#If I actually work on this more this would only be part of chapter 1 cause it's way too short for a full chapter hehe | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mono-red-goblin-party · 2 days ago

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What You Can't Have: Part One

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: In an attempt to save your floundering music career, you accept the lead role in Mr. Right, a reality TV show with a massive following. All you have to do is fall in love with one of twenty perfect guys, and you'll have everything you've ever wanted. There's only one problem, and his name is Joel Miller. Your cameraman is infuriating, unfriendly, and entirely off-limits. So why can't you stop fantasizing about him?

Tags: AU, smut, medium angst, slow ish burn, no use of y/n, jealous!joel, dad!joel, extremely inaccurate production details because I want them to fuck

Part one preview: Joel may be life-ruining levels of hot with his mouth closed, but you could never be attracted to the patronizing jerk he becomes upon opening it. You tell the part of you that’s memorizing the slope of his chest to fuck off.

Word count: ~5.5K, This is prologue + chapter one

A/N: This is my first published fanfic, so please let me know what you think! I am back on tumblr after a literal decade because I am such a slut for Joel. Part two is in the works and it is thirsty. Comments would mean the world :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Prologue~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Top ten warning signs that your music career is over:

1. When Barnett Records releases your second album, you realize they’ve decided to name it Summerbash. 2. The label cuts all your original songs from the record. 3. When you complain about this to Grant Barnett, your producer and boyfriend of three years, he dumps you. A week before your thirtieth birthday. 4. You celebrate your thirtieth birthday. 5. Pitchfork rates the album a 1.5/10. You learn this from an article entitled “Summer-bash my head in”. 6. The “Summerbash Summer Splash” Tour is postponed. Indefinitely. 7. When Marlene – your manager – calls Barnett Records about a contract for your next album, the label doesn’t call back. 8. In fact, none of the record labels call back. 9. The only call Marlene does get is from the producers of a reality dating show called Mr. Right. They want to see if you’ll be their so-called Dream Girl next season. Because you’re now notoriously single and unemployed.

And the ultimate, irrefutable sign that your music career is over:

10. Marlene actually wants you to take the job.

“No,” you say. The music in the gym is always blasting, so you have to shout for Marlene to hear you. She originally convinced you to work out with her to build stamina for the Summerbash tour, and lately has been dragging you here with arguments about endorphins and you “not exactly being up to anything else”.

You raise your voice over the chorus of “Abracadabra” and continue your protest. “Absolutely not. Shows like that are completely humiliating.”

Marlene finishes her bench press and re-racks the barbell. Sometimes you think she deliberately breaks bad news to you here so that her insanely jacked arms add emphasis to her managerial authority. She sits up and levels you with a long stare.

“More humiliating than actually going on the Summer Splash Tour?” she asks, “because you were willing to do that, last I checked.”

You do not appreciate this comparison.

“This is not the same thing,” you say. “The tour would have involved actual singing. Mr. Right is a glorified beauty pageant.”

“I told them as much on the phone, actually.” Marlene gets up to pull plates off the bar and replace them with your much lighter ones. You give her a skeptical look, and she continues. “Well, not in so many words. I told them you’re a musician, not a reality star, and it would be a tough sell.” She nods to the bench. “You’re up.”

You lie back and brace yourself, then slowly lower the weight as Marlene spots you. It takes all your concentration to hold the right form, so you conveniently can’t interrupt her pitch.

“Apparently your career is a big draw for them,” she says. “If you take the role, they want to use one of your songs as intro music for the season. They even offered to pay for studio time if you want to record an original single for the show.”

You consider this as you finish your set. One single – even if you manage to write a good one – is not going to erase the legacy of Summerbash. But it’s the closest thing to a record deal you’ve seen in months. You struggle through your last rep and sit up.

“I get why you want me to do this,” you tell Marlene, “But it’s Mr. Right. I really don’t think it’s for me.”

“Oh, of course,” she says, rolling her eyes, “dating twenty eligible men is going to be so miserable for you.”

“Not dating,” you say, “marrying. One of them, at least.”

“Come on,” Marlene says. “Mr. Right has been on TV for twenty-four seasons. You know how many couples are still together? Three. Nobody on that show is really there to marry you.”

“I’ll still have to get engaged,” you protest.

“Maybe,” she says, “if you find someone you like. Or maybe you have a dramatic on-camera heartbreak. Either one gets you diehard fans.”

You don’t respond, and she drops to the bench beside you.

“I know you know this, but Summerbash only got fifty thousand streams,” she says. “No label is going to risk signing you after that, not unless you can guarantee better numbers. Do you know how many people watched the last Mr. Right season?Twenty million. You take this Dream Girl offer, you win over America, and I can get you your pick of labels.”

You let out a soft moan of despair and bury your head in your hands. Marlene tells the truth. It’s what you’ve always liked about her, but right now you want to hate her for it. Because when the facts are all in front of you, there’s really only one good choice.

You take the fucking part.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Chapter One~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m a girl with an Iceberg Heart, Little heart but big feelings Hard to stop once you make me start, All these layers you’re peeling.”

--“Iceberg Heart”, Summerbash Track No. 6. Lyrics by Grant Barnett. Vocals by You.

Tonight, you meet your Suitors. Your call sheet for the day has a six-hour window for “getting dressed”, with a handwritten annotation in perfect cursive reminding you to show up on time. Not that you could really be late, seeing as the dressing room is in your hotel suite. It’s a beautiful room, with plush white carpeting and large French doors that open to a balcony overlooking the LA skyline, but you can’t take it in at the moment. You’re perched on a stool in front of a vanity mirror, trying hard to stay still while Courtney – the official Dream Girl Stylist – glues the final few lashes onto your eyes.

In the mirror, the reflection of Eliza, the head Dream Girl producer, buzzes across the room looking for problems to solve. Eliza is beautiful in a sleek, professional way, with a blonde high pony and eternally flawless French manicure. She’s also the one who submitted your name to the show-runners as a potential Dream Girl, and you probably should resent her for this, but she reminds you of Marlene and you can’t dislike her. She told you once that she loves your album – not the new one, but your EP, Glass Slipper. She might have been lying to soften you up, you think. If so, it worked.

Eliza’s running a steamer over the already wrinkle-free folds of your dress when somebody knocks on the door. She puts the steamer down and checks her Apple watch. “It’s six fifty-seven, so that has to be your camera guy. I told him seven sharp.”

She opens the door and there’s a confusing instant before you spot the actual camera when you think one of the Suitors has found his way into your suite, because fuck, your cameraman is gorgeous.

He’s tall, with broad shoulders that stretch against the fabric of his snug green t-shirt. It’s probably not a good idea to stare at him, but you’ve been on a strict no-dating regimen since you signed the Mr. Right contract, and a part of you can’t help but take in the strong outline of his chest, the way his worn-out jeans hang low on his hips. His hair is dark, curls slightly overgrown. You notice a hint of gray at his temple and figure he’s a few years older than you, mid-thirties maybe.

You catch his steady gaze in the mirror. A tiny thrill runs through you. Did he notice you checking him out? Your cheeks warm and you might be imagining it but his expression shifts, a slight raise of an eyebrow. Oh, he noticed. Suddenly you’re remembering that all you have on is a satin robe and a no-show thong.

Eliza closes the door. Right. There are other people in the room.

“I want to introduce you to Joel Miller,” Eliza says, “He’s our best videographer, and he’s going to act as your personal cameraman this season.”

You tell him your name, and his tiny smirk widens.

“Reckon I already knew that” he says, and you’re almost too annoyed by his smartass comment to notice that even his voice is sexy, smooth and deep with a hint of drawl.

God, you need to get it together. Twenty of the hottest men in America are about to be vying for your affection. Marlene would kill you if she knew were drooling over someone else.

It turns out Joel is here to shoot a handful of “getting ready” shots for the first episode. Eliza brings in a few PAs and Joel asks them to reposition the vanity three times before he’s satisfied with the lighting. Then Eliza hands you a mascara wand and tells you to look in the mirror and pretend to apply it to your lashes.

“Think about your future husband,” she says, “the man of your dreams is probably driving up in a limo this very moment. Look in the mirror and imagine how it will feel when you find him.”

Really, you’re stuck trying to imagine how anyone could believe these are your natural lashes, and it must be obvious because Joel is frowning into his camera behind you.

“Light still ain’t right,” he mutters. His hand settles on your shoulder as he guides you backward, turning you toward the window, the soft light of the sun just starting to set.

He takes a step back and trains the camera on you again. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Beautiful.”

You know he’s talking about the shot, but your skin heats up at the soft praise.

Eliza leans over Joel’s shoulder and confirms that the shot is “dreamy”, and then she’s whisking everyone out of the suite so Courtney can get you into your opening night dress. It’s a soft pink evening gown, slightly low-cut and fitted down to the waist with an A-line skirt that flows to your ankles. Eliza had final say over tonight’s gown. She wants this one to“reintroduce you to America.” No longer a pop star, but a princess.

This isn’t the first outfit you’ve been told to wear in your career, and hardly the worst of them. It’s nothing compared to the cover of Summerbash, which, as per the Barnett exec’s directive, depicts you clad only in sky-blue soap suds. You never want to be labeled difficult by complaining about little things like styling. You certainly don’t plan on rocking the boat tonight, especially since you don’t exactly have a closet of your own “Dream Girl meets her Suitors” looks. But it feels strange to play dress-up on the biggest stage of your career.

The door cracks open. Eliza calls in to see if you’re decent, and then she’s back with Joel and the PAs. Now that the sun is setting, they want a few shots of you outside in your dress.

Joel positions you in the center of the balcony, arms spread out, facing away from him. It's just the two of you outside. Silence stretches between you, and you’re not sure why but it makes you uncomfortable to stand there under his quiet scrutiny.

“So, are you from the south?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

“Where from?”

“Texas.”

No elaboration. Cool. Clearly Joel Miller is not much of a conversationalist, and this shouldn’t annoy you, but it does. You’re the goddamn Dream Girl, aren’t you supposed to be good at talking to men?

You try again. “Are you looking forward to filming this season?”

He gives a noncommittal grunt.

“So, hard yes?”

Joel doesn’t reply, and you figure he’s decided to ignore you completely when he breaks the silence.

“Y’know, the shot’s gonna be just as good if we don’t talk to each other while I take it.”

Fuck, he’s exasperating. You roll your eyes, grateful that the camera can’t see you, and you hear a small huff of laughter from behind you.

“I’m gonna need you to relax,” Joel says, “You look real tense on camera.”

“The back of my head looks tense?”

“Well, that too, but you’ve got a fierce grip on that railing.”

You let go instantly. A hot spike of indignation runs through you. Somehow Joel has had the upper hand since he walked into your suite.

Behind you, Joel lets out a low chuckle. You feel him move close, then he places your arms one by one back on the railing. You’re becoming increasingly convinced this guy is a nightmare, but some horny, treacherous part of your brain notes that his touch is surprisingly gentle on your skin.

“You know,” you say, “some consider it common decency to try and get to know a person you’re about to be glued to for the next six weeks.”

“That so?” He’s teasing you now, a playful current in his voice. “Because I’d say the decent thing is to let a man do his job in peace.”

Asshole. You say as much out loud.

He is tone is entirely unaffected when he responds.

“I ain’t paid to be nice to you, Dream Girl.”

Obviously not.

It’s a bit of a relief, to be honest. Joel may be life-ruining levels of hot with his mouth closed, but you could never be attracted to the patronizing jerk he becomes upon opening it. You tell the part of you that’s been memorizing the slope of his chest to fuck off. It’s time to meet your Suitors.

----

You’re standing on your mark in front of the Mr. Right Villa, fresh out of a final hair-and-makeup check with Courtney. Eliza budgeted four hours for you to meet twenty men, which seems excessive. Then again, you’re already running five minutes behind. Joel wasn’t satisfied with the camera crew’s setup, so the PAs are putting up an additional reflector in the driveway. Eliza is taking advantage of the delay to run through tonight’s events one more time with you.

“You’ll only have a few moments with the Suitors now. They have to say their names for the camera, but don’t worry about remembering. Just focus on the connection you feel.”

You nod. “Got it.”

“After they greet you, they’ll go ahead inside the Villa. Feel free to – ”

“Watch them walk away,” you cut in, “And comment out loud if they’re especially hot. I remember.”

Eliza’s brow furrows. “Are you nervous? You seem nervous.”

“Tense.” Joel offers, raising an eyebrow at you. Asshole.

“I’m fine,” you reassure Eliza.

You’re not fine. You’re nervous as shit. You’ve been on camera before, to film music videos, but always dancing or lip-syncing. You’ve never just had to be you, and it’s hitting you now that this whole season rests on your shoulders. You need to be electric. If you’re stiff, or rude, or boring, the fans will hate you.

The panic must show on your face because Eliza sighs. “You’re totally spiraling, aren’t you?”

You close your eyes. “Okay, yes, a little.”

“Talk to me,” she says.

You keep your eyes closed for a moment. You want to tell Eliza that you don’t even know how to connect with people if you can’t impress them with your career, that the only man you’ve ever maybe loved dropped you the second you screwed up, that you’re afraid all the Suitors will just see right through you. But there are already B-roll cameras recording you.

You open your eyes and sigh. “I think it’s just hitting me how surreal it is that I’m America’s Dream Girl.”

Behind Eliza, you notice Joel is done fiddling with his new reflector. He’s trained the camera on you and is staring into its screen, undoubtedly clocking every moment of your freakout. Great. His eyes flit up to meet yours, and his expression shifts slightly as he holds your gaze. You break the eye contact and focus on the producer in front of you.

Eliza smiles softly and squeezes your arm. “Believe it or not, the lead feels like this every season. But you deserve to be here. You’re going to be an incredible Dream Girl.” She takes her phone out of her pocket and pulls something up on it.

“Technically phones are contraband,” she says, winking at you, “but I came prepared for night one jitters.” She passes you the phone and you realize she’s showing you footage Joel filmed earlier tonight. “I want you to see yourself the way America will see you,” she says.

The footage is incredible. Linen curtains part in the wind, letting through a shaft of amber light. The camera follows the light until it falls on an ethereal woman – you – touching up her makeup in a mirror. The mascara application felt stilted in the moment, but under Joel’s lens it comes across artistic. He’s positioned the camera so that it catches the fringes of evening light on your eyelashes. In the glass, your reflection is exquisite, her satin robe shimmering as she moves, shadow pooling beneath her exposed clavicles. Yes, the makeup she’s fixing is already perfect, yes, she’s a touch uncertain, but somehow this makes her seem human, desirable. You watch as her breath hitches, a flush spreading over her skin, and oh. You are the picture of romance.

Next is the balcony shot. The camera walks through the curtains to find you gazing out at the city, your silhouette haloed in gold. There’s a zoom-in of your hands lifting restlessly from the railing, then another full body shot as a sigh settles through your shoulders. The woman on the screen has a perfect view before her, but Joel makes it clear her mind is elsewhere. She’s aching for something more. She’s the perfect Dream Girl, and she’s yearning for love.

The footage ends. Your skin is burning. You can’t bring yourself to glance at Joel, but you look up at Eliza.

“Do you see?” she says, taking back the phone. “You belong here.”

You nod wordlessly. The girl on the screen isn’t here by accident. She already is the fantasy. You take a deep breath. You can do this.

Eliza is still looking at you with concern.

“Thank you,” you say, “for being the best producer a girl could ask for. I think I’m ready to flirt with some very hot men now.”

Eliza grins. “Attagirl. Let’s tell this love story.”

She strides off camera, shooing the remaining crew members out of frame, then radios into her walkie-talkie that you’re ready for the first limo. You shoot a glance at Joel as it pulls in, belatedly wanting to thank him somehow, but he’s fixated on his camera screen, ignoring you. Right then. You turn to face the car.

The limo comes to a stop and a PA opens the door. Your heart races. A tall Asian man steps out onto the driveway. He’s dressed in a deep blue suit, and you notice his hands jitter as he closes the button on his jacket. He meets your eye and gives you a shy smile. You smile back automatically as he walks toward you.

Up close, he’s even taller than you thought, easily a head above you despite your stilettos. He’s also incredibly handsome, with high cheekbones and long, thick eyelashes. He hovers in front of you for a moment. His eyes jump to the cameras behind you, then back to your face.

“This is crazy,” he blurts out. His eyes widen in horror. “I mean, good evening.”

“Good evening,” you say back.

“Thank you,” he says, and you watch him cringe. There’s a pause. In your periphery, you watch Joel pacing a few steps closer to get a shot of you over the contestant’s shoulder. You probably look like an ice queen on camera. How can you salvage this?

You reach out and take the contestant’s hand.

“It’s okay,” you say, “I’m nervous too.”

He sighs shakily and runs a hand through his hair.

“Fuck,” he says, “Two seconds into meeting my celebrity crush, and I’ve called you crazy, forgotten how to speak, and now I’m cursing on camera.”

“Technically you didn’t call me crazy,” you reply, “and if I swear too will it make you feel less like a fuck-up?”

He laughs, a bit of the tension washing out of him. “You know, I read once that swearing actually helps us relieve stress. There was a psychological study where they measured people’s heart rates before and after they cursed, and their vitals improved every time.”

“Really?” You tilt your head at him. “Do all bad words work? Would ‘shit’ get me just as calm as ‘fuck’?”

“I don’t know.” He crinkles his brow. “And I can’t look it up, so the only way we can find out is via experiment. I think we’re going to have to test this out on our dates.”

“Oh, so we’re going on dates?”

“I hope so,” he replies. He takes your other hand and looks you in the eye. “If you can’t tell already, I’m really excited to be here. I even planned a whole introduction for us that didn’t involve profanity.”

Over his shoulder, Eliza is giving you the wrap it up signal. You squeeze the Suitor’s hands.

“Well, I can’t fucking wait to hear more about this would-be introduction later.”

“Sounds good,” he says, and he pulls you into a quick embrace before walking past you into the Villa.

You’re beyond grateful to have producers who know you well enough to send such a sweet guy out first. You try to play up an optimistic, love-struck expression. You’re about to comment on how cute he is when you see Eliza’s frustrated expression. All at once, you realize what you forgot.

You turn toward the Villa to call out to the Suitor, but he’s already running back. Joel backs out of the way as the man skids to a stop in front of you.

“Holy shit,” he says, “I completely forgot to tell you my name.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Henry.”

You shake his hand, amused at the formality of the gesture. “It’s very nice to meet you, Henry.”

He beams, then impulsively pulls you in for a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you inside,” he says, then jogs back toward the Villa as you laugh for the cameras.

Eliza is practically shaking with excitement by the time the door closes behind Henry. She shoots you a thumbs up over Joel’s shoulder. “That was perfect! I told you, you’re a natural!” She looks around at the crew. “We all good for the next guy?”

“Just a minute.” Joel’s gruff voice ends the moment of celebration as he strides over to you. He places a hand on the small of your back and guides you two steps forward. “We need you to stay on your mark,” he says, “Okay? And it’ll help me keep your face in frame if you cheat out at an angle from the men.”

Now that you’ve seen how good Joel is, you shove aside your frustration at his overbearing comments and try to follow his lead. You pivot your body slightly. “Like this?”

