Kimi says.”

“She likes you more than me,” Kimi mutters beside you, grinning. “Confirmed.”

“I’ve always liked her more than you,” she shoots back, ruffling his hair before disappearing inside.

Dinner is a beautiful kind of chaos. Plates piled with pasta al forno and roasted vegetables, bottles of red wine passed around the table, someone shouting over someone else every few minutes. Kimi’s cousins are arguing about sports, his uncle is showing your graduation surprise video to anyone who will watch, and Maggie is seated at your side, proudly telling everyone how she was “basically the mastermind.”

Kimi watches you through all of it — not in the way people usually mean when they say that, but really watches. Like he can’t believe you’re real. Every time you laugh or lean in to wipe tomato sauce from Maggie’s cheek or clink glasses with his dad, he looks at you like he’s still catching his breath. At one point, as the noise dies down just slightly, he leans over and kisses your temple.

“You fit so perfectly here,” he murmurs. “You always have.”

You smile against your wine glass. “Maybe it’s because I love all of you more than you love each other.”

Mamma overhears. “Grazie, finally someone tells the truth!”

Later, as dessert is brought out — a homemade tiramisu that’s already half gone by the time it reaches your side of the table — Kimi takes your hand under the table and squeezes it. You look over to find his eyes a little glassy again, his voice low and full of that kind of sincerity that only happens when the world slows down for just a second.

“I meant it earlier,” he says. “You being here… it made everything feel real. I didn’t care about the ceremony or the diploma. I just wanted you.”

You squeeze his hand right back, heart full. “And now you have me.”

He leans in, presses a soft kiss to your cheek, and murmurs. “Forever, if I get my way.”

—

The house is finally quiet. The last of the dishes have been cleared, Maggie’s tucked into bed, and Kimi’s parents are somewhere inside. The warm night air spills in through the open window, carrying the scent of jasmine and summer. You’re curled up on the little balcony just off his childhood bedroom, one of his old hoodies draped over your shoulders, your knees pulled to your chest as you look up at the stars.

He joins you a moment later — barefoot, hair a little messy, still glowing from the day. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just sits down beside you, thigh brushing yours, hand finding your knee like it belongs there. Which it does.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey.”

“You sure you’re real?” he asks, turning toward you. “Because you keep disappearing on me.”

You smile, tipping your head to rest on his shoulder. “I’m real. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for months. You sit in silence for a moment, watching the lights flicker in the distance. Then he speaks again, voice low and honest in a way that only ever happens when the world finally goes quiet.

“I really thought you wouldn’t come.”

Your heart squeezes. “Kimi…”

“No, I know it’s not your fault,” he adds quickly. “I just— I told myself I didn’t care. Told everyone it was fine. But it wasn’t. I wanted you there. Needed you there. And then you were.”

You reach for his hand and lace your fingers through his. “I wanted to be there the second I found out the date. I would’ve moved mountains. Or at least begged Max to move them for me.”

He laughs — soft and tired, but real. “You don’t know what that did to me. Seeing you. I think time stopped for a second.”

You turn your head and meet his gaze, moonlight catching the gold in his eyes. “It stopped for me too.”

Kimi leans in and kisses you gently, slowly — no rush, no heat, just something warm and full of meaning. His hands slide around your waist, pulling you close until you’re practically in his lap, curled against him like the final missing piece has clicked into place.

“I don’t care how busy things get,” he whispers. “How far the races are or how many airports we have to go through. I just want you to keep showing up like that.”

“I will,” you promise. “Whenever it matters. Always.”

He rests his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering closed. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you echo, voice full and sure.

And there, on that quiet balcony with the stars overhead and the world asleep around you, Kimi holds you a little tighter — like he finally believes this isn’t just a dream.

—

The morning comes slow and golden. A breeze slips through the open window, carrying the scent the garden below. The room is still — warm and hazy, touched by early sunlight. Somewhere down the hall, you can faintly hear the clink of mugs and the low hum of his mom talking to Maggie. But here, wrapped in Kimi’s arms, the rest of the world doesn’t matter.

His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, his heartbeat steady and grounding. One of his hands is tangled lazily in your hair, the other curled around your hip like he never quite let go during the night. He’s warm, impossibly so, like the sun lives beneath his skin. You shift a little and feel him stir.

“Mmm,” he hums, voice still raspy from sleep. “Still here?”

You smile without opening your eyes. “Told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”

He kisses the top of your head, slow and sleepy. “Good. Would’ve chased you if you did.”

“Would’ve made you work for it.”

“I’d work forever if it meant waking up like this.”

You finally lift your head and look at him. His curls are messy, one cheek slightly smushed against the pillow, but he’s still devastatingly handsome in that quiet, undone way. His eyes are soft, heavy-lidded, full of something deeper than just sleep — something closer to awe.

“You’re staring,” you murmur.

“You’re here,” he says back, like it’s still the most unbelievable thing in the world.

He brushes your hair back gently, fingers ghosting along your jaw like he needs to memorize it again. “Last night felt like a dream. The dinner. The surprise. You. This.”

“This is real,” you whisper.

“I know. That’s the best part.”

You snuggle closer, nose tucked beneath his jaw. “Your mom’s making coffee.”

“She’ll wait.”

“I think Maggie’s outside our door.”

“She’ll survive.”

You laugh into his chest, and he pulls you even tighter. “Let’s stay like this a little longer,” he says. “Just you and me. No rushing. No flights. No leaving.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Just us.”

And you stay there — tangled in sheets and sun and each other — hearts steady, breaths slow, the morning stretching out like it was made just for the two of you.

—

yourusername

liked by kimi.antonelli, maxverstappen1, georgerussell63 and 2,572,003 others.

yourusername : my boy graduated and i got to be with him thanks to our fairy godmother @/maxverstappen1. my heart is so full <3

tagged : kimi.antonelli

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georgerussell63 : i cried. a lot. in tears just thinking about it. my children are so grown 🥹

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ yourusername : more than the dog ads?

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↳ georgerussell63 : more than the damn dogs.

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ carmenmmundt : he has been showing the video to literal strangers and saying how much of a proud dad he is.

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↳ yourusername : oh georgie.

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maxverstappen1 : i'll buy you each a jet if it means i get to see that look on kimi's face again.

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↳ yourusername : so good to us maxie

liked by maxverstappen1

↳ lando : wait i am like the only one who hasn't seen this video. someone send it. NOW.

↳ georgerussell63 : i sent it to you like two days ago, muppet. check your texts.

↳ lando : oh good now im in full blown tears.

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

alexandrasaintmleux : sooooo cute mon ange

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

charles_leclerc : totally not teary eyed. congratulations kimi!!

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

kimi.antonelli : my whole world. i love you now and forever.

liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1

↳ maxverstappen1 : god i try so hard to be disgusted by you two but i just can't. what is wrong with me?

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ lando : motherly instincts

liked by yourusername, kimi.antonelli and maxverstappen1

—

[oddlylovingaddiction]

; Coming Full Circle

Part 1: here , Part 2: here , Part 3: here , Part 4: You’re here! , Part 5: here

No forgiveness ending: Part 1: here

CW: Reader is pregnant BUT is gender neutral only being referred to as you, if you don't have the ability to get pregnant you do now (in this series). Neglected reader x (platonic.) bat family, Reader x Conner “Kon-El” Kent (romantic.). Reader is probably around in your 20s (21 - 25) and is the 5th(??) oldest

TW: Heavy Angst, a lot of crying, abuse in the form of neglect, pregnancy, Reader briefly expresses regret for existing

Theres a beat of silence after your husband came crashing through the window, minus the sound of your own sobs, you’re too overwhelmed to focus on the crash after all you just found out the people who neglected you, apparently they had done it all to protect you. Even when it wasn’t something you asked to be protected from. You missed out on so many things normal families did and now all it did was leave you scarred, untrusting with deep attachment issues and currently sobbing on the floor surrounded by glass that your husband shattered to get to you.

“CONNER?” Yells Tim in pure shock, which finally makes you finally look up and towards the crash. There, Conner Kent, your husband stood. He was clearly in shock, his soulmate who was pregnant with his child is kneeling on the floor, eyes a soft red and face all puffy as tears slip down. Meanwhile his best friend’s family is staring at said soulmate on the floor awkwardly.

When you see him you honestly cry harder, finally you’re not alone surrounded by people who supposedly loved you but someone who did truly care, and wouldn’t go fucking up your life, at least not without asking first.

“Please take me home Conner…” you sob choking on your own words as you stare at him desperately. Hearing you speak snaps him out of his shock, perhaps on autopilot he picks you up, making sure you are shielded away from your family. “Sorry dude, I’ll… text later. Maybe.” He says solemnly speaking to Tim but he still only looks at you. Tim goes to say something but before he can Conner is gone instantly, leaving behind one stunned bat family.

Conner flies through the sky still holding a sobbing you as he gently whispers “hey.. hey, it’s okay I’ve got you now. You’re safe.” in an attempt to soothe you and himself as well.

He knew you were like him, had family issues and weren’t loved quite right. Perhaps that’s how you guys bonded so fast, shared trauma is a powerful bonding agent. But he never knew who exactly they were, he knew you didn’t want to talk about it and he respected that. When he met you, you had your mother’s last name before taking his, so he never even had the slightest idea Bruce Wayne was your father. Also didn’t help Tim never once mentioned your name, unlike the other siblings he’d call by name, Tim referred to you only as “My other sibling.” on the rare occasions he did allude to you existing.

If he could get a headache right now he would, unfortunately(?) due to Kryptonian things he can’t. As he’s flying he thinks briefly before landing at your shared home ‘Damn what the hell is going on.’

You don’t remember what happened the rest of the night when you got home, you only remember continuously sobbing and a worried Conner trying his best to soothe you all for it to fail. It was so bad when Conner put you down on the couch to get you some water, when you tried to stand you just fell to your knees only able to lean on the couch as support, holding onto it like it’ll somehow save you. Perhaps all the suppressed emotions came flooding, a life time of being strong to have it crumble.

the years of watching your supposed siblings hanging out but it almost disbanding when you tried to join,

the months of drawings about your supposed father holding your small hand left unlooked,

the weeks of wondering if maybe you prayed hard enough someone would hug you

and the days of wondering if you would’ve been better off at the orphanage, or better yet never been born at all.

Now suddenly they did it for your sake? All the missed moments? You want to laugh and scream. The irony of thinking it’s better to neglected a child than to tell said child the truth. You feel Conner put a reassuring hand on your back gently rubbing when he hands you the glass of water, you push it away. You just need to cry, not water. He seems to understand putting it to the side on the hard wood floor and instead choosing to be a comforting presence while you cry.

You cry and sob for hours, unable to stop. Even when it slows down enough for Conner to finally get you to drink some water, urge you to change into your pjs because it was close to dawn now and you hadn’t slept a bit, you can still feel the tears rolling down. You think you must’ve passed out from crying because the last thing you remember seeing was Conner’s worried face like he would’ve cried too and now you’re looking at the sunrise peak through the blinds.

You sit up and sit on the edge of the bed looking down you feel dull and empty, like the entire world suddenly decided to drain itself of all joy and leave you with nothing. As you get up you pass the shared floor length mirror, when you look at yourself, all you can think of is how you look like a husk of a person. To be expected, you did go through something emotionally taxing and you did cry a lot so it makes sense your eyes look empty.

You can smell burnt pancakes. It seems Conner is trying to bake again…

As you enter the kitchen you can see the pile of burnt pancakes on a plate he prepared. Conner gives you an awkward smile as he looks at you and the pancakes, “In hindsight it’s a lot different to use heat vision than the stove.” You pause staring at him and then at the pancakes again, he looks nervous before he clarifies “they’re still edible I promise…”

A smile spreads across your face before you begin to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. Somehow you laugh so hard it morphs into crying again when you threw your head back in a fit of laughter. Conner’s relieved face at you laughing turns to worry again as he floats over quickly to have you in his arms.

You cry your eyes out into Conner’s shirt as he holds you tight against him. “Hey, it’s okay, we are going to be okay.” Conner says gently rubbing your back supportively.

“I just can’t believe for such a stupid reason they shut me out!” You weep into your hands, the tears almost collecting in your palms as you finally start speaking. “But at the same time I.. I sort of get it? and it’s frustrating because… I don’t know! Cause it feels like now I don’t have the right to complain or just be upset anymore!” You shout frustrated by everything and all the emotions you’re feeling merging together to create one big storm. “Perhaps it’s somehow my fault—“ you mumble softly before you’re cut off by Conner.

Conner grabs you face and makes you look at him before you can finish, his face solemn as he speaks “You have every right to complain, even if they had good fucking intentions it still hurt. And that sucks.” His face scrunches a bit from sadness at frustration. “Don’t say stuff like it’s your fault. It’s not and I won’t let them demean the one good thing I have in my life.” He gently taps the side of your face before sadly smiling at you and your teary eyed face.

You chuckle softly. You want to cry more but you don’t feel like crying when you remember that Conner loves you and even if you don’t have a father or siblings like you wanted, you still have your adoring, handsome, funny, charismatic husband and an adorable child-to-be-born that’ll have your amazing looks and his personality. It may not have been the family you always wanted as a kid but it’s what you want and need now, and that’s all that matters.

“Hey, Let’s spend today in bed and order food the entire day.” You say smiling at him your face still feels a bit weird after all that crying.

“Sounds good… but are we not going to eat my pancakes?” He teases

“I love you, but not enough that I’d eat actual ash for you.”

“Oh wow so you don’t love me anymore?” Conner replies clutching his chest dramatically before taking a step back to lean himself the table like he’s dying. To which you roll your eyes.

“Okay that’s NOT what I said. Anyways I’m going to rest in bed, come join after you finished ordering breakfast and being dramatic.” You remarked before you walk away and into the bedroom to wait for him, you knew he wouldn’t be long.

Meanwhile the entire bat fam is FREAKING. Damian is arguing with both Tim and Grayson to which Barbara has to try and break it up, Bruce is sat on the couch (not having moved since last night) covering his face as he tries to ponder where it all went wrong, Stephanie is pacing around anxiously, Alfred is trying to repair the window which was supposedly shatterproof but unfortunately ‘shatterproof’ isn’t a concept that exists for the supers, Jason is shrugging and saying “I told you this would happen.” (He didn’t.) and everyone else is scattered about some watching the argument, trying to brainstorm to a silent brooding Bruce or trying to help fix the window.

Eventually they would all have to begin brainstorming on what to do next, how to repair it all and get you to forgive them. Right now is time for panic.

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 3: May 2023

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

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

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

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

Warnings and Notes: 

Welcome to 8k of my waffling. Warnings: we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussion of toxic relationships in the past, also discussion of very toxic thoughts about intimacy, and discussion of past dubious consent, Max being a simp for his girl, ...I think that's it? If I missed something, let me know.

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

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: Hey, just a heads-up—it’s Mother’s Day this weekend.

Max: …Okay?

Isabelle: I always remind my brothers, or they forget. Thought I’d do the same for you.

Max: Thanks, I guess? But I ordered flowers and her favorite sweets three weeks ago.

Isabelle: …You what?

Max: Yeah. And a handwritten card.

Isabelle: THREE WEEKS AGO?

Max: Yes?

Isabelle: Do you understand how unfair this is??

Max: What do you mean?

Isabelle: You’re making every other man in my life look terrible.

Max: Maybe they should simply try harder.

Isabelle: You don’t get it. I usually have to remind them, nag them, and buy the gifts myself so they don’t show up empty-handed.

Max: Again. Not my problem.

Isabelle: You’re actually infuriating.

Max: Because I remembered a holiday in advance?

Isabelle: Because you remembered without me having to tell you!

Max: This is a weird thing to be mad about.

Isabelle: I’m not mad, I’m just—adjusting.

Max: To what?

Isabelle: To a boyfriend who actually does things without needing to be reminded?

Max: Well, get used to it.

Isabelle: I might cry.

Max: Please don’t, you’ll make me feel bad.

Isabelle: You should! For setting the bar so high I can never accept bare minimum effort again!

Max: Good. You deserve better.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo) 

Isabelle: Reminder—it’s Mother’s Day. Call Maman.

Charles: …Right.

Arthur: Oh. Yeah.

Lorenzo: Was just about to text about that.

Arthur: Did we get her a gift?

Isabelle: Her favorite flowers and the perfume she’s been wanting.

Charles: …We did?

Isabelle: Yes.

Arthur: Perfume? Again?

Lorenzo: Arthur.

Arthur: I’m just saying, it’s kind of boring.

Charles: Yeah, maybe we should’ve gotten something else?

Lorenzo: Like what?

Arthur: I don’t know. A handbag? A candle? Something a bit more exciting?

***

Instagram Post – @/isabelleleclerc

Comments: 

@/charles_leclerc: Happy Mother’s Day to Maman! 💖

@/arthur_leclerc: Love you Maman! You’re the best 💐✨

@/lorenzo_leclerc: Happy Mother’s Day!

@/f1gossipqueen: Such a beautiful tribute, Isabelle! Happy Mother’s Day to Pascale 💐💖"

@/tifosi_in_monaco: Happy Mother’s Day! You’ve clearly been raised with so much love ❤️

@/trackside_tales: That’s the sweetest! Happy Mother’s Day to your beautiful mom ❤️

@/f1_ultimatefan: Your mom must be so proud of you! Wishing her the best Mother’s Day 💖

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen

Max: Hey Mom, just wanted to make sure the flowers arrived okay and that you liked them.

Sophie: Max, they are beautiful! 💐 Thank you so much for thinking of me. The flowers are stunning, and the sweets were a lovely touch, especially my favorites! The card... well, it made me tear up a bit. ❤️ You really didn’t have to.

Max: Of course I did. It’s Mother’s Day. 😊

Sophie: And I heard you bought something for Victoria too? She texted me already—said you got the exact bag she’d been eyeing for months? How did you even know that?

Max: She mentioned it once during Christmas when I was half asleep on the couch. Guess I wasn’t that asleep.

Max: She’s always there for me, so I thought I’d do something nice for her too.

Sophie: You’re becoming dangerously thoughtful. Should I be worried? 

Max: I’m evolving.

Sophie:  Speaking of evolving… How are things with your girlfriend?

Max:  She’s…

Max: Honestly? She’s kind, and steady, and smart in this quiet way that gets me every time.  She makes everything feel lighter. Even the hard parts.

Sophie: Max.

Max: What.

Sophie: That was almost romantic. Who are you and what have you done with my son?

Max: He’s still here. He’s just tired of being an emotionally constipated Dutchman.

Sophie: Well, I’m proud of you. I’m looking forward to meeting her one day. You deserve someone who makes you happy, Max. Just make sure you don’t wait too long to introduce her to me.

Max: Don’t worry, I’ll bring her home when the time’s right. But seriously, I’m just really happy with her.

Sophie: I can tell. Take care of her, Max. You’re both lucky to have each other.

Max: I will, Mom. Thanks. Love you.

