#max doesn’t know how to deal with affection | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cressidagrey · 2 months ago

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White Horse - Chapter 23: June 2024 - Part 4

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

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

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

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

Warnings and Notes:

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

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

The smell of fresh croissants filled the apartment by the time Belle heard the knock at the door.

She padded barefoot across the kitchen tiles, hair still messy from sleep, and opened it to find Emilie standing there — oversized sunglasses perched on her head, a tote bag dangling from one arm, and a smug, very satisfied smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"You brought pastries," Belle said, immediately stepping aside to let her in.

"I also bring gossip," Emilie said, sweeping dramatically into the kitchen. "And judgment. Lots of judgment."

Belle laughed under her breath and grabbed two mugs from the shelf. "Coffee?"

"Obviously," Emilie said, dropping the tote on the counter. "You’ll need it for this."

Belle handed her a cup and sat down at the table, folding her legs beneath her. "Okay, what did you do?"

Emilie beamed. "I may or may not have verbally eviscerated Charles last night."

Belle blinked. "You what?"

"Ran into him and Alexandra while you were busy being majestic and ignoring his fifty desperate texts," Emilie said, taking a sip of coffee like she hadn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb into the kitchen. "He stomped over, full of righteous panic, and I… handled it."

Belle covered her mouth with her hand, trying not to choke on a laugh. "Handled it how?"

"I told him," Emilie said sweetly, "that maybe, just maybe, if he had spent half as much time seeing you as he does now trying to fix his own guilt, he wouldn't be in this mess."

Belle’s eyebrows shot up. "You said that?"

"And more," Emilie said brightly. "I told him he doesn’t get to be upset about the horse. Or the apartment. Or the job. Because every one of those things was him not noticing, not you hiding."

Belle stared at her, heart twisting — with affection, with shock, with a deep, raw kind of gratitude she couldn’t quite put into words.

"You’re terrifying," Belle said softly.

Emilie grinned. "And yet you love me."

"I do," Belle admitted, smiling even as she felt the sting of tears at the back of her throat. "I really, really do."

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes — Belle tearing apart a croissant, Emilie scrolling through her phone — before Emilie casually said, "Oh, and by the way, I also had a date last night."

Belle blinked. "You what?"

Emilie sipped her coffee like it was no big deal. "With Lando."

Belle nearly dropped her croissant. "With—LANDO?"

"Don’t yell," Emilie said, laughing. "You’ll scare the cats."

Belle gaped at her. "You had a date with Lando Norris and you’re just… casually dropping that like it��s nothing?"

"I mean, it’s not nothing," Emilie said, suddenly a little shy, cheeks pinking. "It was… nice. Really nice."

Belle set her coffee down carefully. "You like him."

"I might," Emilie admitted, voice soft. "I really might."

Belle sat back, a slow, warm smile spreading across her face. "You deserve nice."

Emilie shrugged, but she was smiling too. "He makes me laugh. A lot. And he listens. And he doesn’t… I don’t know. He doesn’t expect me to be anything but what I am."

Belle reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "That sounds pretty good to me."

"It is," Emilie said, squeezing back.

"And if he hurts you, I’m telling Max," Belle added.

Emilie laughed — a real one, full and bright and fierce. "Please do."

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Lando Norris

Belle: Hi Lando Emilie told me you two had a date recently.

Lando: 😳 uh yeah we did

Lando: I swear I was a perfect gentleman. Please don't kill me.

Belle: I'm not going to kill you. I just wanted to say something.

Lando: okay (this feels scarier somehow)

Belle: Emilie is one of the kindest and strongest people I know. She’s had enough people treat her like she’s second choice, or temporary, or just an option. I won’t let anyone add to that.

Lando: I would NEVER I mean it I really like her

Belle: Good. Because if you hurt her — if you make her doubt even for a second that she’s loved— you’ll be answering to me.

Belle: And I may not shout. I may not make a scene. But I promise you — you will know exactly how thoroughly you've disappointed me.

Lando: understood

Belle: I believe in people getting second chances. But I also believe in protecting the people who matter. Emilie matters. So if you care about her — really care — don’t let her ever question that.

Belle: That's all. Thank you for listening.

Lando: yes ma'am I promise I really do like her. A lot.

Belle: Then show her. Every day.

Lando: I will.

Lando: Also I think you might be scarier than Max.

***

Max balanced the box of pastries in one hand and rang the doorbell with the other, Belle tucked close to his side.

From inside, he could already hear the low thud of feet — Luka, probably, trying to beat everyone else to the door. There was a scramble, a shout, and then Tom's voice, stern but fond, cutting through the noise: "Let her answer it properly, boys!"

Belle smiled up at Max, her hand slipping into his as the door finally swung open.

Victoria stood there, baby Hailey cradled against her chest in a wrap, her hair in a messy bun and an exhausted but beaming smile on her face.

"You’re late," Victoria teased, stepping aside to let them in. "I was starting to think you got lost."

"We had to detour for these," Max said, holding up the pastries.

Victoria snorted. "Bribery. Classic."

Inside, the house looked like chaos disguised as domestic bliss — toys strewn across the living room, Luka and Lio arguing good-naturedly over a pile of Lego, Tom trying (and failing) to get them to clean up before guests arrived.

"Uncle Max!" Luka cried, barreling into him.

Max huffed as the kid hit his side like a tiny missile but grinned and ruffled his hair. "Hey, champ."

Belle crouched to greet Lio properly, getting a shy grin in return before he wrapped himself around her leg like a barnacle.

Max’s heart twisted — the sight of Belle, already so natural, so gentle with the kids, even now.

Victoria plopped down on the couch, motioning them over. "Come on. Come meet your niece properly."

Belle followed, a little hesitant, while Max dropped the pastries on the table and shrugged off his jacket. Sophie appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel and greeting them both with kisses on the cheek.

"You're looking well," Sophie said kindly to Belle, squeezing her hand. "Keeping it all together, I see."

Belle just smiled — small, soft, almost bashful. Max knew the truth behind that smile. Knew how much it cost sometimes to keep it together.

Victoria grinned wickedly and, without warning, untied Hailey from the wrap and thrust her gently into Belle’s arms.

"Practice," she said, laughing when Belle let out a startled breath.

Belle blinked down at the tiny bundle, hands adjusting instinctively. Hailey made a soft cooing sound and settled immediately against her chest, tiny fingers curling into the fabric of Belle’s sweater.

Max sat down beside them, watching Belle like he was memorizing the moment.

It felt like the right time.

He slid his hand onto Belle’s knee, grounding her, smiling when she glanced at him — a question in her eyes.

He nodded, barely a tilt of his head.

Belle took a deep breath, looking down at Hailey, and then up at Victoria and Sophie.

"I guess we’ll need the practice," she said quietly.

Victoria paused mid-sip of her coffee. "What?"

Belle’s cheeks pinked. She shifted Hailey carefully into Max's arms, and Max cradled the tiny girl easily, used to the weight of something precious.

"We’re having a baby," Belle said, voice trembling but sure.

Silence.

Then Sophie gasped, hands flying to her mouth. Victoria’s coffee cup clattered against the table.

"No," Victoria breathed. "You’re serious?"

Max grinned, pride swelling in his chest. "Completely."

Victoria made a noise — somewhere between a squeal and a gasp — and surged to her feet too.

"Oh my God," Victoria said, practically vibrating. "Are you serious? You’re serious??"

Belle smiled — small but real — and Max thought he might physically explode from how proud he was of her.

"About three months," Belle said quietly.

Victoria burst into happy tears immediately. Tom wandered into the room just in time to see her practically tackle Belle in a careful, weepy hug.

“You sneaky little thing!” Victoria cried. “You didn’t say anything!”

Belle laughed, breathless and teary all at once, hugging her back.

Sophie was still standing frozen for a moment — and then she crossed the room in three strides and pressed her hands gently to Belle’s cheeks, her smile breaking wide and a little broken.

"I’m so happy for you," Sophie whispered, voice thick. “My sweet girl. You’re going to be such a good mom.”

Max swallowed hard around the lump in his throat as Belle leaned into it, tears slipping down her own cheeks.

Victoria clapped her hands once, bright and chaotic. "This is amazing!" she said. "Luka! Lio! You’re going to have a new baby cousin!"

Luka whooped and ran in circles around the couch. Lio just grinned shyly and latched back onto Belle’s leg.

***

The late afternoon light slanted warm through the apartment windows, dust motes swirling lazily in the golden air. Belle sat cross-legged on the couch, wearing one of Max’s Red Bull hoodies — it nearly swallowed her whole — flipping idly through a book she hadn’t really been reading.

Max was stretched out beside her, long legs hanging off the edge, his hand absently tracing the seam of the couch between them. It was quiet in the way it only ever was with him — no pressure to fill the space, no need to perform. Just breathing, just being.

Belle felt him shift, roll onto his side to face her. She looked up from her book and smiled automatically, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Max hesitated.

Then, in a voice so soft it made her chest ache, he said, "Can I...?"

His hand hovered mid-air between them, uncertain. And for a second Belle didn’t understand — until she realized his eyes weren’t on her face.

They were on her stomach.

Still flat. Still unchanged. But growing. Quietly, invisibly.

Their baby.

Belle’s breath caught in her throat.

She nodded, just once, not trusting herself to speak.

Max moved carefully, like she was made of something fragile. His palm settled, featherlight, against the soft curve of her belly — and he exhaled a shaky little laugh, pressing his forehead against her shoulder.

"You can’t feel anything yet," Belle whispered, smiling into his hair.

"I know," Max said, his voice low and reverent. "But you're there. Both of you."

Belle let the book slip from her hands and wrapped her arms around him instead, feeling the way he cradled her so instinctively — like she was precious. Like she was his whole world.

After a long moment, Max pulled back slightly, still resting his hand against her.

"It’ll take a while before you show, won’t it?" he asked, voice gentle, almost reverent.

She nodded, smiling wetly. "First pregnancies usually do. Maybe not until four or five months in."

Max made a soft, thoughtful noise, still tracing tiny circles with his thumbs. "Good," he said. "More time to enjoy it before everyone starts trying to figure it out."

Belle laughed shakily, threading her fingers into his hair. "They’ll have to get through you first."

The look in his eyes — tender, fierce, protective — made something tighten in Belle’s chest. A thought that had been lingering there for days, tugging quietly at the corners of her mind.

Max was leaving soon.

Flying to Spain for the Grand Prix.

Another weekend of cameras, flashing lights, noise — and pretending.

Pretending she didn’t exist.

Pretending this didn’t exist.

Belle bit her lip, heart thudding a little too hard against her ribs.

It wasn’t just about the hiding anymore.

It wasn’t about keeping things private for their own peace.

It was about the quiet ache of being invisible. Of loving and being loved and still acting like she had to apologize for it.

She could handle being unknown to the world.

But she didn’t want to be invisible to it — not when Max was the best, most real thing she had ever dared to hold.

"I don't want to hide anymore," she said suddenly, the words spilling out before fear could swallow them down.

Max blinked, startled, lifting his head properly to look at her — really look at her.

Like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

"You don’t have to," he said immediately.

No hesitation.

No question.

Just simple, devastating certainty.

Belle’s heart twisted painfully at the way he said it — like there had never been another option in his mind. Like loving her in the open was as natural to him as breathing.

She smiled — a little shaky, but sure. Anchored by him. By them.

"We don’t have to announce everything," she said, voice low but steady. "Not the baby. Not yet."

Her hand slid down to cover his, where it still rested over the soft, flat plane of her stomach — a touch so gentle it made her ache.

"But... us," Belle said, eyes searching his. "Our marriage. You. Me. I’m tired of pretending you’re not my home."

Max’s entire face softened — the kind of rare, quiet smile he only ever gave her.

Like something sacred.

Like something permanent.

"Okay," he said simply, voice rough around the edges. "Okay. We'll tell them."

And just like that, Belle exhaled — slowly, shakily — a breath she'd been holding for too long.

Not because she didn’t trust Max. But because she was finally starting to trust herself.

To trust that loving someone openly didn’t make her a burden. That maybe — just maybe — she could take up space without needing permission.

Belle leaned forward and kissed him — slow and sure — and Max kissed her back like he was promising her something without words. Like he was stitching the vow right into her bones.

No more hiding. No more shrinking. No more apologizing for what they had built.

Just them. Together.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Jos Verstappen

Max: Hey. Are you free to come to the Spanish Grand Prix?

Jos: I can be. Why?

Max: Belle and I are going public. About the marriage.

Jos: ...Finally. About time.

Max: Yeah, well. We wanted it to be ours first, you know?

Jos: I get it. What do you need from me?

Max: Honestly? Run a little interference. The media’s going to lose their minds. And Charles… ...Charles might combust.

Jos: You mean Charles is going to make it worse by running around like a headless chicken.

Max: Basically.

Jos: I’ll handle it. I'll be there. I’ll keep the worst of it off Belle.

Max: Thanks, Papa.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Lando Norris

Max: Heads up. Belle’s coming to the Spanish GP.

Lando: WAIT WHAT

Lando: LIKE ACTUALLY IN THE PADDOCK???

Max: Yes.

Lando: HOLY SHIT

Lando: MAX. MAX YOU CANNOT JUST DROP THAT ON ME LIKE THAT.

Max: What, did you think I was going to keep her hidden forever?

Lando: I mean YES???

Lando: BRO YOU GOT SECRET MARRIED AND YOU’RE JUST LIKE "oh btw here’s my wife" AT A WHOLE GRAND PRIX???

Max: Exactly. Soft launch. Race weekend edition.

Lando: THIS IS NOT A SOFT LAUNCH. THIS IS A NUCLEAR LAUNCH.

Max: You'll survive.

Lando: Will I?? Charles might physically explode on track. And the entire grid is going to lose their minds.

Max: Good. They deserve a little excitement.

Lando: I’m not emotionally prepared for this level of chaos.

Max: Too late. Prepare yourself.

Lando: I NEED A SUIT. AND ARMOR. AND POPCORN.

Max: Belle likes popcorn. Maybe bring some.

Lando: I'M TAKING THIS VERY SERIOUSLY, MAX.