“Hang on.” He steers you into position. He’s barely a foot away, so close that you can see stubble dusting his jaw. He smells of woodsmoke and leather.

“There you go,” he mutters. He removes his hand and steps back, snapping into focus as he gives you instructions. “If you’re ever not sure about a shot, look at me, right? If you can see the camera without having to lean around anybody, all good.”

“Got it.”

He pauses for a moment. “You’re not doing terrible,” he says.

Gee thanks.

The limo exits continue. Plenty of the men are nervous, but no one else forgets to say their own name. A few of the contestants have customized their introductions for you. A dark-haired Suitor with a one-word named brings you fan mail from his niece. Solomon, a tattoo-covered guy who can’t be older than twenty-five, unbuttons his shirt to show a glass slipper inked on his ribcage. The most memorable of these Suitors is Lucas, a burly guy a little older than you, who steps from the limo in a recreation of your sky-blue soap suds from the Summerbash cover.

The remaining Suitors use their limo entrances to tell you about themselves. Mike, a soft-spoken paramedic, hands you a stethoscope so you can hear his heart racing. A Suitor named Jasper wants to teach you how to ballroom dance, and usually you’d be thrilled at the chance, but at this point you’ve been standing in the Villa driveway for two hours, and you’re suspicious that the stilettos Courtney chose for you tonight are actually medieval torture devices.

Your feet are killing you. These heels look great with your evening gown, and they felt okay when you tested them out in your suite. But now the straps are digging into you, and you’re pretty sure there are blisters forming on your toes. When Jasper leads you through a figure eight, it takes everything you have not to wince. Dream Girls do not grimace at their Suitors.

You do your best to keep the pain from showing, but you practically sob with relief by the time the last of the Suitors – an ex-hockey player whose name you’ve already forgotten – gives you a hug and heads into the Villa. You’ve made it.

Eliza runs out to congratulate you. “You did great! And you worked fast. We’re fifteen minutes ahead. We’re never ahead night one!”

The contestants still have filming to do without you, so you get to take a break. Hopefully a sitting-down break.

The crew disperses. Joel strides off without a word as soon as Eliza says you’re done. A few PAs start disassembling the outdoor lighting. Everyone else heads inside the Villa. There’s a big bedroom on the second floor that producers have set up as a green room, complete with a coffee maker, mini fridge and old leather couch. You make a beeline for the couch and sink down, barely suppressing a moan of relief. You want nothing more than to take off your heels, but you don’t think you have it in you to put them back on when the time comes.

Eliza perches on the other side of the couch. You feel as though you’ve been to war, but she’s still exuberant as ever. It’s probably because she gets to wear sneakers. She leans off the couch to open the mini fridge, extracting a water bottle and an energy drink, then hands both to you.

“Drink,” she orders, “We’re going to film until dawn at least.”

You drink, and the two of you sit in silence for a few minutes while you recover. Then Eliza checks her watch and sends the remaining crew members in the room to go find Courtney. She gets up herself to run and get "girl talk supplies", pausing on her way out.

“Just think,” she says, “one of these guys is your husband!”

You lay back on the couch once she’s gone. It’s the first real moment alone you’ve had since waking up this morning, and being America’s Dream Girl has tired you out. You close your eyes and try to practice dissociating from your feet so you can get through the upcoming cocktail party.

You hear the doorknob turn and open your eyes, expecting to go through cast photos with Eliza. But Eliza isn’t back yet. Instead, you see Joel slip into the room, something tucked behind his back. His gaze slides over you.

“Hey, Dream Girl.”

His voice is heavy, and you realize he’s nearly as exhausted as you are.

“Hey, Miller,” you reply, closing your eyes again. “I thought you weren’t talking to me.”

“I ain’t,” he grumbles. You hear him settle on the other end of the couch. “At least no more than I got to.”

You’re about to point out that he initiated this conversation and very much does not have to be talking right now when he speaks again.

“Open your eyes.”

You obey, and suddenly you realize what he was hiding behind his back. You sit up all at once.

“Joel.”

Shoes.

He brought you shoes. Flip-flops. Yours. He must have gone right to your hotel room after Eliza called for a break. You stare at him in wordless gratitude.

He meets your eyes and for an instant he’s smiling at you, really smiling. A warm band tightens in your chest. His expression stiffens and he drops his gaze. He hands you the shoes and stands up, walking over to the coffee pot.

“Don’t think this is me being nice to you or anything,” he says.

“Definitely not,” you agree, bending down to free your feet. “There is absolutely nothing kind or friendly about this heroic deed of yours.”

Joel scowls. The coffee in the pot is long-cold by now, but he pours himself a cup of dregs anyway and regards you steadily as he puts it in the microwave. “You were fucking up all my footage out there, hobbling around. No one’s gonna believe you’re in love, looking like that.”

“I’m not in love,” you say, glancing up at him, “I’ve known these guys for two minutes.”

You don’t know why you feel the need to press this point to Joel. Maybe because Eliza expects you to be so smitten already.

Joel doesn’t respond to this. He pulls his coffee from the microwave before the timer goes off and drinks it in silence, then turns to rinse the mug. You undo the last few straps of your heels, then ease your feet free with a soft sigh of relief. Warily, you eye your stilettos. Courtney or Eliza will almost certainly make you put them back on before filming.

As if he’s read your mind, Joel returns and bends to pick up the cast-off heels.

“Gotta get rid of the evidence,” he explains, his brown eyes dancing. “If Eliza complains about the change-up, tell her I said we’re done with full-body shots for the evening. Then mention that we’ll get behind schedule if you change your shoes.”

You nod, and he turns to leave the room. This is the second time Joel has helped you tonight. It makes you uneasy, owing him something. You try to think of the right way to thank him.

“It’s beautiful, by the way.”

Your words catch him as he’s reaching the door. He pauses, looks at you questioning.

“Your footage, that is,” you explain. You feel hot under his scrutiny. You think of the clips Eliza showed you, all the cracks in your composure that Joel somehow made beautiful. He can see right through you. The thought sets you on edge, and you speak to fill the quiet.

“I feel like you could take footage of a rock and make it tell a story.”

Joel’s expression is unreadable.

“If the rock’s still an option, I reckon it would be easier to work with,” he finally says, but there’s a tension in his voice. Is this what “pleased” looks like on Joel Miller? He tilts his head in your direction as he opens the door to leave.

“See you outside, Cinderella.”

Not your name, not “Dream Girl”. He probably just intends to poke fun at your missing shoes, but you wonder if he’s referencing Glass Slipper. Does Joel Miller, unapologetic asshole, sexy perfectionist and, apparently, part-time knight in shining armor, listen to your music?

#joel miller x reader #tlou fic #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #what you can't have fic #monored writes #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us au

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heavensbeehall · 3 days ago

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SOTR Reread, Chapter 1

Oh I'm so excited to have a narrator I actually like!

Though Haymitch is unlike Coriolanus in that respect, I do think their narration styles are more similar than either is to Katniss's narration. She has a very specific voice, that I love. But it's like a person in fight or flight at all times (or an autistic person, depending on your reading), she has a very narrow view. I mean, half the "fun" of the first book for me was knowing that Peeta was on her side and giggling when she thinks he'd eat people.

Haymitch reads as more wordly in some respects, even though he has not left 12 either. He always attributes things he knows to Lenore Dove somehow, but I think he is himself--on his own--very smart. Part of what he likes about Lenore Dove is that he sees someone who thinks about the things he thinks about, or knows things he doesn't. And he's just fucking enchanted by that. Look how smart Lenore Dove is! Though he never says the same about himself.

Coriolanus is older than either Katniss or Haymitch (18 to their 16) and more educated. He's said to be very observant. And Haymitch has that same vibe. The boys are more guarded, more caution. They think about most everything they say, and what ramifications it might have. Katniss is all instinct all the time.

I don't think it's an accident that in this first chapter, where we learn about his family situation (mother who does wash, dead father and younger sibling/s) that it evokes Gale Hawthorne's family more than Katniss'. Gale is also older, cunning and very aware of how the Capitol works. And he has an encounter with a town girl in the first chapter of THG--though Haymitch seems more open-minded about Asterid.

Miracle of miracles, Haymitch has a parent who functions as a parent. Both the Grandmam and Asterid have illnesses that make them distant, forcing the older girls to step in and fuction as a parent. He does not worry if his Ma will be okay on her own, and that leaves him more of an ability to be a kid than Katniss ever had. The scene here where his mom asks him to do chores and he's like "don't wanna" is so normal teen, it makes me wanna cry.

Haymitch uses almost all of that freed up mental space for romance. To be this is kind of typical of teenagers to become kind of obsessive about their significant other. And it is important in the world of District 12, even Katniss admits that marrying and who you marry is one of the only freedoms they have. They don't get to decide what their profession will be, where they will live, what they will study, or anything that we would consider "normal" decisions for a 16-year-old boy.

Actually, Haymitch has chosen a job (though maybe not a "profession") in this chapter. He mentions a few other jobs that pay worse than bootlegging, suggesting he has done those already but settled on working with Hattie. He's willing to risk getting sent to the stocks for it, as Katniss is willing to go outside the fence as well.

Speaking of outside the fence, Haymitch goes through the graveyard and not the meadow. (He comes back via the meadow.) Do we think the Still is in a different direction? I want a map.

Other things Haymitch has in common with Katniss, tesserae. They each have the same number of entries: 20. But neither of them are picked.

Louella McCoy is picked. I love the detail that she "scowls" (a word that evokes Peeta in the cave) and tries "look tough" because that is what Katniss did, so right away we know who this girl is. And where THG had Prim and Rue, two young girls doomed by the narrative; SotR has Louella and Lou Lou, two young girls doomed by the narrative.

I forgot Wyatt is supposed to be older than Haymitch, nearing 19.

#sotr spoilers #thg reread sotr #sotr #sunrise on the reaping #the hunger games #haymitch abernathy #katniss everdeen

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akirakirxaa · 2 years ago

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FFXIV Write Day 3: Extra Credit

Rating: Teen

Wordcount: 771

Warnings: Major injuries, Endwalker Spoilers

Summary: Two dear friends decide to stay after all.

Master Post

Everything was agony.

Every breath, every muscle twitch. Akira had pushed beyond her limits before, but this was something else. Maybe if she hadn’t already given everything she had to stopping the Endsinger, this would have been nothing. Just another fight, another foe felled.

But she had. She had given everything and, despite it, she gave more. Chose to give more. And though the rival that had dogged her steps since — gods, it felt like a lifetime ago that they had fought at Rhalgar’s Reach — lay still and silent not a few arm-lengths away, she feared she would not be long behind him. She won, but at what cost?

She thought of her friends. Would they even know what had happened? How long would they wait before they realized she wasn’t coming? Would they even know where to look for her?

She gazed out at the endless sky. At least it was a peaceful place to die. She knew many who went before her that were not so lucky. She watched the sky as darkness gathered at the edges of her vision, until she could no longer hold her eyes open. A heaviness crept at the edges of her consciousness.

“Dammit, Hero!” She heard a familiar, an impossible, voice, and she tried to respond, tried to reopen her eyes, but she was just so, so tired. She felt a hand take hers, and she tried to grip it, to twitch her fingers, anything, but she just had nothing left in her.

The darkness surged, and she fell into the black.

~*~

Hades grit his teeth in frustration. How was he supposed to get any rest when she went around throwing her life away every time he tried? He called out to her again, but she didn’t respond, the only proof that she let lived the shallow movements of her chest.

He should just let her meet her fate. He should return to the lifestream and get on with his own well deserved rest. But somehow the idea of it just felt horrifically wrong.

The idea that she would just be left to rot so far from home rankled, and so here he was, going back on his own word that he would never accept Hydaelyn’s magic to continue living. And he knew, could feel, that if he didn’t return to the lifestream now that this would be permanent. He heard the quiet sound, not unlike that of teleportation, and calm footsteps that heralded the arrival of he whom Hades had been ready to burn the world down to get back.

“You don’t have to come with me,” the words were gruff, rueful. Hades would not deny Hythlodaeus the rest he also deserved after everything the Convocation’s decisions had put him through.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” Hythlodaeus smiled warmly at him, and Hades couldn’t find the resolve to argue otherwise with him. Maybe he was too selfish after everything, but if he was going to stay, he would rather have Hythlodaeus with him.

Especially when there was no guarantee that Akira would even want him around.

He had seen the tears she held back when they left just before the final confrontation, but emotions were riding high, surely they were not for him.

Hythlodaeus brushed his hair back as he stepped forward, crouching on Akira’s other side and running a hand, hovering just over her body, along her. The healing magic glowed, stabilizing her though she still did not respond to Hades’ prompting.

“Do you know how to get to her ship?” Hythlodaeus asked, and Hades grit his teeth. No, no he didn’t. Their view from the lifestream, from their connection to Azem’s crystal, was not perfect. But just as Hades was about to go looking on his own, there was a flash and a small blue bird appeared before them, clutching a flat tablet in its claws. Hythlodaeus started towards it, but Hades stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, approaching instead.

It will take you to her friends, Meteion’s voice echoed in his head, and he snatched the tablet, still feeling less than charitable towards the creation. He passed it to Hythlodaeus with a quick “Hold this” as he stooped to scoop up Akira’s still disturbingly lifeless form.

This is not pointless she’s still breathing several of her friends are healers surely they will be able to fix this.

Hythlodaeus took one of her limp hands and, somewhat awkwardly one handed, pressed the largest button on the pad. The two ancients exchanged an apprehensive glance just as the tablet activated, and the three of them vanished.

#ffxiv #endwalker spoilers #hyth and hades stay au #rough draft #ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite #oc: akira kirxaa #ship: the bitter truth #hythwolemet #hythlodaeus x wol x emet-selch #hythlodaeus #emet-selch #If I actually work on this more this would only be part of chapter 1 cause it's way too short for a full chapter hehe #my fanfiction #verse: an echo calling me

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missadangel · 2 months ago

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MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 1: Blind Date

series masterlist next chapter

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

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

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

"Story of my life," you mumbled.

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

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

How do you even tolerate her?

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

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

Except for the young lady of the house.

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

Why?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You did what?” you wailed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if I want it so much, you thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Melanie, right?"

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

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

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

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

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

“S-sure,” you said sheepishly.

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

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

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

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

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

"Do something to make him hate you already!"

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

"Don't you dare!" she barked.

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Seriously?”

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

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

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

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

Beep… Beep… Beep…

She hung up.

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

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

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

Your first move: act indifferent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell was that?

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

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

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

How could he be so nice, even after everything?

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

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

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

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

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

Crap. Another mess-up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure,” you replied, feeling shy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks for the ride—”

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

“You were lying, weren’t you?”

Shit.

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

“I-I…”

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

You were fucked.

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

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

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

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

What next?

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

Yes, you had saved her as trouble.

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you exclaimed.

He grinned.

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

“One chance,” he said firmly.

“A chance of what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that so funny?” you snapped.

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

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

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

“I'm so fucked.”

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

#fanfiction #fanfic #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal #pedro pascal gifs #pedro pascal fanfiction #the materialist #harry castillo #materialists #harry castillo x reader #randy castillo

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velaenam · 2 months ago

Text

𝟏𝟎-𝟒

◦ ♡

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 – non!mc. t minus 36 hours before captain caleb would be stationed overseas for war. he wanted to make his couple hours matter. with you. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 – NSFW!! (18+) NASTY.. DIRTY..SMUT!!! . wartime setting/era, swearing, overstimulation, cunnilingus, blow jobs, missionary, lots of touching, creampie, groping, penetration, fingering, clit stimulation, fluff (i guess....LOL) notes – not proofread. haha.. idk im loving this. was gonna make it a one off, buut... i have plans.. if u want to be on taglist lmk! likes n reblogs are greatly appreciated! 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 1 of 3 | next chapter

you smack your lips together, your red velvety lips kissing the mirror. it was friday night, and even more so, it was ‘thank you troops!’ night . you were excited. more customers, more tips, more sexy men in uniforms. your favorite part of the job. you were almost done with the last year of your college, then it was off your own country of choosing to continue your studies! you were so excited. spring break was right around the corner– and by right around, it started today because it was friday freaking night, and the bar was going to be crazy!

as you walk out of the employee room the bell in the middle of the bar rings. it indicates that a unlucky someone had to pay the round for everybody in there. there were screams and cheering as an unlucky pilot shook his head, laughing in disbelief.

“ha! captain caleb got the bell!”

“yeah yeah enjoy the drink.” he laughs, as you approach the men, getting behind the bar, you watch as darts flew, and listen to glasses clink. you pick up the sound of someone grumbling over a lost bet. but most importantly your eyes land on him. he’s sitting there, leaning over the counter, quiet in the middle of all the noise, fingers grasping his drink like it was the only thing tethering him here.

you dip towards him, cleaning the counter with your rag as you lean towards him, a grin on your face. “is this your brooding war hero face, captain caleb?” he snaps from his thoughts, caleb looks you over, “you think i’m a war hero?” you nod, like a child in awe, “ya got the jawline for it.” he gives you a silent stare, before a chuckle escapes his lips, dragging his glass towards you. “is that why you’re talking to me? for the jawline?” you pick his cup up, and raise in an angle towards the spout, meticulously watching as the ale fills up, making sure there were no bubbles– or as best as you could, “well..for one, i work the bar… for two..” you slide the beverage towards him, placing a towel below it, “i had a feeling you were about to leave without giving me your name.”

“seems like you already had it.” he states matter-o-factly, as he tips the glass onto his lips, you chuckle, leaning into his view. he sets the drink down, elbows on the bar, and his smile playing somewhere between charm and challenge. “well..” your slender fingers go to tap the name on his jacket, “captain caleb… wasn’t that hard, huh.”

“what makes you think i wasn’t waiting for you to ask hm?” you rolled your eyes, cheeks puffed up, sliding a drink to a patron near him, “ that sounds like something a pilot would say.” you say smartly, turning your attention to him. his eyebrow raises, very clearly entertained, “oh? and what do pilots sound like to you?”

you lean in, giggles escaping your lips, as you take your pinky finger and thumb, fixed as a phone, pulling it towards your lips and ear. you make a static sound as if you were mimicking a walkie talkie, “this is captain caleb, over.” you burst into fits of laughter afterwards. caleb couldn’t figure if it was the alcoholic warmth or your infections beauty, and laugh.. he’d chalk it up to being both. he clears his throat, and mimicking your fingers, and placing it upon his lips and ear as well before going, “it’s actually: 10-4, captain caleb out.” you bit your lip smiling as he continued to talk to you in his pilot voice. you stare at him, deadpan, then burst into a fit, “yknow, i don’t even know what that means. but it sounds good. you sound good.” you flirt, obnoxiously so. you were young, naive, probably not gonna see this sexy man for a year or whatever, you only live once, right?