Sophie: Love you too, Maxie.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: He just brought me coffee. Exactly how I like it. Without me even asking.

Emilie: …Okay?

Isabelle: He just knew.

Emilie: Isabelle, you’ve been together for over a month. Of course he knows how you take your coffee.

Isabelle: But I didn’t say anything. He just handed it to me and kissed my forehead like it was normal.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: And now he’s sitting across from me, just existing all content and relaxed, and it’s weird.

Emilie: Oh my god.

Isabelle: Why is he so nice to me? Why does he just do things for me?

Emilie: BECAUSE HE LOVES YOU.

Isabelle: …but??

Emilie: No. No buts. You deserve this. This is what a relationship is supposed to feel like.

Isabelle: I know that logically. It’s just… I’ve never had this before.

Emilie: You mean, you’ve never been with someone who actually pays attention to you and treats you like you matter without you having to remind them?

Isabelle: …Yes.

Emilie: Yeah. I figured.

Isabelle: It just feels like I should be doing more.

Emilie: You don’t have to earn love, Isabelle. It’s not conditional. You don’t have to do something for him to treat you well.

Isabelle: But I want to do something for him too.

Emilie: That’s different. Wanting to give back because you love him, not because you feel like you owe him, is different.

Isabelle: …How do I stop feeling like I owe him?

Emilie: Time. And maybe letting yourself actually believe that you’re worth all of this without needing to repay it.

Isabelle: …I’m trying.

Emilie: I know. And so does he.

Isabelle: He just put my feet in his lap and started rubbing them like it’s nothing.

Emilie: And let me guess, your brain short-circuited again?

Isabelle: Yes.

Emilie: Good. Now shut up and let the man spoil you.

***

Max leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching as Isabelle sat on the floor of his apartment, completely lost in play with the cats. She didn’t even notice him.

Sassy was curled up in her lap, purring so loudly Max could hear it from across the room, while Jimmy was perched on the back of the couch, watching with sharp eyes as Isabelle dangled a feather toy just out of reach. She giggled when Jimmy finally pounced, batting at the toy with his paws, determined to “win.”

Max couldn’t help but smile.

There was something about watching her like this—soft, unguarded, completely comfortable—that made his chest ache in the best way. Isabelle, for all her quiet confidence and composed demeanor, had a way of melting around the cats. She whispered to them, scratched behind their ears just the way they liked, and let them nuzzle into her like they’d been hers all along.

Sassy stretched out in her lap, belly up, a clear sign of trust. Isabelle laughed, running her fingers through his fur. “You’re so spoiled,” she murmured.

“Wonder where they get that from,” Max teased.

Isabelle glanced up, startled, as if she’d forgotten he was even there. Her face warmed slightly, but she didn’t move, just kept stroking Sassy’s fur. “Not my fault they like me better,” she said, grinning.

Max huffed a laugh, pushing off the doorway and walking toward her. He crouched down beside her, reaching out to scratch behind Jimmy’s ears. “I think they just know you’re gonna spoil them rotten”

Isabelle playfully nudged him with her shoulder. “You say that like you’re not just as bad.”

Max didn’t argue—because she wasn’t wrong. He spoiled the cats, and now, without even realizing it, he was doing the same with her. Small things: the flowers he sent her, the extra blanket he made sure was always on his couch because he knew she liked to curl up with one, the way he always stocked her favorite tea.

Jimmy finally lost interest in the feather toy and instead padded over to Isabelle, rubbing his face against her arm. She smiled, scratching under his chin as he flopped dramatically onto her lap.

Max just sat there, watching.

His life had always been fast—races, flights, training, the never-ending cycle of the season. But this? Watching Isabelle on the floor of his apartment, surrounded by his cats, like she belonged there?

This was the kind of moment he wanted to hold on to.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo) 

Charles: Maman’s birthday is next week. What’s the plan?

Arthur: Same as last year?

Lorenzo: Dinner at her place?

Charles: Sounds good.

Arthur: What about a gift?

Lorenzo: Something nice.

Isabelle: I’ll figure it out.

Charles: Perfect.

***

Isabelle: Okay, everything is sorted. Dinner is handled, and I ordered her favorite cake. I also picked out a necklace for the gift.

Charles: Oh, great.

Arthur: Nice.

Charles: This was way easier than I expected.

Arthur: Yeah, that came together fast.

Lorenzo: Good teamwork.

***

Max hadn’t meant to look at her phone. It was just there, sitting on the coffee table, screen lighting up as another message from Lorenzo came in.

“Good teamwork,” it read.

Max frowned. Teamwork, his ass.

Isabelle, curled up at the other end of the couch, didn’t even react. She had a book in her lap, one of the cats purring against her side, completely unbothered.

“You planned the whole thing yourself,” Max said, still staring at her phone.

Isabelle sighed. “Max—”

“No, seriously,” he cut in, looking at her now. “You did all the work, and they don’t even realize it. They just said ‘Good teamwork’ like they did anything.”

She shrugged, turning a page. “That’s how it always is.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “And you’re just okay with that?”

“It’s easier if I do it.”

“That’s not the point.” He sat up, shifting so he was facing her properly. “They should see you, Isabelle. They should appreciate you.”

She didn’t answer. Her fingers absentmindedly scratched behind the cat’s ear.

Max exhaled sharply. “You know that’s not normal, right? They just expect you to handle everything, and you let them.”

She finally glanced up from her book. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Max argued. “You deserve better than being the invisible one in your own family.”

She blinked at him, lips pressing together.

Max softened, reaching over to take the book from her hands and set it aside. Then he tugged her closer until she was against his chest, arms wrapped securely around her.

“I’m going to steal you away,” he murmured into her hair, “and never give you back.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “That’s dramatic.”

She still curled into him, holding on just as tightly.

Max pressed a kiss to the top of her head, resting his chin there for a moment. “I mean it,” he said, voice quieter now. “You don’t have to do everything for them.”

Isabelle sighed, her fingers curling slightly against his shirt. “If I don’t, no one will.”

“That’s not your problem.”

“It is my problem.” She pulled back slightly to look at him. “Because if I don’t, things don’t get done. And then—then it’s just easier if I handle it.”

Max studied her, eyes searching hers. It wasn’t just about their mother’s birthday, and they both knew it.

“How long have you been doing this?” he asked softly.

She hesitated. “Since I was a kid,” she admitted eventually. “Lorenzo was always busy, Arthur was younger, Charles had racing… Someone had to take care of things.”

Max exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “And no one ever thought to take care of you?”

Her expression flickered, something like surprise flashing across her face. She didn’t answer, but that was answer enough.

Max swore under his breath and pulled her back against him, wrapping his arms around her again. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be, schat.”

She didn’t say anything, just buried her face in his shoulder.

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: So. That was… something.

Emilie: Oh no. What happened?

Isabelle: Max found out how my brothers treat me.

Emilie: Ohhhhhh shit.

Isabelle: Yeah.

Emilie: What did he do??

Isabelle: He got angry. Like, not just annoyed. Not his usual “ugh, Ferrari” face. Like actually angry.

Emilie: …Is it bad that I love that for you?

Isabelle: He kept pacing around, ranting about how they take me for granted, how they never prioritize me.

Isabelle: He was like, “You deserve better than being the invisible one in your own family.”

Emilie: Honestly? Valid.

Isabelle: And then he just—sighed and pulled me into a hug. And said, “That’s not how it’s supposed to be, schat.”

Emilie: Isabelle, I am going to CRY.

Emilie: You realize he’s ready to go to war for you, right?

Isabelle: For the first time in my life, I feel like someone’s actually on my side.

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: Do you ever just want to punch someone?

GP: I work with you. Weekly.

Max: I’m being serious.

GP: …Okay, who do I need to be concerned about?

Max: Isabelle’s brothers.

GP: Charles, Arthur and Lorenzo??

Max: Yes.

GP: What did they do?

Max: More like what they don’t do. They don’t appreciate anything she does for them, and barely acknowledge her unless they need something.

GP: That can’t be right. They seem close?

Max: No. They’re close with each other. Isabelle just gets ignored.

GP: …How bad are we talking?

Max: Bad. Their group chat is a constant barrage of stuff Isabelle does for them without so much as a thanks. Every year, she reminds them about their mother’s birthday, Mother’s Day, everything. Buys the gifts for them. They wouldn’t remember otherwise.

GP: That’s… actually insane.

Max: I know.

GP: Why does she still do all this for them?

Max: Because she loves them. And they don’t even see how much they take her for granted.

GP: …Okay, I get why you want to punch someone.

Max: Thank you.

GP: So what’s the plan? Because I assume you have one.

Max: I take care of her. Since they won’t.

GP: …Yeah, I think that’s a good plan.

Max: I know it is.

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: Be honest. Was I ever a bad brother to you?

Victoria: …What? Where is this coming from?

Max: Just answer the question.

Victoria: No, Max. You were annoying, but you were never bad. Why?

Max: Because I just watched Isabelle’s brothers completely forget she existed. And I needed to know if I ever did that to you.

Victoria: …What did they do?

Max: Only notice her when they need something. She reminds them of every holiday, every important date, and then buys their gifts for them so they don’t look bad.

Victoria: You’re joking.

Max: I wish.

Victoria: That’s—what the hell?

Max: Yeah.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Max: So, again. Was I ever like that with you?

Victoria: No, Max. You and I fought, but you never made me feel like I wasn’t part of the family.

Max: Okay. Good.

Victoria: But seriously—how does she put up with that?

Max: Because she loves them. And she keeps hoping they’ll notice.

Victoria: …That’s heartbreaking.

Max: I know.

Victoria: What are you going to do?

Max: The same thing I’ve been doing since we got together. Make sure she never feels like that again.

Victoria: …You really love her, don’t you?

Max: Of course I do.

Victoria: No, I mean—not just in the way you say it. But in the way you see her when no one else does.

Max: She deserves to be seen.

Victoria: Yeah. She does.

Victoria: So, what’s the plan?

Max: Plan?

Victoria: You’re Max Verstappen. You don’t just sit back and let things happen. You’re already scheming. Spill.

Max: It’s not scheming. It’s just… making sure she gets everything they don’t give her.

Victoria: Which means?

Max: I remember her birthday. I get her gifts she actually likes. I make sure she knows she’s appreciated.

Victoria: That’s the bare minimum, Max.

Max: Yeah, well, they don’t even manage that.

Victoria: True.

Max: I just want her to know she’s not invisible. Not to me.

Victoria: She does. I promise you, she does.

Max: I hope so.

***

Isabelle Leclerc had never been so deeply, shamefully down bad.

She knew it the second she opened Instagram and was met with a carousel of Max’s sweaty, post-race pictures. His fireproofs clinging to his torso, curls damp against his forehead, jaw set in that sharp, focused way that made him look unfairly good. She scrolled further—pictures of him on the podium, champagne dripping down his neck, his Red Bull suit unzipped just enough to make her brain short-circuit.

She dropped her phone onto her chest, staring at the ceiling.

"I’m doomed," she muttered.

Sassy, Max’s cat, meowed from her place curled up on Isabelle’s stomach, completely unimpressed with her crisis. Jimmy was sprawled next to her, purring away, blissfully unaware that his owner’s girlfriend was currently struggling with an epiphany she hadn’t been ready for.

Because it wasn’t just that she found Max attractive. Of course she did—she had eyes. But this was the first time she’d ever felt like this. Like she actually wanted. Like she craved more than just stolen kisses and his hands warm on her waist.

And the worst part? Max wasn’t even here to do anything about it.

She groaned, throwing an arm over her face. "This is your fault," she told the cats. "If he hadn’t given me a key to come play with you, I wouldn’t be stuck here thinking about him."

Sassy let out another meow, clearly judging her.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Where do I buy the best lingerie?

Emilie: …Excuse me???

Emilie: Are you finally planning to jump your ridiculously in love, multi-millionaire, world champion boyfriend??

Isabelle: …

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: I tried, okay?!

Emilie: What do you mean you tried??

Isabelle: I mean I tried but he wanted to take things slow!

Emilie: …You’re telling me that Max Verstappen—the man who drives at 300 km/h for fun—wanted to take things slow?!

Isabelle: YES.

Emilie: Are you sure he’s Dutch and not secretly Victorian??

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: No, because I’m actually stunned. You’re telling me you’ve been together for two months, he’s madly in love with you, bought real estate just to see you more, and still hasn’t—

Isabelle: No.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: He said he didn’t want me to think this was just about that. That he wanted to show me he was serious.

Emilie: That’s actually disgustingly romantic.

Isabelle: I know. But also, Emilie, I am going to combust.

Emilie: Oh, I am absolutely taking you shopping.

Emilie: We’re getting you the best lingerie. The kind that makes a man forget the concept of “taking things slow.”

Isabelle: I don’t want to pressure him.

Emilie: Isabelle, babe, I love you, but you could show up in a paper bag and he’d still be obsessed with you. This is just insurance.

Isabelle: Insurance??

Emilie: Yes. For when you inevitably break him.

Isabelle: …

Isabelle: That’s not how insurance works.

Emilie: It is in this scenario. Now, when are you free? We’re going shopping.

Isabelle: You’re way too excited about this.

Emilie: Because I am emotionally invested!! Do you have any idea how rare it is for a man to be this in love and still have the self-control of a monk??

Isabelle: I don’t know whether to be flattered or frustrated.

Emilie: You can be both! But mostly, you can be prepared. Because trust me, the moment he decides he’s ready, you need to be ready.

Isabelle: … I did buy silk sheets.

Emilie: YES, that’s my girl!! Now tell me, what’s Max’s favorite color on you?

Isabelle: Emerald green.

Emilie: Oh, we are going all out.

***

Instagram Story – @/isabelleleclerc

***

Isabelle hadn’t been this nervous in a long time.

Not during presentations, not in meetings, not even the time she accidentally spilled coffee on a potential client’s Hermès bag (it had been black, mercifully, and Max had made her laugh about it later).

But this? Standing in Max Verstappen’s bedroom, bathed in the soft golden glow of his bedside lamp, wearing lingerie she had stared at for weeks before buying? This made her heart hammer so loud she swore he could hear it.

She had planned this—carefully. She knew he was expecting her. She’d texted earlier, promised takeout and a quiet night. That part wasn’t a lie. But the bag of food now sat forgotten on the kitchen counter, and she stood in front of him wearing forest green lace and every ounce of courage she’d been hoarding since their first kiss.

Max didn’t speak.

He didn’t move.

Just stared at her, wide-eyed, lips parted slightly, like he’d forgotten how to function. And for a single, terrifying moment, she thought she’d misjudged everything.

“Say something,” she whispered, her voice far steadier than she felt, her fingers fiddling with the strap of the lingerie. “I’m starting to think this was a bad idea.”

But then—he moved.

In an instant, he crossed the room, hands warm as they settled on her waist, pulling her gently closer. His eyes met hers, and they were nothing short of reverent.

“Not a bad idea,” he said, low and rough. “A very, very good idea.”

Her breath left her in a shaky laugh, part relief, part giddy disbelief. Her hands found the front of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric like she needed something to anchor her.

“You like it?” she asked, her voice small now, almost teasing.

Max swallowed visibly, eyes roaming over her again like he still couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “Isabelle, I think my brain just stopped working.”

That earned a crooked smile from her, some of the nervousness melting into something bolder, flirtier. “That good, huh?”

Instead of answering, Max let his hands drift lower, tracing the curve of her hips, fingers skimming the sheer lace with maddening care. He looked like he was touching something precious. Something rare.

“You did this for me?” he asked, quieter this time. Like it surprised him.

She nodded, heart thudding. “Wanted to surprise you.”

He exhaled slowly, leaned in. Pressed a kiss to her forehead. Her temple. The edge of her mouth.

“You have no idea what you do to me.”

The words made something flutter and twist deep in her chest. She arched into him without meaning to, breath catching as his grip on her waist tightened just slightly.

“Then show me,” she whispered.

And the look he gave her after that? Wicked. Worshipful. Dangerous in the best possible way.

Max Verstappen had never turned down a challenge in his life. And from the way he kissed her next, Isabelle knew he wasn’t about to start now.

His mouth met hers with quiet intensity—no rush, no urgency, just the kind of kiss that made Isabelle feel like she was being memorised, piece by piece.

Max kissed her like the world had narrowed to her skin and the space between them.

And God, the way he touched her.

His hands were still firm on her waist, thumbs brushing gently along the edge of lace like he didn’t dare go further without permission, like she was something sacred—not because she was wearing lingerie, but because she was Isabelle.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, then lower, over her jaw, down the curve of her neck.

Isabelle let her eyes fall shut, a soft breath escaping her as her hands slid from his shirt to his shoulders, pulling him just a little closer.

“Still thinking this was a bad idea?” he murmured against her skin.

She let out a breathy laugh, fingers threading into the back of his hair. “No. Definitely not.”

Max pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her, his expression shifting from teasing to something quieter—like he was checking in, even without asking.

And it struck her again—how different this was from every other time she’d tried to be brave for someone. This wasn’t performance. This wasn’t her trying to prove she was enough.

With Max, she was.

“You okay?” he asked, quietly, sincerely.

She nodded, and that time, it felt real. “Yeah.”

“Good.” His hands moved to cradle her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks, his eyes never leaving hers. “Because I want to take my time with you.”

That sentence alone nearly undid her.

She didn’t respond with words—just kissed him again, deeper this time, letting herself lean into it, letting herself feel it.

It was slow. Gentle. Everything she’d dreamed of, and somehow… so much more.

Max kissed her like he had all the time in the world, like the moment mattered more than the destination. His hands slid across her skin like a question, never demanding, only asking. Always waiting. Always listening.

And Isabelle—Isabelle gave herself over to it. To him.

For a while.

Because this was different. Because Max made her feel safe. Because she wanted this.

But even as her body responded—arching into his touch, breath catching when his mouth dragged down her collarbone—something inside her began to unravel.

She didn’t notice it at first. Not really.

It started as a quiet overwhelm. The weight of his hands on her waist. The way he whispered her name like it meant something. The softness in his eyes, the care in every kiss.

He touched her like she was precious. Like she was the most important thing in the world.

And it broke her.

Because no one ever had. Not like this. Not without expectation. Not without making her feel like she had to be performative, or perfect, or grateful.

She gasped—not from pleasure, not from panic, but from the sudden ache of being held so gently.

And then the tears came.

At first, she didn’t realise she was crying. Just a strange heat behind her eyes, a tightness in her throat. She blinked hard and tried to breathe through it, tried to hold onto the moment.

But Max noticed. Of course he noticed.

His hands, which had been skimming her skin, froze. His brow creased, worry flickering across his face. “Schatje,” he murmured, voice impossibly soft. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head quickly, pressing her lips together, embarrassed. “Nothing.”

His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, catching the tear that slipped free anyway. “That doesn’t look like nothing.”

She swallowed hard. “I just…” A shaky breath. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

Max went impossibly still. His blue eyes searched hers, something flickering behind them—understanding, frustration, something else entirely. He exhaled slowly, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You deserve this,” he whispered. “All of it.”