Max: So am I. See you in Barcelona, mate.

Lando: I’m going to faint.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

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

Lando: 🚨🚨🚨 EMERGENCY 🚨🚨🚨

Oscar: Oh no what now

George: You can't just start like that and expect me not to panic.

Daniel: I LIVE for this energy. Continue.

Lando: Belle is coming to the Spanish GP. IN THE PADDOCK. WITH MAX. OFFICIALLY.

Lewis: ...well. That’s one way to drop a bomb.

Carlos: Wait, WAIT. Publicly?

Lando: YES.

Oscar: oh my god.

Lance: Charles is gonna combust like an overheated engine.

Zhou: Charles is going to find out and collapse in parc fermé.

Fernando: I'd pay money to see it happen live.

Nico H: Is anyone placing bets on HOW he finds out?

George: He’s either going to see them together and short-circuit or he's going to hear the rumors swirling and spiral in slow motion.

Daniel: Imagine him walking into the paddock, seeing Max holding Belle’s hand, and just… Rage quitting life.

Sebastian: Peace and love, but Charles needs to sit down and shut up.

Lando: I am 100% recording his reaction. I don’t even care anymore.

Oscar: Charles: "Hey Belle, why are you in the paddock??" Belle: "I'm with my husband." Charles: System error. Please reboot.

Lewis: Someone get medical personnel on standby.

Carlos: I'M STILL PROCESSING THIS He doesn’t even know Max married her yet. He still thinks Belle’s secret boyfriend is sugar daddy Fernando.

Zhou: No but seriously. WHO is going to tell Charles??

Daniel: It’s going to hit him like a freight train of bad decisions.

Oscar: We need an over/under on how long he lasts before he confronts Max.

Lewis: Five minutes tops.

George: Two minutes if Belle is holding Max's hand.

Alex: Negative five seconds if they kiss.

Fernando: I want a front row seat. No regrets.

Carlos: I kinda hope Max punches him first if he says anything stupid.

Daniel: You say that like Max wouldn’t absolutely end him with one (1) look.

Lando: I’m bringing popcorn.

Oscar: I’m bringing a camera.

Zhou: I'm bringing bail money.

Lewis: And I’m bringing peace and emotional support. (And also a camera.)

Mark: This is going to be biblical.

Nico R: If Charles survives it without crying, it’ll be a miracle.

Daniel: Imagine forgetting your sister’s birthday, her horse, her marriage, and then getting bodied by reality in one weekend. Elite.

George: This is going to be the greatest off-track drama of the season.

Carlos: And we get to watch it unfold in 4K.

Sebastian: Prayers for Charles.He’s going to need them.

Oscar: Charles isn't surviving this.

George: Neither am I tbh.

Lando: see you all in Spain let the games BEGIN.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Belle: Guess what.

Emilie: 👀 What??

Belle: I’m going to Spain with Max. To the Grand Prix. Officially.

Emilie: WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT LIKE… WALKING INTO THE PADDOCK AS MRS. VERSTAPPEN OFFICIALLY OFFICIALLY?? 😭

Belle: Yes. We’re not announcing the baby yet. Just… us. No more hiding. No more pretending.

Emilie: I’M SCREAMING internally because I’m in public and I don’t want to get arrested but STILL

Belle: 😂😂😂

Emilie: I am so proud of you, Belle. So, so proud. You’re going to walk in there and light the place up and Max is going to look at you like you hung the stars.

Belle: He already does. 🥹

Emilie: DID YOU WANT ME TO CRY AT THE GROCERY STORE?? BECAUSE MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

Belle: 😂 Sorry not sorry. (Also… any outfit suggestions for my "Hey, I'm married to a World Champion" debut? 👀)

Emilie: DON’T MOVE. I’m pulling outfit options right now. We’re about to make Monaco’s most famous secret the event of the weekend.

Belle: Thank you for always being in my corner. 🖤

Emilie: Always. Now let’s pick a dress that’s going to make half the paddock faint. 😘

***

The doorbell rang, followed almost immediately by the sound of keys jingling and a familiar voice calling, "Don't panic, it's just me — and I'm armed."

Belle laughed, rising from the couch just as Emilie shouldered her way into the apartment, arms overflowing with shopping bags. Designer logos peeked from between brown paper and bright ribboned handles. Emilie kicked the door shut with one foot and dropped the pile dramatically onto the coffee table with a satisfied huff.

"I come bearing offerings," she declared.

Belle raised an eyebrow. "You robbed an entire mall?"

"Selective raiding," Emilie said sweetly. "And it’s called urgent fashion triage, thank you very much."

Belle shook her head, grinning as she started rifling through the bags. Soft silks, crisp white linens, sunlit yellows and rich blues — it was like someone had bottled the Spanish sun and turned it into clothes.

"You didn’t have to," Belle said softly, touched despite herself.

"I wanted to," Emilie said, plopping down onto the couch and already pulling out outfit combinations. "You’re about to walk into your first race weekend publicly as Mrs. Verstappen. You deserve to look and feel like a goddess while doing it."

Belle smiled, the word Mrs. Verstappen settling warm and giddy under her skin.

"And," Emilie added slyly, "it’s not like I needed much of an excuse for retail therapy."

Belle nudged her playfully with her foot. "You could always come too, you know. To the race."

Emilie gave her a look.

"I’m serious," Belle said, teasing. "Spain. Sunshine. Chaos. You could watch Lando drive. In person. Maybe even cheer him on."

Emilie snorted, but the tips of her ears turned suspiciously pink. "I am not that far gone," she said primly.

"Uh-huh," Belle hummed, utterly unconvinced. “Didn’t you watch a whole Twitch stream last week just to watch someone play virtual golf?”

"Shut up!" Emilie insisted, tossing a silk scarf at her. "Besides, Lando has a job to do. And so do I — making sure you don’t accidentally show up to the paddock in, like, a ballgown."

Belle laughed, holding the scarf up against herself. "Don’t worry, I am not planning ont that."

They spent the next hour going through outfits — laughing, discarding things, planning. Belle felt lighter with every minute, like the fear and tension of the last few weeks were finally cracking open to make room for something else.

When Emilie made her try on a soft linen dress and spun her around to admire her in the mirror, Belle caught her own reflection — flushed cheeks, bright eyes, the smallest, secretive curve of a smile.

She almost didn’t recognize herself.

Almost.

But this version — the one standing taller, shining quietly, no longer shrinking — this was who Max loved.

This was who she was meant to be.

And she wasn’t going to hide anymore. ***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: Heads up. I’m bringing Belle to Spain.

GP: Hold on. Like… bringing her bringing her? Publicly?

Max: Yeah. No more hiding.

GP: Max. Have you thought this through? The timing, the media, the team — And, oh, I don’t know, maybe CHARLES??

Max: He’s not a factor. Not after how he treated her.

GP: I get it. Believe me, I get it. But you realize this is going to set off a bomb, right?

Max: Maybe it should.

GP: Max—

Max: He didn’t just forget her birthday. He forgot her. For years. He doesn’t get to dictate when or how Belle gets to be seen.

GP: (three dots appearing) (long pause)

GP: Okay. If you’re sure, I’m with you.

Max: I’m sure. We’re done pretending she’s not my wife.

GP: Alright. Just warning you — Christian and Gemma are going to have a heart attack. I’ll bring popcorn.

Max: Bring tequila too. For Christian. He’s going to need it.

GP: Noted.

GP: And Max? Good for you. She deserves to be seen.

Max: She deserves everything.

***

Max sank into the chair across from Christian’s desk, casually tossing a Red Bull can from hand to hand like he had all the time in the world.

Christian Horner leaned back in his chair with a sigh that sounded both long-suffering and suspicious. Across the table, Gemma — Red Bull’s long-suffering PR manager — tapped her pen against her notepad nervously, already bracing herself for whatever Max was about to drop into their laps.

Next to her, GP looked disturbingly calm, which only made Christian more suspicious.

Max finally set the can down, grinning faintly.

"So," he said, with all the innocent charm of a man about to light a building on fire, "I’m bringing Belle to the Spanish Grand Prix."

Silence.

Christian blinked.

Gemma stopped tapping her pen mid-air.

GP just nodded slightly, like he'd known this was coming for weeks. (Because he had.)

Christian leaned forward slowly, hands folded neatly. "When you say ‘bring Belle’..."

Max shrugged, far too nonchalant. "I mean bring her. Publicly."

Christian stared at him for a beat. "As in... she's coming as your wife."

Max grinned wider. "Exactly."

Another heavy pause.

Gemma looked like she was calculating seventeen separate crisis plans in her head.

Christian opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.

"And," Christian said carefully, "does Charles know yet?"

Max leaned back in his chair, utterly relaxed. "Nope."

Gemma made a small, audible squeak.

Christian pinched the bridge of his nose. "Max."

Max shrugged again, unbothered. "He had plenty of time."

"And he still doesn’t know?"

"Nope."

Christian exchanged a long look with GP, who simply lifted his coffee cup like you’re the one who wanted to manage Max, not me.

Gemma finally found her voice. "Are you planning to tell him before Belle walks into the paddock in Barcelona wearing a Red Bull pass and a ring?"

Max tilted his head, pretending to think about it. "I mean... should I?"

"YES," Christian and Gemma said at the same time.

GP just sipped his coffee and smiled.

"Max," Christian said slowly, like he was explaining something to a very excitable cat, "you realize this is going to break the internet."

Max grinned, utterly unrepentant. "Good."

"Belle is Charles Leclerc’s sister," Gemma stressed. "And you — you’re you."

"Which is why I married her," Max said simply, like it was obvious.

Christian scrubbed a hand over his face. "Do you have any idea the PR nightmare this could be?"

Max's grin widened. "Or," he said, "it could be great for the team. Verstappen and Leclerc bloodlines finally uniting. Think of the headlines."

Gemma looked like she was about to pass out.

Christian sat back, muttering something about needing a drink.

Max just leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, voice suddenly quieter but infinitely more serious.

"I’m not hiding her anymore," he said. "We agreed. She deserves better than that."

And despite everything — the chaos, the incoming storm — Christian found himself softening.

Because for all his recklessness, Max Verstappen had always been terrifyingly clear when it came to the people he loved.

"Alright," Christian sighed, raising his hands in surrender. "Bring your wife."

Max’s smile turned into something real, something proud.

"And Max?" Christian added as he stood.

Max glanced up.

"Maybe... maybe text Charles first."

Max smirked. "I’ll think about it."

GP, sipping his coffee: "He won't."

Gemma, resigned: "We’re going to need extra security, aren’t we?"

Christian: "And maybe a therapist on standby."

Max just whistled, hands tucked behind his head, already picturing Belle in his garage, wearing his team colors, no longer a secret.

Finally, finally, where she belonged.

***

Team Redline Stream Transcript

Luke Crane: Alright, boys, ready to get smoked by Max again?

Chris Lulham: Speak for yourself. I’ve been training.

Gianni Vecchio: Training what, exactly? Snack-eating speed?

Max: (laughs quietly) Just try to keep up.

Luke: (mock serious) Max, now that you’re a married man, you should slow down for us mortals.

Chris: Yeah, about that— Max. Max. Are we ever gonna talk about that?

Gianni: Yeah, mate. "Oh, I’m married," casually dropped in the middle of a press conference like you were ordering lunch.

Chris: You just YOLO’d your marriage announcement. No names, no details, just vibes.

Max: (grinning) Was there supposed to be a PowerPoint?

Luke: YES.

Gianni: Honestly, yes. Slides. Charts. Maybe a dramatic reveal with smoke machines.

Chris: At least a "guess who?" game. We deserve that much.

Max: (smirking) You’ll meet her soon.

Gianni: (suspicious) When is "soon"? Before 2040?

Max: (grinning wider) Spain.

Chris: Spain what?

Max: I’m bringing her to the Spanish Grand Prix.

Chat:

SHE’S COMING TO THE SPANISH GP

OMG THE MYSTERY WILL BE SOLVED

WE’LL FINALLY MEET MRS VERSTAPPEN

Chris: (wheezing) WAIT WHAT.

Gianni: You’re bringing your wife to a race weekend?

Max: (shrugs casually) Yeah. Thought it was time.

Luke: (mock offended) Wow. Betrayal. We get a cryptic marriage announcement and now a surprise reveal.

Gianni: No hints? No clues? No scavenger hunt?

Max: (laughing) Nope. You’ll see.

[Chaos continues with chaotic racing and Max being suspiciously smug.]

[About 45 minutes into the stream…] [Soft knock. Belle’s hand appears in frame — a mug of tea sliding onto Max’s desk.]

Gianni: (high alert) WAIT. WHO WAS THAT.

Luke: Was that THE WIFE???

Chris: ENHANCE. ENHANCE. CLIP IT. CLIP IT IMMEDIATELY.

Max: (without missing a beat) Thanks, Schatje.

Chat:

GUYS THAT WAS HER HAND I’M NOT OKAY

MAX SOFT LAUNCHING HIS WIFE VIA TEACUP DELIVERY I’M SCREAMING

"Thanks, Schatje" I’M SOBBINGGGG

HE SOUNDS SO IN LOVE WTF

She’s the real MVP bringing him tea mid-race 😭😭

Gianni: Max, you just BROKE the internet with a hand cameo.

Chris: Soft launch supremacy.

Luke: I need to know everything immediately.

Gianni: If Spain isn’t a full reveal, I’m rioting.

Max: (smirking into his mic) Be patient.

****

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/F1MemeHub: MAX JUST SOFT LAUNCHED HIS WIFE WITH A TEACUP DELIVERY LIVE ON STREAM 😭😭😭 "Thanks, schatje." I'm NOT OKAY.

@/GridGossip: Max: "You'll meet her soon." Also Max: casually introduces her hand and then acts like it’s a normal Tuesday. THE SPANISH GP IS ABOUT TO BE HISTORIC.

@/TifosiTears: Not to be dramatic but if we don't get a full face reveal of Mrs. Verstappen at the Spanish GP I'm organizing a formal protest outside Red Bull HQ.

@/SoftLaunchDetective: The fact that he called her "Schatje" in front of thousands of people and didn’t blink??? That’s LOVE your honor. That’s SOULMATES.