“you are so funny. if i’m being honest, i’m kind of sad you’re leaving so soon. you seem sweet.” you mutter, as you touch his shoulder. the bar was quiet now, the liveliness was dead– everyone was gone for the night, and you were the designated closer. caleb offered to keep you company as you finished cleaning the bar, restocking and getting everything ready for the next shift.

he went ahead to tell you about his mission. he was a pilot being deployed with the men that he had taken to the bar with him tonight. you listen, as he explained what he did, without giving you the nitty gritty, nor exposing any confidential information. he figured, you probably weren’t going to remember this shit by the next couple months.

to him, you were a young, beautiful woman. a vixen, with a sharp tongue, but you laughed so soft– so sweet, tender, like an apple pie– his favorite. if he could just jump ships– literally, and ask you out on a date, he would. but unfortunately, his life lives harshly, and he couldn’t do it.

you finish locking the front door as you turn to see him waiting for you. the moonlight played into this man. his features luminated. kept brown hair, purple eyes tinted as it stares into you, and his white service uniform, brightening him, as if he was an angel sent down from heaven.

you walk towards him, and he places his hat in his non-dominant hand, and the other raises to meet your manicured ones. he lifts them, placing a soft kiss on your knuckle as he takes the lead, walking you towards the parking lot. you felt serene, but you also felt gut wrenched. why did the one man you were actually interested in, had to leave so soon already? fate is such a cruel mistress.

you both stop at your vehicle, and he chuckles, his hands gliding up to your door, and opening it for you. the bar wasn’t low, but you loved a man who was chivalrous. you gave him such a bittersweet smile, “you’re leaving tomorrow?” you ask once again, and he gives you a pained smile, before nodding.

as you think of what to say next, calebs eye twinkle, he leans down, lips near your ear as he speaks low, “our night doesn’t have to end right now.” he mutters, just barely above a whisper. your knees buckle, feeling the knot in your stomach burst into butterflies. as he pulls away, you stare up at him, biting your lip.

without saying much he leads you to his own car, his hands never leaving yours, as he opens the passenger side for you. you quickly get in, and he leans in, gripping the seatbelt, and connecting it across your body, and a kiss on your cheek. you didn’t even have time to react, you were just awestruck by his sweetness.

you quietly listen to the tap of his credit card as you stand next to him, his hands intertwined with yours. the soft spoken woman behind the counter slides the keycard in front of you both, “your room is 304. please enjoy, and call us if you need anything!” he nods for you to take the keycard, as his other hand was preoccupied with a bag of stuff you and him had bought spontaneously.

you felt like a stupid giddy girl as you both rush to the elevator. he wanted you bad, but he had to restrain himself. public stunts were not his forte, and well– you were worth the wait, to him. he guides you, and lets go of your hand. his finger swipes the card from you–gently, as he tugs the door knob down and opening the door.

the room is soft, warm, a lamp already turned on, and he walks in first, gently dropping the bag on the mini kitchen counter. he turns back to you, silhouetted by the light, “you coming in, or were you just here for the walk?” he mutters, as he starts to tug on his suit. you nod quietly practically flying in, and locking the door.

he undoes his tie, followed by his shirt. you ogle like an idiot, as you slowly made your way towards him. you stare at how absolutely divine his body was. 6 pack? check. you could do some laundry on that thang. his chiseled muscular godly body? check. he was a stocky man. you were in physical love. his gorgeous eyes? check check. a smile to die for? abso-fucking-lutely.

“might wanna close your mouth, sweetheart.” caleb laughs as he places his finger tips on your chin, craning your head upwards to stare at him. you close your mouth, muffling an apology as he leans down and shakes his head, giving your forehead a kiss. it surprised you how tender of a pace he was going. you tilt your head as your lips brush against each other, “why are you being so… sweet?” you say breathlessly, fingers trailing his torso. he hums, taking your other hand into his, intertwining, his eyes closing as he took in your scent, “hmm.. i’m attracted to you.. i want to take my time….” he mumbles, planting slow and soft kisses on your temple.

caleb was a lover boy. he knew how to be sweet, tender, and gentle. he didn’t want you to feel like a one off, even if his case isn’t really helping him.

his hands snake to your waist, not daring to let you go. you felt like a cloud in the air as he easily lifted you up, planting kisses on your neck. he tugged the top of your shirt your breasts filling over your shirt. he leans away to stare at you, as you turn your head in embarrassment. he kisses your cheek where your blush crept, “you’re so gorgeous when you blush, sweetheart.. you are..beautiful..” he mumbles, as he dipped down, kissing the valley of your breast. he lays you down softly, treating you as if you were a dainty porcelain doll, not to be messed with.

“mm.. caleb..” you mumble, hands tangled in his brown locks. he relished you, kissed every inch of your chest, his hands pinning both your wrists above your head. with a free hand he explores your exposed skin– as if you were a map to be charted. pressure soft, just enough to press into your skin, but not heavy. the clash of warmth traces and the cold air leave your nipples hard. caleb watches as your nipple harden with ever hot and cold you feel, and he laughs, his voice going thick, “i love turning you on, sweetheart.” he drags his tongue on one of your nipples, pressing both lips on it, and softly tugging. this elicits a moan from your lips, arching your back as you felt his teeth bite down– just enough to cause a reaction.

his thumbs brush the sides of your thigh, the slow of your back, and eventually to the hem of your shorts. he looks up at you, disheveled and undone. he was tipsy, with alcohol and lust. you were his drink to be consumed. “you are the most gorgeous woman i have ever laid my eyes on.” caleb says, like it’s the first and last truth he’s ever known.

you couldn’t take it anymore. you tap on his shoulder, and in one swift motion, you’re on top. you give him that sweet giggle that he loved to hear, as you climbed off of him. he was on the edge of the bed, still laying down but staring at you from below. you tease him, your hands creeping to the belt of his pants. as he watches you slowly, you tug it off, and with quite an alarming strength, you pull his pants off him, only leaving him with his boxers. his eyes widen at your random display of strength. servicemen work hard, and horny women work harder.

you drape the pants on the chair nearby, and your gaze lands back on him. you start to undress, slipping your bra and shirt off, then as you place your hands on the button of your shorts, caleb’s large hands drag over your hands, his nose on your sternum, as he lazily tugs your shorts down with ease. he kisses your chest once more, mumbling words you couldn’t make out. you stand between his knees, as his hands find your hips, thumbs pressing onto your pelvic region. he stares at your pretty red panties, frilly, cute. imaginative. “permission to take this as a souvenir?” he plays with the band, slowly tugging it down as he stares into your eyes, a haphazard smile taking form on his face.

you don’t give him an answer, you just nod, feeling ethereal. as if you were on a different plane. he took this opportunity to tease you. his eyes scan the room and find a mirror behind you, and he turns you to face the mirror, with his massive hands and legs on the side of your frame. one arm wraps around your waist, as the other go down to your inner thighs, caressing you. you start to crane your head to another location, but by gods will, caleb moves his hand to your chin, kindly, but forcefully turning your head to look back at the mirror. he plants a kiss on your side as his fingers make contact with your clit, “don’t look away baby.. i want to watch your face when you come for me.” he’d mumble as he started to rub soft, circular, circles on your clit. you felt a jolt from how delicious it felt. you cry out– pussy aching in pleasure. your lips form an ‘o’ as he takes in your messy appearance. your beautiful lips smeared by your lipstick, your eyes half closed, and your body quivering, almost as if you were becking him. caleb couldn’t get enough of you. his fingers would slip further, feeling your slick wet cunt. “oh sweetheart you’re so wet for me.” he coos softly fingers pushing past your sweet folds and inserting them inside you. you whimpered eyes lazily closing and opening as you felt him pump you slowly. “mmmgggg— caleb…mmmm b-baby p-please..” you mewl, saliva threatening to slip down the corners of your lips.

calebs arm latch comfortably around your waist as his hand grasp your breast. his lips linger on your side, as his free finger pinch your nipples, his other fingers thrusting a little faster this time. your knees buckle as his fingers work, slowly giving out, and he catches you on his lap. you were a panting mess, catching your breath as best as you can. caleb kisses the crook of your neck lifting your legs onto each of his. he spreads your legs apart, so he has an even better view of you in the mirror. your head leaned back onto his shoulder as your eyes roll back to heaven. he watches as you writhe in his arms, pussy squelching in his hand, your juices dripping down on the floor.

“so gorgeous” kiss “you’re such a lovely woman” kiss "i cant get enough of you." kiss “you drive me crazy” kiss

“c…calebbb— fuck it feels so…good” you mutter as coherent as you possibly fan. you felt that itch hit you so suddenly, like a truck. your eyes widen, head snapping to the mirror. his fingers intensify as you shake your head, pleading, “please baby please please please calebcalebcaleb im going to cum pleaseee baby mmmmhhhgh—“ you squeal, twitching forward your body convulsing as your head limps backwards. you unravel in his fingers, “such a good girl.” he’d coo into your ears.

you mumble lowly, as you slide down on the floor. you get on your knees as you slowly pull his dick out of his boxers. to say he was large was an understatement. you gaze lovingly at his cock, eyes full of lust, mouth full of drool. before he could get a word out your lips touch the tip. his eyes flutter closed, head falling backwards as his hands make their way to your hair, fingertips curling on your crown. as you swirl your tongue around the bottom of his shaft he stifles a moan, holding this moment as his own— burning it into his memory. you attune to each hitched breath. quicken when his chest slowed down, slobbering on it. your saliva travels down to his balls, and each inch you pull into your throat, your eyes water. his hands are gentle, but commanding, not forcing you down but begging— pleading, for you to take all of it. his tip hits the back of your throat, and you gag. calebs jaw tightens, as he closes his eyes- almost cumming. this was so goddamn dangerous. you were milking him like your life depended on it. there were tears running down your eyes, your pretty eyeliner smudged. your lipstick smeared. you look like a perfect woman. taking his cock so generously whilst your make up ran. a beautiful sight to behold. if only he could take a photo of you slurping his dick so obediently.

you continuously ram his tip into the back of your throat, and he fought every time not to cum, until he had enough. he pulls his dick out of your throat, and you cough profusely. he didn’t want to cum in your throat, he wanted to cum inside of you.

his face littered in sweat as he pulls you up, your lips connecting. he leads you up on the bed and lays you on your back, his face burying in the crook of your neck. he whines, almost pathetically, “please sweetheart… let me fuck you” you wrap your arms around his shoulder, nodding, as if he could see you. he couldn’t but he could feel the repeated tug. he was already aligning his tip to your entrance. he pulls his face away from your neck and plants another kiss on your lips, “im going to make you remember me.” he thrusts in, tightness almost overtaking him. both facial expressions twist into pure bliss. pure divinity. you let out a slutty sultry moan. caleb closes his eyes as he burns that audio in his head, his hand framed on your hips as the other place their spot on your cheek. he thrusts slow— but hard.. intensely.. passionate. you were locking eyes with him, eyes brimming with tears at how well he was tearing you. he was clouded with constant thoughts of cumming. you felt so goddamn good around him. “fuck, baby.. you’re milking my dick.” he cries out, arm moving to your legs as he forces you to wrap them around him. you can only give a nod as he pounds you into the soft bedsheets, your fingers tangling themselves into his hair and the pillow beneath you.

“so good..”

“you’re taking my cock so well baby, just like that.. just like that, baby. keep taking my dick like a… mm- good fucking girl..”

“ohh baby—-nnmm.. you’re so goddamn beautiful.. fuck im— ahh- in love..” he slurs out, head lightheaded from just how fucked you were making him. he’d already cum twice now, but didn’t wanna tell you due to him enjoying this moment. your pussy was full of his cum, and you couldn’t get enough.

you were so fucked out of your mind— your pussy clenched with each thrust, his tip hitting your spot over and over until you collapse around him, cumming harder and harder with each orgasm. neither of you talked much in this exchange. the evident love and affection between you two was enough words.

he was rubbing your cheeks as he thrusted harder, and you were taking it, slack jaw, tongue out, a messy messy slut for him, and he worshipped you, like a devout of his goddess.

he was overstimulating himself— he could feel it. he was losing feelings from his dick. it had been the 5th nut he’d experienced— if he could even count how many goddamn times he’d pump you full of his load, and you were gone. he kept going, crying out “i can’t stop baby.. im sorry you—just— mm— feel so fuckinggg good.” he kept going, until his body started to feel light.

“baby- im going to cum—“ you couldnt react. he twitched once more, drilling you full of his kids one more time before he takes your face, planting a passionate and hard kiss. you wrap your arms and pull his head in closer, as best as you possibly could, wrapping your legs around him and pulling his body deep inside you as he shot inside.

needless to say, you both passed the fuck out— there was no after care. neither of you had the fucking capacity.

it was time. the carrier sits on the dock, ready to receive its troops. caleb held your hand as he drove you two to the marina. among you were wives, girlfriends and families crying and holding their loved ones one last time for a while. you took comfort from having to not be the only one dealing with this pain. caleb held you the entire way, only ever breaking contact when he went to open your door for you.

you bite your lip, trying your damnedest to not cry. his fingers trail your lower lip, pushing it down at the slightest, “don’t do that. makes it harder for me to leave.” your lips quiver, hands intertwining with his, as your foreheads connect. his eyes bore into yours, as he lifts you up, making sure your skirt wasn’t hiked up. he pulls away from you and flags down a photographer.

“sir! can you please get two pictures for us?” he’d scream towards the man, amongst the screaming loved ones. he nods, preparing his camera. caleb grabs the back of your head and in a swift motion, kisses you— with so much passion— so much invigorating love, it made your head spin.

click!

he pulls away, unwillingly— and the next pose, his cheeks collide with yours softly, as he gives you the sweetest smile you’d ever seen from him. you sniffle and smile as best as you possibly could.

click!

he smooches you before gently setting you down. he goes over to the photographer and takes the polaroids, handing him some money and walking over to you.

“here baby, which one do you want?” you point to the photo of you kissing each other and he grins as he takes the other one. “ill put this in my helmet— and everywhere i go.”

you both relish the little time you had until you hear the bell from the deck. you were in fucking tears by now, and caleb was fighting his. he turns to you before he walks,

“i promise ill be back for you. i owe you that date, remember?” he winks at you before he puts the photo in the fold of his hat, then putting it on, adjusting it, and waving at you before he made his way to the entrance.

your tears flow freely, as you waved at him.

it was the last time you saw him.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ! - @leannathespacewerewolf , @rcvcgers

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cressidagrey · 2 months ago

Text

White Horse - Chapter 9: November 2023 - Part 1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

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

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

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

Warnings and Notes:

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families...I think that's it?

Part 1 of November, Part 2 will follow.

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

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/PitLanePrincess: Isabelle Leclerc is the ultimate fashion inspiration for people who actually have to get dressed for work. A thread on why she’s the best follow if you want outfits that are stylish and wearable. 🧵⬇️

@/PitLanePrincess: Love the WAGs who serve high fashion, but let’s be real—I am not showing up to a Monday meeting in a full Mugler catsuit. Isabelle? She gives you real outfits. Blazer, midi skirt, chic top = effortless.

@/PitLanePrincess: She mixes high and low so well, but the best part? She actually responds when people ask where things are from.

@/PitLanePrincess: She genuinely answers people??? I messaged her once about a bag, fully expecting nothing, and she just. Replied. Like a normal person.

@/PitLanePrincess: I swear she could afford to wear designer head-to-toe, but she chooses to mix H&M, Mango, and Zara with her Max Mara coats and Chanel flats. It’s aspirational but still possible.

@/PitLanePrincess: She rewears things!!! Some of these girls wear a $6K dress once and never again. Meanwhile, Isabelle’s been styling the same Max Mara coat for three years and making it look fresh.

@/PitLanePrincess: Also, she actually wears realistic shoes?? No five-inch stilettos, just sleek boots or comfy-yet-chic heels..

@/workwearqueen: If I ever ran into her in real life, I just know she’d be so sweet. Like, I could compliment her outfit, and she’d compliment mine back.

@/GridGossip: Some of these WAGs are giving editorial fantasy, which I love, but Isabelle is the one actually giving wearable inspiration.

@/everydayelevated: Isabelle Leclerc, if you see this, just know we appreciate you 🫶💖

***

The first time, Isabelle didn’t even think about it.

Max’s grey sweater—the one he practically lived in—had a hole in the sleeve. She watched him tug at the fraying threads absentmindedly, completely unaware of how worn it looked, how it sagged off his frame like it had given up.

So the next time she was out, she picked up a new one. Nothing dramatic. Same color. Same softness. Just... better. Better fabric. Better fit. Something that looked like him, only a little more cared for.

When she handed him the small box later that night, she hesitated—half-expecting him to shrug it off or barely notice.

"Your old one was falling apart," she said quickly, when he raised an eyebrow at the offering.

Max lifted the sweater out, turning it over in his hands. Then, with typical nonchalance, he peeled off the old one right there in the living room and tugged the new one on.

Isabelle watched carefully as he moved, adjusting the sleeves, testing the stretch.

After a moment, he nodded, satisfied. "Yeah. This is nice."

She exhaled, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. He didn’t realize it, but that was all the encouragement she needed.

After that, it started happening more and more.

A pair of jeans—no longer skin tight but a more relaxed fit that flattered his strong thighs… A new jacket—light, practical, something he would actually wear but wouldn’t make her wince when she saw it in photos.

She was careful. Isabelle never pushed, never tried to change how he dresses. Max liked simple, comfortable clothes, and she respected that.

She just made sure those things fit properly. Looked effortless instead of careless.

She told herself she wasn’t interfering.

She really meant to believe that.

But then Max walked into the living room one afternoon wearing an ancient Red Bull polo—wrinkled, slightly faded from too many washes—paired with sagging sweatpants that looked like they might give out at any moment.

Isabelle, mid-scroll on her phone, just... stopped.

Stared.

"Max, mon amour," she said carefully, setting her phone down. "Do you actually like that shirt?"

He looked down, frowning as if only now realizing what he was wearing. "Uh... yeah?"

"Are you sure?"

His frown deepened. "...Should I not?"

She sighed, standing up and crossing the room, smoothing down the skewed collar. "It's fine," she lied, fingers lingering longer than necessary. "But... you’re a world champion. You could look like it off-track too."

Max raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Are you saying I dress badly?"

Isabelle paused, choosing her words with painstaking care. "I’m saying... you have potential."

Max squinted at her, crossing his arms. "I wear what’s comfortable."

"I know," she said patiently. "But comfort and style aren’t enemies. You can have both."

Max narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "Are you planning something?"

"No," she said, way too quickly.

Which was how, the very next day, she dragged him into a high-end boutique in Monaco.

Max resisted, obviously. He grumbled when she handed him a proper button-down. Scoffed at the tailored jacket she picked out. Refused—loudly—the first two pairs of trousers she suggested.

It took a fair amount of coaxing—and maybe a few well-placed kisses—to get him into the fitting room.

But when he stepped out...

Isabelle knew.

She folded her arms across her chest and smirked as Max caught sight of himself in the mirror and visibly paused.

The sharp lines of the jacket, the way the button-down skimmed his frame, the clean, simple look that made him seem even more confident, even more himself—it was all there, clear as day.

"Huh," Max said, tilting his head.

"Huh," Isabelle echoed, smug.

Max frowned at his reflection, pulling at the jacket slightly, testing the fit. His mouth twitched—like he hated to admit it—but even he couldn’t deny what he saw.

"Alright," he muttered. "Maybe you have a point."

Isabelle beamed, grabbing another item off the rack with a glint in her eye.