Isabelle broke.

She curled into him, burying her face in his neck as his arms tightened around her, grounding her, holding her together.

No one had ever held her like this before. No one had ever made her feel like she wasn’t just something to take from.

But Max wasn’t like anyone else.

Max didn’t rush her. He didn’t push or pry. He just held her, one hand smoothing over her back, the other tangling gently in her hair as she clung to him.

Isabelle took slow, shaky breaths, letting herself settle, letting herself believe—that this wasn’t just desire, that Max didn’t just want her for a fleeting moment, that he was here because of her, all of her.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes were still damp, but the knot in her chest had loosened. She met his gaze hesitantly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Max frowned immediately. “Why?”

She let out a breathy, almost self-conscious laugh. “Because that’s not exactly what you expect when you bring your girlfriend to bed.”

His expression softened. “Isabelle,” he said, tilting her chin up so she had to look at him. “I don’t care how long this takes. I don’t care if we stop now or in ten minutes or in ten weeks.” His thumb brushed over her cheekbone. “I just want you.”

Something deep inside her cracked open.

Isabelle had spent so long being overlooked, taken for granted, expected to give without ever receiving. But Max didn’t expect anything from her. He just wanted her—whether she gave him pieces or the whole damn thing.

She swallowed hard. “I want this,” she said, and she meant it. She really meant it.

Max searched her face, his fingers tightening slightly on her skin. Then, slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers.

This kiss was different. It wasn’t urgent, wasn’t hurried. It was deep and consuming, felt like something more.

Isabelle melted into it, into him, into the warmth of his body and the way he touched her—carefully, reverently, like she was something to cherish.

And for the first time in her life, she let herself believe she was.

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: So.

Emilie: So.

Emilie: I let you run off with a bag full of very expensive and very effective lingerie, and I have received zero updates.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Emilie: I am not a patient woman.

Isabelle: I genuinely don’t know how to process last night.

Emilie: …Good or bad?

Isabelle: I think I need therapy.

Emilie: Therapy???

Isabelle: Emilie, I thought sex was supposed to be uncomfortable. I thought it was normal. To just… grit my teeth and wait for it to be over. To pretend it was fine. To pretend I liked it.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: I’m serious. I thought it was normal for it to be awkward and underwhelming, and that I just had to deal with it.

Emilie: …I suddenly have a burning need to hunt down every single one of your exes.

Isabelle: They didn’t care if I enjoyed it.

Emilie: …What do you mean?

Isabelle: I mean, it was always just about them. Their pleasure. Their satisfaction.

Isabelle: I was just a body.

Emilie: Oh my god.

Isabelle: It wasn’t just bad—it was awful. Sometimes painful. Almost always embarrassing.

Emilie: Belle.

Isabelle: I thought that was normal.

Emilie: You’re joking.

Isabelle: I used to fake it just to get it over with.

Emilie: What the actual fuck?!

Isabelle: Em…

Emilie: No, because I was expecting you to say like, oh, it was awkward. Or boring. But this?!

Isabelle: I just thought that’s how it was.

Emilie: IT’S NOT.

Isabelle: I know that now.

Emilie: Oh my god.

Isabelle: It was so different with Max.

Emilie: …Because he actually cares.

Isabelle: Yes. The first time I just…

Emilie: What happened?

Isabelle: I… broke down.

Emilie: Oh, Belle.

Isabelle: I just—panicked. Everything hit me at once.

Emilie: What did he do?

Isabelle: He stopped immediately. Held me. Told me we didn’t have to do anything, that he just wanted me to feel safe.

Emilie: Oh my god.

Isabelle: And then the next time…

Emilie: He remembered everything.

Isabelle: Every single thing I liked. What made me feel good. What made me feel wanted.

Emilie: Because he pays attention.

Isabelle: Exactly.

Emilie: That’s that racecraft in bed, huh?

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: No, but think about it! The man lives to optimize performance. He knows how to read data, analyze conditions, adjust his approach for maximum efficiency—

Isabelle: STOP.

Emilie: No, because it’s true!

Isabelle: …I mean. You’re not wrong.

Emilie: I KNEW IT.

Isabelle: I hate you.

Emilie: No, you love me. But not as much as you love Max Verstappen blowing your mind every night.

Isabelle: I’M BLOCKING YOU.

Emilie: So tell me everything.

Isabelle: I already told you enough.

Emilie: Isabelle. You literally admitted that every guy before Max made sex feel like a chore, that you had to fake it, and that it was sometimes painful. And then, suddenly, Max comes in?  You owe me details.

Isabelle: It was just… different. From the second he touched me, it was like he was paying attention to every single reaction, every little noise I made. I didn’t even have to say anything—he just knew.

Emilie: Oh my god.

Isabelle: And it wasn’t just physical. It was—I felt safe. I wasn’t just a body, I wasn’t just there to be used. He made me feel like I was the most important thing in the world to him.

Emilie: Belle.

Isabelle: I was so nervous at first. I wanted it to be good, I wanted to enjoy it, but I had all these bad experiences in my head, and I kept waiting for it to go wrong.

Emilie: But it didn’t?

Isabelle: No. Because Max—he’s so patient. Even when I got overwhelmed, he just slowed down and made sure I was okay.

Emilie: And then?

Isabelle: And then it was… mind-blowing.

Emilie: Define mind-blowing.

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: I’m serious. Because I need to understand how we went from you faking it to you losing your mind completely.

Isabelle: …Okay.

Emilie: Yes.

Isabelle: So, you know how Max is in the car, right?

Emilie: Oh my god.

Isabelle: The way he reads conditions, the way he adapts in real time, the way he knows exactly when to push?

Emilie: STOP.

Isabelle: It’s the same.

Emilie: I KNEW IT.

Isabelle: I’m serious. He’s so in tune with everything, like he’s constantly adjusting, constantly making it better.

Emilie: He’s optimizing performance.

Isabelle: YES.

Emilie: Max Verstappen. Two-time World Champion. Fastest driver on track, fastest learner in bed.

Isabelle: I am not dignifying that with a response.

Emilie: But you’re not denying it.

Isabelle: …

Emilie: BELLE.

Isabelle: I didn’t even know it could feel like that.

Emilie: Wow.

Isabelle: Like, I thought those romance novels were lying. I thought all that passion and chemistry and overwhelming pleasure was just fake.

Emilie: But then you met Max Verstappen.

Isabelle: He’s just… so good to me. And not just in bed. He takes care of me, he makes me laugh, he listens to me. He actually sees me.

Emilie: I love that. But also, I need to understand the full scope of the dominance we’re dealing with here.

Isabelle: You sound like an F1 journalist trying to analyze Red Bull’s advantage in the regs.

Emilie: I am an F1 journalist trying to analyze Max Verstappen’s advantage in the bedroom.

Isabelle: …I hate that sentence.

Emilie: Okay, but is he like methodical with it? Like does he go in with a strategy?

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: No, I need to know if he’s a precision driver or a send-it-and-hope-for-the-best kind of guy.

Isabelle: …He’s both.

Emilie: EXCUSE ME???

Isabelle: It’s like he’s calculating everything in real-time, but then when the moment’s right—he just commits. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

Emilie: So what I’m hearing is… late-braking masterclass.

Isabelle: I knew you were going to say that.

Emilie: AND I’M RIGHT.

Isabelle: He literally waits until the last possible second, and then it’s like—boom. You can’t react fast enough.

Emilie: So he takes the racing line and the perfect approach angle.

Emilie: I’m just saying, if he starts looking at data after, I’m going to scream.

Isabelle:

Isabelle: …He does kind of ask for feedback.

Emilie: STOP.

Isabelle: And then he actually remembers everything I like.

Emilie: You’re telling me Max Verstappen actively takes notes on how to ruin your life?

Isabelle: Pretty much.

Emilie: If he ever applies this level of dedication to anything else, we’re all doomed.

Isabelle: He already does. It’s called Formula 1.

Emilie: And now he’s doing it to you.

Emilie: I need a moment.

Isabelle: Take your time.

Emilie: …Actually, no, I don’t, because I need to ask the most important question.

Isabelle: Oh, no.

Emilie: How many times?

Isabelle: EMILIE.

Emilie: I NEED TO KNOW.

Isabelle: …four.

Emilie: FOUR?!?

Isabelle: I told you. Life-altering.

Emilie: Max Verstappen is out here setting lap records and you’re only telling me now??

Isabelle: Well, I wasn’t going to text you midway through.

Emilie: I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU.

Isabelle: Thank you. So am I.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: Max Verstappen ruined you.

Isabelle: He rebuilt me.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/paddocktea: Isabelle Leclerc is my Roman Empire and here’s why: 

@/paddocktea: People know her as Charles Leclerc’s baby sister, born right in the middle between him and Arthur. 

@/paddocktea: But there is so much more to her…She’s the most overlooked yet most intriguing Leclerc sibling. She’s always there, always supporting, but somehow, she remains in the background. 

@/paddocktea: And because it’s her 24th birthday today… Here is everything you need to know about Isabelle Leclerc. 

@/paddocktea: While Arthur’s karting career was put on ice to fund Charles’ career, a lesser known fact is that the family also sold Isabelle’s childhood horse to help fund Charles’ racing. 

@/paddocktea: They SOLD HER HORSE. HER. HORSE. To help fund Charles’ career. Like, imagine being 13, losing both your sport and your horse while your brother gets to keep racing. If I were her, I’d still be holding a grudge.

@/paddocktea: …but instead apparently it’s a throwaway line in the family lore that Charles has only ever mentioned once in an interview, while he has mentioned Arthur’s “sacrifice” multiple times. 

@/paddocktea: Still, instead of causing drama, she put her head down and worked. She studied architecture while also being there for every major moment of her brothers’ careers. It wasn’t just about showing up to races—she was always supporting them.

@/paddocktea: The few times she does give interviews? It’s never about her. She just hypes up her brothers. Every single time. No complaints, no bitterness—just, "They work so hard, I’m really proud of them.” If I sacrificed as much as she did, I’d be insufferable, but she’s just so sweet and adores her brothers more than anything else. 

@/paddocktea: Anyway, Isabelle Leclerc is the backbone of the Leclerc family, and I need people to start appreciating her.

↳@/paddockinsider: WAIT. They SOLD her horse to fund Charles’ career?! I did NOT know this. That’s actually insane.

↳@/formulatea: They really said ‘sorry girl, no more childhood joy for you, we gotta get Charles to F1’ 😭

↳@hoofbeatsandcheckeredflags: As a horse girl, I would NEVER forgive them. I would be bringing this up at every family dinner.

↳ @f1drama: No bc imagine your parents sitting you down like ‘hey, your brother needs to go fast so we’re getting rid of your best friend, hope you understand xx’

↳@f1archivist: How did this never make it into Drive to Survive?? Like hello, Netflix, this is PEAK drama.

↳@girlmathf1: They stole her childhood and she still shows up at races supporting them. Isabelle Leclerc is a better person than me fr.

↳@gossipinthepaddock: So you’re telling me Charles got a career and Arthur got a second chance at racing, while Isabelle got… character development???

***

Instagram Post – @/isabelleleclerc

Comments: 

@/charles_leclerc: Happy 24th! 🎂

@/f1fashionista93: Happy birthday, Isabelle! You deserve all the happiness in the world. 💐✨

@/emilie_abadie: Happy birthday to my favorite human! You deserve the best year ahead—can’t wait to see what it has in store for you 💖"

@/leclercsquad_: Happy birthday, Isabelle! I can’t wait to see all the amazing things you do this year! 🎉💐

***

Her phone had buzzed all morning with Leclerc family group chat notifications—heart emojis from Arthur, a single “Joyeux anniversaire x” from Charles, Lorenzo asking if she’d gotten the spa voucher he emailed (“it expires in two months, so use it soon!”), and her mother’s text: “Hope you like the book. And the suit!”

The book was titled “How to Be More Assertive: Owning Your Voice in a Loud World.

The suit was black. Structured. Corporate.

Isabelle had never worn a pantsuit in her life. She barely wore pants, unless she was on a horse or doing pilates.

Arthur’s gift had arrived wrapped in glossy blue paper—inside was a heavy coffee table book about the history of golf. 

Charles had sent an Amazon gift card.

She had smiled. Said thank you in the chat. Told herself they were trying. That they were busy. That this was just how birthdays went for her in her family—slightly impersonal, vaguely thoughtful, and always… a little off.

And it wasn’t like she needed more. Emilie had taken her out the evening before, dinner just the two of them, which had been lovely… and which had ended with a single chocolate cupcake with a lit candle that she had blown out with a huge grin on her face. The two of them had giggled like teenagers and ended up sharing it. 

Emilie had given her a whole basket full of things, like she was always prone to be doing. It was stuffed full with Isabelle’s favourite things, from her favourite bar of chocolate, to her favourite soap, a new bottle of signature perfume (always Miss Dior), new workout clothing, because she had mentioned in an offhand way that the zipper on her favourite jacket kept opening up… filled with the kind of thoughtful little things that Emilie Abadie hoarded like the french dragon with expensive perfume and perfect eyeliner that she was. 

Really, that basket more than made up for anything her family did. 

And now, here she was sitting on the sofa a at Max’s place that evening, sipping her favourite wine in her favourite sweater, legs tucked under her.

She was happy. Completely and utterly content. 

Max came in from the kitchen, a little grin tugging at his lips, something behind his back.

“Okay,” he said, “I know you said you didn’t want anything fancy…”

She narrowed her eyes. “Max.”

“But,” he continued, stepping closer, “you’re turning twenty-four, and that feels like it should come with something a little special.”

He pulled a small velvet box from behind his back.

Isabelle blinked. “Max—”

“Just open it,” he said, sitting beside her. 

She opened the box slowly—and froze.

Inside was a bracelet.

Diamonds and Emeralds connected with delicate gold fixing. The emeralds were a deep, deep green. 

The exact shade of green that lit her eyes when she was excited, or furious, or pretending not to cry during animal rescue commercials.

She didn’t speak.

Max leaned in, his voice softer now. “Emeralds. Because it’s your birthstone. And because every time I see your eyes in the sun, I think—how does that color even exist?”

Her breath caught. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did,” he said. “You’re the easiest person in the world to pay attention to, Belle.”

She bit her lip, suddenly blinking too fast. “It’s beautiful.”

He unclasped it, slid it gently onto her wrist, then lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

“You deserve beautiful things. Not because it’s your birthday. Just because you’re you.”

Isabelle didn’t mean to tear up. She really didn’t.

But here was Max—watching her with that look like she mattered—giving her something not just expensive, but personal. Thoughtful. Kind.

She laughed through the tears, wiping at her face. “Sorry. I’m being ridiculous.”

“You’re not,” he said, pulling her into his chest. “You’re just not used to being seen properly. But I see you.”

“I love it,” she whispered. “It’s perfect.”

And she meant it.

Because it wasn’t about the bracelet.

It was the way he saw her.

The way he always did.

Not as the sister. Not as the quiet one.

Not as someone who needed a personality makeover or to be more “assertive.”

Just as Isabelle.

And for once—just once—that was more than enough.

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Max got me a bracelet.

Emilie: Of course he did.

Isabelle: Emilie. It’s emerald.

Isabelle: He said it’s my birthstone and that it matches my eyes.

Emilie: Isabelle, I need you to breathe.

Isabelle: I AM TRYING.

Emilie: This man is not just spoiling you; he is actively ruining you for anyone else.

Isabelle: Right???

Emilie: Send a picture. Now.

Isabelle: Attachment: photo.jpg

Emilie: Holy. Shit.

Emilie: That is not just a bracelet. That is a statement.

Isabelle: What statement?

Emilie: “You are mine, and I will give you the world.”

Isabelle: …

Emilie: You’re staring at it right now, aren’t you?

Isabelle: I haven’t taken my eyes off it since he clasped it onto my wrist.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: How are you still alive?

Isabelle: Unclear. Might be running purely on shock at this point.

Emilie: I warned you. I told you he was in deep.

Isabelle: I didn’t think this deep.

Emilie: Oh, honey. He is drowning.

Isabelle: What am I supposed to do with this??

Emilie: Love him back. That’s literally all he wants.

Isabelle: …I already do.

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: I thought you were joking.

Emilie: Oh, Max. I wish I was.

Max: Arthur really got her a coffee table book about golf.

Emilie: She doesn’t even like golf.

Max: EXACTLY.

Emilie: I’m convinced he just panic-bought it at the airport.

Max: And Charles… a generic Amazon gift card.

Emilie: Isabelle literally used last year’s gift card to buy presents for other people because she didn’t even want anything from Amazon.

Max: I actually feel secondhand embarrassment.

Emilie: Welcome to my world.

Max: Lorenzo got her a Spa Voucher with only 2 months left on it. I am pretty sure that was a gift he once got. 

Emilie: That’s still better than the self help book her mother bought her “How to be more assertive”. (I mean I guess she tried, she did buy her that new pantsuit…just that Isabelle has never worn a pantsuit in her life. She never wears pants, AT ALL, unless she works out or is at the stables.) 

Max: I— No. I need to sit down.

Emilie: Oh, don’t worry, Max. She’s used to it. That’s what makes it worse.

Max: That’s actually depressing.

Emilie: Right?? I feel like I’m the only one who actually pays attention.

Max: I feel like I need to apologize on their behalf.

Emilie: Oh, you’ve already done enough. You got her a bracelet with emeralds to match her eyes.

Max: That’s just normal? It’s not hard?

Emilie: Max, you put more thought into one gift than her family has in a decade.

Max: Good. She deserves better.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Victoria: So… still in love?

Max: More every day.

Victoria: You’re such a sap.

Max: You asked.

Victoria: I did. Because I knew you’d say something like that.

Max: And yet, here you are, pretending to be surprised.

Victoria: Not surprised, just entertained.

Max: Glad my happiness is amusing to you.

Victoria: Oh, it is. You’re actually just gone.

Max: I know.

Victoria: And you’re fine with that?

Max: More than fine. Best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Victoria: …Wow.

Max: What?

Victoria: Nothing. Just… I’ve never seen you like this.

Max: Me neither. But I don’t want it to stop.

Victoria: Then don’t.

Max: I won’t.

Victoria: Good.

Max: …You’re being suspiciously nice.

Victoria: I can be supportive, you know.

Max: Yeah, but usually there’s teasing first.

Victoria: True. But I don’t think I need to say anything. You’re already completely and utterly done for.

Max: Not wrong.

Victoria: So, when do I get to hear about the inevitable dumb thing you’ll do to impress her?

Max: What makes you think I’ll do something dumb?

Victoria: Max. You bought an entire penthouse just to work with her.

Max: …That’s not dumb. That’s practical.

Victoria: Sure, sure. Practical.

Max: It is! I needed a new place anyway. And I have great taste.

Victoria: She has great taste. You just followed her lead.

Max: …Still counts.

Victoria: Sooo, can I follow your mysterious girlfriend on Instagram yet, or is she still top secret?