@/F1WivesClub: Me: I don't care about the drivers' personal lives

Max Verstappen, midstream: "Thanks, schatje."

Also me: building a shrine to Mrs. Verstappen immediately

@/mysterymrsverstappen: Hello yes this account is now entirely dedicated to figuring out who Mrs. Verstappen is. Applications for sleuths open now.

↳ @/GridGossip: Are we 100% sure it’s not Isabelle Leclerc?

***

The sun was already low by the time Belle found Max in the living room, stretched out on the couch with Jimmy curled on his chest and his phone in one hand. He looked up immediately when she approached, setting everything aside without hesitation.

She hesitated at the edge of the rug, twisting the hem of her sweater between her fingers.

Max sat up straighter, instantly alert. "Belle? What's wrong?"

She shook her head quickly. "Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I just—" She swallowed, breathing through it. "I was wondering if you could... if you would come somewhere with me tomorrow."

Max’s eyes softened. "Anywhere."

Belle smiled faintly but didn’t move closer yet. The words were heavier than she expected, even though she’d thought about them all day.

"It’s... the anniversary of my father’s death," she said quietly.

Max didn’t interrupt. Just waited, the way he always did when she needed time to find her words.

"I go every year," Belle continued. "I bring flowers. I sit with him for a while. Just… talk. Tell him what he’s missed." Her voice cracked, and she wrapped her arms around herself. "It’s silly, maybe. But I—I don’t know how not to go."

"It’s not silly," Max said immediately, voice low and certain. "Not even a little."

Belle blinked hard, willing the prickling in her eyes to settle.

"I usually go alone," she whispered. "I always have. But... I don’t want to go alone this year." She hesitated, lifting her gaze to meet his. "Will you come with me?"

Max caught her hands in his, steady and warm.

"Of course I’ll come," he said, like it wasn’t even a question. Like he would’ve followed her to the ends of the earth if she asked.

Belle leaned into him, breathing him in — cedarwood, laundry detergent, and something that was just Max — and let herself be held.

"I want him to meet you," she murmured against his chest, voice small. "Even if it’s just... like this."

Max’s arms tightened around her.

"I’d be honored," he said simply.

Belle closed her eyes.

Maybe this year wouldn’t be quite so lonely after all.

***

The air was crisp and still when they arrived at the small cemetery just outside the city, the afternoon light casting long shadows between the rows of headstones.

Max kept close as Belle walked ahead of him, a simple bouquet of white roses, lavender, eucalyptus cradled in her hands. She moved with a kind of quiet certainty, like her body knew the way by heart even if her mind was somewhere else entirely.

They wove through the headstones until she stopped in front of one — clean, simple, with her father's name carved carefully into the stone. A small lantern stood by the base, unlit but lovingly maintained, and Max could tell just by looking at it that Belle came here often. That she cared.

He stayed back a respectful step while Belle knelt, arranging the flowers neatly at the foot of the grave.

For a long moment, she just stayed there — head bowed, fingers brushing the stone as if in greeting.

Then, without looking back at Max, she started talking. Softly. Gently. Like she was sitting across from her father at the kitchen table, not kneeling at his grave.

"Hi, Papa," she said, her voice trembling just slightly. "It’s me."

Max felt something tighten in his chest — the rawness of her affection, her grief, her love — so undimmed by time.

"I’m sorry I haven’t been by as much lately," Belle continued. "It’s been a... complicated year."

She smiled, small and sad.

"You wouldn’t believe it," she said, voice light but strained. "Charles won Monaco. And nobody noticed it was my birthday."

Max saw her knuckles whiten slightly where they rested on her knee.

"Not even them," she whispered. "Not even Maman."

She brushed a hand quickly across her cheek, but kept her shoulders straight.

"I waved at Charles in the garage," Belle said. "I smiled. And he smiled back, and he didn’t even know."

Max stepped closer, crouching behind her without touching — just there. Just near enough that if she reached back, he’d be right there.

"I didn’t get angry," Belle said, voice softer now. "I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just... let them forget. And then I walked away."

Her hand touched the stone again, almost like she was offering her father a secret.

"And I’m not alone," she said, a thread of something stronger — pride, maybe — weaving through her voice. "I got married, Papa."

She glanced over her shoulder then, finding Max’s eyes. He smiled — slow, steady — and nodded once, like he was promising he was still right here.

"I married Max," Belle said, turning back to the grave. "You would’ve liked him. He’s... he’s good. He’s steady in all the ways I needed and never thought I deserved."

Max swallowed thickly, feeling the burn at the back of his throat.

"And," Belle added, after a moment, her hand slipping instinctively to her stomach, "we’re having a baby."

The words hung there, delicate and astonishing.

Belle exhaled shakily.

"I wish you were here," she whispered. "I wish you could meet him. Or her. I don’t know yet."

Max stood, quiet but unmovable behind her, heart thundering with all the things he could feel but couldn't say.

Belle leaned forward, pressing her forehead gently against the cool stone.

"I’m trying, Papa," she said, voice almost breaking. "I’m trying to build something better. A family where nobody feels invisible."

Max’s hands fisted at his sides — not in anger, but in fierce, helpless loyalty to her. He would help her build that. Whatever it took.

Belle stayed like that for another minute — breathing, grounded, tethered to something older and deeper than grief.

Then she sat back, wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her jacket, and turned toward Max.

He crouched down fully this time, opening his arms without a word. She came into them instantly.

For a while, they just stayed like that, kneeling together in the cold grass — Belle tucked into Max’s chest, Max shielding her like he could somehow carry the weight she never should have borne alone.

He pressed a kiss into her hair.

"I’m proud of you," he murmured against her scalp. "He would be too."

Belle nodded against him, and Max felt the faintest smile against his hoodie.

And right there, in the middle of a cemetery, surrounded by stillness and memory, Max knew it more clearly than anything:

Whatever happened — whatever came next — Belle was never going to walk alone again.

Not as long as he was breathing.

***

Lorenzo sat at his kitchen counter, staring at his phone like it might suddenly produce the answers he didn’t have.

The photo was still open on the screen:

Belle, in a field of soft gold light, her arm tucked gently around the neck of a stunning white mare.

Fleur.

He knew that name because Belle had written it herself — answering a question of a random user.

She looked happy.

Peaceful, even.

And God, didn’t that just twist the knife deeper.

Because they hadn't given her that peace.

They hadn’t even noticed she was still missing it.

It wasn’t the horse that gutted him, not really.

It was what the horse represented.

The life they’d taken from her when she was thirteen.

The dreams she never said out loud again, because what was the point?

They sold Blanche.

They let her sacrifice everything quietly so Charles could race — so

Arthur could race — and none of them had asked her what she wanted in return.

They just… assumed she’d move on.

But Belle hadn’t moved on.

She’d waited.

She’d mourned.

And when none of them circled back for her, she found her own way.

Without them.

Without him.

Across the room, his coffee sat untouched. Cold now. Like the pit sitting in his stomach.

Arthur was taking it badly.

Charles even worse.

Charles had been chewed out by Emilie a few days earlier — that much Lorenzo knew. Charles had tried to brush it off when he called later, voice tight and wounded, but the shame clung to him like smoke. Emilie hadn’t been polite about it, either. She had torn into him, sharp and clear and deserved, and Charles hadn’t even fought back.

Arthur was spiraling in his own way.

Blaming himself.

Telling anyone who would listen that he should have noticed Belle wasn’t okay. That he should have seen the signs when she started pulling away. That it was his fault she felt so forgotten.

But it wasn’t Arthur’s fault.

Not entirely.

And it wasn’t Charles’ alone, either.

It was Lorenzo’s.

He was the eldest. The one who was supposed to look out for them all when their father died. The one who was supposed to notice when Isabelle stopped smiling at family dinners. When she started standing a little farther away from them at the tracks. When she stopped volunteering information about her life, one tiny piece at a time, until there was nothing left she offered freely.

He had failed her. Worse than any of them.

Because he should have known. He should have seen her.

He should have protected her — from the weight of being overlooked, from the steady erosion of love measured only in podiums and points and wins.

And he hadn't.

He was ashamed.

Because he should have seen it coming.

He was the eldest.

He was supposed to watch over them all.

And instead, he had let Belle fade out of their lives like smoke slipping through a crack in the window.

Maman wasn’t handling it well either.

Their mother’s texts to Belle had gone unanswered for days. Her voice on the phone trembled more now, and she had started reaching for familiar things — old traditions, old recipes — like baking a lemon tart would somehow undo the years of not seeing her only daughter clearly.

But no amount of lemon tarts couldn't fix this.

Nothing could fix the years they spent forgetting.

And now?

Now Belle had a horse again — something he knew, deep down, she had dreamed about every day since the first had been taken from her.

But she hadn’t shared it with them.

She hadn’t shared any of it.

Because they hadn't earned it.

Lorenzo closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the counter.

How had they been so blind?

How had they let it get this bad?

He didn’t know where Belle lived now. He didn’t know who had given her that horse. He didn’t even know if she would ever want to come home again.

But he knew this: She had found happiness without them. And maybe — maybe — she was finally living the life they never thought to fight for on her behalf.

He just didn’t know if he would ever get the chance to tell her he was sorry.

And worse— He wasn’t sure he deserved it.

***

The private jet hummed quietly beneath them, the kind of low, steady sound that usually lulled Belle into a light doze. But not today.

Today, her nerves were a live wire.

She sat curled against Max’s side, his hand resting warm and steady on her thigh, their fingers loosely tangled together. Across from them, Jos Verstappen flipped idly through a magazine, a half-finished cup of coffee forgotten on the table beside him.

It wasn’t that Belle was afraid of Jos.

He’d been nothing but kind to her — gruff sometimes, but protective in a way that made her feel safe, not small.

Still.

Telling your father-in-law that you were pregnant — especially when your marriage was still a secret to most of the world — felt a litle daunting.

Max must have felt her tension, because he squeezed her hand, grounding her.

“You ready?” he murmured, low enough that only she could hear.

Belle nodded — small but firm.

Max leaned forward slightly, clearing his throat. “Dad?”

Jos looked up, eyebrows raised, expectant.

“There’s something we wanted to tell you,” Max said.

Jos set the magazine down slowly. His expression was unreadable — patient, but sharp-eyed in that way that always made Belle feel like he saw more than he said.

Max’s thumb brushed soothing circles against the back of her hand.

Belle took a breath. "I’m pregnant," she said, voice soft but steady.

The words seemed to hang in the air for a second, floating between them, too big and too small all at once.

Jos blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then he leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms slowly — and Belle couldn’t tell if he was about to yell, laugh, or both.

"You’re serious?" he said gruffly, but there was no bite to it — just something thick in his voice, something a little stunned.

Max smiled — that rare, raw smile that he reserved for the few people he trusted most.

"We just found out a few weeks ago."

Belle tightened her fingers around Max’s.

Jos stared at them for a long moment — at their clasped hands, at Belle’s steady eyes, at Max’s quiet pride.

And then — to Belle’s utter shock — Jos smiled. A real, honest smile, tugging awkwardly at the corners of his mouth like he wasn’t used to the feeling.

"Good," Jos said roughly. "You’ll be a great mother," he added, looking at Belle — and then, after a beat, to Max, "And you’ll be a better father than I ever was."

Belle’s throat tightened painfully.

Max squeezed her hand again, and she felt the slight tremor in it — the way those words hit him deep, carving something open and healing at the same time.

"Thanks, Pa," Max said quietly.

Jos nodded once, gruffly — like he couldn’t say more even if he wanted to — then grunted, reaching for his coffee.

"Hope you’re ready for no sleep and a lot of diaper changes," he muttered, like the most Jos blessing imaginable. "You’ll need all the patience you can get. Verstappen babies aren’t exactly easy." A faint grin cracked across his face. "Take it from experience."

Max groaned dramatically. "Don’t scare her."

Belle laughed, watery and surprised — the nerves in her chest unraveling into something lighter. Something real.

Outside the plane windows, the sky stretched out wide and endless and new.

And for the first time in weeks, Belle let herself feel it too — The future.

Opening up, bright and brave, and theirs.

***

Text Messages: Christian Horner & Fred Vasseur

Christian: Fred. Just a heads-up.

Fred: What now.

Christian: Belle will be in the paddock tomorrow. With Max.

Fred: What do you mean, with Max?

Christian: Exactly what it sounds like. Publicly. No more hiding.

Fred: Merde. Does Charles know??

Christian: Not as far as I’m aware.

Fred: You’re telling me Max Verstappen is about to make his marriage to Charles Leclerc’s sister public during a race weekend.

Christian: You might want to prepare your garage for a Leclerc meltdown.

Fred: I’m not paid enough for this.

Christian: Neither am I. (But at least it’s not my golden boy spiraling in public this time.)

Fred: I need a drink. And possibly a tranquilizer dart. For Charles.

Christian: Good luck. You’ll need it.

***

The hotel room was quiet, except for the muted hum of traffic outside and the low flicker of a Formula 2 race replay on the television. Max was already half-asleep, sprawled across the bed with one arm thrown lazily over the pillow where Belle had been sitting moments ago.

Belle sat cross-legged on the small lounge chair by the window, her phone in her lap, scrolling aimlessly — or, at least, pretending to. Her heart wasn’t in it. It hadn’t been all evening.

Her thumb hovered over the Instagram app again.

Tomorrow was going to change everything.

Tomorrow, she would walk into the paddock — into his world — not hidden behind whispered conversations or secret glances. She would walk in as his wife. Openly. Proudly.

For the first time, there would be no pretending.

And it felt… terrifying.

But also good. Right.

A smile tugged at her lips as she glanced back at Max, who mumbled something incoherent in his sleep and shifted closer to her empty side of the bed. Her heart clenched in that stupid, overwhelming way it always did around him.

She tapped into Instagram and stared at her profile.

@isabelleleclerc

It looked strange now. Wrong. Like a version of herself she was finally ready to grow beyond.

Belle took a slow breath and, with deliberate fingers, typed.

@belleverstappen

She paused for a heartbeat — not out of fear, but out of reverence. Out of the gravity of it.