"Good," she said, already handing it to him. "Because we’re just getting started."

***

Max learned pretty quickly that shopping with Isabelle wasn’t a quick in-and-out mission.

It was a strategic operation. A full-scale reorganization of his wardrobe. And apparently, his entire life.

At first, he protested. Loudly.

“I don’t need that many clothes,” he grumbled as she held up yet another impeccably tailored jacket, inspecting it with that critical little tilt of her head.

“Yes, you do,” Isabelle said without even looking at him. “You can’t wear Red Bull merch everywhere, Max.”

“I literally can,” he pointed out.

She gave him a look—the kind that somehow managed to say you absolute idiot without her even opening her mouth.

“And you shouldn’t,” she said sweetly.

He groaned, but he took the jacket from her anyway, grumbling under his breath as he did.

By the time they left the boutique, Max was carrying more bags than he had ever carried in his life.

He looked like a particularly fashionable pack mule.

He kept muttering about "overkill" and "consumerism," but every time they passed a shop window, he caught himself glancing sideways—checking the fit of his new coat, adjusting the collar just slightly. He thought Isabelle didn’t notice.

She noticed.

She just didn’t say anything. Smugness was a reward best delayed.

That night, Max thought the ordeal was over.

It wasn’t.

Isabelle helped him “put everything away”—which, he quickly realized, meant completely dismantling his existing wardrobe.

At first, she just meant to hang the new things up neatly. Then she opened the closet.

And froze.

"This is a disaster," she said, hands on her hips.

Max, lying sprawled across the bed and scrolling through his phone, barely glanced up. "It’s fine."

"It’s not fine," Isabelle said, already pulling out a hoodie that looked like it had been through a minor war.

Within minutes, there were piles everywhere—keep, donate, burn immediately—and Max could only watch as his closet was systematically conquered.

When she was finally done, the place looked... Organized. Manageable. Almost stylish.

Max sat up, surveying the damage. "Wow," he deadpanned. "It’s like I live here and yet I have no control over my own belongings."

Isabelle smirked, smoothing out a freshly hung blazer like a queen surveying her kingdom. "You don’t," she said, utterly unapologetic. "I do now."

Max shook his head but didn’t argue.

Instead, he stayed right where he was, watching her fold a few sweaters with that little furrow of concentration she always got when she was focused.

A thought crossed his mind, and he grinned.

"You’re enjoying this," he accused.

She shrugged, not even pretending to deny it. "I like making sure you look good."

Max swung his legs off the bed, stood, and crossed the room to wrap his arms around her from behind.

"I already do look good," he teased, resting his chin on her shoulder, feeling her laugh vibrate against him.

She hummed, pretending to think it over. "Hmm. You look better now."

Max laughed, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "Fine. You win."

Isabelle turned in his arms, smiling up at him like she knew exactly how thoroughly she had just triumphed.

"You’ll thank me later," she promised.

And he did.

When he walked into the paddock a few days later—wearing a properly fitted shirt, no skinny jeans, no wrinkled team hoodie in sight—he caught the double takes.

The subtle stares. The media whispers. Even a few casual compliments from people who usually didn’t say a word to him about anything off-track.

Max just smirked, tugging his new jacket straight as he passed by.

Yeah.

Isabelle was right.

Again.

And maybe—maybe—he didn’t mind at all.

***

Instagram Post: @/f1hq

Comments:

@/LightsOutMemez: Forget the championship. The biggest win of the season is whoever got Max out of those cursed skinny jeans.

↳@/PaddockSpy: Max Verstappen in an outfit that actually fits him… we are witnessing history.

↳@/ChecoMode: You’re telling me Max Verstappen had style potential this whole time and we never knew???

@/GridGossip: I don’t know what’s more shocking—the fact that Max won again or the fact that he did it while dressed like an actual style icon.

@/YukiFanClub: The only logical explanation is that Max’s girlfriend run interference. No man just wakes up one day and decides to dress better ON HIS OWN.

↳@/WAGWatch: Whoever picked this outfit, we thank you for your service.

↳@/RedBullChaos: This is definitely the work of a woman. And we love her for it.

↳@/PaddockSpy: I don’t know who’s responsible for Max Verstappen’s wardrobe glow-up, but I hope they’re having a great day.

@/ChecoP1: Max Verstappen’s biggest flex isn’t his trophies. It’s the fact that he now has functional drip.

↳@/MaxAndCats33: If he posts a mirror selfie in this outfit with his CATS, I’m actually going to lose my mind.

@/RedBullChaos: This is definitely the work of a woman. And we love her for it.

@/PaddockSpy: I don’t know who’s responsible for Max Verstappen’s wardrobe glow-up, but I hope they’re having a great day.

@/SoftLaunchDetective: First, he dresses better. Next, he starts smiling more. Before you know it, he’s dropping a blurry hand pic on his story.

↳@/DRSDrama: If this man posts one artsy Instagram story of his hand intertwined with someone else’s, I’m DONE.

@/FIAFits: The fact that it took this long for Max to upgrade his wardrobe tells me that he fought this change for MONTHS.

@/DTSTherapist: This is like when a man gets a haircut after years of looking the same and suddenly everyone realizes he’s actually attractive.

↳@/SoftLaunchAnon: Max Verstappen having a wardrobe evolution was not on my 2023 bingo card.

@/PaddockFashion: Okay but the best part is that it’s still so Max. Just… upgraded.

↳@/OversteerStyle: It’s like someone took his usual wardrobe and just refined it a little. No drastic changes, just subtle improvements.

↳@/TireDegTrends: He’s still wearing jeans, just… normal-fitting ones. And the shirt? Still casual, but suddenly it works.

↳@/StyleUnderCut: This is the equivalent of adding a subtle aero upgrade that shaves off two tenths per lap.

↳@/WAGWatch: Whoever did this didn’t erase Max’s essence, they just polished it. A true masterclass.

@/DriveToSurviveChaos: Netflix better not cut this from the next season. This is important.

***

The first thing Lewis Hamilton noticed when he walked into the paddock was not the weather, or the press, or even his own team's busy chatter.

It was Max Verstappen.

Specifically, Max Verstappen looking... polished.

Lewis actually stopped mid-step, doing a blatant double-take.

Max wasn't wearing the usual crumpled team polo and horrendous skinny jeans combo he seemed genetically programmed for. No. Today, Max was wearing dark, well-fitted jeans, a simple but perfectly tailored black jacket over a clean, crisp white t-shirt. His hair looked like it had seen a brush in the last 24 hours. His trainers were still comfortable, yes—but new. Coordinated.

Lewis stared at him like he was an alien.

"Am I in the wrong paddock?" Lewis muttered under his breath.

George Russell sidled up next to him, carrying a coffee, and followed his gaze.

He whistled low under his breath. "Well, well, well. Look who discovered fashion."

Lewis shook his head slowly. "No, I'm serious. What happened. Who is that."

Max caught sight of them then, gave a casual nod, utterly unfazed.

George narrowed his eyes, studying him.

"I mean... he's still Max," George said. "Just upgraded."

Lewis blinked, stunned. "I didn't even know he owned a jacket without a sponsor logo on it."

"Maybe," George said, taking a slow sip of his coffee, "maybe it's the girlfriend effect."

Lewis turned to him. "The what?"

George shrugged, completely serious. "You get a girlfriend who actually cares about what you look like, and suddenly—" He gestured vaguely at Max. "—that happens."

Lewis frowned. "He’s had girlfriends before."

George grinned. "Yeah, but he’s never dressed like he wanted to impress anyone before."

Lewis squinted, suspicious. "Do we even know if he has a girlfriend?"

George raised an eyebrow. "Do you think he picked that jacket out himself?"

Lewis opened his mouth. Closed it. "...Good point."

Meanwhile, Max strolled past them, earbuds in, calm as anything. No logos, no oversized hoodie, no worn-out sweatpants. Just effortless, unsettling effort.

Lewis watched him go, still frowning.

"I don’t like it," he muttered.

George laughed. "You’re just mad because he’s pulling it off."

Lewis huffed. "I’m mad because now I have to outdress Max Verstappen. And that was never supposed to happen."

George clapped him on the back, grinning. "Welcome to the new world order, mate."

As Max disappeared into the Red Bull hospitality, several team members turned to watch him too, murmuring quietly.

Because when even Max Verstappen starts dressing suspiciously well... You know something’s up.

***

Daniel Ricciardo was minding his own business—sort of—lounging near the espresso machine, casually watching the paddock buzz by, when Max walked in.

Daniel did a casual glance up—and promptly choked on his coffee.

Because there was Max. Wearing tailored jeans. A clean, fitted jacket. A proper, ironed t-shirt. Looking... put together in a way that was frankly illegal.

Daniel slammed his cup down, pointed at him dramatically across the hospitality lounge. "You. Stop."

Max paused mid-stride, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "What?"

Daniel stood up, hands on his hips. "You can't just waltz in here looking like a Zara model on casual Friday and act like nothing happened."

Max gave a tiny, infuriating smirk. "I can and I did."

"No, no, no." Daniel waved a hand wildly. "You look suspiciously… functional. Coordinated. You match, Max."

Max just shrugged like it was no big deal. "Maybe I learned."

Daniel squinted at him. "No," he said. "Someone taught you."

Max gave him a pointedly neutral look.

And that’s when Daniel grinned.

Like the world's most annoying lightbulb had gone off over his head.

He practically cackled as he leaned in.

"YOUR GIRLFRIEND."

Max said nothing. Not a word.

Which was exactly how Daniel knew he was right.

"You absolute simp," Daniel whispered, giddy. "You let her overhaul your entire wardrobe."

Max rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the tiny flicker of a smile.

Daniel clasped a hand over his heart. "God, I love love."

"Shut up," Max muttered, but there was no heat in it.

Daniel leaned back, arms crossed, studying him. "So what’s next, mate? Weekly skincare routines? Matching Christmas jumpers?"

Max gave him a long-suffering look. "If you tell anyone—"

Daniel grinned wider. "Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me." He paused, then added gleefully, "Mostly because everyone else already suspects something."

Max groaned.

Daniel beamed. "Can’t wait for you to show up next race weekend in proper loafers and a linen shirt. Monaco chic."

Max muttered something in Dutch under his breath that was probably deeply unflattering.

Daniel just slung an arm around his shoulder anyway, still laughing.

"You," Daniel said fondly, "are so whipped, and it’s beautiful."

Max shoved him off, but he was smiling—real, relaxed, the way he only was when he let his guard down completely.

***

The room was too quiet when she entered the meeting in the evening.

Isabelle felt it the moment she stepped in—like walking into a room where someone had just been talking about you. That sticky tension. The abrupt silence. The way no one met her eye.

She sat down, opened her laptop, and waited.

The project lead began reviewing the concept pitch. It was hers. Her layout. Her color palette. Her vendor list. But her name? Nowhere on the slides.

No credit. No mention.

Léa was presenting it like it had fallen from the sky.

And no one blinked.

Isabelle closed her laptop.

Slowly. Deliberately.

“Interesting,” she said, her voice smooth. “I must’ve blacked out while watching someone else design my project.”

Léa blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

The room stilled.

For a moment, Isabelle said nothing else. Just looked at them. Really looked—at the two junior designers who’d whispered and sabotaged, at the project manager who let it happen, at the senior designer who'd praised her ideas only to present them as someone else's.

“You’ve all been treating me like I don’t belong here since the day I started,” she said, calm and clear. “At first I thought it was because I was new. Then I thought maybe it was because of my last name. But now I understand—it’s because you’re afraid of me.”

Léa scoffed. “Afraid? Please.”

Isabelle turned to her. “Yes. Afraid. Because you’ve seen what I can do. You’ve seen how good I am. And instead of rising to meet me, you’ve spent months trying to cut me down.”

She stood. Quiet. Unshakable.

“You tried to twist my success into nepotism. You told people I only got clients because of who my brother is.” She paused. “You do realize I designed Max Verstappen’s penthouse, right? I didn’t just walk through it and fluff pillows. I created it. Every material. Every layout. Every detail. Because he trusted me. Not the Leclerc name. Me.”

No one moved.

“And the irony?” Isabelle continued, voice like silk on steel. “You thought I wouldn’t fight back. Because I’m quiet. Because I’m kind. Because I don’t yell or gossip or throw people under the bus.”

She tilted her head, smile sharp.

“You mistook my silence for weakness. That was your first mistake.”

A long pause.

Then she picked up her laptop, her bag, and her portfolio binder.

“I’m resigning effective immediately,” she said. “I refuse to spend another second giving my talent to people who try to tear me down instead of rising up themselves.”

She walked toward the door, paused, and turned back.

“One more thing,” she added, eyes narrowing. “The next time you decide to steal someone’s work, you might want to make sure they’re not ten times the designer you are.”

Then she left.

No one stopped her.

***

Team Redline Stream – Transcript

(Stream already in progress. Max is mid-race, casually chatting with the guys and chat.)

Max: "Yeah, I’m alone tonight. Again. My girlfriend’s still at work."

Luke Crane: "Is she ever not at work?"

Max: (Sighs.) "Rarely. I keep telling her it’s too much, but she says she’s fine."

Chris Lulham: "Classic."

Chat:

The way Max sounds so fed up"She says she’s fine" <- she is absolutely not fineBro is one bad day away from staging a full interventionTell her we said QUITHe’s about to unionize her workplace himself

(Max continues driving, glancing off-screen every so often. His focus flickers.)

(A door opens in the background. Max immediately looks up.)

Max: "Oh, you’re home." (Pauses.) "It’s almost midnight."

(A short silence. Max’s expression shifts.)

Max: "You haven’t eaten yet?" (His eyes narrow.) "Why? What do you mean you forgot?"

Chris: "Uh-oh."

Luke: "It’s happening."

Chat:

MOTHER HEN VERSTAPPEN HAS LOGGED INRIP to her but Max is about to lecture her for 20 minutesSomewhere, Jos is crying because Max turned into his momRed Bull gives you wings, but Max gives you forced meals

Max: (Grumbling in Dutch.) "You work all day and don’t eat? That’s not okay." (Pauses, then scoffs.) "No, I don’t care if you’re ‘not hungry.’ You’re eating something."

Chris: "Do you even know how to cook?"

Max: (Flatly.) "I know how to order food, Chris."

Gianni Vecchio: "Yeah, she’s doomed."

(Max is still focused on the conversation off-screen, visibly exasperated. Then, suddenly, he freezes mid-turn, his entire body going still.)

Max: "...Wait. What?"

(Silence. His mouth opens slightly, then closes. He blinks.)

Max: "You quit your job?"

Chris: "OH?"

Gianni: "HELLO?"

Chat:

SHE DID WHAT NOWMAX IS BUFFERINGDID WE MANIFEST THIS????Homie forgot how to drive for a second

Max: (Still staring off-screen, jaw slightly slack.) "Wait, like—actually? You actually quit?"

(A few beats of silence. Then, suddenly, Max exhales and leans back in his chair, shaking his head with a smirk.)

Max: "Finally."

Gianni: "Finally?"

Max: (Grinning now.) "Yes, finally! I’ve been telling her for months to leave. They treated her like shit."

Chris: "You sound happier about this than she probably is."

Max: "Because she deserves better. I told her that place wasn’t good enough for her." (Pauses, then softer.) "They should’ve known better than to treat her like that."

Chat:

MAX VERSTAPPEN, NUMBER ONE SUPPORTER

"Finally" LMFAO bro has been WAITING

He’s so relieved omg

Someone check on her ex-boss, they just felt a chill

Bro went from shocked to proud so fast

Red Bull Racing HR is shaking rn

I need a Max Verstappen in my life

Max: (Still grinning, shaking his head.) "So what now?" (Pauses, listening.) "Yeah? Taking time off? Good. You need it."

(His tone softens slightly, his expression fond. Chat goes feral.)

Chris: "So no more insane work hours?"

Max: (Smirks.) "Nope. Now it’s just insane hours listening to me talk about my simulator settings."

Chat:

She quit her job and he’s acting like he won his fourth titleMax really went "welcome to unemployment, babe"Bro is GLOWINGSupportive boyfriend era is PEAKING

Meanwhile on Twitter:

📌 @/F1TeaSpill: MAX VERSTAPPEN ON STREAM JUST CASUALLY DROPPED THAT HIS GIRLFRIEND QUIT HER JOB AND WENT "FINALLY." BRO HAS BEEN WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT 😭😭

↳ @/RacingGirlie: THE WAY HE WAS SO READY WITH THAT RESPONSE LMFAO 💀 ↳ @/TireDegradationStan: He forgot how to drive for a second. The shock was REAL.

@/GridGossip: Max Verstappen finding out his girlfriend quit her job and IMMEDIATELY going: ✅ "Finally." ✅ "They treated you like shit." ✅ "You deserve better."

Boyfriend of the YEAR.

↳ @/MonacoMafia: Bro is celebrating her resignation more than his championships 😭 ↳ @/DR3nation: She quit her job and he’s THRIVING ↳ @/RedBullSimps: The way he went from SHOCKED to RELIEVED in under five seconds

@/F1GirlfriendsAnonymous: Not Max Verstappen exposing himself as the softest, most supportive boyfriend alive. He really said: 🔹 "You deserve better." 🔹 "If they don’t respect you, don’t waste your time there." 🔹 "Take time off, you deserve it."

And y’all still think he’s cold???

↳ @/DutchLion44: THE WAY HE WAS SO SINCERE ABOUT IT 🥺 ↳ @/OversteerOverlord: This man went from "I have no emotions" to "I will support my girlfriend unconditionally" real fast

@/FormulaLover: "NO MORE LATE NIGHTS AT WORK?" "NO, JUST LATE NIGHTS LISTENING TO ME COMPLAIN ABOUT SIMULATOR SETTINGS."

MAX PLS 😭

↳ @/PitStopPrincess: Her old boss just felt a chill down their spine ↳ @/DannyRicFave: Soft!Max is the best Max. I don’t make the rules.

@/PaddockChaos: How much do you bet that Max has been trying to convince his girlfriend to be his full-time trophy wife for MONTHS and she just wasn’t having it 💀

↳ @/RedBullRacingWife: "Finally." <- That was a man who has been campaigning for this moment ↳ @/GridTeaSpill: You KNOW he’s been like "you don’t need to work, just stay home, I’ll buy you whatever you want" and she’s been like "absolutely not" 💀💀 ↳ @/OvertakeAddict: Mans was celebrating her quitting before SHE even processed it 💀

@/MonacoMafia: MAX WAS SO READY FOR THIS MOMENT 😭 "Finally" <- that’s not just relief, that’s VICTORY.

↳ @/DutchLion44: He’s been battling corporate capitalism on her behalf for MONTHS ↳ @/PaddockGossip: He really wanted her to be living that soft life and she was like "Nah, I have a job" 😂 ↳ @/RaceStrategyFails: Man had a 10-step plan for her retirement and she foiled it by having ambition

@/F1TinfoilHat: Max Verstappen trying to turn his girlfriend into a trophy wife and failing is so funny to me. Like you just KNOW he was pulling out all the stops. 🚗 "You can have any car you want." 🏠 "Live anywhere you want." 💍 "You don’t need to work, just be with me." And she really went, "No, I have emails to answer."