Max: …

Victoria: Max. It’s been two months.

Max: And?

Victoria: And I want to know who she is! Give me something. A name? A clue? Anything?

Max: Isabelle.

Victoria: Isabelle what?

Max: …Leclerc.

Victoria:

Victoria:

Victoria: HOLD ON.

Victoria: As in Leclerc-Leclerc?? Like, Charles Leclerc???

Max: Yes.

Victoria: AS IN HIS QUIET LITTLE SISTER FROM KARTING???

Max: Yeah.

Victoria: OH MY GOD.

Victoria: I remember her! She was always at the races! Super quiet, always watching. 

Max: That’s her.

Victoria: AWWWW. MAX.

Max: What?

Victoria: She’s perfect for you! She was always so sweet!

Max: …Thanks?

Victoria: Does Charles know??

Max: No.

Victoria: Max.

Max: Isabelle wants to keep it private.

Victoria: But why??

Max: Her family… it’s complicated.

Victoria: What do you mean? The Leclercs are like, the most wholesome F1 family ever.

Max: Her brothers are close with each other. She just…exists in their periphery and is forgotten 90% of the time. 

Victoria: Max, that’s awful.

Max: I know.

Victoria: And they still don’t know you’re together?

Max: Nope.

Victoria: You haven’t told Charles??

Max: Isabelle doesn’t want them to know.

Victoria: I mean, I get it, but… that’s really sad.

Max: Yeah.

Victoria: But you make her happy?

Max: I try.

Victoria: Good.

Victoria: But just so you know, when this does come out, Charles might actually explode.

Max: I know.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Autumn (Cregan Stark x Reader)

Summary: As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

Warnings: Unreliable narrator!!!! Mature language. Descriptions of grief.

A/N: I was not expecting the response my silly little idea has gotten. I am very thankful for all of you who decide to read it, and would love to hear what you think of this chapter. Series masterlist here.

YOU CRUMPLE THE letter in your fist, hearing the parchment wrinkle with a satisfying sound. Then, you throw it into the flames, watching as the fire grows slightly bigger, and the ball uncurls, alight for a second, before it is fully consumed.

It doesn’t soothe you as you thought it would. The odious parchment offering you an honor guard from your future husband might be gone, but you still have to journey North before a moon since Luke’s funeral has passed.

At the thought of your brother, a sharp, stabbing pain, manifests in your chest. You choke down a sob. You had not realized you had started to measure time like this. Before and After Luke’s death, as people did with Before and After the Conquest.

Your grief only serves to fuel your rage, though. How could he? How could he demand you be wed when you were still in mourning? When you were still thinking of your sweet brother, not of keeps, and lords, and men?

“You dare!” You screech, barging inside Jacaerys’ rooms. Whatever he is doing, hunched over his desk, is interrupted. “You cannot do this to me! Mother will not allow it.”

Jace sets down his quill. He turns to look at you, his expression calm. You would think him indifferent, were it not for the fact that there is the slightest furrow of his brows.

“We need men.” He states, simply, and when you are about to interrupt him to say there are many more in the realm, he keeps speaking. “We need his men. The North is the largest kingdom, you know this as well as I. And when a Stark calls the banners, they are the only ones who respond in full.”

Your hands ball into fists. You hate that he is acting so composed, so rational. After Luke died, you felt like a chained dragon, roaring your grief and wishing to be freed to set ablaze those that had wronged you. Once, you had been as gracious as him and mother, composed even in the height of emotion. But grief has made you into live lighting, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

Your emotions are out of control. You know this. You get angered at the barest hint of an insult, you cry as easily as a newborn babe. Knowing it doesn’t stop you from lashing out, though. It only makes you regret it later.

“Our mother promised I was to have my pick of suitors, not that I would be sold like a cow!” You point an accusing finger to his chest. Jace sighs and gets up, surrounding the desk.

“I understand you are upset.” He tries offering you a hug, but you jerk away. His face hardens slightly. “But this is war.”

As if you do not know. As if you haven’t lost a sibling, too. Your face crumbles, and Jace calls your name, but hearing his voice, how similar Luke and him sound, only makes you cry harder.

“Hey, hey, it’s not so bad.” He hugs you, pressing your face against his doublet. The material is soft against your skin, and you feel tempted to let go of your rage against him and sink into his arms. Jace is barely a man, too, just as you are barely a woman. He is doing as best as he can, spread too thin by the weight of responsibility that comes with being heir. “Cregan is a good man. I got to know him during the time…”

Yes, he was doing as best as he could. But it hadn’t been his own hand that he had bartered away, had it? The insidious voice in your head asks. It isn’t him who is making a sacrifice. And such a hollow one. He claims to need men, but he won’t be getting even the full northern army.

“You sold me for a few Greybeards! Not even a proper army! Good Gods, you are a fool.” You cry out.

“Lord Stark assures me…” Jace starts, with the tone of someone who has already had this same argument. Were you thinking clearly, you would pause and realize why. Instead...

“He has put a wife in the grave already.” It is the only thing you know about him. Not much is whispered about Cregan Stark, at least, nothing concerning. You would remember it. The only thing that you know, though, is that he is a Stark and his wife is dead.

“You make it sound as if he killed her himself with his bare hands.” Jace scoffs. “I assure you, he dearly loved Arra Norrey and would have never harmed her. You know the dangers of childbirth. Perhaps even better than I.”

Perfect. He hadn’t killed the damn woman, he was just still in love with her. By the Seven, Jace was a fool. You hated being second in anything. Here, at home, you were already second to Jace, and you resented it. Being a twin meant having to share everything, including the love of those around you.

When you married, you had hoped to be the only woman in your husband’s life, not to be compared to a ghost. You had seen exactly how that went. King Viserys had never forgotten his first wife, calling for her years after her death, even as Alicent was the one to nurse him during his illness.

“He is still a widower.” You repeat, stubbornly.

Jace pinches the bride of his nose, before letting out a deep exhale. His next words are spoken extremely slowly, as if talking to a child. It makes you bristle.

“You said you were afraid of childbirth, and he already has an heir. There is no better solution.”

It would be thoughtful, were it not for the fact that:

“His first wife died in childbirth!”

As Jace prepares a scathing comeback, face scrunched up in mirrored displeasure to your own, the voice of your mother startles you both.

“What is going on here?” She asks, mouth pursed in an expression identical to Jace. The Queen looks as regal as ever, and it only serves to make you feel a tad embarrassed. With wild hair and eyes, face flushed from rage, you are sure that next to her, you must look like a wilding. “Why can the whole castle hear your quarrel?”

“It’s his fault.” You accuse, pointing at Jace.

“My fault?!” He says, placing his hands on his hips. “Apologies, I think they didn’t hear your screeching about Lord Stark in Driftmark!”

“So you informed her?” Your mother asks, calmly. Too calmly for someone who has just found out. Had it been her plan all along?

“Did you knew all along?” You whisper.

Rhaenyra turns to look at you. As always, your mother has a smile ready for you, but as of late, they are laced with sadness. This one is no exception.

“I did. I think it is for the best. You will be safer next to Cregan Stark, in Winterfell, than you could ever be here.”

You examine her expression. Her eyes are swollen and red rimmed, grief clouding her regal face. There is a certain determination in her features, a calm acceptance in her eyes, that tells you that her mind is already made.

Her face is not one of a distraught mother who will soon give her daughter away. You know her too well to mistake it for that.

“You hoped for this.” You keep your voice dangerously low, your anger threatening to bubble up in your throat. “You did because I have no dragon. I bet you are scheming to send Rhaena away too!”

Your mother doesn’t answer.

Her silence is damming. You turn to look at Jace, disbelieving. Of course the two of them had been scheming behind your back. Your brother had always been the closest one to your mother.

“And neither of you could tell me to my face?” You ask, letting out a hysterical laugh. “I had to find out from a letter from fucking Cregan Stark. I am not leaving. You cannot make me. ”

Suddenly, your mother grabs you by the shoulders. Her face is frightening, like an avenging goddess of Old Valyria. Her lips are curled back, teeth bared, and her eyes are as wild as yours.

“Listen to me!” She says, shaking you hard. Tears begin to fall from her eyes, but she doesn’t seem to register them. “Listen to me! Luke is dead. He is dead, and you will obey me because I cannot bear to lose any more of my children. You are going North. Your Queen commands it.”

She turns on her heel and leaves, leaving you standing on still shaking legs.

CREGAN HAD BEEN lingering near the entrance of Winterfell ever since his men had spotted the Queen’s banner on the horizon. Back then, they had expected the party to arrive in half a day. He didn’t care if he appeared too eager, his usual stoicism was failing him in the face of his nerves.

The first time Cregan had married, he had known the bride for a long time. Arra had been his childhood companion, and they had spent many moons together, playing Come-into-my-castle and Bears-and-maids. Cregan had unfortunately been the maid many more times than he preferred.

He had not feared marriage then. Spending forever chained to another person wouldn’t be so bad if that person was Arra.

Now, he did. Cregan had been content on his own, and had no desire to remarry. Even if he had, a southron princess wouldn’t have been his first choice. Though Prince Jacaerys had been honorable and dutiful, he was still naive. They were nearly of an age, but when Cregan had stood next to him, he had felt as old as his Greybeards.

A naive little princess would never survive in the North. His lords would eat her alive. The Lady of Winterfell couldn’t be some frail little thing, she had to be strong. Strong enough to hold Winterfell in his absence if needed, were the threat from beyond the Wall come to pass.

Arra had been the only woman he had thought of marrying because she had been the only woman he had thought fit to the task. She had been of the North, as he was, and it had helped him envision a future together where they ruled over the very same land that had birthed both of them.

It was only adequate that the Lady of Winterfell was a woman of the North. Southron Princesses, especially those who had been groomed to marry inside the family, could be of little help running a keep. If he had to remarry and choose a southron, Cregan would have preferred a stronger one.

Yet if wishes were dragons, beggars would soar through the skies. Prince Jacaerys had seemed a bit insulted at his offer of Greybeards, but with winter coming, it was all Cregan could spare. He was no stranger to political games, though, and knew he had to smooth down the feathers his offer had ruffled.

Hence, the offer. To receive the toothless dragon in his home and keep it safe. A favor, from an older brother to another. The Gods knew if Sara was near war at all, Cregan would do everything in his power to send her somewhere safe. He would be forever indebted to the man who aided him to do so.

And Prince Jacaerys, showing himself to be the dutiful prince and brother he was, had understood the offer for what it was. A true alliance. A Pact of Ice and Fire, to bound their bloodlines and keep the beloved, but defenseless sister safe.

It had impressed Cregan. Jacaerys was a serious man, no matter his dubious parentage. He could picture himself following him. After all, his Targaryen blood and character were the important part. That was what made him a worthy King.

Without a dragon of your own, your journey had been perilous. He knew you had ridden without banners until you had safely arrived into northern territory, a feat that had taken you a whole moon. Cregan had offered to have his men meet you halfway, but his letter doing so had gone unanswered. It had only prompted new anxieties for him.

What if he failed to fulfill his promise because you were abducted or harmed in the journey? What if the people riding with Black banners weren’t truly your honor guard, but an ambush prepared by the enemy?

Cregan doubted he would be at ease until he saw you emerge out of your wheelhouse, whole and unscathed. Hence, his waiting by the door. He would not be nervous a moment longer than he needed to.

The first thing Cregan saw was that your honor guard was smaller than he expected. He had known you would travel with a sparse escort, as to not attract undue attention. It was a miracle you had made it here with only ten guards, though. The wheelhouse and the men carried so many packages that Cregan would have known you were a Princess even without expecting you. Anyone would have known.

In contrast, the woman who stepped out of the wheelhouse wasn’t miraculous nor was she what Cregan envisioned when thinking of a Princess.

You were… Pitiful. Cregan understood now why Prince Jacaerys was so desperate to protect you. You wouldn’t survive a winter in the North, hells, it looked like a strong breeze would blow you away.

Your hair and eyes were as dark as the ones of your brother. You wore a pretty wool dress, in mourning black. The lacings on the back were done too tightly, a lot of the ribbon hanging limply, and the dress was loose around your chest and hips. It was clear you had recently lost weight, probably during the journey because the gown hadn’t been altered to fit you.

There were dark circles under your eyes, which were also red rimmed. Your skin was pale, your dark hair braided back in a severe style. Grief didn’t suit you. You looked small and sad, despite having a pleasing figure.

It didn’t help that the dress you had chosen was one far too thin for a sensible northern woman to wear. The day wasn’t even that cold, but you were already shivering. It was barely snowing, for the Gods’s sake!

Cregan approached you and gave you a bow.

“Princess.” He extended his arm to you. You took it, shivering. “I trust your journey was pleasant?”

“Pleasant enough.” At least your voice isn’t frail. The last thing Cregan needed was a soft-spoken southron lady. You even manage to smile at him, which makes you look considerably more attractive.

Cregan would admit one thing, and one thing only: Queen Rhaenyra made pretty children. Both you and Jacaerys had sinful mouths and bewitching dark eyes, though he found yours far more pleasing.

“I am sorry for your loss.” He says, as he escorts you inside Winterfell. Your trembling intensifies, instead of subsiding in the warmth of his hall. You say nothing.

When he risks a glance at your face, your eyes are suspiciously wet. You avoid meeting his eyes, even as he offers you the customary salt and bread.

“I remember when Arra got here.” Cregan offers, awkwardly. He isn’t quite sure of what to say to a grieving Princess, so he decides to share something about himself in hopes that you will open up too. He desperately needs to change the subject. Or to start a subject. He is not picky, anything that keeps you from crying will do. “She brought less of a procession than you did. And less luggage.”

“She was quite closer to home than I.” You reply, and your tone has regained strength. You no longer shake, body stiffer. Cregan decides to take it as a good sign. You are clearly struggling to get a hold of yourself, which is why you turn so tense, so he decides to keep speaking to give you some more time.

“She was. By far a more practical woman.” He smiles at you, teasingly. “But if the fuss makes you happy…”

You laugh. When he gets to know you better, Cregan will realize that your laughter wasn’t genuine.

He will also realize this had been the moment your heart iced over.

YOU PAGE THROUGH your book, in silence. Winterfell doesn’t have court musicians, and for that, you are thankful. Silence has always been your preferred companion right before bed. That, and a good book.

Your obsession with Valyrian history and traditions had been carefully nurtured by your stepfather, Daemon. Neither your mother nor siblings had much interest in your shared heritage, beyond the ability it gave them to ride dragons.

While Baela and Rhaena spoke fluid High Valyrian, the same could not be said for your brothers. As the only girl in the household, your lessons had been spent with the former and not the latter, forcing you to improve. Once you did, you had found reading the tales of old was a pleasant pastime.

You enjoyed laying in bed and imagining all the stories about magic, dragons, and empresses. When you had turned four and ten, Daemon had gifted you your very own book with Valyrian tales, a beautifully bound and illustrated edition that had followed you in your journey North.

“For you to read to your future children.” He had said, back then. You had barely flowered, so you had laughed. “I mean it, Princess. Out of my three girls, you are the only one I envision doing so.”

The day he had acknowledged you as one of his daughters, even if you didn’t share blood, was the happiest nameday you had had. He was right, too. As much as you loved the twins, you couldn’t picture them being motherly. Baela would have to have a son, to inherit after Jace, but you believed that it would be him who took charge of the more fatherly duties while she dedicated herself to statecraft. Rhaena, instead, had a thirst for adventure, to travel and know the world. Her ambition wasn’t conducive to motherhood either.

You, instead, had always dreamed of marrying a man who loved you and starting a family of your own. You envisioned yourself as the lady of a great keep, where you would rule fairly, and raise your children without wet nurses.

Those dreams had already been shattered. The man you had married didn’t love you. He had only done so to secure an alliance. And the man already had a child of his own, an heir. There was no need for you to be a mother anymore.

You turned another page of your book, watching the beautiful illustrations. You had dreamed of reading this to a little girl who looked like you, or perhaps a boy that would have looked like the man of your dreams. They would have learned High Valyrian, and spoke it as beautifully as your mother and stepfather did.

It would not come to pass. Not any longer.

A soft knock on your door makes you set down your book, closing it with great care. Then, you get up and put on your robe over your sleeping shift.

“You may enter.”

Your husband steps in, dressed for bed already. He is a handsome man, you think, biting your lower lip. Tall, dark and handsome, Cregan is the sort of man your childhood self would have pictured marrying.

He could have been the perfect man to fall in love with, were it not for the fact that he would never love you back. He already loved someone else, someone who you could never aspire to match. His first wife, Lady Arra.

As Alicent had learned, it was impossible to overshadow a ghost. Dead as she was, she could never make mistakes. He would forget all her imperfections.

She gave him a child, she was the wife he chose. The one he married for love, not duty. A practical, northern woman his bannermen had surely liked far more as a match to him than a soft southron princess who didn’t even have a dragon.

“I was wondering if you would welcome my company tonight, Princess.” Your husband says, voice emotionless. He is only here because of duty, it seems. “We could share the bed.”

“You said we could wait to consummate our union.” You keep your voice firm. It is not a task you anticipate eagerly, but you are not afraid of it either. You had seen enough of your mother and Daemon to know bedding someone can be pleasing. It is only the awkwardness of doing so with a stranger that puts you off.

“I was not referring to that.” Your husband says, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “The nights are cold in Winterfell. Is it wrong for a man to seek closeness to his wife?”

You frown. His behavior is most puzzling. He intends to share your bed… To sleep? Your mother shared her bed with Daemon, but she also bedded him. It makes no sense to you that he wants to sleep next to you without touching you. Most marriages don’t do that. Much less if they are political matches.

“It is not a sin. But why would you..?” You question, but your Lord Husband is getting up already, huffing. He seems angered that you are unable to understand his message, whatever it might be. He storms off, leaving you confused over his behaviour.

That night, Cregan dreams of running. Of having a snout covered in blood, of jumping into the river, trying to trap a seahorse.

He never manages to. Wolves aren’t meant to hunt seahorses.

[xerroahxhan]

The Forgotten Child

The mall was alive with movement—voices overlapping, the whir of shopping carts, the beeping of registers. People passed by, weaving in and out of stores, lost in their own worlds. You weren’t particularly focused on any of it, just walking alongside Hannibal and Will, the rhythm of their steps falling in sync with yours.

But then you saw him.

A little boy, no older than two, standing by a row of carts, left alone.

At first, it didn’t seem real. Maybe his mother was just a step away, maybe someone had turned away for only a moment. But then the seconds dragged on, and no one came.

His lip wobbled. His tiny fingers clutched the metal of the cart, like he was holding onto the only steady thing in his world. His round eyes scanned the crowd, searching—waiting—but finding nothing.

Then, the break. A deep inhale, the tremble of a breath, and the first tear slipping down his cheek.

Your chest tightened.

It was the kind of sadness that reached somewhere deep inside of you, a pull you didn’t want to acknowledge. The type of thing that made something ache in your ribs. You knew what it was to be small in a world that didn’t always look back at you, to feel lost even when surrounded by people.