This wasn’t just about a name. It was about a life she chose. A future she was building, one steady, stubborn step at a time.

She hit save before she could second-guess herself.

The screen flickered for a moment. Then it was done.

Belle Verstappen.

She set the phone down and padded quietly across the room, slipping into bed beside Max. His arm immediately found her, pulling her close in his sleep, like it was instinct.

She tucked her head against his shoulder, her hand resting lightly over the secret they still carried between them — small, invisible, but growing stronger every day.

No more hiding. No more shrinking.

Tomorrow, the world would know.

And for the first time in her life, Belle wasn’t afraid of being seen.

She was ready to be claimed — not by the spotlight, but by the people who mattered.

By the man beside her.

By herself.

***

1K notes · View notes

asapeveryday · 2 months ago

Text

ALL NIGHT -P.B

one night. one apartment. two people. enhanced stamina.

warnings: fingering, oral sex, strap-on sex, vibrator use, face riding, degradation, dirty talk, slight food play, overstimulation, slight/unintentional somno, drug use

tldr: you guys take drugs and then fuck like rabbits. like, seriously it’s kinda cray

PLEASE READ: i honestly know nothing about honey packs or ANY libido enhancer. from my research honey packs only work on men(?) but for the sake of this fic they work on women too.

i have no idea what it feels like to be on an aphrodisiac/performance enhancing drug or how it affects anything so please go into this knowing i am utterly freeballing in hopes of pleasing the anon who requested this as best as i can.

11pm

rain pitter-patters the floor to ceiling glass window of your apartment as a movie plays in your living room. The tv screen paints your light-lacking home with faint colour. Aside from the rain, soft moans ring out all through the air.

Her arm is slung over your shoulder, her body warm and pressed against you. She shivers as your finger tips dance between the hem of her hoodie and the skin of her toned stomach, you try not squeak when she tugs at your hair in return.

Nights like these are the best, snuggled under blankets and dim lights in front of the tv, Netflix on full volume, Paige by your side.

“You picked the horniest movie possible.” Paige snorts, her words buzz in your ear since your head is on her chest.

“I knew there were sex scenes…just not this many.” You sigh, biting a lip as the main character moans loudly again as the main love interest smacks her ass. “What is this, the third one?”

“Second. But this one is long,” Paige tuts, clicking her tongue as the fucking on screen gets more aggressive, “goddamn, how does he have the stamina for that?”

“I know!” You laugh. “And look, it’s getting light outside.” You point to the tv, where one of the windows in the movie shows the changing time. “When they started it was dark.”

“Went all night, huh.” Paige whistles. “Lucky guy.”

“Lucky?” You sit up, turning to face her. She immediately raises both her hands in surrender, eyes wide.

“Not because of her,” she groans, talking about the main character, “but they’re going for hours like it’s no problem.”

“You’d think as an athlete you’d have the stamina.” You laugh, though it’s cut short when her brow raises in that challenging way that always pisses you off. Her mouth opens, then closes.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head, but her face says otherwise.

“What is it!” You hiss. “Tell me.”

“It’s not me who doesn’t have the stamina.” She says, expression a mixture of superiority and guilt. “You can take like, two rounds max before passing the hell out.”

“Oh, what the fuck.” You frown. “Since when have you wanted to go for longer? What, do I go to bed and you’re just laying awake at night horny?”

“Psh, no.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m fine with two. Two is good, it’s enough.” She reassures you, hand on your waist. “But if you’d ever ask to keep going…”

“You’d have it in you.” You finish, understanding it’s no fault of your own. “I’d like to try, but honestly after cumming twice I’m tired.”

“I know, baby.” Paige shrugs. “S’not a big deal, I was just thinking. I can go for a while, but I dunno about all night anyways.”

“Yeah.” You settle, though sometimes tugs at your mind as you focus back on the movie. You watch as the girl is flipped from position to position, location to location, sexy music over the scene.

Paige shifts in her seat. You tense as it gets kinkier by the minute. And then the scene is over, and they’re laying in bed as morning sun fills the room.

And you suddenly have an idea.

“Where are you going?” Paige asks, eyes following you closely as you move her hand from your body and slip off the couch.

“Wait here.” You mumble, sending her a coy smile as you walk out of the living room. You know she’s watching your ass as you walk away like she always does. She loves the pyjama shorts you’re wearing, says they do you justice.

After rummaging through the back of the closet in your bedroom, you finally reach a large shoebox. You’d bought a really sexy pair of heels for Paige’s first wnba after-party a while back, and kept the box to commemorate that…as well as a few other things related to you and Paige.

When she sees you walk back into the living room, shoebox in hand, she immediately straightens. Paige recognizes it, of course. She’s practically been a Pavlovian experiment, you can see it as she licks her lips with eager flourish as you stand in front of the couch, tossing the lid of the box off to the side.

“What’re we doing?” She says, smile evident in her tone. She even takes the blanket off of her, and you almost laugh and how ready she’s willing to be.

“Chill.” You hum. You take out the the few dildos you have, leather components for the strap, and a huge bottle of lube that’s half empty, before tipping the box upside down and watching as the contents spill all over the coffee table in front of the couch.

Dental dams, ripped fishnets, mints that make you salivate like crazy, fuzzy handcuffs, the batteries you use for your toys, and a lot of little plastic packets.

Paige just takes everything in for a moment, brows slightly taught in uncertainty. Her eyes catch on the plastic packets, and she picks one up for inspection just as you’d hoped.

“The fuck is this?” She murmurs, squinting to read the small text on the plastic. “Oh, shit.” She adds, meeting your gaze.

You simply smile. “Well?”

“Where’d you even get these?”

“A few weeks back when me n’ the girls went clubbing. The place was handing them out, and I decided to keep them for later.” You admit.

“Oh, so you’ve been plotting, huh.” She quirks a brow, clearly amused.

“Not really!” You whine. “I was just curious, I guess. I heard they give you crazy stamina….and like, uhm…”

Her stare is heavy on you, head cocked, grinning sly as a fox. “And what?”

“They make you like, super horny.” You finish, unable to hold her gaze. “And stuff.”

“Right.” She nods, attempting to hide her smile beneath her hand. She rubs her mouth in thought as she reads the packet again. “This is so sketchy.” She murmurs. “But if it works, we could probably go all night.”

“Probably.” You nod.

Her eyes meet yours again. “Would you…wanna?”

You take a packet for yourself, attempting to mull over the small text written over the plastic. It sounds like gibberish, but it’s late and she’s already looking at you with sheer excitement, so your answer is obvious.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Let’s try.”

-★彡

What started as making out on the couch turned into you leading her to your room by the hand, not even bothering to close the door before she’s on you again.

There’s no urgency, no burst of energy like what you expected. It’s fairly normal, slow and sweet as she dips her head opposite yours to kiss you.

Her hands swim under the crewneck you wear, settling firmly on the crook of your waist with warm, rubbing thumbs grazing over your skin. Meanwhile you make quick work of her mouth, your tongue darting in to meet hers, tasting her.

You stumble around the room stuck to her like glue before your legs hit the foot of your bed and you topple over back-first, giggling as she follows.

Her legs cage yours in, hands arms settle on either side of you, and her mouth trails sweet kisses all over your face, jaw and neck. It’s loving and gentle, even when one hand leaves your side and carefully tugs your pyjamas pants down. You lift your hips to help her as she takes them off, before spreading your legs a little wider for her on the bed.

“Thank you, baby.” She mumbles against your skin, sucking pretty bruises onto your neck as her fingers pull your panties to the side, and tentatively slide between your folds.

“You’re so wet already.” Paige chirps, and you feel her teeth bared in a smile with a shiver. “How do I know it’s not the packets?” She adds.

“It’s not.” You hum, sliding your hands under her hoodie to feel at her abdomen. “Just you.”

She’s satisfied with that answer, because her fingers go from teasing your entrance to actually being inside you. One finger at first, before she realizes you’re loose enough for another.

You let your breath hitch as she pumps in and out of you, a gentle rhythm of pleasure humming through your body with every thrust of her hand. She whispers sweet nothings, pretty baby’s and so good’s until you’re squirming against her.

You kiss her again, half to shut her up and half to keep any whimpers from spilling out—because those will only feed her ego. Her pace quickens, her kisses turn sloppy, and your stomach tightens as your high begins and ends. She doesn’t let up, not until you’re panting too much to kiss back, and with a jolt you cum all over her fingers.

You feel her start to pull back from you before you grab her hand, holding it inside of you. “Don’t stop.” You plead, not thinking in the slightest.

Paige falters. “You sure? You just-“

“I know.” You whine, spreading your legs. You did cum, but you just weren’t done, the buzz wasn’t enough, you wanted it to keep going. “Just, please.”

“Okay.” She kisses your face. “You’re spoiled, you know that?” Paige grins, though her fingers start pumping again and you can’t help but genuinely flinch at the sensation, it’s unlike before.

Your stomach is tight again, your core is tingling. The stimulation is too much, too soon, but you need it. Even when you struggle to hold your legs open, when you beg her to do it for you. She obliges, wedging her knee between your thighs so she can keep going, lips bitten as she watches her fingers disappear and reappear by the second.

When you cum again it’s drawn out, fingers clenching the sheets of your bed as you finish.

“Whoa.” Paige hums. “That was- that was good.”

“Mhm.” You mumble, pulling her back in for another kiss by the fabric of her hoodie. You came for the second time, but instead of feeling ready to pass out, you’re surprisingly energized.

She pulls away, still close to your face. You watch her eyes as they dart from your clenched fists around her clothes to your lips.

And you feel yourself twitch down there again.

In a burst of energy you roll over, taking her with you. The positions are reversed now, you on top and her caged in against the ruffled sheets of your bed. You make quick work of straddling her torso, and when your already swollen clit brushes against her shorts you let out a little sigh.

This sensitivity is definitely new.

Paige is watching your every move, licking her lips as you throw the remainder of your clothes off and onto the ground.

And then you slide off of her.

“Take everything off.” You hum, crawling towards the nightstand by your bed.

“Or what?” Paige teases.

You don’t respond, simply opening the drawer of your nightstand and taking out your favourite vibrator wand.

The minute she catches sight of it her amused smile drops. You haven’t used this one on her—you haven’t used any on her at all.

“You don’t wanna?” You ask, shrugging.

She frowns, clearly unhappy at your false disinterest, but she holds your eyes as she slips her shorts off of her legs, her underwear with it.

“And the hoodie.” You add, gleefully at that. “And lay down.”

Paige grunts, but pulls her hoodie over her head regardless. She’s not wearing a bra, to your delight.

“Good.” You purr. You crawl over to her, swinging your leg over her head so that your pussy is hovering over her face. Her hands grab at your ass, already knowing what to do.

You shiver when she forces you down, her tongue licking an agonizingly slow strip across your folds. Before she can get too frantic, you lean forward enough to place the vibrator between her parted legs, turning it on once it’s settled correctly.

The whimper she udders at the start of the machine vibrates through your body.

She struggles to find routine at first, jolting as you toy around with the settings of the vibrator, but before you know it she’s holding your pussy down like she depends on it, lapping and panting against your ultra-sensitive skin.

The stimulation is one thing, but the sound of her breathy moans from beneath you rile you up on an entirely new level. You’re absolutely buzzing with sensation, grinding frantically against her parted mouth trying to chase that high.

“You’re so good, baby.” You mew, rocking your hips on her face. “So good Paige.” You add, upping the intensity on the vibrator as a reward for her. She lets out a strangled moan at that, hands gripping the skin of your ass hard enough to leave fingernail indents. You try to rise a little, unsure if it’s too much for her, but she forces you right back down, her tongue swirling around your clit and nuzzling into you with feverish energy.

Her legs are squeezing tight now, soaking wet at the core thanks to the wand wedged between them. You feel it too, practically shaking atop her. Before you know it, a huge feeling of release washes over you in big, sobering waves. You can’t help but cry out as you cum, the feeling of her mouth lapping it up engulfing you wholly. In turn she starts grinding against the vibrator, and then she cums too.

You turn the vibrator off and lazily crawl off of her, collapsing by her side and into her open arms. You’re both hard-breathing, flushed messes, eyes half-lidded and pupils blown wide.

“Holy shit.” Is all Paige can utter, her face glistening with what’s left of you. You can’t help but laugh, and she starts to laugh too, kissing your nose, forehead and lips with a smile.

Then the both of you are grinning and kissing, tumbling all over the bed like frantic teenagers. You thought you were exhausted till her teeth playfully pulled at your lip, and that burning spark in your gut came right back.

“Jesus,” you hum, sighing as her lips suck dark marks into your collarbone. “I could keep going.”

“So let’s keep going.” Paige murmurs.

“Mmh, seriously?” You sigh.

Her hands find your breasts, the calloused pads of her fingers brushing over your nipples. “We could go all night?” Paige smiles, eyes dangerously bright, full of energy again. “If you want.”

You hold her gaze as her mouth latches onto your chest, kissing all over the skin of your breasts in worship.

All night doesn’t sound too bad.

-★彡

1am

The next hour or so is filled with mindless making out, limbs tangled and shoulders bumping you suck every possible crevice of her face. It’s a break, in a sense, but a distracting one none the less. You’re both so incredibly sensitive, even the brush of her knee between your thighs sends waves of feeling through your body.

Paige’s lips struggle to part from you even when you both leave your room, stumbling around your apartment in an intimately naked scene, like she’s so obsessed that everything else has faded away. Even when she parts to grab another packet and the strap from the coffee table, her pinky finger stays lovingly entwined in yours.

You fasten it on her, adjusting every aspect with rigorous intent and bubbling excitement. Then you’re both stumbling through the place again, lips entwined with more ferocity.

It’s all in Paige’s control now, not that you mind. She’s leading with her tongue, her hands are groping whatever skin she can reach till you feel your back hit the surface of your kitchen counter. She lifts you up like you’re a doll, sitting you on the marble and pushing you to lie back against the cold material.

“What’re you doing?” You laugh, back arched to avoid the chill of your skin against the counter.

“Watch.” She orders.

She’s standing between your dangling legs as she rips the packet open with her teeth, drizzling the drugged-honey from your navel all the way to the valley between your breasts before tossing the plastic away.