↳ @/RB20Fan: She quit her job and he was the happiest person in the room 😭 ↳ @/F1MemesDaily: Plot twist: She’s about to find another job and he’s gonna LOSE IT 💀

@/LightsOutMax: Max Verstappen has won three world championships, dominated the grid, and still lost to his girlfriend’s corporate job.

↳ @/SoftMaxFan: The way he’s been fighting for MONTHS and she was just like "No ❤️" ↳ @/PaddockPrincess: Bro was ready to pay her a salary just to stay home and she STILL refused 💀💀 ↳ @/F1Spill: "Finally." <- that was not just relief, that was a mission accomplished moment

@/RedBullGirlie: I need someone to ask Max in an interview if he ever tried to get his girlfriend to be a full-time trophy wife because I know he did

↳ @/PaddockClown: He absolutely pitched it like a Red Bull contract ↳ @/RB20Fanatic: "I can provide you with a top-tier environment, all the resources you need, and a long-term vision for the future." ↳ @/DR3Memes: Drive to Survive voice "And in that moment, Max Verstappen realized… he was not winning this one."

@/FrontRowF1: I don’t even think Max was mad that she worked. He was mad that they treated her badly. Boyfriend of the Year tbh.

↳ @/RB19Stans: Yeah, his first reaction after shock was pure rage at her old job 😭 ↳ @/F1Himbos: He was 100% ready to go to war with that company ↳ @/Lap1Drama: He’s been FUMING about how they treated her and now he won

@/F1Takes: Max Verstappen was sitting there on stream like:

👀 "Wait, you quit?" 😳 "You actually quit?" 😌 "Finally." 😤 "They treated you like shit anyway."

Sir, have you been campaigning for this???

↳ @/PitLaneGossip: Bro had an entire strategy in place. He’s been pushing this agenda for MONTHS. ↳ @/RB19Forever: His immediate relief tells me he lost sleep over this job more than SHE did 💀 ↳ @/MonacoMadness: Man heard "I quit" and didn’t even process it before celebrating

@/SoftVerstappen: Max really thought his biggest opponent was Lewis Hamilton when in reality it was his girlfriend’s work ethic

↳ @/PaddockTea: Man has three world titles and 0 influence over her career choices 😂 ↳ @/DR3Fanatic: She’s out there being an independent woman and he’s just like please let me fund your life↳ @/GridGossip: I fully believe he has pitched the trophy wife life at least once and got rejected immediately

@/MaxForPresident: Max celebrating his girlfriend quitting like it’s his own career milestone is so FUNNY to me

↳ @/PodiumPredictions: She said "I quit" and he unlocked a new level of happiness↳ @/SoftTyresOnly: The way he’s genuinely delighted while she’s probably still processing it 💀 ↳ @/MonacoMafia: If she gets a new job he might actually riot

@/LandoStan33: Max Verstappen is a billionaire and his girlfriend still refused to quit her job for OVER A YEAR. Queen behavior.

↳ @/OvertakeObsessed: She refused to be a WAG full-time and he just had to deal with it

@/MonacoMadness: Max: "They don’t respect you. Just quit." Her: "I like working." Couldn’t have been me. You think I’d rather be working than living the dream as a rich man’s problem?

↳ @/Lap1Drama: Imagine saying NO to Max Verstappen telling you to never work again ↳ @/PodiumPredictions: The way I would’ve handed in my resignation the second he hinted at it↳ @/F1TeaSpill: Why suffer at a 9-5 when you could be a full-time F1 WAG???

@/MidfieldMess: I respect Max’s girlfriend for standing her ground but personally? I would have been at home in silk pajamas with a cat by now.

↳ @/RB20Memes: If my man said, "Quit your job, I’ll take care of you," I’d be gone in 0.2 seconds.↳ ↳ @/DR3Laughs: Max’s girlfriend WORKED while he was literally BEGGING her to relax. I COULD NEVER.

↳ @/RB19Tactics: I’d be in Pilates class at 10 AM on a Tuesday living my best life ↳ @/SoftMaxFan: She really CHOSE to work when she could’ve been a full-time rich girlfriend.↳ @/OvertakeGuru: RESPECT TO HER but I would’ve folded immediately.

@/GridGossip: Max Verstappen’s girlfriend really QUIT HER JOB on her own terms, months after he told her to, and not because he’s a billionaire but because she finally decided she was done.

SHE REALLY DOES NOT CARE ABOUT HIS MONEY.

↳ @/SoftVerstappen: This is actually insane. ↳ @RB19Defense: Girl had a multi-millionaire boyfriend BEGGING her to quit and she STILL waited. ↳ @/LightsOutRB: She worked herself into the ground because she didn’t want to rely on him??? Couldn’t be me.

***

At first, Isabelle seemed fine.

She took a shower, scarfed down a sandwich…and then she just sat on the couch, staring at nothing.

“So… how does it feel to be unemployed?”

Isabelle turned to face him with a breezy smile. “Great. Amazing, actually. I should’ve done it sooner.”

Max folded his arms across his chest, not buying it for a second. "Uh-huh."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What?"

"You’re saying that like someone who is definitely not fine," Max said.

She rolled her eyes. "I just don’t see the point in dwelling on it."

"Okay. But not dwelling isn’t the same as being fine."

She laughed, short and sharp. "Max, I quit a job that was making me miserable. I did the right thing."

"Yeah," Max agreed easily. "But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel weird."

He could see the argument forming on her face—the automatic instinct to insist she was fine, she was strong, she could handle anything.

But then she hesitated.

Her mouth opened like she was about to say something else—something defensive, probably—but instead, her face crumpled.

And just like that, she was crying.

“Oh, Schatje.” Max pulled her into his arms without hesitation.

"I don’t know why I’m crying," Isabelle mumbled against his shirt, voice thick with tears.

"Because it’s a big change," Max said quietly, rubbing slow circles over her back. "Because you worked hard for that job, even if it sucked. Because you’re human, and this stuff is hard."

She sniffled against him. "I feel stupid."

"You’re not stupid," he said firmly, dropping a kiss into her hair. "You’re figuring it out. That’s brave."

She exhaled shakily, the tension in her shoulders finally starting to unravel. "I don’t even know where to start."

Max grinned. “Well, in the meantime, you can always be my trophy wife.”

That earned a wet, incredulous laugh. “Excuse me?”

“You know, live a life of luxury. Lounge around, spend my money—”

“I’m not going to be your trophy wife.”

“Why not? You’d be great at it.”

“I like working,” she shot back, slipping out of his embrace just enough to glare at him.

Max smirked. “Yeah, but you also like expensive pastries, and being my trophy wife means you can have as many as you want.”

She groaned, wiping at her face. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are, still crying all over me,” Max teased, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Isabelle huffed. “Fine. I’ll be your trophy wife for a week. Just to try it.”

“Deal,” Max said easily. “I’ll even buy you a designer handbag.”

She laughed again, finally looking a little more like herself. “You are ridiculous.”

***

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/F1Spotted: Y’all, Max Verstappen just walked into Chanel Monaco, and I’ve never seen a man more determined in my life.

@/SoftCompound: What’s the vibe? Casual browsing or “I know exactly what I want” levels of confidence?

@/F1Spotted: He walked in, went straight to the handbags, and told the SA, “I need something classic. Not too flashy. She prefers gold hardware.”

@/F1Tea: NOT “she prefers gold hardware” ??? Who is SHE???

@/GridGossip: That is a man DEEPLY in love.

@/F1Spotted: The SA showed him a couple of options, and he just went, “That one. I’ll take it.” No hesitation. No second thoughts.

@/RBR_obsessed: Not even checking the price tag 💀💀💀

@/EngineModeYES: The way he’s spending like a man who never wants her to work again.

@/McLarenMemeLord: “She likes gold hardware” AND “I’ll take it” in the same shopping trip… pray for this man, he’s down catastrophically.

@/OversteerFanatic: Do we think this is a “Congrats on quitting your terrible job” gift or a “Please let me keep funding your lifestyle” gift?

@/TyreDegSzn: He’s doubling down on the trophy wife agenda.

@/PadelAndPitStops: Next thing we know, she’ll be posting one of those soft-focus Insta stories of the bag with the caption: “spoiled 💚”

@/F1Spotted: He left with the biggest grin, holding the Chanel bag like it was a trophy.

@/Multi21Pls: He has 3 WDCs but THIS is his greatest achievement.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: I did a thing.

Emilie: Oh god.

Emilie: What kind of “thing”?

Emilie: Like... a normal person thing? Or a you thing?

Isabelle: I quit my job.

Emilie: ...you WHAT

Isabelle: I gave notice yesterday.

Isabelle: Well, technically I handed in my resignation with zero notice.

Isabelle: So... I guess I just quit.

Emilie: ISABELLE

Isabelle: I know.

Emilie: YOU QUIT Emilie: LIKE Emilie: YOU’RE FREE?

Isabelle: Apparently.

Emilie: Belle. Emilie: BELLE.Emilie: THIS IS A MOMENT.

Isabelle: I’m half proud, half panicking.

Emilie: That’s valid. Emilie: But mostly: GOOD FOR YOU. Emilie: You’ve been miserable for months. This is overdue.

Isabelle: I just kept thinking I could fix it.

Emilie: You are not a human Band-Aid. Emilie: You do not have to patch up dysfunctional men in button-down shirts.

Isabelle: That’s a very specific burn.

Emilie: It’s targeted and deserved. Emilie: Also: I’m proud of you. Emilie: And I’m taking you out for champagne and carbs.

Isabelle: I don’t know if I want to celebrate or cry in a corner.

Emilie: We’ll do both.

Isabelle: ...Okay. Isabelle: I could be convinced.

Emilie: I’m ordering us dessert too. You’re unemployed and hot, it’s a new era.

Isabelle: Thank you. I think?

Emilie: You’re welcome. I love you. I’m proud of you. And I swear to god if you try to go back I will physically block the door.

Isabelle: Noted 😅

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: What have you DONE to my friend.

Emilie: Miss “I’m fine,” Miss “It’s not that bad,” Miss “Maybe if I just do a little more…”

Emilie: She QUIT.

Emilie: HER. JOB.

Emilie: No backup plan. No exit strategy. Just mic drop and walk out.

Max: Yeah. Fantastic, right? Good for her.

Emilie: GOOD???

Emilie: MAX.

Emilie: SHE ACTUALLY STOOD UP FOR HERSELF AND WALKED OUT.

Emilie: Don’t “good for her” me!!

Emilie: I mean yes—good for her, but also

Emilie: who are you

Emilie: and what have you done to the girl who used to apologize to printers when they jammed

Max: I didn’t do anything 🤷‍♂️

Max: She decided on her own.

Max: She deserved better.

Max: She knows that now.

Emilie: You’ve been boyfriend-ing too well

Emilie: She’s out here setting boundaries and reclaiming her peace like a whole queen

Emilie: And I’m just watching it happen like ????

Max: So you’re saying I’m a good influence?

Emilie: I’m saying you’re terrifying

Emilie: She’s turning down nonsense and choosing herself

Emilie: Do you even understand the level of personal growth we’re dealing with?

Max: She deserves it.

Emilie: Yeah. She really does.

Emilie: Also if you hurt her I will throw a stiletto at you. Custom Louboutins. It’ll be personal.

Max: Fair.

***

Isabelle wasn’t even sure why she had let Emilie drag her out shopping today. She didn’t need anything. She barely ever bought anything for herself—at least, nothing extravagant.

She liked nice things…but she had never been hung up on brands, and she much preferred pieces that didn’t make her look like a walking billboard advertisement for a luxury brand.

(Though she did quite like the absolutely gorgeous Chanel Flap Bag that Max had presented her with a few days ago. He had kept that ridiculous promise of buying her a handbag and she had been too amused to call him out on it.)

“You know, now that you’ve officially quit your job, we need to celebrate,” Emilie said as they strolled into Hermès.

Oh, right, now she remembered. Namely that she had quit her job literally days ago and was now officially unemployed.

Isabelle sighed. “This is the celebration,” she said drily. This and the boozy brunch they had had before going shopping.

“No, no, you buying something is the actual act of celebration.”

“I am not buying another handbag.”

Emilie gave her a flat look. “That’s what you said last time.”

“Yes, and I meant it,” Isabelle shot back. “Max literally bought me a Chanel bag the other day.”

Emilie stopped in her tracks. “He bought you a Chanel bag?”

Isabelle shifted awkwardly. “…Yes.”

“Like, you mentioned it in passing, and he surprised you later? Or was this a ‘we walked into the store, and he casually dropped his credit card’ kind of situation?”

Isabelle sighed, rubbing her temples. “It was a joke.”

“A Chanel bag was a joke?”

“I told him I’d be his trophy wife for a week.”

Emilie looked at her like she’d grown three heads. “And his response was to buy you a Chanel bag?”

“…Yes?” Isabelle said weakly.

Emilie grabbed her by the shoulders. “Isabelle. Your boyfriend is so far gone for you, I don’t think he even remembers what normal human relationships look like.”

Isabelle grimaced, thinking back to that black credit card that was tucked into the back of her wallet. “Can we move on?”

“No. Because you just quit your job, you’re technically unemployed, and your extremely rich, extremely besotted boyfriend is throwing designer bags at you. You are living the trophy wife dream.”

“I am not his trophy wife.”

“I mean, technically, no. But spiritually? You are this close.” Emilie held her fingers an inch apart, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Before Isabelle could protest, a well-dressed sales associate approached with a warm smile. “Miss Leclerc, lovely to see you again.”

Emilie, distracted by a nearby display of silk scarves, barely noticed. “We’d love to see that Kelly bag in black—oh, and maybe the taupe as well.”

The sales associate nodded. “Of course. Mr. Verstappen has his account on file for your purchases.”

Silence.

Emilie’s head snapped up so fast Isabelle was surprised she didn’t give herself whiplash.

“I’m sorry. What did you just say?” Emilie asked, her voice an octave higher than usual.

The associate remained composed. “Mr. Verstappen has set up a standing account for Miss Leclerc. She’s free to make any purchases at her convenience.”

Emilie turned to Isabelle so slowly and so dramatically that Isabelle knew she was never going to hear the end of this.

“Isabelle.” Emilie’s voice was deadly serious. “Are you telling me that Max—your Max—has a shopping account set up for you at Hermès? And you weren’t even going to mention it?”

Isabelle’s face burned. “I— I didn’t think it was important?”

Emilie clutched her own chest like she was on the verge of fainting. “Not important? Isabelle. Your boyfriend is Max Verstappen. He has a personal account at Hermès for you. That means you can walk in here at any time, pick whatever you want, and they just charge it to him?”

The sales associate, clearly trained to deal with these types of reactions, simply nodded. “That is correct.”

Emilie turned back to Isabelle, looking utterly scandalized. “And you don’t use it?”

“I— well, no,” Isabelle admitted, feeling like she was digging herself into a deeper hole. “I don’t need anything.”

Emilie dramatically staggered backward. “I’m sorry. You’re telling me that you could have been out here living your best trophy wife life, and you haven’t been?”

Isabelle groaned. “I knew I shouldn’t have come today.”

Emilie turned back to the associate with a blinding smile. “Yes, please. Bring out everything.” Then, lowering her voice, she added, “And maybe a glass of champagne for me because I need to process the fact that my best friend is living in an actual fairy tale.”

The associate merely nodded, disappearing into the back.

Isabelle folded her arms, glaring at Emilie. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being reasonable,” Emilie countered. “Because, let me get this straight—Max put his credit card on file at one of the most expensive boutiques in Monaco for you to use whenever you want, and you never told me?”

Isabelle groaned, covering her face. “I don’t even use it! I’ve never—”

Emilie held up a hand. “No, no, this is incredible. You could walk in here and buy, like, five bags, and they’d just say, ‘Of course, Miss Leclerc, Mr. Verstappen has already taken care of it.’”

“I’m not doing that!” Isabelle hissed, mortified.

Emilie smirked. “But you could.”

“Em—”

“No, no, let me have this moment.” Emilie leaned against the counter, shaking her head. “I knew he was obsessed with you, but this? This is next-level. Like, top-tier boyfriend behavior. Do you know how many women would kill for this?”

Isabelle sighed. “I don’t want to take advantage of him.”

Emilie threw up her hands. “You wouldn’t be! You’re his girlfriend! He’s obsessed with you! Have you met Max? If anything, he’s probably annoyed you don’t use it more.”

Emilie turned thoughtful for a moment. “Does he do this at other places too? Like, do you walk into Dior and they just start pulling things for you?”

“I don’t know!” Isabelle whisper-yelled. “I don’t go around testing it!”

“Well, you should,” Emilie said firmly. “Because if my boyfriend was this obscenely rich and obsessed with me, you’d best believe I’d be letting him spoil me on principle.”

Before Isabelle could argue, Emilie’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, then cackled. “Oh my God. I’m texting him.”

Isabelle’s eyes widened in horror. “No, do not—”

Too late. Emilie had already typed:

Emilie: Why didn’t you tell me you have a shopping account for Isabelle at Hermès? I just found out and I think I need medical attention.

Seconds later, Max responded.

Max: And?

Emilie turned her phone toward Isabelle with a smug grin. “Look at that. He’s not even fazed.”

Isabelle groaned.

A moment later, another message from Max came through.

Max: She never uses it. Tell her to buy something.

Emilie let out an actual shriek of delight. “I knew it.”

Isabelle covered her face with her hands. “I hate both of you.”

Emilie just smirked, turning back to the sales associate, who had just returned with an armful of options. “Alright, let’s start with the classics.” She turned to Isabelle with a wicked grin. “Because if you don’t pick something, I will.”

Isabelle knew, with absolute certainty, that she had lost this battle, but that didn’t mean she had to go down without a fight.

“I don’t need another bag,” she tried again, crossing her arms as Emilie eagerly surveyed the selection now laid out in front of them. The sales associate had clearly taken Emilie’s enthusiasm as permission to bring out the best pieces—the kind that weren’t just sitting out on the shelves.

Emilie rolled her eyes. “Need? Isabelle, we’re past ‘need.’ This is about principle. Your ridiculously rich boyfriend, who would literally hand you the world if he could, wants you to use his account. And here you are, acting like you don’t deserve it.”

Isabelle shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate Max’s generosity—it was just that… no one had ever really spoiled her before. She had spent so long being overlooked, so long having to sacrifice things for the sake of her family, that being on the receiving end of such thoughtful indulgence felt foreign.

Emilie must have sensed it because her teasing softened into something more gentle. “Hey,” she nudged Isabelle’s arm. “You know Max, right? He’s not the kind of guy who does things halfway. If he put his card on file here, it’s because he wants you to have nice things. Not because he expects anything, not because he’s showing off. Just because he loves you.”

Isabelle exhaled slowly. She did know that. She saw it in the way Max always made sure she ate before he did, in how he paid attention to the little things—how he remembered things about her that even her own family forgot.

Her fingers traced over the soft leather of a cream Verrou bag. It was beautiful. And maybe—just maybe—she could allow herself to accept this part of their relationship.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she looked up at the sales associate. “I’d like this one, please.”

Emilie let out a triumphant squeal. “Finally!”