You tried to suppress it. Your expression didn’t change much, your posture remained composed, but your steps had already slowed. Will and Hannibal noticed.

Will followed your line of sight, his brows furrowing. "What’s—" But then he saw, too.

Hannibal didn’t say anything at first, only tilted his head slightly as he observed. But when you took a step forward, he moved with you, and so did Will.

The boy let out a hiccuped sob.

You knelt down in front of him, making sure not to startle him. Your voice was soft, careful. "Hey, sweetheart," you murmured. "Where’s your mama?"

He sniffled, his little fingers twitching at his sides. He wasn’t wailing, but the quiet distress was somehow worse. Like he wasn’t sure he was even allowed to cry.

Something about that hit you harder than you wanted to admit.

You exhaled, steadying yourself. "It’s okay. She’ll be back soon. We can wait together, yeah?"

Still, he hesitated, his big eyes searching yours. And then, after a moment, he lifted his small arms toward you.

You didn’t think. You just reacted.

Scooping him up, you adjusted him onto your hip with practiced ease. He curled into you almost immediately, his little hands gripping onto your clothing, his head tucking under your chin. He was warm, small, and completely trusting.

You rubbed his back lightly, rocking him in place. "You’re okay," you murmured, voice instinctively soothing. "We’ll wait for her right here, okay?"

Hannibal watched the scene with quiet interest. His gaze flicked between you and the child, his expression unreadable, but there was something thoughtful in the way he observed you.

Will, on the other hand, seemed more affected by your reaction. His arms were crossed, lips pressed together as if holding back words. When you glanced at him, he looked at you with something close to understanding. Like he saw something in you that maybe even you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You glanced away, focusing instead on the boy’s steadying breaths. "Just… ridiculous," you muttered. "That someone would leave their kid like this."

Hannibal’s voice cut through smoothly. "Not everyone is fit for parenthood," he said. "Yet many still assume the role."

The words sat uncomfortably with you. Not because they were wrong, but because they were too sharp, too clear.

You didn’t want to think about it.

And then, just as suddenly as she had vanished, the mother reappeared.

She strolled up, holding a bag from one of the stores, looking mildly surprised but not at all concerned. "Oh," she said, blinking at the sight of you holding her child. "He’s fine."

You stared at her.

"Fine?" you echoed. The word sat strangely in your mouth.

She sighed, as if she were the one being inconvenienced. "I just stepped inside for a minute. He knows to wait."

You adjusted the boy in your arms, steadying your tone. "He’s two," you said. "You left him standing alone in a crowded mall."

She shrugged. "He’s not hurt, is he?"

That made something burn in you.

Before you could respond, Hannibal’s voice cut in, deceptively calm. "He was crying," he said. "That is harm enough."

The woman blinked at him, shifting uncomfortably. She glanced between him and Will, perhaps realizing for the first time that she wasn’t just dealing with one person.

Will scoffed, arms still crossed. "Yeah, no big deal," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just a little kid, terrified and alone. No problem."

The woman’s expression hardened. "I know my child," she said, defensive now. "And you don’t need to tell me how to parent."

You took a slow breath, forcing yourself to stay even. "I’m not trying to attack you," you said. "But he was scared. Just... be more careful next time, okay?"

A beat of silence.

Then, with a roll of her eyes, she reached for her son. "Come on, let’s go."

You hesitated before handing him over. He didn’t cry again, but he looked at you one last time, his little fingers flexing like he wanted to hold onto something.

You gave him a small smile, brushing a hand over his hair. "Be good, sweetheart," you murmured.

And then, just like that, they were gone.

The silence between you, Hannibal, and Will lingered.

Will exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Jesus," he muttered. "Some people shouldn’t have kids."

Hannibal hummed in quiet agreement but said nothing. Instead, his gaze lingered on you.

You still felt the warmth of the child in your arms, even though he was gone.

Will nudged you lightly, his tone softer now. "You okay?"

You blinked, rolling your shoulders slightly. "Yeah," you said, shaking off the feeling. "I just... can’t believe she just left him."

Hannibal’s voice was smooth, unintrusive. "You cared quite deeply."

The statement sat in the air, heavy in its simplicity.

You only sighed, rubbing your temple. "He just needed someone to be there."

Hannibal studied you for another long moment, then simply inclined his head. "Indeed."

And with that, you moved on.

But the feeling stayed.

[mixingandmelting]

Hey so how do you think the bat boys would deal with a s/o who’s like the sweetest thing ever and he just sees them get mad, mama bear mode at a super powered hero who could end s/o if they wanted too. Like this super powered hero abused their powers and hurt someone on purpose cuz they’re thought it was funny or like violated their mental privacy with psychic abilities and messed with their head just cuz they are slightly annoyed at them over something mildly inconvenient and basic, (), (a fellow ally hero) and for some reason didn’t see a problem with it and they look confused like they didn’t see the problem as to why they’re being scolded like a bad child and apologise to s/o to appease this s/o cuz they’re friends, and s/o like, “are you kidding me? It’s not me that you need to apologise too and not do that again!”? Maybe the boys have seen slight glimpses into their s/o having some fire in them sent the boys way in the form of some sass when the boys are wrong about something and be stubborn about it?

Dick: 

Does he laugh or cry?  Donna’s covering her mouth with both hands while tapping him every other second to ask if the team should step in. Wally is making him concerned about the potential chance of him dying from hypoxia because he can’t stop laughing. Maybe he should’ve been the one to give the whole lecture why abusing powers for personal reasons is a big no-no. And he was going to do it too, already having the infamous Batman-glare from not being happy, at all, for witnessing the misuse of power for a petty reason. But so far, in his opinion, you’re doing a pretty good job at getting the message across. 

“-Oh, so you think you’re the next Superman or Green Lantern, huh? All big and tough when you resort to using your powers for being called jumbo?” 

See? Plus he’s pretty sure no one, including himself, wants to interfere when you’re like this. You left the Titans a strong impression when you, the warmest and kindest person he has known, showed this side of you before Dick and Gar were about to go at it with each other during a mission that was going wrong. Not only had you asked him if he was trying to prove he’s babygirl  by snapping at his fellow teammate over speakers of his phone, you had gone after everyone else the second your sharp hearing caught the sound of snickering. It was quite a humbling experience to say the least. They managed to actually get themselves back together and  improve their teamwork, starting with everyone comforting each other as soon as you hung up (too bad it didn’t help his case. He still remembers standing in front of the door for over five minutes, hesitant to enter his own home on the day he came back). 

“Are you kidding me? It’s not me you should be apologizing to. Go apologize to the right person and don’t do it again!” 

Oh, no. Well, there’s nothing he can do about it now. He gives the other his condolences, understanding what they must be going through. Doesn’t make the scene any less ridiculous though, the vigilante ten times your size and more powerful, slightly bending forward with a sad puppy look while you’re waving your arms. He plops himself on a broken part of a building and sits back to watch the other party turn around and drag their feet towards the victim while you walk right behind them like a disappointed mother. 

Jason:

He’s turned around, his hand is on the intercom, the other wrapped around his waist to sell the image he’s in the process of tying the loose ends of the finished mission. But it’s getting harder by the second to not burst from the conversation you’re having with the other vigilante. 

“So what you’re telling me is that using your powers to get back at someone because you were annoyed with them is perfectly acceptable and not immature, childish, or stupid. And you’re sure you’re not being immature, childish, AND stupid.”

He covers his snort with a cough. Listen. You’re already considered tiny when with him. Muscles, strength, give or take height. Your heart is the one exception, wider than the sea and accepting to most including himself. To the vigilante? You’re an ant. But here you are, lecturing them to the brink of their ears falling off while they look like a child getting scolded. 

He gets it. Had he been in the hot-seat, he probably would look the same. Out of good faith once, he took Duke  on a mission that involved Black Mask, To give the teen the taste of working as a solo vigilante even though he was far from completing vigilante training. By the time Bruce and the rest of the gang had arrived, his head hung low, standing as if he was the military. You, on the other hand, were forty-one minutes in and counting on your lecture, the poor teen behind you at a loss on whether he should stop you or not. Trust no one in the family to keep silent when people he doesn’t know come up to him at gatherings to ask if the story of him getting served by you is true. He’s still bitter, especially with everyone knowing he can’t do a single thing. Not when it’s tied to gentle and loving you. So when someone who’s close to you and/or him goes through the same misery, it brings him joy from gaining a new comrade, a sympathetic companion. 

“You better get going and apologize right this instance or so help me I will-” 

“That’s my babe.” Jason murmurs, faking a tear from how moved he is under his helmet. Proud that his one love is able to verbally go face-to-face with someone that can squash you if they wanted to. Until it registers in his mind that you’re silent. Turning around, he flinches and awkwardly waves a hand at your glaring form. Well damn. When things were getting good too. 

Tim:

He doesn’t even bat an eyelash to what’s unfolding behind him, going over the mission like normal despite all the glances the JLA gives over his and the rest of Young Justice’s shoulder. 

“Based on how the sediments that were being transported in the crates, we were able to rule out-”

“Sorry to interrupt Robin, but what’s going on behind you four?”

It’s a record-breaking moment. Their responses have never been as in-sync or instantaneous until then.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not an issue.”

“I don’t see a problem.”

“There’s a problem?” 

The JLA members force themselves to ignore it for the time being from the expression all four of them give. Good. The less questions asked, the better for the team. It was the other day Cass had to face you from the stunt she pulled during said mission they’re going over right now. He knows for a fact that Conner and Bart remember all the times you remind all three males the fire that resides in the soft and sweet you when not taken seriously. When it’s him,Tim can never manage to make eye-contact with you for a few days. Bart hides behind the nearest and largest object the second you’re within a ten-mile radius of him. Conner? He has it the worst. Often left in skin and bones, he used to lie on the floor of his bedroom and contemplate the meaning of life every time someone enters and tries to talk to him. He’s gotten better, having progressed to where he seems to freeze on spot if ignoring the miniscule sniffle he makes. 

You do manage to amaze Tim at the same time, proving to him how  “if there’s a will, there’s a way” is a scientifically proven phrase from the way you stay perfectly fine despite going on for five minutes straight without breathing. 

He does sympathize for the vigilante that can probably kill you on the spot had you not been their friend. From the background of his screen, he can see you point at a certain location before the other dejectedly floats towards that direction. Just in time too. He was running out of ideas on how to stop the league from further finding out Young Justice can’t function without you momming them. 

Duke:

He sends a prayer, wishing the victim to rest in peace. He’s seen you before, experienced first-handedly how you are when you’re in mother-hen mode. And he can say, with complete confidence, the person on the receiving end is a goner. 

Duke’s first time was back during the We Are Robin movement. Looking back, he has to admit younger him was an idiot to think he could dismantle a bomb on his own with no experience, nonetheless one set by Penguin’s men. But him in the past was in his emo-teen phase. Meaning, he didn’t acknowledge or consider all the red flags blaring at his face from how dangerous it was going to be, his mission on proving how useless the adults were to keeping a city safe taking priority. Needless to say, he was a mess when he got back to the base, barely managing to escape with his life intact. 

He thought he knew what was coming when everyone pats his shoulder as they walk out and leave him with you in their meeting room. You didn’t scream. You didn’t yell. The worst part?  He couldn’t defend himself. There was no room for any counter arguments because you knew he knew everything you were saying was right (and because he had a massive crush on but that’s besides the point). Charred front and back, he was instantly put in place and shedding out of his phase there and then. Hence, that moment being the last encounter with that side of you from all the efforts he had put in to do anything to avoid having those horrid times he experienced that day repeat itself again.

“What part of you makes you think it’s me you need to apologize to? On top of messing with a person’s mind because you didn’t like their attitude toward you? Are you sure you’re trying to help save the city? Or are you just- ” 

He shakes his head. He watches the remaining fight in their eyes disappearing, face becoming impossibly paler and ashen when you proceed to shred the remaining dignity in them. On one part, it almost, almost, makes him want to step in and save the other from further looking as if they wanted to dig a hole and bury themselves in it. On another, he’s glad he’s not the one facing your wrath. He can do another day of not going through it, thank you very much. 

Damian: 

He’s having the time of his life. Not as much as he usually does when he ruins a criminal’s perfect night, but still, nonetheless enjoyable. Despite the disapproving eyes Jon shoots at him, his grin grows wider at each strike you give to the vigilante. 

It satisfies him deep in his heart, the image of you destroying their soul piece by piece. Them tasting the hell he constantly goes through.

He suspected you had a fire in your heart since he first met you. How else would it explain your warmth and care you showered others in, including himself? Most cases, he has to maneuver himself to keep most of that warmth to himself. When he doesn’t, that’s when he gets burnt. 

Somehow you always manage to catch him, finding out from someone, perhaps from Drake, Brown, or Todd, about all the reckless actions he did during the mission he went on. Remember the Amazo suit mission he had with Super Boy? You were waiting at his and Super Boy’s hide out the day after it was over. The incident at Lazarus Island? He never wanted to die so much as he did when he had to endure your motherly wrath in front of Suren and Maya. Twice, in fact, after he chased the two that snickered at him during the whole session with his katana.

“Mr. Damian Thomas Wayne-“ is not where you stop. Your grip on his ear is surprisingly strong, where he can’t get you to let go no matter how much he struggles from pure resolve to have him stay where he is. His family had once laughed when he told them how terrifying this skill was, only you in possession of it to his knowledge. Now they, too, fear it having experienced it when they tried to thwart his very much valid and warranted concerns once in front of you. 

“You need to apologize to them, not me! And-Hold on! What do you think you’re doing? Don’t use psychosis! Actually say sorry to them!” 

There’s distraught written all over the vigilante’s face. They aren’t given the choice to choose seeing you don’t budge, leading them to childishly stomp their way towards their fellow teammate, grumbling all the way. They could’ve not listened to you and retaliated back if they really wanted to. Unfortunately, for him, it seems that they want to be in your good grace. Something along the lines of being your friend. Too bad, he disapproves. They’ve been too chummy with you the past few days for his liking and need to be taught the bare requirements to be close to you.

[bookshelf-dust]

late night with the devil

matt murdock x fem!reader

gif by @kamillahn

word count: 3,751

warnings: swearing, mentions of injuries, i can’t think of anything else? literally fluff and some flirting

synopsis: you can’t quite understand how no one realized matt was daredevil. he can’t understand how you did.

a/n: hello, loves! this is the first matt fic i’ve written in like…3 years?? a fic for him was the very first fic i posted here, believe it or not. i’ve always thought it was so silly that the people closest to matt never recognized his voice or the bottom half of his face when they encounter him as daredevil, so this is my ode to that. i’ve overthought this one for too long so before i hate it completely, i’ll share it with you!!! enjoy your time with matty and let me know what you think <333

————

Foggy is trying to make a call. He can’t look at you because if he does, he’ll laugh, so instead he’s put himself in the corner, nose pressed to drywall. That only makes you and Karen laugh harder. 

He spins around and holds his pointer finger up over his lips, mouthing shush. His shoulders shake as he chuckles to himself. Karen keels over and knocks her head against yours, causing you both to groan in pain and clutch your foreheads, though this quickly morphs into more giggles. 

Foggy hangs up the phone and stumbles your way. “Dumbasses,” he mumbles, and then his foot catches on a wire running to the desktop computer and he falls; he just manages to catch himself on his hands and knees. 

Karen chokes on a laugh and begins to cough. “Shit, Kare!” you cry, patting her back a little too hard. 

“F-Foggy, are you alright?” Karen asks. You blink away tears and try to focus on his form. Your stomach hurts from cackling, and aside from Foggy busting his ass, you can’t even remember what set you off. It’s that kind of laughter. 

The doorbell tinkles and Matt steps into the office. You’re rubbing your teary eyes when you hear him fold his cane up with a snap snap click. He sets a hand on his hip and shifts his weight onto that same side. 

“What’s going on in here?” he questions, tone accusatory. 

Oh yeah, you think, all the drifting pieces in your mind clicking back together in one swift motion. You and Karen had been making fun of Matt and all his silly mannerisms. Foggy was arguing with you about the latest season of Doctor Who and along the way, Matt had come up. 

“There’s an episode of Doctor Who,” you’d explained to Karen, “where Sarah Jane and Rose are laughing about the Doctor’s quirks because he’s always done the same shit with his companions, like hugging the TARDIS or making a face when he concentrates.”

Karen seems to be on the same wavelength as you, shouting, “Look! He’s doing the sassy mom arm!” You snort. Karen practically sobs into your shoulder. 

Matt turns his head towards Foggy, asking the million dollar question with an arch of his brows. Foggy raises his hands in surrender, looking from you to his best friend. 

“Hey!” you cry, “You’re the one that brought it up!”

“You were making fun of me, Mr. Nelson?”

Foggy backs away, giving you a glare that says snitch. “I may have contributed, but they took it to this level! I don’t know what’s wrong with them!” 

Matt places a second hand on his hip and he looks so much like a disappointed mother that you can’t help chuckling one last time. It’s like being busted for having fun with your siblings and your parents think you’re fighting instead. 

Your hand falls to your stomach and you begin to rub at the ache there. Karen rises to her feet beside you. “I need some air,” she says, something in her voice that tells you she might break at even the slightest not-really-all-that-funny thing. She grabs Foggy’s elbow and drags him along with her, mumbling something about getting everyone coffee. 

Now alone, Matt turns his head towards you and raises his brow. 

“You know,” he says your name, “I’m not sure I should still take you out to dinner tonight after you’ve been picking on me with our coworkers.”

One corner of his lips ticks up just barely.

Matt hears the way you cross your arms over your chest, your blouse made of silk, or something akin to it. He hears your hair scratch against your skin when you shake your head at him. 

“We were just talking about how sassy you can be,” you say, matter-of-factly.

He pulls back, shifts his weight onto one foot again and gently places his hand over his heart. “I’m sorry, what?” 

You exhale a laugh. “You know, just the way you always look like an unhappy stay-at-home mom whose kids are up to no good. You put that hand on your hip and tell us to get back to work.”

“I do not,” he scoffs. 

You stand, straightening your skirt and walking the short distance to the kitchenette to place your empty mug in the sink. You choose to ignore his denialist approach.

“Mrs. Santiago called this morning and asked to move her appointment with you to Friday. Said her baby niece had a recital she just couldn’t miss. And Mr. Ritter called about the complex on third? I took a message and left the note on your desk.”

Matt blinks, whiplashed. “Uh, thank you. But—”

“I’m gonna walk down and mail these,” you tuck a pile of envelopes under your arm, “but I shouldn’t be long.” You make for the door, a grin stretching across your lips. 

Matt raises an arm in your direction, a similar smile on his face and a blush forming on his neck. “This conversation isn’t over!” he shouts. He listens to you giggle until you’ve cleared the hall and started down the stairs. 

————

You’ve known something was up with Matt Murdock for months. You’re one to mind your own business, not wiggle your way into the details of someone else’s life, but you’d have to completely lack basic observational skills to not notice the aura he drags alongside himself. 