You watch in excitement as her hands settle on either side of you, as she leans in and licks a clean stripe across your body, following the line of honey she drew till it’s all gone. The hairs on your arms stand up straight, goosebumps covering the expanse of your skin as her tongue cleans up the mess. Then she kisses you, and you taste it on her before she pulls away.

“Paige,” you whine, parting your legs, “please, please just fuck me.”

“I hear you, ma.” She rasps, fondling the silicone attached to her till the tip is grazing your slit. “You’re so fucking wet, I can tell you want it.”

“I want it so bad.” You nod vigorously. “C’mon.”

She pushes in, not nearly enough, then pulls back again. Then her hands are on your waist, pulling you forward and lifting your pelvis up just enough so that she can push into you at a better angle. You suck in a breath when she bottoms out, then bite out a whimper after the first thrust.

Then she sets her pace.

“Fuck,” you moan, “fuck, oh, Paige.” You cry out, hands trying to grip for anything you can on the flat surface of the counter. Slapping noises fill the room as her hips snap back and forth, lip bitten and eyes stark on the way you look splayed out on the kitchen counter like a meal. Your tits bounce with every shift of your body as she rocks against you.

“Just last week you could barely handle round two.” She grunts out. “Now look at you, moaning all over my dick. How many times are you gonna cum for me tonight, huh?”

The feeling of her filling you up makes you even more turned on. You can hear the noises of your slick against the silicon, the proof of your pleasure. It just feels so mindlessly good.

You reach for something, anything, but all you end up doing is knocking shit over. The sound of steel hitting the ground reverbs throughout the kitchen as an empty bowl and some cutlery fly off of the counter. You wince at the volume, but Paige leans in to grip your face.

“You’re a slut, you know that?” She bites, fully bottomed out, fingers around your face.

“Don’t stop.” You whine, shifting your hips. “Please, p.”

“You’re making a big fucking mess, moaning so damn loud and pushing things off the table.” Paige hisses, shoving your face slightly as she starts thrusting again. “Like a slut.”

“Maybe I am.” You choke out, feeling your core tense with every word. “I just need you so bad, need you to fill me up.”

“You don’t deserve it.” Paige grunts, grasping your skin so tight as her hips stutter agains you. “But I give you whatever you want, right? You just wanna get fucked.”

“Please, baby.” You moan, once again gripping nothing in attempt to smooth the pleasure. “Paige, please.”

She pulls your legs fully off of the counter now, roughly flipping you around and bending you over the cold expanse of the counter.

You’re breathless as one of her hands holds your back down while the other slaps your ass. Then she enters you again, slowly building up to the same rigorous pace as before.

The noises are louder now as your ass claps against her strap. You’re pushed forward against the counter with every thrust, your face smushed against the marble, lips choking out broken cries of satisfaction as she fucks you.

“Take it.” She mumbles, “You take my cock so good, baby.”

You cum with a full-body shiver, feeling the way it spills at she pulls out of you, the emptiness apparent.

It’s only a moments rest before you’re kissing her again, your back now meeting the wall before she picks you up. Her hands settle on your ass as you wrap her legs around her, and before you know it she’s fucking you all over again.

-★彡

3am

“Baby,” She moans, “Oh fuck, slow down.”

You can’t, or more accurately you won’t. You’re on a high, tits pressed against her back as her own are flush against the glass of your floor to ceiling windows. Rain hammers on one side of the glass as you fuck her against the other, skin sticky with sweat and arousal.

You can feel her legs shaking, you can see how her palms press against the window, or occasionally clench when you roll your hips just right. You rarely had the energy to use the strap on her, but thanks to your drug-induced heat, having the instrument was a blessing.

“Or what?” You breath against her neck, licking the spot where you left a hickey a few moments earlier, relishing how her shoulders raise in sensitivity. “Gonna cum like a little bitch?” You grin. The high of talking dirty felt good, you understood why she was so prone to it now.

“Yes.” Paige whines, voice raspy. “Fuck, yes.”

“You were calling me a slut earlier.” You bite, whispering into the shell of her ear. “But look at you now. What would happen to you if someone in the building across saw? Imagine the headlines.“

You grip her hips hard, forcing her into you, using her for your gain. She can’t even fathom your words, too drunk off of the sensations to formulate an answer.

“See? You don’t care.” You hum. “That’s why you’re not gonna cum yet.”

“What?” She finally snaps out of her daze, head whipping to meet your gaze as you slip out of her.

“No…” she bites her lip. “Wait, don’t stop.”

“Don’t be a baby.” You scoff, loosening the strap and stepping out of it. “Get on the floor. Legs spread.”

She’s a little confused, peeling herself off of the glass and stumbling around a bit, before you literally guide her to the hardwood and pry her legs apart with your hands.

The gasp Paige lets out when you lay down, lips against her pussy, is like music to your ears.

She’s already soaked from your strap, you can taste it as you press your tongue flat against her, sloppily kissing the mess between her legs as she throws her head back, hands gripping the hair on your head.

“Oh, god.” She whines.

“Shut up.” You snap, gripping the soft skin of her thighs. Her fingers tug at strands of your hair as you nuzzle into her heat, tongue swirling around her clit.

She’s grinding against your face, thighs shaking from the earlier denied orgasm and now your face between her legs. It’s almost too much when two of your fingers slip inside, tentatively pumping before they curl inside her.

“Shit.” She whines again, voice breathy. “Let me cum.”

You stop at that demand, smiling against her skin, fingers unmoving, and she groans in dissatisfaction.

“Beg for it.” You hum. “If you want it so bad.”

“Fuck, no.” She snaps, lips pouty as she looks at you. “Just—just keep going.”

You just raise a brow, slipping your fingers out of her.

“Beg.” You repeat, and you watch her mull the idea over. She’s never begged in her life, you can tell. Sex is easy currency for someone so sought after. “C’mon, begging never hurt anyone.” You add, licking a circle around her clit, to which she instantly screws her eyes shut in response to.

“Just beg for me, Paige.” You grin, kissing between her thighs. “Beg.” You tease her slit with your fingertips.

You can see her breaking, you can see it in the way her chest heaves, how her lip wobbles.

“Please.” She finally mumbles. “Please, baby. Please fuck me, please let me cum.” She moans pathetically.

Who are you to deny someone who asks so nicely?

-★彡

5am

You’re not sure what happened between ruining Paige on the floor of your living room to now, but you wake up groggy on your bed, sheets half off the mattress, legs tangled with hers.

You’re sticky between your legs, covered in sweat and god knows what else in general, hair totally a mess, lips swollen, ass sore—presumably from her hands getting a little too aggressive. She’s beside you, back pressed to your chest, her body rising and falling in shallow breaths of light sleep.

It’s still dark out. You cant’ve be asleep for long.

It takes great effort to untangle yourself from her and slip out of the bedroom. A hot shower is much needed, and the moment that steaming water hits your skin it’s like you’ve been regifted all of your energy.

You let your fingers dance all over the skin Paige had marked hours earlier, hickeys and bite marks tattering the expanse of your thighs, breasts, chest and neck. You think back to the start of the night—and everything that happened afterwards, and to your surprise, still have it in you to be turned on.

“What the hell is in those packets.” You mumble to yourself, letting your fingertips trail from your tits to your stomach, then lower, to the pulse between your legs.

Carefully, you let your fingers pull the hood of your clit back, rubbing the sensitive bud in slow circles. It feels good—not as good as Paige—but good enough. You can’t tell if you’re wet from the shower water or your own arousal, but it doesn’t matter. You speed up your hands anyways.

Soon enough your soft mewls fill the bathroom. You assume the sound of the shower covers them up a bit, now aggressively rubbing your clit in a pathetic chase for what must be your 5th orgasm that night.

And then you hear the click of the bathroom door, and you stop.

There’s a few quaint steps, they pause in front of the shower, and then continue. When the fogged-over shower door opens, you’re met with a freshly awoken Paige.

“Move.” She grumbles, stepping in with you. You oblige.

She’s covered in marks too, you can see it now that she’s showing off in front of you, wetting her hair and closing her eyes as her hands run over her tits, her stomach, the beginning of her thighs. Her neck is littered with pink and red hickeys, and her muscular back has long marks from your nails.

Her body is perfect. Breasts that fit in your hands like you were made for them, abs firm enough to ride on, legs strong and sturdy. Her back ripples as she runs her fingers through her hair. Her hands are personally your favourite, with her long fingers and veins.

You can’t help but slide behind her, running your hands all over her, gripping her ass and giving it a little playful smack.

“You’re so needy.” She scoffs, turning around and grabbing your hands, stopping you from touching her. “Calm down.”

“I can’t.” You frown. “You interrupted me. Now you have to deal with it.”

“Fucking whore.” She shakes her head, leaning in to kiss you. It’s aggressive, teeth clashing and lips bitten. Her hands grip your face, turning you to move against her the way she wants. “You jus cleaned off, now you wanna be dirty again.”

“You wanted all night.” You smile against her lips, letting your hands trail down to her pussy. “So I’m just giving what you asked for.”

“Don’t act like this is all for me.” She snorts, one hand leaving your face to graze your folds. “You’re selfish.”

“You’ve orgasmed more than I have.” You challenge, fingers toying with her.

“That’s such a fucking lie!” Paige groans, slipping a finger in you with ease.

“Maybe we’re even.” You shrug, biting your lip as she starts to pump in and out of you. Similarly, her lips part as you do the same.

“So—“ she murmurs, breathless already, “we keeping it even?”

“Yeah.” You nod vigorously, looking down to watch as your fingers disappear inside her—and as hers disappear inside you.

“Shit.” She sighs, watching the sight herself. “S’good.”

“Mhm.” You huff, throwing your head back. You can feel your stomach tensing already, skin hot and buzzing from her hands and the hot water. She adds another finger, you do the same. In no time you’re both heavy breathing messes, hands cramped and mouths entwined. She cums a little before you, but you keep going till you follow soon after.

She opens the shower door in a hurry, practically stumbling out with you alongside her.

The bathroom is full of fog, so you manage to turn the fan on before she tugs you out by the hand, right back into the bedroom.

Then you’re kissing again, slower, mumbling unintelligible words between breaths, parting to catch each other staring. Her eyes can barely stay open, and at one point you’re not sure if you’re kissing back. The ache in your gut, the one that’s been saying more, more, is dulling. You’re reduced to an exhausted hum, brain as foggy as your bathroom.

“M’ so fucking tired.” Paige whispers between little kisses on your face, hands holding you loosely against her.

You catch a glimpse of your bedroom window, and you’re surprised to see the beginning of morning, red hues mixing with the dark leftovers of the night.

She notices too, you meet her eyes as they part from the sky. She kisses you again, closed mouth, hands wandering.

“Good morning.” You mumble, lazily laughing.

“Good fucking morning.” She huffs back, holding you close. “That was something.”

You nod. “What is even in those packets?”

“Don’t wanna know.” Paige mumbles. You’re not sure if she says anything else, because your eyes shut right after.

That sleep in her arms is the best you’ve ever had in your life.

#fanfiction #fanfic #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers x reader #smut #paige bueckers smut #uconn women’s basketball #paige x reader #dallas wings #wbb #wnba #wnba x reader

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lovelylittlegrim · 5 months ago

Text

Headcanon that Eddie isnt the kind of guy to say I love you first. He’d had it rough growing up. Dead beat parents and very little affection until he moved in with Wayne.

And Wayne is a quiet man. More action than words so I think Eddie would learn how to love from him. With actions. A new mug here, a pat there, a plate of breakfast after a rough shift. Acts of service as their love language.

Steve Harrington though… He also grew up with very little affection but he didn’t have an uncle Wayne. So, love for him is different. Steve falls hard and fast and he is always quick to say it, always the first one to say ‘I love you’. And he means it everytime and is devastated when it isn’t reciprocated.

When steddie happens, Steve would try to play it cautious. He’s been burnt so many times that he holds the words to his chest for weeks, maybe even months before they finally come spilling out. And, Eddie would be stunned. He could probably count on his hands the times he’s been verbally told he’s loved. And, of course he loves steve too. How could anyone not love steve? But Eddie can’t get the words out.

And Steve, he gets it. He knows Eddie. Knows that even though Eddie can’t say it, that the way he leans into Steve and kisses him all soft and sweet and deep says it for him. It’s in Eddie’s big expressive eyes the way it’s never been in anyone else’s before. Steve wants to hear the words, but he doesn’t need them from Eddie because he can see it. It’s mutual. It’s reciprocated and that’s enough for Steve.

I do think Eddie will say it. Later. Maybe a few months down the line and I think it’ll be such a random and seemingly unremarkable moment. That Steve is probably just sitting there, all focused and squinty eyed as he’s working on something and Eddie is watching him. And Eddie loves him. Loves him so so fucking much and the words don’t seem all that scary or hard to say anymore.

“Steve?”

“Hmm,” Steve hums, not looking up from the bracelets he promised to make for Max and El.

And Eddie can’t stop the grin on his face, the relief as the words roll so easily off his tongue. So earnest and honest and heartfelt, “I love you.”

Steves head snaps up, eyes wide as he looks over at Eddie.

Eddie feels warm beneath that gaze, hair tickling his cheek as he tugs it over his mouth. It’s out of habit more than embarrassment, or vulnerability.

He watches Steves throat bob when he swallows, the way his mouth ticks up at the corners, how it grows into a wide smile. He doesn’t make it a big deal, doesn’t even comment on it other than to say, “Love you too.”

#steddie #steddie headcanon #stranger things headcanons #steve harrington #eddie munson #idk why I’m suddenly so obsessed with these two #I think they both have issues and that they’re the SAME but also OPPOSITE and I want to write about it all #LLG #LLG writes

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twistedwonderlandimaginesblog · 1 year ago

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do you think you could write a little scenario about how leona, azul, jamil, idia, and cater would deal with a sudden bout of cuteness aggression. like they feel that there’s just something about reader right then and there that is so unexplainably adorable that they experience the overwhelming urge to physically express it. thank you!!