The associate smiled. “A wonderful choice, Miss Leclerc. We’ll have it wrapped for you shortly.”

Isabelle bit her lip, suddenly feeling a little giddy. It was just a bag. But at the same time… it wasn’t. It was a reminder that, for the first time in her life, she was with someone who didn’t just see her—he cherished her.

As they waited, Emilie picked up her phone and quickly typed something. Isabelle frowned. “What are you doing?”

Emilie smirked. “Updating Max.”

A moment later, his response came through.

Max: Finally.

Isabelle groaned. “You two are a nightmare.”

Emilie grinned. “We’re your nightmare.”

And maybe, just maybe… Isabelle didn’t mind that so much.

***

The sun was warm on her skin as Isabelle let herself be pulled along Avenue de Monte-Carlo, Emilie dragging her from Valentino to Gucci to Miu Miu in a blur of bright storefronts and designer bags.

She should have been tired.

Instead, she felt a little giddy — her new purchase swinging lightly from her hand, perfect indulgence.

It was a perfect afternoon.

Until it wasn’t.

Isabelle had always known where she stood in her family. She had learned not to expect invitations, had conditioned herself to not mind when she was left out of things that should have been obvious.

But still—walking into Goyard with Emilie and coming face-to-face with her mother and her brothers’ girlfriends, all out shopping together like some picture-perfect family outing, stung.

They were all standing together, arms full of shopping bags, laughing about something before her mother’s eyes landed on her.

“Oh,” her mother blinked, clearly surprised to see her. “Isabelle.”

Isabelle forced a polite smile. “Maman.” She nodded at the other women. “I didn’t realize you were all going out today.”

The immediate flicker of guilt across her mother’s face told Isabelle everything she needed to know. They hadn’t forgotten to invite her. They just hadn’t thought to include her at all.

“Oh, it was just a last-minute thing,” her mother said quickly, like that made it better. “We thought we’d do a little shopping before lunch.”

A lunch Isabelle wasn’t invited to either, apparently.

Her brothers’ girlfriends, who had always slotted so seamlessly into the family, exchanged glances, clearly uncomfortable. One of them, Charlotte —Lorenzo’s girlfriend—offered a hesitant, “We didn’t think you’d be interested.”

As if Isabelle never had interests. As if she hadn’t spent years watching from the outside, always an afterthought.

Emilie, standing beside her, said nothing. But Isabelle could feel the rage radiating off of her, the way her best friend’s hands had curled into fists.

Isabelle inhaled slowly, pushing back the familiar wave of hurt. She had learned long ago that showing how much this bothered her never got her anywhere. So instead, she kept her voice light, pleasant—graceful in a way they didn’t deserve.

“Well, I hope you’re all having a lovely time,” she said smoothly. “It’s a beautiful day for shopping.”

Her mother smiled, relieved that Isabelle wasn’t making a scene. “Yes, it is. And what about you, ma chérie? Out with a friend?”

“Yes,” Isabelle said simply. “Just enjoying the afternoon.”

She felt Emilie shift beside her, felt the sudden tension in the way her best friend’s grip tightened around her shopping bag.

“Oh, we picked up something special, actually,” Emilie said, voice perfectly even—but Isabelle knew that tone. She was angry.

She held up the unmistakable Hermès bag. Her mother’s gaze flickered to the bag.

“That’s lovely,” she said, her tone still light.

Isabelle just hummed in response. “Well, we won’t keep you.”

And with that, she turned—head held high, posture poised—pulling Emilie along with her.

They were barely out of earshot before Emilie exploded.

“Are you kidding me?”

Isabelle exhaled slowly. “Emilie—”

“No, Belle, no,” Emilie fumed. “They just—what, decided you didn’t even exist today? Like, ‘oh, we’ll just go shopping without Isabelle, she won’t care’?” She scoffed. “And the fact that your mother didn’t even apologize—”

“Em,” Isabelle sighed. “It’s not—”

“Don’t you dare say it’s not a big deal,” Emilie cut in. “Because it is. And I know you. I know it hurts.”

Isabelle swallowed. “I don’t want to think about it.”

Emilie scoffed. “Fine. But you know who would be furious about this?”

Isabelle shot her a look.

Emilie smirked. “Your boyfriend.”

“Em—” she warned.

“Oh, don’t Em me,” Emilie huffed. “You know he’d lose his mind if he found out they just left you out like that.” She paused, then muttered, “Actually, I kind of want to tell him. Just to watch him get all—” She gestured vaguely. “Dutch and possessive and mad.”

Isabelle bit her lip. Because, yeah. Max would be furious.

Emilie turned, eyes blazing. “How are you not furious right now?”

Because she was furious. Because she was hurt. But she had learned—long, long ago—that showing it didn’t make a difference.

So instead, she just smiled faintly. “I have better things to focus on.”

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: Just so you know, your girlfriend is too classy for her own good.

Max: ?

Emilie: We just ran into her mother and her brothers’ girlfriends while we were shopping.

Emilie: Guess who wasn’t invited on their little girls’ outing?

Max: Tell me you are kidding.

Emilie: I wish I was.

Emilie: They didn’t even try to hide it. Just said it was “last minute”. Charlotte said they didn’t think she’d “be interested”.

Max: Tell her to use the card.

Emilie: What card?

Max: The one in her wallet. Black Card. Behind the receipts she never throws away. My name on the back. Hers on the front

Emilie: YOU GAVE HER A BLACK CARD???

Max: She never uses it. So tell her to.

Emilie: i— oh my god

Max: Anything she wants. Anything that makes her feel the way they don’t.

Emilie: You’re insane

Emilie: I love it

Max: Belle deserves better than scraps.

Max: and tell her I said if she doesn’t buy herself something outrageous, I will.

Emilie: You’re dangerous when you’re emotional.

Max: No. I’m dangerous when people hurt her

Emilie: Honestly? Same.

Emilie: Consider it done.

***

By the time Emilie got back to their café table, her hands were still shaking from how hard she was gripping her phone.

Isabelle barely glanced up from stirring her tea. Too calm. Way too calm for what had just happened.

Emilie stared at her for a moment — at the careful, practiced ease in Isabelle’s movements, at the way she tucked every ounce of hurt so deep inside you might almost miss it.

But Emilie knew her too well.

She could see the small tells. The stiffness in Isabelle’s shoulders. The slight tremor at the corner of her mouth. The way she stirred her tea even though it had long gone cold.

She hated it. Hated how often Isabelle had been forced to wear that mask around the people who should have loved her most. Hated that Isabelle had spent so much of her life being overlooked, sidelined, treated like an afterthought in her own family.

Emilie set her jaw and dropped into the chair across from her.

"We’re using the card," she announced without preamble.

Isabelle blinked up at her, perfectly innocent. "What card?"

Emilie narrowed her eyes. "Don’t play dumb. The card."

Isabelle sighed, setting her spoon down neatly. "I’m not using it, Em."

"You are," Emilie said, practically vibrating with frustration. "Max said you should."

"He always says that," Isabelle muttered, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "He was half-joking when he gave it to me."

Emilie stared at her — this girl she loved like a sister — and felt the white-hot burn of protectiveness flood her chest.

"Belle," she said flatly. "He put your name on a black Amex. That’s not a joke. That’s basically marriage proposal."

Isabelle flushed lightly but lifted her chin, stubborn even in her embarrassment. "It’s for emergencies."

Emilie made a strangled noise. "And what exactly do you call today? Getting iced out of your own family in public counts as an emergency in my book!"

Isabelle shook her head, the corner of her mouth tugging in a small, resigned smile. "Retail therapy doesn’t fix anything."

Emilie leaned in, fire still burning under her ribs. "It fixes your mood," she said fiercely. "And it reminds everyone watching that you’re not some forgotten little sister. You’re the woman whose boyfriend gave her a credit limit bigger than their combined mortgage."

Isabelle gave her a sharp look. "Emilie," she said warningly. “I literally just bought a Hermès bag.”

"And?" Emilie demanded. "You earned it."

Because Isabelle never asked for anything.

Because Isabelle spent her whole life making herself smaller, quieter, easier — trying not to take up space that no one seemed willing to offer her.

And now?

Now she had someone who saw her, who chose her, and Emilie would be damned if she let Isabelle keep hiding from that.

"I’m just saying," Emilie pressed, voice gentler now, "Max didn’t give you that card because he wanted you to buy him groceries. He gave it to you because he wanted you to know you’re taken care of. No conditions. No strings."

Isabelle’s hands curled slightly around her teacup.

She looked so small in that moment, so heartbreakingly unsure of her own worth, and Emilie’s chest ached.

"Belle..." she said softly. "You deserve to be someone’s priority. And he’s trying to show you that you already are."

Outside, Monte Carlo carried on — laughter, footsteps, the clatter of shop doors swinging open and shut — oblivious to the way Isabelle was holding herself together with sheer force of will.

Finally, Isabelle let out a shaky breath and gave Emilie a small, reluctant smile.

"Maybe just... one thing," she said quietly.

Emilie grinned like she’d just won the Monaco Grand Prix. "One thing now," she said smugly. "Ten things later."

Isabelle laughed — properly, this time — and the sound bubbled up between them, fragile and bright and so achingly beautiful that Emilie almost teared up.

She would burn the whole damn world down to protect that laugh.

"And for the record," Emilie added, gathering her bag with a wink, "if you don’t use it, I will."

"I think that would technically be fraud," Isabelle said, smiling into her tea.

"Semantics," Emilie said breezily. "Let’s go make Max proud."

And for once — just once — Isabelle let herself be pulled to her feet without arguing, letting herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she was allowed to be loved exactly as she was.

***

The garage buzzed around Max — the usual sounds of a race weekend: drills, chatter, tires being rolled out, pit crew moving like clockwork. He should have been in the zone. Usually, he was.

But not today.

Today, he was angry.

Not the hot, reckless kind of anger that made his hands shake on a steering wheel —

No, this was quieter. Sharper.

The kind that sat in his chest like a stone, heavy and cold.

He thought about Isabelle standing there, smiling politely while her own family overlooked her like she was invisible.

He thought about the way she brushed it off, like she didn’t even expect to be seen anymore.

It made him want to punch something.

Or someone.

Preferably a Leclerc.

He was mid-checking the tire pressures on the sheet when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Max glanced around, making sure no one was watching too closely, then slipped it out quickly.

Notification: American Express: €9.50 spent at Seaside Juicery.

Max stared at it. For a beat too long.

Then, despite himself — despite everything — he smiled.

The smallest, stupidest purchase imaginable.

Nine euros.

Smoothie, maybe. A Tea. A little something.

But she had used it.

She had listened.

He tucked the phone back into his pocket, feeling stupidly giddy, the anger in his chest cracking just a little.

"Something good?" GP asked, wandering over with a tablet tucked under his arm.

Max shrugged, too casual. "She bought something."

GP blinked. "Who?"

"Isabelle. With the card I gave her. Nine euros," Max said, smirking.

GP laughed under his breath. "Well, congratulations. That's basically free compared to the psychological warfare you went through to get her to accept it."

Max just smiled — that rare, real one that didn’t make it to the cameras.

There was a short pause as the engineers passed by with fresh tire sets, shouting numbers back and forth.

Then Max added, way too casually, "She also bought a Hermes Bag. And she quit her job."

GP turned, full attention on him now. "What?"

"Yeah." Max reached for a bottle of water, twisting the cap off. "Told them to go fuck themselves. Finally."

GP whistled low. "Good for her."

Max shrugged like it was nothing. "She agreed to be my trophy wife for the week while she figures out what she wants to do."

GP choked on his laugh.

"Trophy wife?" he repeated, like he needed clarification.

Max deadpanned, "She makes coffee. Looks pretty. Yells at me to sleep more. Very demanding job."

GP shook his head, grinning. "You’re unbelievable."

Max’s expression softened slightly, the edge still there under it.

"I just want her to have something that’s hers," he said quietly. "Not whatever scraps her family bothers to throw her."

GP studied him for a long beat, then clapped him on the shoulder.

"You’re a pain in the ass, Verstappen," he said, voice light but warm. "But you’re a good one."

Max only shrugged again and grabbed his helmet, fitting it under his arm.

"She deserves better," he said simply. "Always has."

And then he headed toward the car, a little lighter than he'd been an hour ago — a little less furious, and a lot more in love.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Max: I got another card notification

Max: felt very proud

Max: thought maybe you finally bought something for yourself

Isabelle: …it was necessary

Max: €160 on cat toys is necessary??

Isabelle: YES

Isabelle: They’re enrichment tools.

Max: They’re getting a better life than I did growing up

Isabelle: They’re very intelligent

Isabelle: They need stimulation

Max: You bought them a mini velvet couch.

Isabelle: It’s chic and it matches the living room

Max: You’re matching the decor for the cats now??

Isabelle: …a little

Isabelle: You said anything I wanted

Isabelle: I want the cats to live in luxury

Max: I respect the commitment

Max: Does this mean i’m getting upgraded toys too?

Isabelle: Do you need stimulation enrichment?!

Max: If it comes with you feeding me treats and scratching my head too, yes.

Isabelle: MAX

Max: 😂

Max: “enrichment tools” she says

Max: You bought them a miniature sofa!

Isabelle: It matches the living room aesthetic.

Max: We are officially insane.

Max: We have matching furniture with the cats

Isabelle: You say that like it’s a bad thing

Max: It’s not. I’m obsessed with you and apparently with our spoilt cats too.

Isabelle: You started this.

Max: True

Max: I am so proud of my little trophy wife spoiling the cats instead of herself.

Isabelle: Sassy and Jimmy deserve nice things.

Max: So do you.

Isabelle: I’m working on it

Max: You’re perfect and the cats are about to live better than 90% of Monaco.

Isabelle: As they should

Max: Send me pictures when it arrives

Max: I want to see Sassy sitting on her tiny couch like she owns the penthouse.

1K notes · View notes

bosbas · 6 months ago

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Chapter 1: I said, "dancin' is a dangerous game"

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader WC: 2.5k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, lowkey why do i ship daphne and y/n....

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

May 13, 1812 - You were in Hyde Park less than ten minutes before you saw Daphne Bridgerton's figure out of the corner of your eye. Delighted that she'd joined you earlier than expected, you waved her over.

"Hello, Daph," you greeted cheerfully, scooting over so your best friend could sit beside you on the bench. "I didn't think I'd see you for a few hours, given how many gentlemen asked you to dance last night. Did none of them call?"

Daphne groaned, a scowl set deep on her face, as she took a piece of bread from your basket and broke it into chunks to feed the ducks.

"Don't remind me. Most of them called, actually," she responded. "If only Anthony had let me have three seconds with them I might have been able to discern whether or not I was actually interested. He barged into the sunroom and promptly kicked everyone out. There was not a single suitor left in the room by the time he'd finished!"

You snorted. "Ah, so the overbearing eldest brother is once again to blame."

"Isn't he always?" she responded, too annoyed to match the lightness in your tone.

You just smiled to yourself and fed the ducks silently, knowing Daphne well enough to hide your smile from her, given that she was more than likely fuming at Anthony's constant meddling. You knew he meant well, but he was known to go a bit overboard at times. Well, most times. Especially when it came to Daphne's courtships.

"Anthony's the biggest rake in Mayfair, anyway. I don't know exactly what moral high ground he thinks he's standing on but it's certainly not as sturdy as he assumes," continued Daphne, still upset over that morning's happenings.

"Is it really that bad, Daph?" you said in an attempt to console her. "At least you're not getting hordes of unpleasant men at your doorstep every day. And you know the kinds of men that frequent the ton aren't always the kind you'd want to spend your afternoons with."

"I'm not getting any men at my doorstep! That's the problem!" exclaimed Daphne, exasperated. "I know you might not share the same desires as me, but I would eventually like to get married and have a family."

"I want to find a husband, too," you insisted, your tone bordering on defensive. "I just don't particularly feel bothered to look for one during my first season."

Daphne sobered immediately, coming out of her annoyance toward her brother as she could sense you were upset. "I didn't mean it like that, I swear," she insisted, placing a hand on your shoulder and looking into your eyes. "It was just-"

"I understand," you smiled at her, placing your hand over hers. "I just don't have the same urgency as you do, on account of my father having absolutely no stake in my marital status. No stake in anything about me at all, actually."

It would be a sad sentiment if you weren't used to it. You were an only child, and your mother had died after getting ill when you were only five years old. Your father, of course, was quite busy with the land he managed, and thus most of your upbringing had just been you and your governess. And the Bridgertons, of course.

You had met Daphne when she was eight and you were seven, and the two of you had gotten along splendidly since then. Since you had no real family of your own, bar your absent father, you spent copious amounts of time at the Bridgerton residence at Daphne's insistence. You now found yourself to be a semi-permanent fixture in their house, feeling just as home there as you did at your father's home.

This proximity to the Bridgertons had made you intimately familiar with Anthony's overprotective demeanor. Ever since you and Daphne were young, Anthony had gone out of his way to make sure that his siblings were cared for. Sometimes that included you, too. But unfortunately, he could take it too far sometimes.

"Did you like anyone last night, at least? Your dress was quite magnificent and I know I'm not the only one who noticed," you winked at Daphne.

She hummed thoughtfully. "I don't entirely know. I don't think one dance is enough to know whether I truly like someone," she responded, slumping down on the bench.

"Especially not when Anthony cuts the dance short halfway through," you laughed, recalling the eldest Bridgerton's attempts to thwart Daphne's search for a husband.

But your comment did nothing to lighten the mood. Instead, it seemed to make your friend even more irritated.

"It's my second year out in society! I still don't have a husband. Not even close to it, apparently," continued Daphne, aggressively tossing bits of bread into the pond.

"Well, you have to marry eventually. Anthony can't keep you away from every man for the rest of your life!" you argued.

But this did little to quell Daphne's annoyance. "He's certainly trying," she muttered.

"We can ship him off to the West Indies for the season," you joked. "Surely he won't be able to interrupt your suitors from halfway across the globe."

Suddenly, Daphne raised her eyebrows, looking at you with a devious smile.

"I was only joking! We can't actually ship him away," you laughed. "Besides, how would the ladies of the ton ever survive without the most desirable bachelor who is always just out of reach?"

Daphne snorted, amused at your dig at Anthony. "No, no, we don't have to ship him away," she said. "But you are correct in saying that I need time away from him to fully explore potential matches."

You hummed in agreement, imagining how much easier life would be for Daphne if her older brother simply... let her be. "Is he going on a hunting trip soon?" you said hopefully.

Your best friend shook her head, still smiling at you like she was plotting something.

"What is it?" you pressed, laughing at her expression.

"Can I ask you a favor?" she said, an expectant look in her eyes.

“Yes, I’ll kill Anthony for you. I’ve only been waiting for you to ask,” you joked.

“No,” Daphne laughed. “I’m serious.”

“Go on then,” you nodded.

“Could you ask him to dance at tomorrow’s ball?”

“Me? Ask him? Are you out of your mind?” you sputtered. You had never danced with Anthony at a ball, and you couldn't fathom the first time you did so being after you were the one to ask him.

“Y/N, please. I can’t just rely on forlorn glances across the ballroom to secure suitors. I need to actually speak with them, and I won’t be able to if Anthony keeps... hovering.”