When Karen put the “Page” in Nelson, Murdock & Page, they realized they no longer had someone to complete paralegal duties or manage the office. You met Karen shortly after she moved to Hell’s Kitchen, sharing a customer service job with her for a short time. She was venting to you over the phone one day, rambling about not receiving enough applicants—and the ones they did get, well they didn’t meet the credentials (and that’s considering the low bar Matt and Foggy set to begin with). You joked that you could do it, that it would probably be much more fun than your past nine-to-fives, and that was it. 

You were right—even when the workload is a bit overwhelming and you’re moments from cutting the phone line, the three of them make it worth it. You love your little found family. You’re not ashamed to admit that you’ve always found Matt attractive either. Maybe it’s partially why you’ve noticed when he has bruises on his neck and forearms, or maybe it’s just that noticing things like that feels like common sense to you. He might play it off with everyone else, say it’s from boxing or a vigorous one-night stand, but none of it ever adds up quite right. 

You never told Foggy or Karen about the morning he came in and you noticed the way his gait was off, like it was painful for him to walk normally. When your eyes blew wide because there was a thin line of blood seeping through the thick white fabric of his shirt. “Matt? You’re bleeding,” you’d said. You drowned out his excuses, focusing only on stretching butterfly strips across his skin, forcing a tube of Neosporin into his hands. Afterwards, while you were cleaning up, you had tried to think of actual reasons he’d be getting injured so often.

The thought rose to the forefront of your mind like it had been there for ages, eagerly waiting for you to give it attention.

Maybe he’s a vigilante. 

That’s silly, you’d told yourself. That’s just what’s all over the news, so that’s probably where the idea came from. But it didn’t feel like a joke, not the longer you sat with it. It felt like something you'd already known. Your body showed no signs of surprise. 

But it’s really none of your business, is it?

Now, you listen to the soft click your heels make as you walk along the pavement. You’ve always liked that sound. As a young girl, it made you feel so grown up and professional. 

Matt is supposed to meet you at this cute little dessert bar a few blocks from your place. Your veins buzz with excitement as you think about the alcoholic milkshake in your future, but also because you like spending time with him, even if tonight it’s mainly to catch up on some case-related stuff. It’s nice to be alone with him every now and then. 

You’re glad you wore your coat tonight with the way the gentle breeze nips at your exposed calves. You keep a close watch on your surroundings, not only for your safety, but because you enjoy seeing people do human things. Sometimes you need to remember that it still happens. 

There’s a huge line outside a steakhouse, so you cut down a short alleyway, one you’ve gone down hundreds of times, to get to your destination. The businesses on either side of you have hung string lights at the front of the gap, so the further you go into the alley, the darker it gets, right up until you make your way out of it. 

Halfway through, at the darkest part, you trip over something hard. You stumble, scraping your palm against brick when you reach out to catch yourself. The sound the object makes when it rolls across the ground tells you it’s metal. You fumble for your phone, wanting to shine a light on it and figure out what the hell it is. 

There’s a thud and a scratch and when your light flicks on, nothings there. Well, someone is there, but that’s not what you heard. Your gaze locks on a familiar mask. You’ve seen Daredevil on the news before, but you’ve never crossed paths with him. In fact, this is only your second encounter with someone “super.” Spider-man helped you pick up your things one night when some asshole bumped into you and kept on going. This guy, though you know he is no danger to you, feels more intimidating than Spider-man did. 

“Are you okay?” his voice grabs your attention as you shove your phone back in your bag and begin looking at your palm. 

“Yeah,” you manage. “No blood, just some dirt. What the hell was that thing I tripped on?”

He taps his thigh. You squint. “What even is that? A baton? Are you also in the colorguard?”

The man laughs. It’s a warm sound. Almost familiar. 

“The technical name is a billy club. But yeah, baton works too.” 

“How did it end up down here, waiting for me to bust my ass?” There’s that laugh again. 

“Must’ve fallen out of the holster. I didn’t realize it was loose until…”

“Until I almost broke my neck.”

“That seems a little exaggerated.”

You stay silent for a moment and study him. His hands are on his hips, clad in the same red fabric as the rest of him. Though maybe fabric is too gentle of a word. Armor is probably more like it. The lenses on his mask glint in the light from between the storefronts. You feel like you should be questioning why he didn’t just make his escape, why he’s entertaining a conversation with you. You opt for a different approach. 

“How come you’re out here? This is a pretty safe part of the city. Unless there’s something I don’t know about.”

“No, you’re right. It’s just uh, a busy night. Sometimes I sit and keep watch, make sure everything’s as it should be, y’know?”

“Like a gargoyle?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You sit up there,” you pause and point vaguely towards the sky, “and keep watch, like a gargoyle.” 

He laughs a third time. “I suppose you could say that.”

A chill runs through your body. Maybe it’s not a chill. It’s more like recognition. I know that laugh, you think. You decide to drag this on, give yourself a moment to listen even closer. You smile at him, but don’t supply any more words. You glance down at your watch. 

“Do you have somewhere to be?” he asks, and then you know. It’s Matt. 

You know his voice, god, you feel stupid! You should’ve realized it the moment he spoke. He might be using that silly little deep Batman-like twinge, but without a doubt, that’s Matt Murdock. 

“Hm?” You decide to humor him. “Oh, yeah. Right now actually. I’m getting dinner with a friend. Don’t wanna be late. I’d hate to be that person, you know?”

You leave the alleyway without giving him time to answer. You wonder if he knows that you know. If you’ll be able to keep it together during dinner with him—assuming he gets there soon, heeding your warning. 

But if you’re really honest with yourself, you just want to know if you’re the first one to figure it out. If not, well that’s just not as fun, but you’ll definitely be proud of yourself and still hand his ass to him for as long as you both shall live. 

————

Dinner goes well. It might be a little demented, but you’re in a better mood after crossing paths with Daredevil. It helps you understand Matt more, makes conversation with him easier. Other than a sweaty brow, there’s nothing on his face showing that he understood your discovery, or alluding to the fact that he’d been out moments before he sat down at the table with you.

You fill up a mug with coffee, adding a little cream and then leaning up against the window sill in the office. You’re the first one there today, Karen having called to say she’d overslept, Foggy having stayed the night at Marci’s…which always means he’ll be late the next day. As for Matt, you can only assume he went back out after he left you at your doorstep last night. 

Your heels click against the hardwoods as you walk towards your desk, firing up the monitor and getting your email pulled up. You switch on a couple of the fans, hoping they’ll keep it from getting sweltering in here so early in the day. There might be an A/C unit in the office, but if you look at it wrong you’ll be paying for it. Literally. 

You decide to straighten up a little, picking up here and there, tying up cords so no one trips. You’ve settled down, nursing your second cup of coffee and responding to a few inquiring emails when you hear the familiar tap tap of Matt’s cane coming down the hall. The door rattles a little in its frame when he shuts it behind him. 

“Good morning,” Matt says.

“Morning,” you respond. “Coffee’s on.”

You glance up, eyes dragging over his form. His dress pants hug his thighs almost unfairly, causing your mind to draw up images of thick, corded muscle. You blink. He folds up his cane and sets it on the table beside the door. There’s a small bruise on the bridge of his nose. You only notice it when he fidgets with his glasses, which sit lower as if to hide it. Or because positioning them directly over the bruise hurts.

A comment he made recently about fast hands flickers through your thoughts. It makes you smile.

“You’re in a good mood today,” he says, startling you. Did he hear you grin?

“Hm?” You sign off an email and click send. “I’m hopped up on coffee.”

Matt breathes his laughter into his mug. “Should I be worried?” 

“Guess we’ll find out,” you chuckle. 

You both stay silent for a few minutes, you tapping away at the last of your emails, Matt drinking all of his coffee in one go and immediately filling it back up. You update the firm’s shared calendar with changes to the appointment log and add notes regarding the things clients wish to stress during their visits and who might be the best fit to work with them. 

You’re lazily looking at the weather when you hear a grunt from Matt. He’s bent over the table, one hand on his keyboard, the other on his hip. 

“You okay, Matt?”

He inclines his head toward you but doesn’t fully face you. “Hm? Yeah, just uh…”

You don’t know what compels you to say the words that next leave your mouth, but you don’t regret them once they’re out either. The look on Matt’s face is priceless. 

“Late night with the devil?” 

Matt hears the smile in your voice, the change in your heartbeat, and he knows you know.

At that moment, Foggy comes in the door with a glazed donut in his mouth. He holds it open for Karen, who gracefully balances two boxes of donuts in one hand and her hefty purse in the other. 

Matt is still reeling when you say, “Are those the sharing size, Ms. Page? Or are you gonna house twenty-four, sorry, twenty-three, donuts all by yourself? Not that I’d blame you, or judge you for doing so.”

Karen laughs lightly. “Any other day, I’d keep them to myself. But you’re more than welcome to however many you like.” You compliment her cute skirt and then she parts to fire up her laptop and pull out some of the folding chairs. You’re drawing a finger through the air, vaguely imitating a claw machine as you choose a donut. It nearly falls out of your hand when you’re pulled out into the hall. “Matt!”

He pins you up against the far wall in the hallway outside the office and says your name, a stern lilt to his voice, a weird smile on his face like he’s on the verge of…something?

You lift your arm around where his hand is planted on your waist to take a bite of your donut. You know what you’ve done, and frankly, you find it quite funny. You smile into your treat.

He says your name again like you’re in trouble. “Wh-why—what do you know?” he asks you. 

“I don’t know, Matthew, what do I know?” 

He smiles without the glee and huffs a laugh at you. “I really…could we not play the sarcasm game? Why did you say that to me?”

You take another bite of donut and pat him on the cheek. He is mere inches from your face. 

“Maybe because that voice isn’t as unrecognizable as you think, Mr. Murdock.”

You watch as his mouth falls open just slightly, like he’s fumbling for the right words. His arms have shifted so that they now rest on the wall either side of you. You finish off your donut, waiting for him to do whatever it is he’s going to do. 

“Last night you…you just knew it was me because of my voice?” 

“Mhm. We’re together five, sometimes six, days a week. I hear you talk more than I hear myself think, Matt. It took a minute, but you laughed and I recognized it.”

His brows rise and then fall back down, knitting together. He’s kind of touched that his laugh was the thing to do it for you. But he’s still in shock. “No one’s ever recognized me before.” 

A smile spreads across your face. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’m pretty proud of myself, actually.”

Matt can’t help himself, he laughs. “You’re funny,” he says, before going quiet for a moment. You wait for him to start up again. “Are you sure you’re not just fucking with me? D-did Foggy or Karen tell you? Just my voice—I don’t get it.”

“If it weren’t for your voice, I still would’ve figured it out. I can see the entire bottom half of your face, you do realize that?”

He doesn’t say anything. You’ve stumped him. 

You begin to move away, attempting to flatten yourself and slither between him and the wall. He grabs hold of your wrist. 

“You…I—”

The door opens. “What’s going on out here you two?” Foggy projects his voice, but his tone lacks seriousness. That is, until he sees Matt gripping your wrist. His eyebrows shoot up. You take your bottom lip between your teeth.

“I’m in trouble,” you say, darting back inside the office. The group of you gathers around the little lobby. 

“Why were you interrogating her?” Foggy asks, crossing his arms. Karen crosses her arms too. 

Matt clears his throat. “Um…it’s nothing, I—”

Your gaze flicks back and forth between Karen and Foggy’s. “I figured out that Matt is Daredevil and he’s being weird about it.”

Foggy guffaws. “You what?” 

“She said it was my laugh,” Matt pipes up. “That she recognized my voice. We ran into each other and she’s claiming that’s all it took.”

“Jesus,” Karen laughs. She says your name, a smile on her face. “He’s probably mad because he and Foggy practically broke up when Foggy found out.”

“Okay, well that’s—” Matt says.

“He was being a dick.” Foggy states. “He deserved it, trust me.” 

“Did you guys kiss and make up?” you ask, giggling to yourself. That comment starts a little spat between the boys, but it quickly shifts so that Karen and Foggy are openly arguing about Matt being a pain in the ass and complaining about how he chose (or failed) to reveal his identity to them. You take the chance and slip away. 

Your hands close around your empty coffee mug and you pad back to the kitchenette. Matt’s on you though, not letting up that easily, apparently. 

He leans against the doorway as you prepare another cup for yourself. “It’s just mind-boggling to me that my laugh gave me away,” he says. “And if I’m honest, that’s kind of an intimate thing to recognize, wouldn’t you say?” He says your name.

You snort into your coffee. “Are you trying to flirt with me right now, Mr. Murdock?”

“Rather I’m just implying that you pay quite a bit of attention to me. You know, since you’ve memorized my laughter and all.”

“Oh, like I have a crush on you or something?”

“You could say that. Is that, in fact, what’s happening here?”

“Don't flatter yourself, Matty.” 

He catches your waist gently on your way out of the small room. “So, if I were to ask you out to dinner, you’d say no?”

“We just had dinner together, Matt. You’d have to clarify. Would this be a romantic dinner, in contrast to our usual work-related dinners?”

He puts one hand on his hip and your eyes light up. “You’re right. That’s an error on my part. Would you like to go out for a romantic dinner?”

“Sure, Matty. But only if you’ll put the suit on for me after.”

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

rb banner by @steph-speaks

[mischieveousmayhem]

hiiii!!🩷 how are you?

I saw that you would like some requests in the #batmom so I have a fic idea

The idea is about each one of the batboys says to Batmom "your not my real mother" like angst/fluff and how would the bat mom react to it and handle it

Not my mother.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Batmom

Genre: Angst to fluff

Warnings: None (?), idk english that well 💀

Synopsis: He loves you , or maybe not?

—

"Jason, this is crazy. How do you have all F's 3 weeks into the semester?"

A disappointed Batmom stood in front of 13(?) year old Jason Todd. She had a frown drawn on her face. Jason looked down, sad that he is disappointing you and angry at himself.

"Do you not do your homework when I tell you to?" She asks a little more assertive while reading all the negative comments the teachers had left.

"I don't know." He responded quietly.

"How do you NOT know?" She was getting heated and it was clear in her tone. "All I want for you is to do your best and you don't even listen to me."

"I do listen to you." He speaks louder, aggressiveness in his tone.

"Jason Peter Todd, do not get an attitude with me because you have consequences to your actions. Now what is going on with you sleeping in class and not paying attention?" Your hands were now on your hips.

"Why do you even care?" You using his middle name made him mad.

"I am trying my best to make sure my son is set up to do good in life." Your hands now on your hips, "Until these grades are fixed, you are to not go on patrol because that is probably the root of these issues."

Jason was at this point angry. You were scolding him like a little kid, on top of that what's Batman without his Robin.

You we're about to walk away but then,

"YOU'RE NOT MY REAL MOTHER, YOU PHONY, I CAN DO WHAT I WANT."

You stopped dead in your tracks. How do you respond to that? You just want what's best for your sweetest Jason.

You turned back to face him, his face was red probably from anger. You were pale, trying to process what your son had said.

"You know what..." You trailed off, "I'll just let your father handle this." You sat down the paper before walking off leaving Jason alone.

Which after he picks up the paper and looks at it.

Oh dear. What has he done?

It's obvious you were actually just caring for him. He was processing everything himself. He just got so angry, angry because he was sad that you were disappointed.

—

In your bedroom shared with your loving husband, you cried endlessly.

Have you failed as a mother? You just want your son to do his best. You didn't understand why he would say that. Maybe you just came off in the wrong way and it triggered him to go off on you.

Just as you were lost in your thoughts Bruce walked in.

"I was looking—" He stopped when he saw you crying and rushed to your side.

Dearest Bruce Wayne only had a soft spot for his wife and kids.

His arm wrapped around you tightly as your cried into his shoulder.

"What happened?" He asks.

"Well Jason brought home bad g—" You stopped for a minute to gasp in between sobs, "Home bad grades and then I was scolding him but I didn't mean to come off wrong and I told him not patrol and then he said.."

"He said what?"

"He said I'm not his real mom!" You exclaimed then cried harder. "I know it's true but I love him so much and it still hurts."

"Y/N, darling." He grabs your chin with his fingers so you're looking his eyes. "You know he probably didn't mean it. He is probably still adjusting to us too. It still won't slide though, I'll talk to him, ok?"

You nod as he pecks your cheek.

—

You were knocked out cold. You probably fell asleep while crying. But your awaken when you feel a smaller body climb in the bed next to you in the bed.

You wanted to smile but you were still half asleep and upset. You roll over to face the figure.

"Hey Y/N." The voice spoke.

"Hi Jay." You responded softly, the tone of sadness in your voice even though you tried to cover it up. However, Jason Todd knew that his mother was upset and he frowned.

You two faced each other while laying there in silence. This lasted for about two minutes before he broke the silence.

"I'm sorry I said what I did."

"I know. It's ok."

"Then why are you do sad?" He questioned.

"Words hurt sometimes Jay and I know you didn't mean it but it still felt like a dagger to my heart."

He frowned even more. He hurt you. The woman who is his mother figure and cares so much for him.

"But I will always forgive you my little one. I'm sorry for being a bad mother." You apologized.

"You're not a bad mother, you're a perfect mother. I'm just a kid who didn't understand you were doing your job until after." He said.

"Jay, I just want you to do good, and always follow your dreams."

"I will mom, I promise." When he said mom you smiled.

He scooted closer to you and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight.

This was a mothers love, that is what made you his mom.

"I love you mom."

"I love you most, Jason."

[limeletters]

day seven of mady's 1k celebration | knight!steve x princess!reader — you dream about a family with steve

Steve knocks on your door and says, “You’ve not long ‘til the bell, my lady. Best rise soon.” 

You don’t answer— not unusual, given the heavy sleeper you’ve become. It’s his doing, accidentally, of course. He doesn’t mean to steal your sleep, but early hours are the only ones you don’t have to share. They’re the only ones you can both exist without the weight of your names.

He knocks again and calls, “Princess?” But with his ear pressed to the door, he only hears the shuffle of shoes down the hall, your quarters completely silent. 

Steve knocks a third time with a much heavier hand and a sharp inhale from his chest. He bites his tongue so as not to use your given name, his hand curling around the doorknob without permission. 

“I’m afraid I must enter, my lady, if only to ensure you’re well.” He pushes inside your bedroom, his stomach halfway to his boots. 

You’re there at least. Face turned away, coiled up like a pillbug under your quilt. 

Your name falls out of his mouth— he can’t help it, he assumes the worst. He clinks around to the other side of your bed and finds you’re awake, eyes glassy, lashes sticky. You blink and a fat tear rolls across the bridge of your nose, melting into your pillow. 

Steve’s stunned, speechless for a moment. All he manages to say, kneeling there, is a quiet, broken— “Hey.” 

Your chest shakes with a staggered breath, your voice soggy as you whisper, “Do you ever wish we’d never met?”