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul is the slightest bit irritated by this sudden bought of cuteness aggression, this overwhelming affection completely foreign to him. He doesn’t like that a person has this much control over him, enough to send him spiraling just from a playful smile or silly joke. He considered telling you to leave his office because you were thoroughly distracting him from his work, giving into the conversation you had started that was based on some odd hypothetical. He can’t deny how cute it is when you get excited at him indulging you, knowing he was only digging a deeper hole.

Cater Diamond:

Cater doesn’t have an issue with expressing how cute he thinks you are, even when it overwhelmed him like a slap to the face. He has an entire private album, never posted, of candid pics of you living your daily life (taken when inspiration struck, aka the cuteness aggression bug). You would dare to say most of them are boring, alluding to this being the reason he didn’t post them like he did everything else. It made him pout as you couldn’t be father from the truth! Those were his, for his eyes only to enjoy, and he couldn’t let anyone else see how cute you were when you didn’t even realize.

Idia Shroud:

Idia has to cover his face, almost curling up into a tiny ball as you look on in confusion. He couldn’t look at you a single second longer or he might explode, losing all coolness points he’s earned (if any, but he couldn’t take the chance). The tips of his hair give him away as usual but even as you question what might be wrong, he thinks how cute it is that you’re concerned with him. Perhaps he wasn’t the protagonist but one of many love interests, and you had so thoroughly maxed out his love levels that everything you did raised his affection to this unbearable point.

Jamil Viper:

Jamil does have the tendency to get swept up in emotion, and while he’s generally more reserved with showing affection, the cuteness overload always gets to him. You’re always surprised when he randomly squeezes you in a tight hug from behind, thinking his last name should’ve been considered a warning to any who knew him. You’ll never receive an answer as to why he did this, with Jamil hiding his face in your shoulder to put off meeting your curious gaze until he could think of a way to change topics.

Leona Kingscholar:

Leona moved so quickly it reminded you that he was a carnivore, a predator, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. His hands grip your face and force you to stare into his eyes, your heart jumping in your chest at the intense look on his face. His own expression remained neutral but it seemed he was looking for something, observing the small details of your face, eyes settling longest on your lips before they drifted up again to meet your gaze. When it seemed you were about to ask a question Leona crushed his lips against yours to silence you, not wanting to answer a single question about his sudden need to be close.

#Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Twisted Wonderland Imagines #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST Imagines #TWST x Reader #leona kingscholar #jamil viper #cater diamond #azul ashengrotto #idia shroud #leona kingscholar x reader #jamil viper x reader #idia shroud x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #cater diamond x reader

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justcuriouspolls · 5 months ago

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*Just you/the person answering this poll, not the entirety of humanity

Health bar: Shows how much “hp” you have, compared to you at maximum health. Lower hp=closer to death. Has a list of temporary ailments (diseases, injuries etc) affecting you, how much damage they deal, and how long it lasts before going away. If you have a chronic condition that affects your health/will stay with you most/all of your life, max hp (compared to current hp) is reduced. Also shows a stamina bar as well

Quest menu: Guides you on how to do things, from lifechanging achievements to everyday activities. Detailed step-by-step instructions, accurately prioritized, and a “hint menu” in case you get stuck

Checkpoint: From here on out, you can set one “point” (a specific date, time, and location- you must be at that point when you set it) that you revert to when you die, retaining the exact state you were at but with the addition of knowledge that you have at time of death. Once you set the

point you cannot change it, and you must revert there when you die. An extra life, essentially

Inventory Slots: You can store items (you must be able to physically hold them/carry them with ease) in a pocket dimension, and take them out/put them back at any time. Space is limited but is based on diversity of items vs number of items. Carrying bags, purses etc increase how many inventory slots you have

Damage Resistance: A single strike from a sword won’t kill you, tripping and falling won’t send you to a hospital, what would instantly kill the average person would typically just be an inconvenience to you. (You are not immortal, you just now have Video Game Logic ™ applied)

Rapid cooking/eating: You need a method of cooking and the required ingredients, but for some foods you can cook them instantly (it is still perfectly cooked and safe to eat) and you can instantly eat things (you can’t sense the texture/flavor, you still get nutritional benefits/detriments, foods eaten in this manner cannot harm you from overeating (but you are still restricted from eating further/you have a sense of fullness))

Skip Cutscene: If you have had the same conversation multiple times, or have a task that you do repetitively, you can skip it once a day

Fast Travel: In addition to the location where you wake up (if your sleep schedule is irregular, the location where you are at during midnight), you can select three other locations to teleport to. You can teleport three times a day. You can move around your teleport markers, but you have to physically go there to access them/move them

Double Jump: Self explanatory, you can jump twice, with slightly less height but half the stamina used as your regular jumping ability, and timing your second jump properly can significantly reduce the damage taken from high falls

#polls about video games #video game mechanics #tumblr polls #polls #my polls #death cw #i worked very hard on this poll if you have any questions feel free to ask them in the comments #reblog for sample size (if you want to)

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mixingandmelting · 1 month ago

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hey so how do you think the bat boys would deal with a s/o who’s fam owns a horse ranch and the boys arrive at the ranch with s/o and s/o notices one of the paddocks are open and s/o’s like “Oh.… *horse name* got out again. He’ll be back later. He’s my favourite. Can’t wait for you to meet him”. The horse does appear later and gently sneaks up on the boys and steals their hat and playfully gallops away, stops, strikes a pose and whinnies at the boys mockingly and then elegantly trots away or while the couple is hanging outside somewhere, the horse comes running over and slides down the hall of the stables pass The couple and crashes into hay stall of one of the other horses and it’s perfectly fine or the horse broke into the couples guest bedroom late at night and sits by the bed happily, it’s waaay to big for these shenanigans? (Any other funny horse shenanigans you can think of? 😂).

Dick:

Your horse doesn’t like him.

“Come on, give me back my hat.” He grits out, smile strained as he finally manages to corner him.

What was meant to be a ranch date ends up becoming a battle for your attention. To be honest, the signs were there: your horse being Max named after Maximus from that one Disney movie and how abnormally fast the horse was galloping towards with full intentions to knock him out (you had told him it was probably from enthusiasm but he saw the horse’s eyes and they were anything but friendly).

The whole time, Max continued to third-wheel where he’d walk right in between the two of you and give him a sneer when you ruffle Max’s and coo at the affection your horse “innocently” gives you.

At some point, Dick was able to somehow trick him into getting distracted so he’d get some alone time with you. Only for Max to find you both and ruin the vibe by stealing and running off with the straw hat you’ve given him.

“Here, I even got you an apple. Heard it’s your favorite-“ Said apple gets kicked out his hand and lands a distance away from him.

For a moment, it’s dead quiet, the two staring each down. Completely forgetting about a certain person.

“So, care to tell me who it was that knocked over the buckets during your grand chase finale?”

It’s then, he and Max turn around and notice the mess that was made which would also explain the hay in your hair.

Quickly both males point at each other.

It takes a while for the two to agree to a quasi-truce, you’re threat of not speaking to either of them doing the trick where they grumble and work together to clean everything up. Though, they did get caught when they start splashing water at the other, stopping immediately once you give them a look.

Jason:

They must’ve been besties in their past life.

“Pfft, he’s so stupid.” Max snorts in agreement, munching off the carrot in Jason’s hand while Jason takes a sip of his beer.

Sure, their initial meeting started out rough where he had raised an eyebrow at your horse’s attempts to intimidate him by appearing out of nowhere and constantly sized him up, puffing his chest out with an aggressive snort while stomping his clove onto the ground where it’d leave a deep imprint on it.

Too bad for Max though, he’s also an asshole. And only an asshole would know how to deal with another asshole.

The minute you had your back turned, your horse did it again like he expected. But this time, Jason doesn’t hold back. Throwing a ruthless glare at him (not full blown), it's clear who the victor ends up being when Max trots and sticks close to you, glancing back at him every so often.

Then your neighbor from the ranch next door comes over and gives you a hard time in front of the two of them. All they had to do was share a look to know what the other was thinking before shaking hands and forming their alliance (hoof, hand, same difference).

“Alright, time to go.” Crushing the can in his hand, he stuffs that and the carrot stub into his pocket, ignoring the rage of anger and despair behind him as he gets on the offered back and ride back to your ranch.

Morning comes and your neighbor comes over, face completely flushed at the prospect that he’s having to ask for your and your family’s help considering your family were the only ones nearby that could. It gains him and Max a suspicious look, you catching both of them with identical smirks while he casually feeds your horse through the kitchen window and Max eating what’s offered without a problem.

Tim:

Your horse is a menace.

“Please. I just want my hoodie back.” After chasing him for the past thirty minutes, he starts losing his mind and resorts to begging.

All he wanted was to spend time with you and embrace one of the places where you’ve grown up. Hell, all the other horses were nice to him, some affectionately nuzzling into his hair while others asked to be fed.

But this one? Your horse, Max? He was different from the rest. Personality resembling someone he knows though not as sassy and gremlin-like but equally annoying.

The chance a horse could be stealthier than a human made no sense as he would appear out of nowhere and either flip Tim’s hoodie over his head or start chewing on it. And it was cute until Max wouldn’t stop.

Now, he realizes it was a mistake to take it off, your horse taking the opportunity to snatch and gallop away with it. As if that wasn’t irritating enough, every time he’s close to getting it back, Max would move it away at last second causing him to have a couple of close calls of his face kissing the dirt. Oh, and that smugness that rolls off the horse. Having the audacity to even pose-!

“Psst, Tim!” Squinting his eyes a bit, he sees you motioning with your hands behind the horse. Confusion turns into understanding, licking his lip and turning the gears in his head.

Sensing something’s strange, Max quickly runs away while Tim starts chasing after him again. What happens next will forever stay in his memories and cause him to agonize that he didn't capture the scene where, once he leads your horse into the stables, you jump from your hiding spot and easily onto your horse’s back without a saddle.

Out of reflex, he catches his hoodie and continues to stare at you star struck with another crush he’s pretty sure can out do all the other crushes he had on you from the other times, lost in thought how he’s dating someone so cool.

Duke:

Your horse is cool. Sometimes makes him think that he’s actually a puppy born in the wrong body. Still cool nonetheless.

“Got any sixes?” At the grunt, he groans and draws another card from the deck.

Unlike with the other horses, he wasn’t sure what to expect when you casually shrugged at the broken padlock and chirped along the lines of how he would come back. But he can most definitely say for sure he wasn’t prepared to get rizzed when, galloping towards the ranch, Max jumped over the fence and skidded into a stop directly in front of you. All with effortless ease and elegance just like those scenes in the movies.

“Woah…”

As if noticing Duke’s amazement, he gives him a courtesy glance before going back to nuzzling your hair. It became obvious that it enjoyed the praise he continued giving him, showing off all the stunts he was able to pull. Well, up until he had tried to slide across the stables only to crash into the ridiculously large pile of hay and the other horse that was in front of it. It was funny how he glared at him for snorting to cover up his laughter, leading to a light banter to go between them two.

Right now? He’s playing Go-Fish with Max and you.

“Max is asking if you got any fours.” How you’re able to translate that from horse, he has no clue. Especially when Max had thrown a fit prior about having to show his cards to you.

“No, Go-Fish.” Letting out a whine, he watches in amazement and a small, healthy dose of fear one hoof reaching out and pulling a card from the deck.

“Your horse, he isn’t a meta?”

“Nope. Born and raised here like any other.”

Welp. It doesn’t change his theory about Max being a puppy when Max randomly starts trotting in circles in an attempt to catch his own tail.

Damian:

He loves Max to the point he considers it a crime for you to hide about him all this time.

“For an Andalusian breed, he’s raised quite well.” He hasn’t stopped petting him since you had introduced the two, completely mesmerized by the soft and silky, blonde mane. “To think you never told me about him- I can’t believe it.”

“Well, you never asked!” You roll your eyes at the tongue-click you’re given. “Also, must I remind you, you raise a variety of animals? A cat, two dogs, a cow, a monkey, and a dragon bat!”

But they aren’t a horse. Your horse to be exact.

It was love at first sight, finding and watching the equus run through the grassfield. So beautifully from nothing holding him back as he makes his laps without leaving the ranch.

He wasn’t being sarcastic about you raising Max as well, the signs of him being sincerely loved and cared seen in his bright eyes and clean hooves. Don’t even get him started on the coat, sheen and shiny in the light.

“Can I touch you?” His voice is gentle, keeping a hand in front of Max’s nose after he comes back and decides to join you at the stables.

He couldn’t help but close his eyes, fearing the potential chance of rejection. Hence, his heart bursting in childish glee when, one tentative sniff later, he feels something nudging into his hand.

It shouldn’t be a surprise he didn’t hold back, spoiling Max to both his and the other’s heart content with feeding him apples and carrots to the point you had to intervene.

“First off, Goliath is a friend not a pet! Second, he left me-us, a long time ago.”

“Doesn’t mean you can simply horse-napp my horse! Were you there when he was born?! No! It was me!”

The debate continues deep into the night, him trying to convince you to let him take Max home with your horse on the side and giving his best puppy-eyes. Eventually, it leads you and Damian to have an impromptu sleep in the stables as the three of you fall asleep in the hay with Max in the middle and you two on either side of him.

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thereoncewasagirlnamedjane · 2 months ago

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WHAT MAKES A WOMAN.

PAIRING — bucky barnes x f!reader

CONTENTS — ficlet; fluff; slight angst; established relationship; body image issues [tw: hysterectomies]; self-indulgent to the max.

SUMMARY — When your relationship with Bucky begins to progress physically, you decide to divulge some very personal information.

WORD COUNT — 1.3k

NOTES — so i struggled with whether or not to repost this due to its unique and potentially triggering subject matter, but what the hell. experiences like mine should be told. and i want you all to know you’re beautiful :3 yes, you! 🫵🏻 i will accept no notes on this <3

✩ masterlist ✩ library blog

Of course, you don’t need to tell him anything.

The relationship is still so new, and it isn't like Bucky would be able to tell—could he? You can probably take this little secret of yours to the grave and it likely wouldn’t affect your relationship whatsoever.

But Bucky isn’t like any of the other men you’ve been with. He’s sweet and kind and so very loving, even if he doesn’t often get the chance to show it. And whether you’re out in the field together or back at home safe and sound, you do trust him completely.