Granted, hovering was a very generous word for what Anthony was really doing. But still, you looked at her, uncertainty in your eyes. You weren’t particularly keen on asking Anthony to dance, knowing he was famously opposed to marriage at this point in his life. Yes, you had grown up around him, but that didn’t mean he was interested in you at all, and you didn’t want to face that rejection if you could avoid it.

“Don’t give me that look! I promise it’ll work,” cried Daphne, desperate. “Just tell him you feel like dancing but don’t want to give another man the wrong impression since it’s only your first season and you’re still biding your time. Most of which is true.”

She made a good point. You didn’t want the hordes of men that seemed to flock to Daphne just yet. And would one dance really hurt that much?

---

The music in the ballroom pleasantly surrounded you as you stood next to Violet. Daphne had left to dance with Lord Wilson, a bachelor of very distinguished background who seemed to be hanging onto every word your best friend said.

Just as you turned to Violet to comment on how well-suited the pair looked, Anthony stormed over to where you were standing.

"It's unbelievable that she's even giving him the time of day," he said lowly, looking wholly unimpressed by the dance happening a few feet in front of him.

You could feel Anthony growing tense beside you as the seconds ticked by, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. Three seconds of his sister speaking with a man and he was ready to explode already? He was worse than you thought.

You saw Daphne lean back as she laughed at something the gentleman said, and you knew you had to act fast before Anthony intervened.

“Oh, the music is wonderful tonight! Anthony, would you care for a dance?”

He tore his gaze away from his sister and looked at you, perplexed.

“Are you asking me to dance?”

“I believe I am, Anthony,” you said.

He scoffed, not quite believing you. “That is not very proper of you, Lady L/N.”

“And you are a great authority on propriety, I presume?" you said, a playful edge to your voice. "Given your… adventures as a rake, surely you have a better idea of what is proper than I do.”

Anthony choked at your bold choice of words, not used to people calling him out so publicly. “Y/N! Why do you want to dance with me then, if I'm such a rake?”

You rolled your eyes. “I just enjoy the music and want to dance. And I don’t want to give any other men the wrong impression,” you recited exactly what Daphne had told you to say.

He nodded reluctantly and took your hand. “Very well. One dance, then. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong impression of me either.”

This was the last time you ever did anything for Daphne. God, how difficult could one man be?

But all of your annoyance faded away once he placed his hand on your hip and spun you around. This was rather nice, you found yourself thinking. You hadn't properly danced at a ball yet, and you couldn't help but think that you'd missed out on a rather enjoyable activity.

The dance was going along quite smoothly, and you and Anthony seemed to be melting together, no longer two individuals but instead moving more like one entity. You were especially enjoying whenever his grip shifted slightly and his hand ran across the small of your back. To be truthful, you were simply having fun.

That is until you felt Anthony shifting you across the dance floor so you could get nearer to Daphne and the gentleman she was dancing with. Feeling Anthony's shoulders tense underneath your gingerly placed hands, you looked up at him.

Looking into his eyes, you raised your eyebrows. "She's fine, you know. You don't have to watch over her every second of every ball."

Anthony rolled his eyes, dismissing your comment. "Of course I do. She's my sister! I have to take care of her. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to her or if she ended up betrothed to a dolt."

"Anthony," you softened your tone. "It's quite alright. It's not all up to you. You've got an entire family to keep her safe. And me, of course."

You could feel his muscles relax under your hands. "Thank you," he breathed out. "I know all of that to be true. I just worry about her. And about you! But luckily there aren't many suitors of yours to scare off."

"Oh," you said, your voice squeakier than you intended. "Thank you?" you questioned. You weren't quite sure how to take his comment.

"No!" he rushed out, immediately realizing what his words sounded like. "I didn't mean it like that. Daphne had just mentioned that you're not as interested in finding someone right now since it's your first season. And I hadn't really seen you dance with anyone at one of these balls before. And-"

"It's no trouble, Anthony," you smiled, giggling at how flustered he'd gotten. "I appreciate the concern nonetheless."

He shook his head, still not believing that he'd been so rude toward you. As much as you were a familiar face around his home, he couldn't quite tease you the way he did Daphne or any of his other sisters, and he was dreadfully embarrassed that he had made you upset, even if just for a moment.

"If you ever want to dance again, just come to me, understood?" he said, his voice turning serious. "I don't need another one of you to worry about."

You could barely contain your laughter as the music came to an end. "Yes, Anthony," you said dutifully, smiling at how silly he was being.

Looking over at Daphne, you were pleased to see that everything had gone to plan and she'd had the chance to talk to Lord Wilson the entire time you'd been with her brother. It was a relief that she'd finally gotten a normal courting experience.

Before Anthony could reach her and wrench her away from her suitor, Daphne rushed over to you, grabbing your arm excitedly.

"Shall we take a turn about the ballroom?" she suggested, leaving you no room to protest as she led you away from her mother and brother.

You laughed at her excitement, glad that your best friend was finally enjoying herself.

"Thank you so much, Y/N, truly," she gushed, squeezing your arm affectionately. "That was absolutely incredible. It's the longest time I've been able to spend with a potential match without Anthony hanging over my shoulder."

"I'm happy to do it," you said amusedly. "He was that lovely, then?"

"Oh, absolutely not," she shook her head. "Lord Wilson was dreadfully boring. But at least now I know! And I don't have to pine over him or wonder what he would be like. I know for certain I'm not interested, and I can focus on finding my true love match."

"That's wonderful, Daph," you laughed. You truly held so much affection for her. It was endearing to see her so excited over spending time with a man she didn't even like.

Suddenly, Daphne slowed her pace. Turning you around, she held both of your hands and took a deep breath. "Yes, it was. Which is why I must ask you to dance with Anthony tomorrow night as well."

"What do you mean? Ask him to dance again? I thought this was only for tonight," you sounded unconvinced. Asking her brother to dance one time had already been enough of a hassle, but having to pretend to need him to dance with you once more was looking like an insurmountable challenge.

"Please, Y/N," she begged. "It's the only way I'll find a husband that isn't someone like Nigel Berbrooke," she added, whispering the last part.

It was true, Anthony seemed to have impossibly high standards that only the most unpleasant bachelor in Mayfair seemed to be able to meet. If you could do anything to protect Daphne from that unpleasant fate, you would do it.

"I suppose I could try tomorrow night. Though I can't promise he'll want to dance with me again. Anthony seemed quite reluctant tonight," you conceded.

"Nonsense," said Daphne, rolling her eyes. "Anthony loves you dearly, I can't imagine he'd ever turn you down."

"Whatever you say," you responded, unconvinced but unwilling to dampen your best friend's chipper mood. Besides, you had a wonderful time with Anthony tonight. How could another dance possibly go wrong?

—

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glowettee · 1 month ago

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✧ if it doesn't align with the dream life, it's a distraction ✧

hey lovelies!! 🦢

omg, so, i was literally journaling last night & this phrase just hit me like… so hard. "if it doesn't align with the dream life, it's a distraction." i had to stop writing and just sit with that for a min.

because honestly? i've been feeling so scattered lately. like my energy is going in a million directions but none of them are taking me where i actually want to go. and i realized that's exactly what happens when we don't have clarity on our it-girl blueprint.

so what even is an it-girl blueprint? it's not just aesthetic or vibes (tho those matter too!!) but it's this deep knowing of who you're meant to become. it's that version of you who wakes up excited, who feels aligned, who's living in her dream apartment with her dream career and her dream people. she exists!! she's waiting for you to become her!!

this post is a bit different from my most recents, i wanted to take a little tinyyy break from my pop culture series', like the pll x glowettee and vampire diaries x glowettee series' and just focus more on self-improvement again. i also wanted to take a break from the overwhelming aesthetics i've been using in my posts, and justtttt write~~ (no small text, no crazy colors, just my thoughts) and i realized that distractions have been very prominent in my life lately... so i wanted to address it in this post, and some possible solutions <3

✧ what's actually distracting you? ✧

okay so grab your journal rn and let's get super real about what's pulling you away from your dream life, feel free to use these prompts:

that situationship that makes you feel anxious every time they text (you know the one)

the hours of scrolling that leave you feeling empty inside

saying yes to plans when your body is literally begging you to rest

the "friend" who always has drama and makes everything about them

that project you started because you thought you "should" but you actually hate

staying in that job/class/situation because you're scared to disappoint someone

comparing your chapter 1 to someone else's chapter 20 (guilty!!)

i've been doing this work myself and it's kinda scary how many things i was pouring energy into that weren't actually taking me anywhere i wanted to go??

✧ getting clear on your actual dream life ✧

before we can align with our dream life, we need to know what it actually looks like! not what instagram or your mom or society thinks it should look like, but what YOU want.

some journal prompts that helped me:

when do i feel most like myself?

what activities make me lose track of time?

who makes me feel seen, safe, and supported?

what would my perfect morning routine look like if i had zero obligations?

what kind of spaces make me feel calm and inspired?

what would i do with my time if money wasn't an issue?

what parts of my current life would i keep even if i could change everything?

i did this exercise last weekend and realized that so many things i was chasing weren't even in my dream life blueprint?? like i was stressing about getting into this super competitive program but when i really thought about it, it wasn't even aligned with what i actually want. wild.

✧ how to actually make decisions that align ✧

okay, so here's my little framework for making choices that actually build your dream life:

the body check: before saying yes to anything, check in with your body. does it feel expansive and light, or contracted and heavy? your body literally knows before your brain does!!

the future self question: what would the version of you who's already living your dream life do? she knows!! trust her!!

the energy audit: does this person/activity/commitment give you energy or drain it? only say yes to energy-givers (this one changed my life omg)

the alignment test: ask yourself "does this move me closer to or further from my dream life?" be brutally honest!!

the joy metric: if it doesn't bring you joy or lead to joy, why are you doing it?? (unless it's like… taxes or something lol)

✧ how to let go of the distractions ✧

this is the hardest part tbh. because we get attached to things even when they're not serving us! here's what's helping me:

remember that saying no to something is saying yes to your dream life

start with the easiest distractions first (for me it was unfollowing accounts that made me feel bad)

create little rituals around letting go (i write things down and then burn the paper)

remind yourself that outgrowing things is part of becoming

be gentle with yourself when you slip back into old patterns (we all do it!!)

i had to let go of a friendship a few months that was taking so much energy, and it was really hard but also?? i suddenly had all this space to focus on things that actually matter to me.

✧ your dream life alignment practice ✧

here's a little daily practice i've been doing:

morning: set an intention to notice what aligns and what distracts

throughout the day: when making choices, ask "dream life or distraction?"

evening: celebrate the aligned choices you made + gently note the distractions

it's not being perfect!! it's becoming more conscious of our choices. because every tiny decision is either building your dream life or… not.

i've been doing this for about three weeks now and i already feel so much clearer and more focused. like i'm finally moving in one direction instead of being pulled in a million different ones.

remember: you deserve your dream life. and it starts with choosing it, over and over, in all the tiny moments.

question from mindy:

what's one distraction you're ready to let go of? and one aligned action you're ready to take? (feel free to send me a message in my inbox, or just reblog answering this question.)

xoxo, mindy 🤍

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5sospenguinqueen · 1 month ago

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TTDLAGG | Liam Lawson x Reader

Summary: Red Bull PR love how cute your booktok aesthetic is. Fans love the stark contrast to the content of those books. And Liam, well he benefits from it all.

Warnings: heavily suggestive content, swearing, booktok, fluff, onyx storm SPOILERS!

Requested: yes by anon But I realise I went completely off the topic of the ask so I’m very sorry. I hope you still enjoy

F1 Masterlist

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

liamlawson30 just posted

liked by maxfewtrell, isackhadjar and others

liamlawson30 take her on holiday and the only thing in her suitcase was books

30,010 comments

readingwithyn how do you manage to take the prettiest photos of me

→ liamlawson30 because you are the prettiest

→ user1 get you a man who is as down bad for you as liam lawson is for yn

use2 liam lawson is f1’s #1 wag

lilymhe okay but she is the prettiest f1 driver there ever was

→ alex_albon excuse me?

→ jensonbutton excuse me?

→ readingwithyn my wife 💍 but i could never compete with kimi raikonnen

→ liamlawson30 excuse me?

kevinmagnussen i’d rather her hands be on the book than you, kiwi

→ readingwithyn will you pack it in with the big brother act, already? it’s been 3 years

→ kevinmagnussen no. and he should count himself lucky that i’m not on track next year

→ liamlawson30 🫣😧

mercedesamgf1 feeling your pain, all she does during meetings is read on her phone.

→ mercedesamgf1 she thinks we can’t see her but we can

→ readingwithyn why are you shit talking me on main?

→ readingwithyn do you not know that i am going through a very emotional time right now? i just finished my book and have to decide what to read next

→ mercedesamgf we know. it’s all you talked about last week

readingwithyn just posted

liked by jackdoohan, lojorup and others

readingwithyn many of you told me i should start this series next and i’m a sucker for dragons so here goes

12,925 comments

user3 i love how she has a work insta and a reading insta and this is the only one she ever actually uses

→ user4 it’s the fact that she likes her own book posts with her f1 account

→ user5 wait, she runs an f1 fan account as well?

→ user6 oh god, we’ve got another one about to learn the yn magnussen lore

jackdoohan what chapter are you on? ‘cause we need to debrief but i don’t want to risk spoiling anything. and you haven’t updated your goodreads

→ readingwithyn i’m on page 552

→ jackdoohan in which case, prepare for a voice note

→ user7 i love that jack is part of her f1 book club

→ lilymhe @/jackdoohan put it in the gc please

→ visacashapprb how do we join?

→ mercedesamgf1 you don’t. we already have to fight for her attention and we’re literally the colours of violet’s hair. we don’t need more competition

user8 okay but girly you are in for a ride

→ user9 she handles cars at 200mph, I’m sure she’s got this

→ user10 this is a different kind of ride

→ user11 in more ways than one 🍆

liamlawson30 i haven’t seen those dragons since your goblet of fire obsession

→ readingwithyn i may have to rename them now

→ kevinmagnussen don’t you dare give kevin jr some silly fantasy name

→ readingwithyn kevin jr was renamed to kevin sucks a while ago…

→ kevinmagnussen @/liamlawson30 i know this is your fault

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readingwithyn added to their story

kevinmagnussen replied i had to google this myself and i’m actually disgusted with you → what the hell are you reading → why are you exposing me to this → readingwithyn i told you to stop following me ages ago → kevinmagnussen i miss when you were little and thought boys would give you cooties

liamlawson30 replied is this another thing you’re going to need me to test with you?

jackdoohan replied couldn't wrap my head around it either so i had to go to the ladies on tik tok. very educational → i'll send you the link

lilymhe replied i tried to convince alex to do it with me (fully clothed) for anatomical purposes but he just looked at me in disgust → readingwithyn brb. gonna ask liam for help with something lilymhe reacted with 🔥

liamlawson30 added to their story

kevinmagnussen replied i had to google this and now i’m disgusted with you → why are you exposing me to this → why are you also partaking in this behaviour → oh y’all nasty. watch your back, lawson, because i know what kind of sicko you are now

visacashapprb replied the ladies on twitter told us the door lean is very well appreciated btw. just in case you need to make up for clipping her car earlier

lilymhe replied the door lean will get her to instantly forgive you. trust me. → liamlawson30 you sound like you speak from experience → lilymhe alex giggled more than i did, and it still worked

yn_amg replied stop trying to make me forgive you → liamlawson30 i must be in trouble if you’re replying with your business account → yn_amg i’ve been liking all the comments about how evil you are for crashing into me → liamlawson30 cheers, babe → yn_amg if you stop sulking, I’ll show you how good i am at the acronym → liamlawson30 i am speed!

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liamlawson30 just posted

liked by yn_amg, visacashapprb and others

liamlawson30 you must allow me to tell you how ardently i love and admire you

33,201 comments

readingwithyn i already said yes but quoting mr darcy for me? locked in for life

→ liamlawson30 i thought the ring already meant that

→ readingwithyn i’m trying to say that i love you, ya goof

user1 okay but this is the cutest proposal he could have possibly chosen for her

→ user2 the fact that he tagged her book insta and not her professional one shows he truly knows her

→ user3 and she loves him enough to like this with her work account as well

hulkhulkenberg is kevin freaking out?

→ kevinmagnussen feel like doing your haasband a favour?

→ hulkhulkenberg say no more. i can feel the spirit of kevin magnussen flowing through me

→ liamlawson30 i asked for your support and you said yes!

user4 the fact that she’s known more for her love of books than being a racing driver

lilymhe maid of honour goes to me obviously. no one else is worthy to carry the bouquet made out of book papers

→ jackdoohan check yourself, queen. i will fight you for it

georgerussell63 now it’s time to figure out if she’ll talk more about books or a wedding

→ mercedesamgf1 books

→ visacashapprb books

→ liamlawson30 books

→ readingwithyn or how to incorporate books into a wedding

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

all i can do is apologise for what you just read

this just made me realise that i miss kevin (and that i really need to get into a smut mood so i can write part 3 for him)

tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @lilorose25 @sillyfreakfanparty @justaf1girl @piastri-fvx

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moldycheezeit · 2 months ago

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Chapter 1

You were a good kid, great kid even. But no one ever really knew, well maybe your high school science teacher and Alfred, but they were the only ones.

Someone out there is probably thinking ‘‘well what about your mom she would surely care?” Well to bad she wasn't there, well at first she was, during the pregnancy, but when it was time for you to come into the world all of a sudden she didn’t fit into said world. So death took her away from you minutes after you were born.

For that and maybe because you look like her, they probably wouldn’t know because they barely look let alone talk to you, they neglected you and it hurt because these are the people who are supposed to love and care for you. But with the help of Alfred you learned to take care of yourself which leads you to this moment. Like right now where you are standing at this very moment. At the school's science fair because you, even if people don’t believe it because of how pretty you are, are really smart when it comes to science. You learned for your love of science by reading a book that your mom had written and left behind after she passed. She left behind many more things for you but this stood out among the rest. It was mostly filled with ideas on things to create and ways that could make it possible. So you tried the one that you found the most interesting and figured out a way to create it. Of course it took a bunch of trial and error but you made it work with what you had. Seeing as Bruce never gave you any money ,like an allowance, you had to find scraps to make your inventions work. Now let’s get back to that competition.

You are currently standing next to the table with your invention ‘the gauntlet’ yea you didn’t know what to name it. What it can do is tell you any sickness or disease if you were to type in the symptoms of your patient. It takes the form of a bracelet but when activated it basically takes up the back of your hand and half of your forearm. It has two screens, one that you use to type and the other that gives off a hologram-like screen. Yea it’s clunky and doesn’t look right at the moment, but for your first model it’s great.