Steve’s brow tightens, his hands finding the edge of your mattress, daring to touch your own. 

You look up at him finally. In this awful way, like it pains you. “Wouldn’t that have been easier?” you croak. 

Something in him crumbles. It’s how you’re looking at him, like he is the cause of your agony. 

His eyes flick to the open door before he cups your face. His hands are warm, calloused, too familiar not to be yours. He shakes his head vehemently, brushing his thumbs across your cheeks. 

“I can’t go on like this, Steve. It’s too painful. I have all this love, and nowhere for it to go."

“You have to go on,” he decides quickly. His thumb snuffs a tear clinging to your waterline. “You have to.”

You squeeze your eyes. It’s hard to turn your head in his hold, but you can’t stand to look at him. “I can’t.” 

“You must.” 

“Why must I?”

“Because— Because I— I’d be lost without you.” His voice splinters into silence— or this tearless sort of sob, rather. It’s the type of noise he didn’t know he could make. 

You cry harder, guilt-ridden and angry with yourself for dragging him into your pain. He doesn’t deserve it. He just seems to cope with your secret so much better than you. 

He can’t catch your tears as fast as they fall. “Dove,” he urges. 

“Do you think—” you suck in a big breath— “do you think we’ll still ache like this when we’re old? When we’re married to others?” 

Steve swallows the empty burning in his throat. He’d guess this is about the suitors your mother keeps throwing at your feet. All this talk of titles and land and heirs like your livestock. Like your heart isn’t already spoken for, even if it’s unspoken. It pains Steve to watch, so he can’t imagine how you must feel. 

“What’s troubling you? Hmm? What’s this about?” 

You work yourself up to an explanation for a while, mulling over a memory in your mind. The forged memory of you and Steve, and a little boy with both your blood. 

“Was a dream,” you choke out. 

“Bad one?” 

“No,” you strain, “we had a— we had a son— and he— he—” You break all over again, more hysterical than he thinks he’s ever seen you. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. 

“He looked just like you, I swear he did. He had your face, and he was so tiny, and we just— we were so happy.” Your lip quivers, your mouth grasping for words that weigh too much. “That life— we’ll never have it.” 

“I’m happy now,” he insists. “You’re not happy?” 

“I am, I just— I want more than this. The sneaking around, the constant fear we live with.”

He balls your hands up in his. “I know,” he coos. “It’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair,” you echo. 

He thinks on it— on all the moments that led him here. The secret smiles, the hidden touches, the perpetual ache of wanting more. You’ve filled his heart with more sorrow than he thought it could carry. But still, loving you never felt like a loss. Not even once.

“If I could go back in time, dove, I wouldn’t change a damned thing. Whatever our end may be, this,” he shakes your laced hands, “this was worth it. I’d do it all over again– in a heartbeat.” 

You wrap your arms around the cold silver on his back. It’s not comfortable hugging attire by any means, but you cling to him, knowing this is all the Steve you’re going to get. 

He presses his lips to your temple. He’s prayed for a solution to this, and he’ll pray a hundred times more. But he fears there really is no cure for a heartache such as this. 

He hates himself for leaving you while your face is still puffy with grief. He feels cowardly, like he doesn’t deserve to hold you in the first place. But his leaving is a necessary part of keeping your secret. If you want to keep it as long as he does, anyway. 

[luveline]

Hey!! I love love LOVE your criminal minds content so much, especially the Hotch with unexpected daughter reader. Is there any chance you’re gonna write more for that series? I’d literally take anything, the comfort vibes are off the charts with your works and I need some Hotch comfort. But no worries if not, hope you have a great week <33

thank you for requesting! fem, 1.4k

Jack peers at you from over the furthest armrest. “Y/N. Are you grumpy?” 

“Do I look grumpy?” you ask. 

“Yes.” He pokes his eyebrow. “You do.” 

“My face is betraying me then, because I’m not grumpy.” 

“Mine does that to me all the time but mom doesn’t believe it.”

You give him a small nudge. “Your mommy probably knows you better than you know yourself, like, knows how you’re feeling before you do.” 

“But how does she know?”

“I think it’s because she loves you. She really loves you, babe. You’re lucky.” 

“So lucky.” He climbs over the armrest and onto the couch, smiling at you politely, like a friend he’s just found at school. 

You try to see the similarities in your faces. He looks more like Haley than he does Aaron. You look more like your mother, too. There are bits of Aaron in both of you, yours not quite as physical —Jack’s tame when it comes to expressing emotion, and you both talk in a measured tone. (Though your tone is coincidence or genetics, but not learned. You’d have to have known him growing up for it to be learned.) 

“Did dad tell you what mommy said?” Jack asks. 

You glance over his head but see no one. Aaron said he was going to get chips for movie night, and Haley tends to find things to do. “No.” 

“It’s a secret.” 

“Well, you don’t have to tell me.” 

“You can’t tell anyone,” he says. 

Your stomach feels not your own. “I won’t,” you promise. 

“Mommy says you’re here too much.” 

You nod slowly. Jack frowns at you as though waiting for you to be upset, but you’ve suspected she thinks so for a while. It’s not something you blame her for. 

Jack watches you. 

“Dad got really mad.”

“I’m sorry, Jack. That must’ve been scary.” 

Jack drops his face into your arm. “No. Dad doesn’t yell. But he slept in my room with me.” 

“Want a hug?” you whisper. 

Jack squirms under your arm. You pull him toward you and try to divide your feelings into boxes. Embarrassed and horrified and a little annoyed that Haley thinks you’re here too much. Sad and again embarrassed that Aaron defended you. 

This is Haley’s house, and she never signed up for you. She’s never made you feel unwelcome but that doesn’t mean she wants to see you every Saturday. You're a huge new wedge inserted in their married lives, and now you’re affecting Jack, making his parents argue.  

“I’m sorry,” you say, suddenly flooded by a wave of hot, awkward regret. 

You knew when you found out that Aaron was your father that you would change his life. You’ve always hoped it would be for the better, but maybe it isn’t. 

“Jack…” you say. What is it about hugging him that makes you feel like crying? “I’m real sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen.” 

“It’s not your fault. I like you here. You’re fun.” 

“Thanks, Jack.” 

He looks up at you. “Will you stop coming over?” 

“I guess it’s up to your mommy.” You falter. “Jack?”

“What?” 

“I’m sorry if having a new sister isn’t as fun as you thought it would be. I don’t want to make things harder for you, but I guess I did.” 

“Mom says everything is hard now.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek in efforts to hide how you’re feeling. “I’m sorry. Um, listen, can I have a big hug? I just remembered I have to go help my mom at home.”

“You’re leaving?” 

“Sorry, Jack.” 

Jack gives you a hug. You gather your things and rush to the door to shove your shoes on, but your dad catches you before you can leave. 

“Where are you going?” Aaron asks, his smile falling.

“I–” He makes you nervous, and you know your stammer gives you away. “I forgot I had to do the laundry for my mom tonight, if I don’t do it she’ll be mad for days.” 

“I’m sure you can make it up to her tomorrow,” he suggests gently.

“I better go.”

“Honey, what’s really going on?”

“The laundry is really going on,” you say, unconvincing. “I have to go, I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay. Well, I’ll see you on–”

You open the door before he can finish or offer a hug, image of him in his loose t-shirt carrying a tray of sandwiches burned into your guilty conscience. 

—

You don’t see Aaron for three weeks before he corners you. You owe your great avoidance to his busy job, but it didn’t feel good to reject him, to refuse to make time for him as he does for you. 

“You!” he says, clearly kidding but not entirely where he’s waiting outside of your university building. “Beautiful young woman in the blue! I have some questions for you.” 

It’s so absurd for him that you immediately burst into shy laughter. “Dad, what?” you ask, hiding your face. 

Classmates part around you, seemingly unperturbed. 

Aaron retrieves his badge. “See this? I could detain you, but I won’t if you come quietly. In fact, if you don’t argue I’ll buy you lunch.” 

“You’d buy my lunch regardless.” 

He grabs you. Kindly, but grabbing all the same, like he’s worried you’re about to scarper. “Where have you been hiding?” he asks, giving you a quick hug. You feel tenseness in his arms you're unused to, hear a sadness in his voice that makes your throat burn. 

Putting a table between you helps marginally. Aaron pretends he doesn’t know why you’ve been avoiding him and the Hotchner house, and you’re more than happy to go along with it, until. 

“I have something to tell you,” he says. 

You press against a piece of soaked fruit with your spoon. “Okay.” 

“Haley and I are probably going to separate.” 

You bite your tongue so hard it makes you flinch, spoon scratching the bottom of your bowl. “What?” 

“We’ve been having problems ever since Jack was born.” 

You stare. 

Aaron is very still. He talks carefully. Not without emotion, but stilted, perhaps. “I’m not as good a father as I wish I were. And Haley sees that. Sweetheart, I haven’t ever wanted to burden you with the, uh, less than happy details of my life. I think you’ve suffered me enough. But I’m telling you because I know Jack told you about my most recent argument with Haley.” He smiles at you. “Honey, we fight too much. That day, it was about you, but it’s not all about you, and she doesn’t… Haley’s a good woman. She is. I’ve changed her life a hundred different ways and she hasn’t had many choices, and she…” Something vulnerable crops up, a wavering in his breath. “Sometimes I think she isn’t fair. She holds me to standards I can’t reach, no matter how hard I try, but we’ve stopped arguing about it so much recently, and I’m afraid that that’s… the death knell.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say softly. 

“I’m going to keep trying. I don’t want to lose her.” He drinks what’s left of his soda and presses his napkin under the edge of his plate. “But I won’t lose you, you know? I just want you to understand that you’re not the problem, and you never could be.” 

“I don’t want to add another thing to your levy, dad,” you say, still soft. 

“Meeting you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Well, tied with your brother, of course. You aren’t a thing to be added to anything, you’re my daughter, and Haley might not like it but my home will always have a place for you.” 

What if that’s the problem? From his perspective, you’re not a hindrance to his marriage so much as a separate issue, but from your own, it sounds like you’re just making things worse. 

You’ve missed him, though, and you can’t argue that his reassurances aren’t working. 

“It’s not that Haley doesn’t like you,” he adds, reaching for your hand, “more that she’s unhappy. I’m sorry that that’s something you had to carry.” 

You often think to yourself that Aaron talks like he’s telling a story. He’s so calm and steady, the same as the feeling of his thumb on your wrist. 

“I’m sorry I stormed out.” 

“I wouldn’t call that storming out,” he says. “You’re too quiet sometimes. I wish you’d be upset out loud.” 

“I just don’t want you to fight about me.” 

“Honey,” —he holds your eyes, giving your wrist a gentle squeeze— “I’m always gonna fight for you. That’s what fathers do.”

[wordsofwhimsy]

y’all i’ve been trying to power through lately cause life has been very haaard for me, and then i thought you myself – you know who would make me feel better? markus sebastian

mark had always had a good life. a mother who filled the archetype like it was what she was always meant to do. a father who literally could 'beat up your dad!' when he would get into it with the other kids on the playground. a house that could’ve been the perfect set for a sitcom. it was all just so perfect. until, of course, one day it wasn’t.

and then suddenly he seemed to understand you so well. you, who constantly seemed to laugh at life – like you could always see the joke when no one else could. you, who hid out in his treehouse at seven years old while your parents went through a nightmare divorce next door. it was the first time he wondered if his powers were coming in because he could hear their shouts clear as day, yet you rambled on about black holes like it was the only thing happening. didn't you hear the way your mother cried? but instead you said to him, they say anything’s possible on the other side of a blackhole.

mark's brows were knitted tightly together, eyes constantly glancing out the little window and towards the house next door. you just keep smiling.

wouldn’t it be fun to slip into one? you asked.

he never did understand how you handled the weight of the world so effortlessly. like it was a secret only you had figured out. he would think to himself [y/n] is the strongest person in the world. it wasn’t just a thought in his mind. it was a fact. the sky was blue, the sun burned hot, and you were tougher than steel.

until one day, well into adulthood, he went to knock on your door, and before his knuckles could meet the wood he heard you crying on the other side. he froze, only for a moment, his heart seizing in his chest.

he turned the knob, slowly pushed open the door – he’d always told you to keep it locked. you never did. like you were constantly challenging fate.

he hushed your name like a secret. you just turned away from where you sat on the living room floor, head pressing into the side of the sofa.

are you… okay….? he asked.

of course you weren’t, but he didn’t know why. he could think of a MILLION reasons, but all of them you’d trudged through like a solider a million times before. seeing you like this made him scared.

I— you started.

but nothing else came out. your body was small, curled in on itself. were you always this small?

he came to you slowly, kneeling down next to you. he hesitated, then wrapped his arms around your trembling frame. hey, it’s okay, i’m here.

you cried harder.

his heart felt like it was turning to ash.

he didn’t know what to say – what to think – what to do. and suddenly the words were tumbling out of him, without even thinking. y’know they discovered a new planet today.

your cries stuttered, still buried into the couch.

it’s lightyears away… i guess… he continued.

you sniffled. do you even know what that means?

he went stiff for a second. you breathed out through your nose—was that a laugh?

can you imagine – traveling at the speed of light and it still taking YEARS to reach a place? you continued, and it felt like his heart was breaking and breathing at the same time.

his cheek rested against the top of your head.

i can’t move that fast, but… his thumb rubbed soothing circles over your arm. maybe, a few years from now, i can take you there.

you laughed. the laugh turned into a sob, your eyes pressing into his chest.

he still didn’t know why. but it didn’t matter. he meant what he said, and he would sit there with you for as long as he needed.

[starkeyisthelastname]

kinda curious about how the first time with stepdad!rafe be like

btw love your writing sm oml🤍

(Thank you sweetness! 🤭💕)

He had treated you to an entire day of shopping on the mainland, letting you get anything you wanted. From Sephora to Chanel, he spent it all on you. He had been buttering you up for the last few weeks, letting his gentlemen come out every second. You were naive, needing someone to guide you through your newly adult years.

He had made sure his wife wasn’t home that night, thanking this was a weekend she had went on a girl’s trip with her friends. He had even said yes to watching a movie with you in your bed, his goal to get his cock in you that same night.

“Hold your legs back for me.. yeah there you go.” Rafe’s voice low as he helped you bend your smooth thighs back. He had you nearly folded in half, pink pussy at the perfect angle for him to slide into. He saw your face, cheeks already flushed as you tried to shy away from him. As open to the idea of him teaching you what a real man should do, he also knew you were worried about your mother finding out. “Hey, look at me. Yeah?” He said, dick in hand as he slid it over your soaked folds.

You glanced at him, wispy lashes fluttering as your pretty lips opened in a small whimper. “I’m scared.” You whispered. You had only had sex once before and he wasn’t anywhere as big as Rafe. You also knew that this was wrong, but your naive self also had thing for strong male figures and wanting to completely devote yourself to them. Even if this one happened to be your stepfather.

Rafe’s hand came up to cup your jaw, his thumb stroking your smooth skin as he stuck the tip near your entrance. “Don’t be scared sweetheart. I promise you it’s gonna feel good.” He whispered, slowly pushing himself in your tight cunt for the first time. “Yeah… daddy’s gonna make you a good little slut.” His blue eyes rolling back as your hot little cunt swallowed him.

Your mouth fell open, eyebrows squeezing together as you felt his fat length fill you up. You couldn't seem to say anything, words at a loss as he began to trust his toned hips. Your tummy fluttered, eyes glancing up at the handsome man above you.

Rafe let out a soft chuckle, eyes flashing dark as his messed up mine got off on the fact he had his dick buried up his step-daughter’s cunt. His thumb came down to rub your pearl, watching as you let out the prettiest moan he had ever heard. “You like that shit?” His voice rasped out to you.

All you could was nod your head, moans only growing louder the harder he went. The way your hips were angled had him hitting your hole at a brutal pace, your own parts betraying you as the sound of wetness filled the room.

He smirked, loving how he had you exactly where he wanted you. Wrapped around his finger to be a good cock slut. “Yeah… there you go. Take that dick up your princess cunt like a good girl.”

His nasty words, only make you wonder what else he had in store for you moving forward. The tiny voice in the back of your head, making your French nails tap his lower abdomen. “Rafey.. we sh-should stop.” You mumbled, struggling to cease the funny feeling that was growing in the pit of your belly.

Rafe looked at you, thrusts coming to a halt. He watched your eyes widen, glossy lips frowning despite you telling him to stop. “Why you fuckin crying for then when I slow down? Huh?” He asked eyebrow raised as he heard the whine come from your open mouth. “Better start using your big girl words or I will fuckin stop. You and I both know you don't want that baby.”

[brokenmenswhore]

can I request a jace x reader? rhanerya sends her kids away (s3e3) and baela is off worried about king’s landing so he’s lonely and misses his family and it’s just super pure and fluffy?

if all else burns | jacaerys velaryon

pairing: jacearys valeryon x reader

warnings: s2e3 spoilers!

a/n: sometimes i feel like i’m fighting for my life with the spelling of some of these names that have either ‘ae’ or ‘ea’ in the middle. a lil short i hope that’s ok!

────── ☾ ──────

Jacearys did everything he could to hold his head up high at all times, but each day weighed him down more and more. He still grieved his little brother, his betrothed was off on her dragon keeping an eye on King’s Landing, and now his mother was sending the last of his younger siblings away for their safety.

He was proud to stick around, happy he was needed, but being professional at all times was getting difficult.

He hugged his younger brothers, squeezing them one last time before they were sent off with Rhaena.

He attended his mother’s council meetings, standing tall and keeping his mouth shut. He held his head up high and supported his mother.

You and Jace had been friends since childhood, always leaning on one another when things got hard. Your family had sworn allegiance to Aegon II, so you had fled to Dragonstone in support of Rhaenyra and her family. You couldn’t imagine what Jace was going through, his entire family at war, and no matter what he did, he just kept having to say goodbye to someone.

“Jace?” you whispered, slowly pushing open the door to the room he was sat in, elbows on his knees as he watched the fireplace.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, “everything ok?”

You walked closer to him, taking the seat next to him. “I actually came to ask you the same thing.”

You watched Jace, the fire contouring his face differently each time the flames moved. “I miss Luke,” he spoke.

You reached out a hand, placing it atop one of his. “I know.”

You both sat in silence for a moment, watching the fire dance before he finally spoke again. “Everyone keeps leaving. I fear it’ll only get harder with the war.”

You stood at this, moving in front of him and kneeling before him. His eyes met yours in a moment of vulnerability.

“I won’t leave, Jace. I’m right here.”

He smiled at you, pressing his forehead against yours and taking a deep breath. You continued, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m not sure what I would do without you.”

You smiled warmly, “good thing for you that you’ll never have to find out.”

You leaned up and hugged him, allowing him to take a deep, relaxing breath while his chin rested on your shoulder.

“I don’t want to fight this war,” he admitted, “I just want it all to stop. If the Greens would just give my mother her throne, we could move on from all of this- this hatred.”

You pulled out of the hug, placing your hands on either side of Jace’s face.