Your rational brain knows he, of all people, would never treat you as something less than. Your irrational side, the part of you that has been disappointed time and time again, paints a different picture.

What if, just like your exes, he finds you repulsive after he learns what’s bothering you? What if he withdraws, tosses you aside like some days old garbage?

You hate it. You hate the part of you that doubts him, that is so full of doubt and fear despite the fact that you’ve fought aliens and mad titans.

But you have a policy of always being honest and upfront with your partners. At the time you had the procedure done, you didn’t think your medical history would be a big deal. These things happened, couldn’t be helped, and it didn’t change your lifestyle or overall health—in fact, your quality of life has improved dramatically since.

Regardless, the very necessary hysterectomy you’d gotten left you without all the parts that, according to some people, made you a woman.

Your ex-boyfriend actually recoiled when you told him, a decision you made just as things were getting serious between you. You thought you’d nip it in the bud in case the topics of marriage or children ever came up, considering you wanted neither of those things and the latter was no longer physically possible for you.

He couldn’t see past the health complications you would’ve had to live with if you hadn’t gotten it done. He accused you of lying to him, insisted you’d somehow betrayed him, and clearly didn’t understand what a hysterectomy actually was no matter how much you tried to explain it to him.

If you’d told him before you’d ever been intimate, he was audacious enough to confess out loud, he never would have touched you in the first place.

You never felt so undesirable and so ugly in your entire life. You ran back to the compound after the breakup and straight into Natasha’s arms, who didn’t ask any prying questions but made promises of revenge, torture, and murder.

You resolved to never date again. You swore off men and decided to throw yourself into your career. You did have a pretty good one, after all. What more did you need?

Well, him.

Bucky won you over the very first day you met, looking every bit as tense and anxious as you felt whenever you walked into a crowded room. You somehow plucked up the courage to walk over and introduce yourself, welcome him to the team.

He turned away from Sam and Steve at the sound of your voice, the scowl melting off his face and turning into something else entirely as he almost dropped his beer. With your quick reflexes, you managed to catch it before it shattered on the floor, handing it back to him with a small smile.

“Sorry, thanks,” he mumbled, eyes locked onto yours as he clumsily took back his drink. “I’m—beautiful, you’re so—Bucky.”

“I’m sorry?” You asked, still grinning.

“I mean—I’m Bucky,” he sighs and squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head as he took your hand and shook it, still flustered. Steve and Sam, however, exchanged a look that said they would never let him live this down.

What followed was a slow but sweet courtship. Bucky was evidently a fan of taking things slow, which you didn’t mind at all. You liked that he was a little old-fashioned, always buying you flowers, holding out his arm for you to take as you walked down the street to the restaurant where he’d made reservations. He calls you “sweetheart”, and he always kisses you like it’s the very last time.

A dream come true, that man is. With your ex, you understood you just so happened to pick a particularly bad apple out of the whole orchard; the asshole was just one guy. Not everyone would feel the way he did, and you know Bucky would never say or do anything to make you feel bad about yourself.

Your own brain, on the other hand? He’s going to think you’re disgusting. He’s going to break your damn heart and you won’t survive.

And to make matters worse, lately, he can’t seem to keep his hands off you. Bucky grows bolder each day, steadily moving past all the sweet smiles and coy glances across briefing rooms. One time, you were even caught feverishly making out in a supply closet by a mortified-looking Pepper Potts. You couldn’t bear to look her in the eye for days.

But because Bucky pays attention, observes much more than he speaks, he can tell you’re holding something back. Even as he’s got you in his room, straddling his lap while the two of you kiss like a pair of hormonal teenagers, his hands relentless and seemingly roaming everywhere all at once, he can tell you’re distracted.

He’s not always an angel, because he plays dirty. He pleads for you to tell him what’s wrong, to spill your heart in soft hushed tones, his lips planting sweet kisses along the curve of your jaw.

You confess embarrassingly quickly for an intelligence agent who’s been trained to withstand literal torture. You turn away from him in shame as you tell him about the surgery; you don’t have a reproductive system, you no longer menstruate, and you’re technically in menopause.

You need hormone replacement therapy, and you cannot ever have children. By some people’s standards, you are incomplete and always will be.

You move to leave, to retreat from his piercing stare, but Bucky winds his arms around you. He hooks a finger under your chin and gently turns you back to face him. His eyes soften at the sight of your watery ones and he kisses you again, chastely, sweetly, this time.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t really care what parts you do or don’t have,” and again with those magical hands of his, he sets out to prove it to you.

They cup the sides of your face with reverence, one cool thumb caressing your kiss swollen lips. They then slowly begin their descend down your neck, ghosting over your chest, and smoothing down your belly, drawing soft lines toward your pelvis.

“Do you care that I can only ever hold you with one good arm?”

Your heart cracks at that thought. “No, I—!”

“You’re so beautiful. You don’t even know, do you?” Bucky then proceeds to ravish every part of your body with his sweet yet sinful mouth, leaving literally no inch of skin unkissed, only pulling back when he’s left his mark. “Thought you were a goddess the first time I saw you.”

“Oh, stop it,” you scoff, your cheeks warm, your arms curling around his shoulders.

“Still have my suspicions, actually,” he grins before grabbing your hips to flip you onto your back, swallowing your startled yelp with another searing kiss. Bucky doesn’t give you time to catch your breath before he’s tugging your clothes off, making you laugh at how eager he is, and tossing them carelessly onto the floor.

You feel exposed and vulnerable underneath him, but when you look up he only looks back at you with adoring eyes.

“I promise, sweetheart, you look all woman from where I’m standing.”

FIN.

© 2025 by thereoncewasagirlnamedjane. do not repost, translate, or copy to third party sites. no part of this work may be fed into any AI software or websites. minors are asked not to interact with my blog; you are responsible for your own media consumption. blank/ageless blogs will be blocked.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x asian!reader #tw: body image #tw: hysterectomy #tw: hysterectomies

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spr1ngpvrinbwunnie · 3 months ago

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Could I please request Harley Sawyer x reader who has their periods (heavy flow and painful cramps to the MAX to the point the can't even stand cause I'm literally doing the itadori pose on the floor bawling my eyes out.) ily and ur writing so much! Sending love🫶

Harley Sawyer x You – Dealing with Extreme Period Pain

Harley isn’t good with emotions, but pain? Pain he understands. And when it’s your pain? Yeah—he’s not about to just stand by and do nothing.

🖤 His Initial Reaction 🖤

The first time he sees you curled up, barely able to move, face twisted in pain?

He assumes it’s something serious. Something he needs to fix.

"What the hell’s wrong?" His voice is sharp, but his eyes are scanning you for injuries.

When you mumble out “It’s just my period”, he just stares for a second—processing.

He’s quiet, unreadable. Then:

"…That’s it?"

Not dismissing your pain—just shocked that something so common can knock you out like this.

🖤 Once He Gets It 🖤

Harley doesn’t pity. He solves. If this is something that happens monthly, he’s making sure you’re prepared.

Painkillers? Done. He stocks them up like he’s building a survival kit.

Hot water bottles? Heating pads? You didn’t even ask, but he’s already handed one to you without a word.

Carrying you if needed? He doesn’t hesitate. You’re too weak to stand? Fine. He picks you up like it’s nothing.

"Not dealing with you collapsing. Just shut up and hold on."

Silent but deadly levels of care. He won’t say "Are you okay?" ten times, but he notices everything.

Grimaces when you shift wrong? He’s already adjusting your pillows.

Winces when you try to sit up? His hand is already at your back, steadying you.

Can’t eat? He figures out something light and easy for you—won’t admit he looked it up.

🖤 Protective Mode: Activated 🖤

Someone tries to make a snide comment about you being “dramatic” about it?

Harley’s death glare alone could kill.

"Say that again. No—go ahead." Voice calm, but dangerous.

If he can remove stressors, he will.

You got work? Not anymore—you’re “suddenly unavailable.” Don’t ask how.

Need silence? He makes sure no one disturbs you.

If you’re too stubborn to rest, his patience snaps:

“You wanna be miserable? Fine. But you’re not doing it on my watch. Lie the hell down.”

🖤 The Quiet Affection 🖤

He’s not the type for soft words, but he is the type to sit there, quietly, until you fall asleep.

His hand? Might not hold yours, but it’ll rest on your leg or back, a grounding touch.

His voice? A low, steady hum if you need background noise. Maybe reading something aloud, pretending it’s for himself.

And when it’s finally over—when the worst of it passes?

He just exhales, looks at you, and mutters,

"’Bout damn time."

But there’s relief in his tone. Like he felt every hour of your suffering with you.

💀 If You Ever Make a Joke About It 💀

"Ugh, I think my uterus is trying to kill me."

Harley, completely serious:

"You need it removed?"

"…What."

"If it’s trying to kill you, get rid of it."

"That’s—That’s not how it works, Harley."

Grunts. But you know he was actually considering it.

Harley might not be gentle, but when it comes to you? He makes damn sure you’re taken care of.

#harley sawyer #harley sawyer x reader #poppy playtime #the doctor #poppy playtime x reader #the doctor x reader #╰₊✧ ﾟ⚬𓂂➢ 👁📺💉🩸#poppy playtime 4 #ppt chapter 4 #harley sawyer headcanons #scenario #imagine

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jayholdenworld · 2 months ago

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Carlos had signed a contract with Toro Rosso, his dream of becoming a Formula One driver were finally his. He had drove a couple of races already and was so excited to be a driver for the team that nothing his father said to him about rivalries and beating teammates could bother him.

So, when he opened his eyes and was in front of a bunch of people dressed in blue and white he was so confused, but nothing prepared him to see what apparently was an older version of himself dressed on a white T-shirt, with no team logo, standing in front of him, with confused and worried eyes.

-I need to take him somewhere safe. With no history that can change his life.

-Carlos.

-He doesn’t need to know anything that could affect him. So he cannot stay here.

Carlos was mad with this fake older version of himself, specially when he was pulled up from the floor and they started to walk around the paddock like Carlos was some kind of secret whore, even if the team behind him looked at him with worry. However, he couldn’t keep his thoughts there as his eyes focused on the man with the number one attach to his photo on some big screen.

Max, his teammate.

Did he become a world champion? It looked like he was in Red Bull and won. He probably fought for the title once Lewis lost it, maybe to Rosberg or to Sebastian again. It was incredible that he managed to win one championship in that car.

Maybe Carlos was also in the Bull and was able to fight for that title? Was he also in the blue team? It looked like it, even if Carlos was not the happiest with the idea. He didn’t want to be a second driver to Max, not to the young boy who was a second away from punching someone, even if he was really sweet deep down.

He wanted to prove himself, and if he was a second driver that would never happen.

The young driver hit himself with the back of his uglier older version and cursed while touching it carefully. He was so mad that he had to deal with him without knowing anything, but he couldn’t curse as comfortably as he wanted. Not with the older cursing under his breath.

-Tom! I need to talk to Lando, or Zak, or Andrea.

-They are not here, but Oscar is around.

-Tom, please, it’s urgent… I need to keep this thing hidden. Oscar is not an option for that.

Did this uglier version called him a “this thing”? With what right?!

-What’s happening? Why I’m not an option?

Carlos heard a soft voice that took him by surprise, and looking at the tense back of his uglier version, the other was not happy with the development. So, of course, acting like the little shit he was, Carlos decided to look to the direction where the voice had come from.

An Angel

Carlos gasped when he saw the man of brown eyes and constellations around his neck. The boy looked young, close to Carlos age, with a dark blond hair that seemed soft, like a Disney Prince hair. And his posture was relaxed but contemplating, like he could read anyone in a couple of seconds.

Carlos was in love.

And he fell even further when those eyes were on him, analyzing him without showing anything on his face, but saying so much with his eyes, and the Spaniard loved that he could see that. Maybe they were meant to meet here and now.

-Come to my room, Carlos. We need some privacy.

-Usually that comes after a coffee. But for you, I don’t mind skipping some steps.

His uglier version and his angel looked at him like he was nuts, the other him was a second away from killing him, and his new god looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there, but there was a soft pink on his neck that made Carlos know that his approach was not incorrect.

-You cannot shut up, Can you?

-It’s not my fault Oscar, not like I wanted him here.

-We really need to keep him away from public eye, and maybe Mark knows how to send him back.

-Lead the way, Piastri.

Oscar Piastri. That was such a cute name. Perfect for his angelical boy.

-Would you marry me, Oscar? I can make you the happiest man in the world.

The uglier version hit him on the head while cursing him in Spanish, but he didn’t care, he wanted to see if his angel reacted in any way that would give him a chance. Seeing his ears pinker than before gave him hope.

-We really need to talk with Mark.

His angel was going to be his sooner or later, a ring was going to be on his angel’s finger before Carlos woke up from this dream.

Even if he didn’t want to wake up as long as his future husband was there.

#formula 1 rpf #carcar #5581 #f1 fanfic #oscarlos #carloscar #ignore my terrible english #it’s late and i’m tired #wip #Toro Rosso!Carlos sent to the future and falling in love with Oscar while Williams!Carlos is jealous of him #Toro Rosso Carlos

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startedwellthatsentence · 4 months ago

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I would like to remind everyone in the Doctor Odyssey fandom that while “closed triad that replicates monogamy in every way except there’s three people now” is one hyperspecific way that polyamory can be practiced, it is not the only way that polyamory can be practiced.

It’s not even the only or most common form of non-monogamy that has been shown ON THE SHOW. We’ve had hierarchical non-monogamous relationships, both toxic and healthy (Man with wife, girlfriend, and mistress; gay couple who enjoy group sex); we’ve had people with multiple partners, both toxic and healthy (wedding couple fucking the best man and also many other people; Single Sam having sex with the majority of people during singles week; the other background characters during gay week); and we’ve seen ONE other closed triad (captain’s brother and boyfriends).

Exploring other forms of polyamory is actually one of the best ways, IMO, of us getting to have the Ody3 together while still getting multiple seasons of a network show (which NEEDS relationship drama to be viable — we KNOW they can’t sustain this show with just their silly “medical” plots).

Tristan seems to have quick, surface level attractions with a lot of people (guest with the heart problem, Vivian, Spencer, Max) but it takes him a LONG time to act on them (he pined after Avery for years without making a move; he told Vivian that he wants to take things very slow) — what does that look like if he’s in a poly relationship? How can Avery deal with her jealousy in a healthy way when she doesn’t know which of Tristan’s flirtations may turn serious? How does Max deal with not having all the information at all times?

Avery has jealousy issues that she is VERY MUCH in denial about — rationally she knows that Tristan and Max are allowed to be in whatever relationships they want, especially when she has specifically told them that, so she shouldn’t feel jealous or upset and hates that she does anyway. She has to figure out how to deal with both not wanting a monogamous relationship and not having a healthy way to deal with jealousy. Potential plots: Avery successfully achieves a polyamorous relationship, realizes that this doesn’t actually fix the disconnect between her thoughts and feelings; they talk about their relationship and how it will work, Avery agrees to things that are rational and then gets upset and then is angry about being upset, etc etc etc.

Max likes to be knowledgeable and in control. If he ever seriously considers the whole poly thing, he might start reading every book and article available, throwing around words like metamour and compersion — and then do what he seems to prefer, which is use that orthodoxy to protect himself from actually reflecting on what he really feels. We know that Tristan doesn’t like when Max gets arrogant, and we know that Avery is going to have a lot of trouble with the whole compersion thing — would this affect their relationship? Would Max use relationship anarchy to further run away from his dual needs for control and hedonism? Speaking of hedonism:

Max also loves to put himself into plausibly deniable situations in which sex might happen — taking Tristan to his quarters, watching Archer in a hotel room with Tristan, going to Avery’s quarters, taking Ken to the cryotherapy room, taking Tristan AND Avery to his quarters, taking Brooke to his quarters (I had to go back and add more because I kept remembering examples). How many more times will this happen before Avery comes completely unhinged? This seems to be his primary method of flirting — would he stop if he were in a relationship, or would he keep doing it with the “it was just ___” excuses?

Joshua Jackson called the show pro-polyamorous — if this wasn’t just a bunch of PR bullshit but was actually true, then I’d like to see some explorations of polyamory in its multiple forms. And considering the textual evidence from the show itself, which has already in 9 episodes explored many kinds of non-monogamy, I don’t actually think this is impossible.

#did I manage to talk myself into demiromantic Tristan? maybe #doctor odyssey #ody3 #tristan silva #avery morgan #max bankman #polyamory

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lovings4turn · 2 years ago

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Okay, I promised you some cute F1 thoughts, and Mama’s here to deliver!!

What about Max having an S/O who’s always really sweet to him and showering him with compliments and is always there to pick him up when he’s down, and he just kind of… doesn’t know how to deal with it? (Because that boy is SO starved for unconditional affection, you cannot convince me otherwise.)

my dearest dolly i have been WAITING for these and i'm so ready to provide,, especially for a touch starved n slightly awkward max!! thanks for sending it in,, your ideas always make my mind go wild🖤

it's not that he doesn't appreciate it, no. in fact, max would trade most of his worldly possessions if it meant that you would keep treating him the way you currently do. the 'problem' - if you can even really call it that - lies in the fact that he doesn't really understand why. he's never really been on the receiving end of so much praise and love, or general kindness and patience, even, so he doesn't quite know how he's supposed to respond.

you've heard the stories of his father, of the things he's said and done to max, and your blood boils every time you have to be in the same room as the man.

post-race congratulations are met with a deep hug, max resting his head in the crook of your neck and letting your words wash over him like treacle, coating him in a thick, saccharine feeling. he has no idea how to respond, whether to thank you or refute your claims, so instead he says nothing and hopes you don't notice the pale dusting of pink across his face as he gives his post-race interviews in the media pen.

even in his worst moments, when he's furiously raving about a strategy that could have gone horribly wrong, you're there for him. a gentle kiss between his eyebrows is enough for him to relax his face and look at you, inquisitive. he doesn't quite know what he did to deserve this, or how he can ever repay you for it, but he's thankful, and he'll do everything in his power to show you that.

#.° ༘🗝️⋆₊ becca’s drabbles #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen drabble #max verstappen fluff #f1 x reader

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straberrycore · 10 days ago

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bowers gang boyfriend headcanons

———————————————-

💔💘 Henry Bowers Romantic Headcanons 💘💔

1. Tough on the Outside, Soft for You

Henry acts like he’s made of steel—harsh, aggressive, wild—but when he’s alone with you, he melts. He doesn’t know how to say “I love you,” so he shows it in other ways—protective glances, fists clenched when someone looks at you wrong, or walking you home silently just to be sure you’re safe.

2. Love Notes Hidden in Locker Scratches

Henry isn’t good with words, but he’ll carve your initials into trees or walls like a messed-up version of love letters. He thinks it’s romantic—his way of marking the world with how much he cares, even if it’s rough around the edges.

3. Jealousy is His Love Language

If someone flirts with you, Henry’s instantly on edge. He might not say anything right away, but his jaw tightens and his whole body screams mine. Later, he might try to act cool—but you know he’d throw hands if he thought you wanted him to.

4. Clumsy Affection

He’s not used to gentle touches, but with you, he tries. Awkward hand-holding, brushing your hair out of your face, or sitting so close your legs touch. Sometimes he stares at you like he’s trying to memorize you—because he’s never had something good before.

5. Secret Romantic

He listens to sappy love songs when he’s alone and imagines slow dancing with you in a field somewhere far from Derry. He’d never admit it, but he wants to give you the kind of love he never got.

6. Protective to a Fault

Henry is the kind of guy who’d walk you home in the rain, threaten anyone who talks bad about you, and carry a photo of you in his back pocket—even if it’s folded and worn. You’re the only softness in his life, and he’d ruin himself to keep you safe.

7. Struggles with Vulnerability

It’s hard for Henry to be emotionally open. But once, late at night under the stars or during a rare quiet moment, he’d let it slip—“I don’t deserve you… but I’ll fight like hell to keep you.”

8. Possessive but Loyal

Henry is intensely possessive. Once he’s into you, you’re his. He’ll glare at anyone who so much as looks your way too long. But his loyalty runs deep — he’d fight anyone for you without hesitation.

9. Not Good with Words (At First)

He struggles to express affection verbally. Compliments come out weird or aggressive-sounding, like: “You look… not bad today.” But if you stick with him, he’ll get more comfortable showing his feelings in his own gruff way.

10. Acts Tough, But Melts for You

Around others, he keeps his bad-boy front. But when you’re alone? Total softie. You’ll catch him playing with your hair, sneaking glances, and relaxing when he’s with you like you’re the only safe place in the world.

11. Protective to the Max

If he thinks you’re hurt, scared, or sad, he drops everything. He might not know how to comfort you, but he’ll try — whether it’s by wrapping an arm around you, offering to “take care of” whoever made you upset, or just silently staying close.

12. Jealous Easily

He hates feeling insecure, but can’t help getting jealous. He’s not always mature about it either. He’ll get snappy or act out — until you reassure him you only want him, which calms him down immediately.

13. Gives You His Jacket

Classic move. Even if he acts like it’s “no big deal,” seeing you wear his jacket secretly makes him feel proud and a little shy.

14. Physical Touch is His Love Language

He shows affection through touch — hand-holding, leaning against you, forehead kisses (only when no one’s watching), and protective arms around your waist in public.

15. Surprising Acts of Kindness

He’s not romantic in the traditional way, but every so often he’ll do something totally unexpected — fixing something for you, leaving a note, or awkwardly handing you your favorite snack with a muttered “Thought you’d want this.”

16. Hates Seeing You Cry

It throws him off. He doesn’t know what to say, but he’ll hold you tight and rub your back, whispering, “It’s okay, I’m here.”

17. Would Never Let Anyone Hurt You

Whether it’s a bully, an ex, or a threat — emotional or physical — Henry’s first instinct is to stand between you and danger. He’s a fighter, and for you, he’ll always fight.

Patrick

🔪 Patrick Hockstetter as a Boyfriend – Headcanons

1. Possessive and Territorial

Patrick doesn’t like to share. Not your time, your attention, or your affection. He treats you like his — in an obsessive, almost primal way. If someone touches you, expect cold glares and veiled threats.

2. Dangerously Charming

He has this eerie charm — a crooked grin, too-long stares, and a voice that makes everything sound like a dare. People think he’s creepy (they’re right), but around you, there’s something magnetic.

3. Touch-Oriented in a Weird Way

He’s oddly physical — always brushing against you, leaning in close, grabbing your wrist or waist like he’s staking a claim. It’s not always soft, but it’s always intense. He needs to feel you.

4. Emotionally Detached… Except With You

Patrick is emotionally distant from everyone else. But with you, sometimes he lets his guard down. It’s rare, and when it happens, he gets quiet, almost confused by how much he feels something.

5. Secretly Craves Affection

He pretends he doesn’t care, but secretly he loves it when you run your fingers through his hair or cuddle him from behind. He might even lean into it with a smug little smirk, like he’s getting away with something.

6. Twisted Humor

He jokes about everything — especially dark or inappropriate things — but sometimes you catch him saying something sweet in the weirdest way possible. Like calling you his “favorite freak” with a wink.

7. Wild and Reckless Adventures

He loves chaos — sneaking into abandoned places, setting off fireworks, breaking rules. He’ll drag you along and laugh like a maniac the whole time. You’re the only one who gets to see the fun side without fear.

8. Dark Secrets, Deep Loyalties

Patrick keeps secrets — a lot of them. But he never lies to you. If he trusts you (which takes time), he’s completely honest in his own blunt, disturbing way.

9. Mood Swings

He can go from calm and quiet to cold and intense in seconds. But you learn how to read him — when to give him space, when to pull him back from the edge. He doesn’t say it, but he needs that.

10. Would Burn the World for You

If you’re his, then you’re the only thing in the world that matters. He’d hurt people for you. He’d keep you close like a secret and protect you in the most terrifying ways. You make him feel real — and that’s dangerous in the best (and worst) way.

Victor

❤️ Victor Criss as a Boyfriend – Headcanons

1. The Calm in the Chaos

Victor is the most level-headed of the Bowers gang, and that carries into his relationship. He’s the kind of boyfriend who keeps his cool when everything else is falling apart — especially when Henry is being unhinged. He’s your emotional anchor.

2. Quiet but Attentive

He doesn’t talk your ear off, but he’s always listening. He remembers the little things — how you like your coffee, what song you hum when you’re nervous, that one book you said you loved once.

3. Protective in a Chill Way

He doesn’t act tough just to show off. But if someone messes with you? He won’t yell — he’ll step in, low voice, deadly stare, making it clear: “Back. Off.” No drama. Just danger.

4. Secretly Super Affectionate

Behind closed doors, Victor is all about soft touches and cuddles. He’s the type to drape his arm over your shoulder, brush his thumb across your knuckles when you’re holding hands, and lean against you like he belongs there.

5. Acts Like He Doesn’t Care — But Cares A Lot

He’ll roll his eyes and say “whatever,” but he’s already thinking about how to help you feel better. If you’re upset, he won’t make a big deal — he’ll just sit next to you in silence, letting you talk or not, until you’re ready.

6. Skate Park Dates & Smoke Break Talks

He’s the type to take you to the edge of town, somewhere quiet, where the two of you can hang out, pass a cigarette, talk about the things you don’t say out loud around anyone else.

7. Loyal Ride-or-Die

Victor isn’t fake. If he’s with you, he’s with you. No games, no lies, just solid loyalty. You never have to wonder where you stand with him — once he lets you in, you’re in.

8. Reads People Well

He might not say much, but he notices everything. He can tell when you’re lying, when something’s bothering you, or when you need space — and he respects that without making you ask.

9. Wears His Jacket Around You Just So You’ll Steal It

He pretends to be annoyed when you steal his jacket, but he secretly loves it. He likes the way you look in it — and it smells like him, so it’s basically his version of marking you.

10. The “I’ve Got You” Kind of Love

He’s not about loud declarations or over-the-top romance. But he’ll walk you home in the rain, give you his hoodie when you’re cold, and tell you straight up, “I’ve got you. Always.

Belch

💙 Belch Huggins as a Boyfriend – Headcanons

1. Surprisingly Gentle Giant

Belch might hang with bullies, but he’s actually super soft with you. He’s quiet, kind, and always handles you like you’re something fragile — even if you’re just as tough as him.

2. Loyal to the Core

He doesn’t say much, but when he loves someone, he really loves them. He’s loyal like a big, protective dog. You could literally trip and fall and he’d blame the sidewalk for “hurting you.”

3. Lowkey Sweetheart

He remembers the little things — your favorite candy, the song you hum when you’re stressed, or that story you told once in passing. He’ll surprise you with those things like it’s no big deal, but it totally is.

4. Not Big on Words, Big on Actions

Belch doesn’t talk about his feelings much. But he’ll walk you home every day, fix stuff for you, carry your backpack without asking. That’s his way of saying “I care about you.”

5. Soft Laughs Just for You

Most people only ever hear him burp or grunt — but you get the soft, quiet chuckles. Especially when you catch him off guard with something dumb or cute. His smile is rare and real.

6. Hates the Way Henry Treats You (If You’re Not Part of the Gang)

He’s loyal to Henry, yeah, but if Henry ever crosses a line with you, Belch will step in — quietly but firmly. You’re his priority now.

7. Big Hands, Bigger Hugs

His hugs are the best. He wraps you up like a blanket, tucks your head under his chin, and just holds you like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

8. Gets Flustered When You Flirt With Him

He’s not used to being the center of affection, so when you’re playful or teasing, he blushes hard and stammers a little. It’s adorable.

9. Protective But Not Possessive

He trusts you. He’ll keep an eye on you in crowded places, sure, but he’s not going to flip out if someone talks to you. He will, however, get scary fast if someone disrespects you.

10. Will Fight for You, But Would Rather Be Your Peace

Belch will throw hands if he has to — but with you, he wants peace. You’re his safe place. He might be quiet, maybe a little rough around the edges, but he loves you in a way that’s steady and safe.

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