“I wish for the same,” you replied, “but until then, you are strong, and you will persist.”

“I’m so tired of being strong.” His voice broke, tears threatening to spill.

“So be weak with me.”

Jace smiled as you pulled him into another hug, allowing him to cry for a bit in your arms, using your presence as an outlet for the emotions he never let out. You knelt there for several minutes, not daring to move, just allowing him to get it all out.

When his breathing calmed down, he pulled back a bit and pressed his forehead to yours again.

“I don’t know what to do,” he began to ramble, “I don’t know how to keep everyone safe. I’m supposed to lean on Baela, but she’s been so occupied surveying King’s Landing that she’s rarely ever here. My mother grieved, and now needs to be pragmatic, rather than let her grief consume her, but how do you not let this grief consume you? Until my grandsire died, everything was so simple. The only squabbles were between Luke and Aemond. I don’t know how everything got so complicated. I miss the peace.”

You felt bad for him. You empathized with him; he was in such a complicated position, and you could tell he felt like his family was shrinking with the war, making his responsibilities even more important. His mask of strength was fading. You were the only outlet he had.

“You mean everything to me, Jace,” you spoke, “if all else fails, if all else burns, we’ll always have one another.”

Jace smiled. “If all else burns, we’ll always have one another.”

[fluff-lover]

Healing Touch | Chapter 4: Trauma

Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Story summary: You’re a new member of the X-Men. Your mutation allows you to heal other people: you can close any wound, and cure any sickness. You’re not a fighter at all, but you’re useful at the battle field when it comes to saving injured mutants.

Masterlist

It’s been three days since the incident and you’ve hardly left your room. No one in the mansion blamed you. You were still shaken up, so they took turns to bring you water and food. Ororo, Jean and Rogue would stay with you to keep you company for a little bit every once in a while, just to make sure you were fine.

You were alive, that much was true, but you wouldn’t say you were fine.

Despite being an X-Men you never experienced much violence. You were a lover, not a fighter. So when you suddenly got stabbed -by your friend, no less- you were shocked. The memory haunted you: the way your blood ran down Logan’s arms and pooled in the couch, the searing pain of his claws, the choking sensation as your own blood filled your throat… That kind of trauma would change anyone. As much as it pained you to admit it, for a fleeting moment you had been afraid of him.

And Logan…

The pure horror in his eyes when he snapped open and saw you bleeding. You could still hear his anguished cries out for help as he held your limp body on the couch. You were the one wounded yet you wanted to comfort him, to reassure him you were fine and not mad at him.

But he had run.

You didn’t know how to feel about him running away. Was he scared? Wracked with guilt? Did he think you’d died?... The questions broke your heart. You wanted to see him, to talk to him, but at the same time you weren’t sure if you should be afraid of him or not. He never meant to hurt you, you knew that, but he did and you hoped someday you’d be able to move past it.That is, if you ever saw him again. He was nowhere to be found.

Curled up on your bed, your face buried in a tear-stained pillow, you could only think about him. Was he safe? He’d left with nothing, not even a bag. The uncertainty made you cry harder.

Not knowing made you cry more.

There was a soft knock on your door and then Jean stepped in.

“Hey hun.” She said sitting down on your bed next to you.

“Any news?” Your voice just above a whisper.

Jean smiled kindly and nodded.

“We got a location. Scott and some others are heading out.” She replied. Charles had been working extra hard with Cerebro to locate Logan.

“What if he doesn’t want to come back?” You asked and sniffled.

“I’m sure he will, once he knows you’re okay and miss him.” She reassured you. “They’ll find a way to bring him back, I’m sure of it.”

“You should go with them.” You said. “If there’s anyone that he would do anything for, it’s you.” You added. It was no secret that Logan would follow Jean to the end of the world if she asked.

A flicker of something crossed Jean’s eyes, and she quickly looked away. 

“It’s not like that.” the redhead said.

“He loves you.” You sobbed. “You know it, I know it, even your fiancé knows it.” 

Jean gave you a pitiful look and sighed, she knew how you felt about him. She didn’t need to read your mind to know you were head over heels for him. It was easy to open up to Jean, even if she was the cause of your jealousy and envy. Even if you wanted to hate her, you couldn’t. 

“He’s never gonna love me back, but I don’t care about that now… I just want to fix things. Do you think I’m stupid for loving him after what he did?” You asked shyly. It was a question that had been plaguing you lately.

Jean took a moment to think and then shook her head.

“Love makes us all do stupid things, but the act itself of loving someone is never stupid.” Jean said while rubbing your arm soothingly, like a mother comforting a frightened child.

“I feel like I should be scared of him.” You confessed. “But I’m more terrified of the idea of never seeing him again.”

“Logan’s life is filled with violence, but I can assure you he never meant to hurt you. And he’d hate for you to be afraid of him.” She reassured you.

“Please bring him home.” You pleaded.

“We will. And I promise we won’t come back without him.”

-

“I’m cutting you off.” The bartender said as he pushed Logan’s glass away.

“The hell you are!” Logan said, baring his teeth.

“You had enough. It’s time to go.” 

Logan let out a low snarl and dropped some money on the bartop. Usually he would put up a fight, but tonight he was exhausted. The last few days were nothing but hopping from one bar to the other to get fucked up until they either closed or kicked him out. The rest of his time he spent it in a small motel room. He didn’t get much sleep though, everytime he closed his eyes he had nightmares of you dying in his arms. Not only he remembered that moment over and over again, but each time it got worse, more violent, more desperate.

He stumbled out of the bar and made his way to his motel room, his mind clouded by guilt and alcohol. As he pulled out the key and fumbled with the keys, he realized he had to get his shit together. He would run out of money soon, his healing factor burned through liquor faster than his wallet could keep up. Logan mulled over his options. Maybe he could go back to cage fighting? or go back to Canada?...

Just as he stepped into the room, everything went black.

The next thing he knew he was inside a moving vehicle. He groaned, the back of his head hurting a lot.

“The fuck…?”

“I think he’s waking up.” A voice said. It took him a moment, but Logan recognized that voice.

“Rogue?” Logan sat up and looked around the large car, his vision clearing after a moment. He was in a car with Rogue and Colossus, Scott and Jean in the front seats. And of all things, they were riding in a ridiculously looking Honda Odyssey.

“How are you feeling? We were worried Colossus hittoo hard on you.” Rogue said.

“What the fuck happened?” Logan asked, confused. “Did you punch me?” He asked, this time specifically to Colossus. The other mutant had the decency of looking ashamed.

“We didn’t think you’d come willingly.” He explained.

“What the fuck is going on? Where are you taking me?” Logan pressed.

“Back to the mansion.” Jean replied.

“No, you’re fucking not.” Logan protested.

“Colossus, can you punch him again?” Scott asked.

“Hasn’t it occurred to you that I don’t want to go back to the mansion?”

“Logan, this is ridiculous.” Rogue said. “The mansion is your home, you belong there.” Logan looked away. The mansion was the first place he could remember feeling like home. After a moment he managed to clear his head and gather enough courage to talk again.

“I can’t go back… What about Angel? Is she… Is she okay?”

Rogue smiled softly and nodded her head.

“She’s fine. She healed right away, actually. Barely left a mark.”

The relief Logan felt in that moment was like taking a deep breath after minutes under water.

“She wants to see you.” Jean said, catching Logan’s attention. “She’s been miserable since you left.”

“Isn’t she afraid of me?” Logan asked almost shyly. “She should be.”

“No. She’s afraid of losing her friend, though.” Jean replied. 

Guilt filled Logan once again.

“I never meant to hurt her.” He grumbled.

“We know, and she knows it too.” Rogue reassured him. 

“But you did hurt her, so now you have to apologize and fix it.” Scott said. Jean rolled her eyes and turned to look at Logan over her seat.

“Listen, you belong with us, with the X-Men. You made a mistake and someone got hurt, but that doesn’t mean you have to leave. This is still your home. And Angel is still your friend. She made me promise we would find you and bring you back.”

“She did?” Logan asked incredulously and Jean nodded.

“Mhmm, like I said, she’s really sad, and she misses you. She hasn’t left her room since you left.”

Logan didn’t know what to say. The thought of you being sad because of his absence made something stir in his chest.

Once they arrived at their destination and got out of the car, Logan looked at the mansion with hesitation. He didn’t think he would be back here, let alone to face you.

“Just an advice…” Scott said as he walked past him. “Take a shower and put on some clean clothes, you look and smell like crap.”

Logan growled.

“Thank you, Summers.” He said sarcastically. 

Despite his annoyment, Logan did follow Scott’s advice and got himself presentable. He never took so long to get ready before but that’s because he was stalling. He didn’t know what he would say or do once he saw you. His hands shook as he buttoned up his shirt and he felt like a teenager before prom… but worse.

Logan could face lots of villains with infinite power, yet he couldn’t bring himself to talk to you. You. Little, sweet angelic you. His friend.

With a groan and nothing left to do, Logan stepped out of his room and headed to yours.

To his surprise you weren’t in your room. He knocked several times but no one answered. At first he thought you were ignoring him. 

Maybe Jean was wrong. Maybe you didn’t want to see him.

“She’s in the garden.” He heard Charles say. Quickly turning around he found the Professor with a knowing smile on his face

“Are you spying on her?” Logan arched his brow.

“No, I just saw her on my way back from my walk.” Charles continued down the hall. “Can you believe that? I go on walks now!” He joked.

Logan shook his head and smiled softly before heading out.

He wasn’t surprised when he found you on your usual bench. When you heard him coming and turned to look at him, Logan froze.

“Hey.” he hesitated, not knowing if he should walk closer or not.

“Hi.” You said softly. “You’re back.” There was relief in your voice. 

“Yeah… I pretty much got kidnapped.” He muttered, awkwardly shoving his hands into his pockets.

“You shouldn’t have left in the first place. But you’re here now, so let’s celebrate.” You turned to pick something up and when you turned back around Logan saw you were holding a bottle of champagne.

“I’m not much of a champagne type of guy, sweetheart…” He said a bit confused.

“Oh, no, you got me all wrong. This is for me. This…” you turned around and picked a bottle of whiskey. “...is for you.”

That got a laugh out of Logan. How did you always manage to make everything better?

“You know me so well.”

“Come, sit with me.” You said, and finally Logan found the courage to get close to you.

Once he sat down he took the bottles from you and opened them. When you took the bottle of champagne again your eyes locked in.

This was it, this was the moment he was dreading.

“I’m so sorry, Angel.” He said softly. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know, Logan, I know. I don’t blame you for it.”

He raised his hand to stop you. 

“Please let me finish.”

You shut your mouth and nodded. Logan took a long swing of the whiskey, almost drinking half of the bottle in one go. Then he took a deep breath and looked back at you.

“Ever since I can remember, which isn’t long because most of my memory consists of scraps and broken parts, I’ve had really bad nightmares. I have bits and pieces of what happened to me when I was experimented on. And it was torture. It was insufferable pain. No matter how much I try to run away from that past, every night I find myself back in that room, with those needles and cables attached to me, the adamantium filling in…” He took a shaky breath in and then another swing of whiskey, trying to calm himself down.

You didn’t say anything, as expected, but you did place your hand on top of his, encouraging to go on.

“...I remember parts of wars I fought in, crimes I committed when I ran with the wrong crowd… people I’ve lost.” He closed his eyes and defeat. “I lost so many people. I can’t lose you too. So when I saw what I did to you, I didn’t know how to handle it, I couldn’t deal with it.”

“Oh, Logan…” You whispered, wiping a tear away from his cheek. Logan tilted his head on your hand, seeking your warmth.

“I won’t lie to you Logan. You did scare me that night.” You confessed, and Logan’s heart broke a little bit more. “But I think that is to be expected. Maybe for a moment there you lost yourself, but it wasn’t your fault. You’re dealing with so much trauma, and you’re doing it alone, there’s only so much you can do.”

“What’s the alternative?” He asked, sounding defeated.

“To let others help you.” You replied. “Let me help you.”

“How?” Logan asked, confused.

“I can try to use my powers to heal you, to heal your mind, your brain, whatever it is that needs healing.” You offered. “I can’t assure you it will work but it’s worth the try. And if it doesn’t then we’ll figure something out.”

Logan placed his free hand on top of yours. 

“You always help, Angel. It’s all you ever do, help others.”

“It’s what I do best.” You shrugged and smiled. 

“I will never be able to express how sorry I am for hurting you. Not just for physically hurting you, but also for leaving you when that was the last thing I should’ve done.”

“I forgave you already.” It was true. Before Logan came back your thoughts were all over the place, you didn’t know how to feel, or if you two would ever be friends again. But the second you saw him standing there, a look of shame and sadness on his face, every doubt flew away. You loved him, and even if you never got to be more than just friends, you couldn’t imagine a life without him in it.

“You’re way too good, sweetheart.” He shook his head in disbelief. “There has to be something I can do to make it up to you.”

You nodded your head.

“There is something! I want you to promise you’ll never run away from me again.”

Logan smiled softly.

“Only if you promise not to run away from me either.” You felt the weight of his words. He was asking you to stick around, even if you were ever afraid of him again.

“I haven’t gone anywhere so far, that’s gotta count for something, right?” you smiled. Logan nodded.

“You got yourself a deal, gorgeous.” He said, closing the deal. You smiled and blushed at the nickname. “So, where do we start?”

You pursed your lips, deep in thought.

“Let’s piece your memories back together. What’s the first thing you can remember? Do you remember anything from your childhood?”

Logan tilted his head.

“Alberta, Canada… I was a kid… I remember my father, he was a kind man. And then I remember running away, I was scared because suddenly I had claws…”

You listened closely and after a moment you raised the bottle of champagne.

“I guess we’re going to Canada…”

[stone-stars]

happy 6 years of naddpod everyone <3 (alt title: the dragon pussy podcast making me cry for 6 minutes straight)

Transcript:

Mee Maw: That's true, but… there's also somethin' else. Murph: And you see she pushes her cloak to the side, and you see she has black scabs-- Caldwell and Jake: Oh, no! No no no! Moonshine: Oh, Melora! Murph: --and deep crick rot all over her chest and neck.

Marabelle, weakly: Jolene? I-- I didn't realize I was gonna get to-- say I was sorry. Moonshine (pretending to be Jolene): Thank you, of-- of course you're forgiven! I love you so much! You're my big sister!

Melora: You're not cursed. You were born like this.

Hardwon: (desperately) Gemma? Gemma? Gemma wake up. Gemma baby. Hey. Murph: You see she's-- she's-- she's cold and dead. Hardwon: Fuck!

Balnor: I couldn't help them. I can barely swing a sword. Alanis: There's a war coming, and everyone needs to fight. Even old men who don't know how.

Beverly, crying: No, he's-- he's my light. He's my Pelor! He always was! I strayed!

Bev Sr: You tell her the truth, Bev. You tell your mom that I died in the Feywild. Beverly: (crying) You know I'm bad at lying. Bev Sr: It's not a lie, Bev.

Deadeye: Yeah, I know I'm down a hand. And an eye. And a life. But I got a soul, and a family. And I finally know which is worth more.

Deadeye: I hate to think about what woulda happened to me, but maybe more I hate to think about who I still would've been if I had never met you.

Rosa: JV, I can't-- I can't find my lantern. JV: Aw, well look at that? There's a lantern right here. Rosa: Are you sure that's mine? JV: Yeah. Yeah, I'll-- I-- I'm gonna go look for mine.

Hardwon: --interpretation. I-- I-- Moonshine: Hardwon, I really don't want you to want to die, because I want you to live so much and I don't want to be alone in that feeling.

Lydia: Elias, is that you? Hardwon: It's uh-- It's still little Elias. You saved the child, ma.

Lydia: I don't know what I've been these past few years, I don't know what I've been these past few decades. But I want you to know that when I was your mother that... you were wanted.

Murph: Somebody who felt they could never have a child… um, is holding their child. Moonshine: I-- I didn't want to need you, dad, but… now that you're here… it-- it's kinda nice.

Murph: Your father has given you... a strategy guide on how to beat him. Caldwell: I have to look away so that the tears don't ruin the pages.

Beverly: (tearful) I don't want to go. I don't want to go. But I have to. It's my duty. I have to do this. Moonshine: Okay, youngin, I want you to know. I will love you whatever you choose to do. But, here's my two cents: A child has a duty to his father, but a hero has a duty to the world. Now, I've got my opinion of which you are. But it's time for you to decide.

Bev Sr: Thanks, Bev. I always-- I knew I could make the deal, because I knew you'd stop me.

Moonshine: (tearful) I-- I've been wanting to tell you about this for so long, and I just didn't get a chance to. And I don't know if I will, so I just wanted to make sure I told you.

Moonshine, crying harder as she goes on: Paw Paw. You are… You are my best friend. And you are the best part of me. (sobs) And I am so grateful. For-- (sobs) the fact that so much of our lives have been braided together. But… where I'm going, next-- after we beat Thiala, which we will-- you can't come, mmkay? So I just need to make sure that you are taken care of, and I need to make sure that you take care of some people, okay?

Pendergreens: This time, you picked me up. And you were nice to me for no reason.

Pendergreens: If when you come back... if I'm different? Moonshine: Mhm? Pendergreens: Just, remember me as I am now. 'Cause I like who I am when I'm around you.

Death: I will take everything from you-- Hardwon: Quit pointing at people! Death: --until you come with me. Hardwon: Ok-- I'll go! I'll go. Beverly: Hardwon, no! Hardwon: Bring her back, and I'll come. Bring her back.

Lydia: All my life, people told me what I had to be. You don't have to be anything other than what you are.

Lydia: I think you should talk to your friends. Not because you owe them an explanation, but because you deserve to be heard.

Melora: Beverly. Beverly: Yes? Melora: I wish you could grow up in a normal world, but the Gods have not blessed you with a normal life. You are… afflicted with duty. Things thrust upon you far beyond your years.

Melora: The world should have protected you, but you have been asked to protect it. What an honor, what an injustice.

Moonshine: How long do Half-Elves live? Mee Maw: You talkin' bout Hardwon? Moonshine: I mean-- It's on my mind.

Moonshine: I guess, if I'm being honest, I don't know what it's gonna be like to know Bahumia without Hardwon Surefoot. (tearful) And there's a part of me that doesn't want to find out what that feels like.

Moonshine: There is something sour I probably need to swallow, though. It is-- There's people you meet that are once in a timeless body lifetime kinda people, right? Mee Maw: Oh, yeah. Moonshine: Okay. Mee Maw: And you keep 'em with ya. Moonshine: Okay.

Moonshine: (crying) It's okay, Balnor. Like all the most powerful things in this world, I knew I was only borrowing you.

Hardwon: Moonshine, when-- When I left Irondeep, I-- I didn't know where I fit in. And then I met you, and you didn't just let me in. You brought me in, and you thought I was good.

Balnor: I hope that you all get to leave this world with the same comfort that I had: knowing that it's in good hands. I love you. Murph: "Your knight, Balnor."