While standing around waiting for the judges to come see your product you see a man. He looked to be in his 40’s and had short brown hair, a weird looking goatee, and was wearing… sunglasses? Indoors…welp at least he’s not wearing something stupid like a bat suit. He does look familiar but you can’t remember were from. You notice he’s looking around at the invitations and talking to the creators. And he seems to be heading in your direction like right now. He’s 5 tables away, 4, 3, 2– “Hey kid what’s this you got?” The man is smiling like he’s actually interested in what you have to say. That is not really normal. “This is a gauntlet I created to tell you of any sickness or disease if you were to type in the symptoms of your patient.” You had responded to the man’s question confidently. “Wow you really programmed it to do all that.” He questioned, interested in the gauntlet that sits in the display case. “Yes, it took me a while to do it though.” You had said, uttering the last part to yourself. “ I can imagine seeing as I've done a bunch of stuff just like it.” The uh.. Weirdo, yea lets go with that, had told you. Now that surprised you, But before you could ask any questions the weirdo ,as you've dubbed him, started walking away. “Alright see you later kid, hope you win with that invention you got.” you could hear his voice starting to fade a bit as he walked away. And all you could think was ‘ Man was a weirdo.’

It's been a while since the judges had come over to your table, because right now they were deciding on who the top 3 will be. You kinda hoped one of them would be the red haired kid who made that moving metal arm out of scraps. To you it was just really cool. You can't help but hope to get in the top 3 as well because the winners get cash. ‘ I need that money so I can create more inventions, yea using what I have on hand is good but there is a limit of how much I can do with it. Not like Bruce would give me any.’ you had rolled your eyes thinking about that last sentence. Hopefully with the creations your mom thought of they could help you get enough money to never rely on that man again.

Just as you ended that thought the speakers in the hall started projecting what the announcer was saying into the mic. “ Can all the contestants make their way to the stage, the judges have finally made their decisions.” You and all the other contestants start making your way to the front where the judges are. luckily it's not that far of a walk and when you get there you all stand in a crowd. when you all get there the announcer starts speaking “ even though we had a lot of good intentions this year only about three of you can make the top. so we'll start from 3rd to 1st place in order of who got which.” As the crowd stands there in anticipation the announcer starts speaking again “ In third place is kidd with his metal arm that he has made to help people who are missing limbs, we hope to see more in the future for him.” as people clap you see the red-haired kid you saw earlier walking up to get onto the stage in the announcer hands him a third place medal and a check with money on it. “ Now for second place Elijah who has made a machine that can take packages of food and can make them into full meals.” Just like before you had seen this kid Elijah start walking up to the stage and when he got on the stage he had received his second place medal in his check that he had won. “And finally for our first place we have a (y/n) Wayne who has shown us a gauntlet. That can help people in the medical field identify diseases if they have a hard time figuring out what they are or what the patient has.” You're surprised to hear that you knew you were smart but you didn't know you would win first place. As you walk up to the stage you have a rush of excitement in you. Finally, you can have money to help create your inventions, your mom's inventions. you can finally fulfill the dream she had that she wrote in her books from before you were born.But when you go on stage the announcer only handed you the first place medal you were surprised to not see a check that came with it then out of the corner of your eye you see the same weirdo man from earlier with a big check walking towards you. “ Hey kid you won just like expected, hopefully you can put this money to use and make more amazing creations like the one you made for today.” But you couldn't help but say “ you look familiar.” and happily he answers your question saying “I'm Tony Stark kid.” Ah.so that's why he looked so familiar.

If you watch one piece see what I did there. ٩(^ᗜ^ )و I thought it would be a funny thing to put in. Also sorry I keep posting at like 1am its really the only time I'm free

Taglist : @cxcilla @starslightzz @jackchanzzz @simpingpandas @galaxypurplerose @spqce-buns @peche4et3chocolat @ryuushou @moon0goddess @fanficloverlol

#batsis!reader #neglected reader #platonic #platonic batfam #tony stark x reader #teen!reader #yandere batfam #moldycheezeit

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promenadewithme · 6 months ago

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Twelve days of Christmas - Chapter 1

paring: bucky barnes x fem! reader word count: 733 words warnings: marriage, children, slight angst, christmas. let me know if there is anything else :)

part 1 part 2 part 3

He was late. Again. Bucky had promised he would make an effort, as he did every time, but Stark always had him busy with one thing or another. You guessed men were all the same. Once they had the girl, they stopped trying. You never expected that from your husband, though. Closed off as he might seem, James had a good heart, one that did all he could for your family. All except actually show up recently.

Unlocking your phone for the millionth time, you were greeted by your string of unseen messages sent over the past two hours.

Liv and I are already at the school.

I saved you a seat, third row to the left.

James, are you coming?

It’s about to start soon, are you still at work?

I can’t believe you’re doing this again.

James?

At any moment, your daughter would be going up on stage, adorably dressed as a sugar plum fairy for her school’s Christmas performance. And he wasn’t there. You could clearly picture Olivia’s face as she stepped into the spotlight, searching for her dad in the crowd, only to find his absence. The purse that sat where he was supposed to be served as a reminder of every seat you saved him that her never occupied. Every time it got harder. Both to place the bag as you sat and to remove it when he didn’t show.

“Where the hell are you, James?” you muttered under your breath.

During your relationship and beginning of your marriage, your husband was the most caring and present man that ever existed. Then Liv was born, and rent was due. Money made the world spin and the lack of it made your husband seek more work. You knew he was overworked. You knew he did it for your family. The thing is, you had already gotten a raise and so did he, a significant one at that. You were comfortable, there was enough money saved for months if not more than a year. That did not make James slow down.

You knew he did not care about the money. He wasn’t the kind of guy to delight in the luxuries this world had to offer. Practical to a fault, he would even wear the same ragged clothes until you secretly replaced them. So why did he do it? Work until 3am, miss birthdays and special occasions, pull away from your family. From you.

It made you wonder if all those late nights were truly spent working. Maybe he was slowly forgetting your family because he found himself in someone else. Maybe your worst fear, that you would never be enough no matter how hard you tried, was the harsh reality. Maybe he was better off without you.

“Hey, is this seat taken?” one of the mothers you usually saw during drop-off asked, steering you from your thoughts.

Was it? You gazed at the auditorium doors one last time, hoping to see your husband’s face as he searched for you. But there was no one. People were already settled down and the lights started to dim. He wasn’t coming. A fact you already knew but had not found in yourself to believe.

“All yours.” You replied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

As the woman sat down, something settled in your chest. Something you already knew you had to do, that you lacked the courage to. For your daughter, but mostly for yourself. You were tired of being the only one showing up, the only one fighting for a relationship that felt one-sided.

No. No more. You would rather be single again and truly be alone than to feel so lonely with someone by your side. So much for better or worse. He couldn’t even stay home for long enough to know if times were good or bad, to know you were falling apart.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the play began and you were grateful for the dark. Falling into its embrace, you wished one last time that your husband would show up. You wished he would realize that he was losing you. With all your heart, you wished he would do something, say something. Change. As much as you loved James, you wished he would change. By the time the lights turned on again, you realized that not all Christmas wishes come true.

If you enjoy my work and are able to contribute, please leave a tip here 🫶

divider by @bernardsbendystraws

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel #christmas #christmas fic

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lowkeyerror · 7 months ago

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Ours Together pt 3

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Word Count: 8k

Notes: Agatha All Along Spoilers, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, intimacy bordering on smut but no actual smut, happy ending, everyone survives

Summary: Things get rocky between the coven as they work to get through the rest of trials and off of the road. It begins to feel like Agatha, Rio, and their fallen angel versus the rest of the witches.

An: Took me awhile to write this one, but it is longer than the other parts. This is the final chapter of Ours Together, so I hope you guys enjoyed. Feel free to like, reply, reblog, and slide into my inbox with any questions about this fic. Thank you for reaading 🫶.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Masterlist

You were trying to find a way to be ok with leaving Agatha behind. The argument that the road wasn’t real, wasn’t working anymore. Not when you could remember the feeling of your wings being severed.

“Looks like the next trial is up ahead.”

A cabin. It’s disarming enough, but you knew better. A glamorous home, and the gates of heaven were both omens on this trail.

“Let’s get this over with,” you mumble entering the wooden structure.

You were uninterested in what was to transpire until you came to the understanding that this was Agatha’s trial. That information made you focus more on quickly executing the task.

Learning that you had to Ouija was disappointing. Due to your previous affiliation you were not allowed to touch the boards. If an angel were too touch a Ouija board there was a chance that their soul would get lost with the others.

So you watched on edge as the others did the board. You couldn’t help, but laugh a little when Agatha pretended to be possessed. You even laughed a bit when board said that Death was here with you. However your laughter completely stopped when it kept spelling out punish Agatha.

When she let go of the board you knew it was going to be all bad. The witches in the coven turned on her pretty quickly.

“It’s clear what we have to do, punish Agatha.”

“Try again because you’re not touching her,” you kept your voice low and calm.

You could feel their eyes on you.

“Y/n it’s what the trial wants. You should know-”

You stop them there, “You’re right, I do know because I had to have my wings cut off. What I learned is what happens in these trials is painfully real. So I dare you to touch her.”

Rio stands by your side, arm loosely hanging over your shoulder, “I’m on her side.”

“That’s not fair. Agatha has literal Death and The Fallen Angel protecting her, what are we supposed to do?” Jen throws her hands up in exasperation.

It starts a bickering amongst everyone. They all send looks your way. It's not something you mind anymore. You had gotten used to hostile starts a long while ago.

“What if it's the only way?” Agatha says just so the two of you can hear.

“We will find another way,” Rio reassures the woman.

That's when the lights go dark. You stay close to Rio, forming an outward facing circle with the rest. Agatha had vanished from her spot.

“Agatha,” you call her name tentatively.

Its not until Teen flashes his light at the ceiling that you see a clearly possessed Agatha drop down. Everyone screams at her appearance.

“What the fuck?” Slips out of your mouth as you watch your lover crawl and swing her arms around.

“Sweetheart, you okay?” Rio calls out tentatively.

“Oh my god.”

Agatha has Jen in her hold before anyone can do anything about it. You all try to get her to loosen her grip, but nothing works until Lilia hits the lights. Once she does you and Rio become frantic as Agatha disappears again.

“Agatha! Where is she, alright? Where is she!” Rio’s frustration grows.

You take her hand in yours, silently. Your eyes wandering the room because you’re still trying to find Agatha as well.

“What’s that?” Teen says as a almost translucent cloud forms in front of the stairs.

Your frown deepens, “A ghost.”

“I hate ghosts,” Rio grumbles as the image of a woman who is familiar to the both of you materializes.

Lilia asks the ghosts who she is. Evanora, answers and you can’t hide your look of irritation.

When Agatha speaks up from her spot on the stairs you feel relief wash over you. She’s ok, you breathe a little easier. Simultaneously, your heart breaks as you watch her pretend to be nonchalant about her mother possessing her.

“You must finish the road without Agatha, leave her with me.”

“No, no way!” Rio’s eyes burn into the ghost.

“Weren’t you guys fighting at some point before all this?”

You glare stays on Evanora, “Yeah, well, her mother can’t have her.”

The ghost floats towards Rio, who takes a step back. You block Evanora’s path, your eyes taking on that dangerous black color.

“Mom? Why do you hate me still?” Agatha comes down the stairs to question her mother with a vulnerability that you didn’t think anyone else would ever see.

“You were born evil. I ought to have killed you the moment you left my body.”

When you see a tear slide down Agatha’s face, you lose it. While the rest of the coven is taken aback by Evanora’s harsh words, you weigh your options.

“We have to go,” Jen says, turning to leave Agatha behind.

Agatha pleas are genuine as they fall from her lips, “Please take me with you. Don’t go. Don’t leave me with her I can be good. Please!”

“NO ONE IS LEAVING!” Your voice shakes the walls as you speak.

Jen tries to take a step forward, but she can’t in fact no one in the room can move freely except for you, Rio, and Agatha.

Evanora sees your display of power and tries to hide herself in Agatha’s body.

“Oh no you don’t, you raggedy bitch.”

You’re quick to lay your wrists against each other and open your palms outward. The magic that emits is black just like your wings. The power hits the ghost. She lets out a cry of agony, looking wildly around as her soul is being melted away by your magic.

“Holy shit,” Teen says as they all watch it unfold.

“You’re a fool. An angel ripped from heaven because of my daughter’s sinister impact, yet you protect her. She doesn't love you, she's incapable. She’s evil reincarnated, she will never-” Evanora’s ramble is quick and panicked as she begins to fade from existence.

You let up on your attack just to get closer to her. You squat down to her level, “Being in love with Agatha is one of the best things that could've ever happened to me. I will never regret it. She has always been good to me, even when I haven’t deserved it. For what you’ve done to her, I will erase you from every plane of existence because you, Evanora Harkness deserve a fate worse than eternal damnation.”

Your wings come out without your permission, making the moment look like something from a movie. With a single hand you begin unleashing your power on the ghost again. Your eyes, black and unblinking, your wings spread wide, your body firm in it’s place as you watch the ghost squirm underneath you.

Her words are incoherent as the screams take over. Her eyes begging for any other fate than this. You black magic drowning her out, until nothing is left. The screams are gone, her soul is gone. Not resting, not in a better place, or a worse place, just gone.

The trial had ended and the exit makes itself present yet, everyone is still frozen in place. Not by your voice, but by what they had just witnessed. Slowly you stand from your spot. Though you want to comfort Agatha, you turn your attention to the coven.

“If you ever think about leaving Agatha behind, I will kill you. I don’t care how old you are, I don’t care about what you want from the road, I do not give a single fuck about your feelings. I honestly hoped you’d shoot your magic at Agatha and just fucking die, but no we have to be on this stupid fucking road,” your anger rises with each word you speak.

“Y/n,” Agatha is gentle as she calls your name.

You shake your head, “Let’s just go.”

You march out of the exit with Agatha and Rio following behind you, and the rest following behind them.

“Sweetheart, I did say we'd go after one more trial,” Rio is careful as she speaks with you, back on the road.

“I’m not leaving her with them. If you have to go then go,” you can feel your jaw clench.

“Hey, I’m not the one who was going to abandon our girl, don't snap at me,” Rio says.

You take a deep breath, “Sorry, that just really pissed me off.”

“I know, I don’t think I remember the last time you destroyed a soul like that,” you can see the worry in her eyes as she looks at you.

“She deserved it. That woman was a piece of shit. Nothing she said was true,” you look at Agatha, who had been uncharacteristically quiet.

“Agatha,” Rio calls her name but she doesn’t answer. “Agatha,” she tries again more firm this time still nothing.

Its not until Death stands directly in front of the woman, her hands on the others shoulder, that Agatha reacts to her.

“I think we should camp for the night,” Rio says softly, and Agatha nods.

You turn to face the coven. They stop as soon as you turn, “Set up camp.”

“We always set it up, while you the go rendezvous for however long you want,” Teen talks back to you.

“Kid, don’t start with me,” your tone has a warning edge to it.

“No, I think I will. You’re not even a witch, why should we listen to you about the witches’ road?”

You roll your eyes, “You don’t know half as much as I do about the witches’ road.”

He stands his ground, “I’ve studied the ballad, I have notes. I am a witch.”

“ I’ve studied the ballad. I have notes. Blah blah blah,” you mock him.

Your words stir something inside the boy. Something that has the magic simmering at the edge of his fingers.

“I bet it was a harsh reality to deal with, once you realized you’d never go back to heaven. Considering that's probably where Nicholas went.”

It happens too quickly for anyone to stop you. You shove the teenager against a tree with an unimaginable amount of force. The tree cracks under the impact. You have two fistfuls of his shirt, tightly wound in your grip.

Your breathing is erratic and your eyes are once again black. The witches around you are screaming and pleading, but you aren’t focused on them.

“You don't get to speak about him like you know him. No one here knows him. You don't know what happened, so stop hypothesizing about my son’s death. It will get you killed, boy.”

“Y/n, let him go,” Agatha’s voice breaks through all the others.

You don’t get the chance to release the boy, as you feel yourself being repelled away from him. The magic is strong enough to push you off, but you don't fall down.

His hands are glowing with blue sparks and you see a crown forming around his head.

“Look who’s grown,” you don't back down from him.

“More than you can say for you son.”

You growl, “DOWN.”

The road seems to shift with your voice. The teen hits his knees. His magic vanishes from his hands. You don’t let him get the chance to speak before you blast him with your power.

He screams, but you don’t care. You stalk closer to him. You can feel hands on you trying to pull you back from him. Yet your vision is tunneled in on him. You strike him with your magic once more and he doubles over.

“Y/n look at me baby.”

Rio stands in your way, blocking you from the teen. You ignore her words but reach for her waist. You grab her dagger and hold it against the boy’s neck.

“You know what losing my son taught me, kid? Sometimes, boys just die,” a single tear rolls down your cheek as you smile sadistically at him.

“Can’t you do something to stop her?” Jen says.

“She’ll kill him,” Alice follows.

“Working on it,” Rio says, gears turning in her head, hoping to find a solution.

“It’s not his time,” Lilia murmurs.

You add pressure to the blade, watching him try his best not to move.

“Please, please I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I can be-"

“Good?” You cut him off.

His words, stuck in his throat, as he realized the similarities between himself and Agatha.

“It won’t bring him back,” you hear Agatha’s voice in your ear.

Her hand is firm on your forearm, keeping you from digging into the teen’s neck.

“Did you hear what he said about Nicky? This little shit deserves it.”

“Love, please,” Agatha tries to reason with you. “He wouldn’t want you to do this.”

You let out an animalistic grunt before pulling the dagger away from the teen’s neck and shoving it into the ground. You stand abruptly and walk away from the group, trying to cool off.

“Word to the wise Billy, do not go pissing off people more powerful than you,” Agatha’s voice is sarcastic, but her gaze travels the boys face trying to find injury.

“You knew? Did you-”

“Yes I knew, you're as predictable as your mother and no I didn't put the sigil on you.”

Lilia speaks up, “I did, for your protection.”

“And the plot thickens,” Rio teases.

“Your familiar almost killed him,” Alice points out.

Rio’s dagger is back in her hand. She twirls it around a bit, “Are we surprised? Billy here, does not know when he should shut the fuck up. Talking about a dead boy, he should be ashamed of himself. Nicky isn't some tool you can use to get a response.”

Billy looks to Agatha for back up, but instead finds her cold stare.

“I know Y/n would've regretted killing you, even if it doesn’t seem like it now. That was more for her than you. I don't ever want to hear his name come out of your mouth again. Understand?”

He nods, his gaze not meeting Agatha’s eyes, “I understand.”

“Great, well go ahead and set up camp, while we go deal with Y/n. Unless anyone has an issue with our rendezvous,” Agatha looks around for objections, she gets none.

Rio and Agatha take off in the direction you were headed. They walk side by side, looking for any sign of you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like that before” Agatha looks to Rio.

The Green Witch mirror her look of worry, “Me either.”

They find you sitting by the edge of a creek. Your knees your chest as you stare past the water. The anger no longer seeping off of you like before. They sit on either side of you, slightly disappointed when you curl further into yourself.

“Sorry,” is the only word to leave your lips.

Agatha shakes her head, “It’s my fault.”

You and Rio try to protest, but Agatha simply raises a hand. “I let them believe whatever lies have been spun about my relationship with Nicholas. I believed them to be all less hurtful than the truth. It was ok when it was just me they antagonized, but if I knew you would've been their target, I would've come clean.”

“It’s none of their business. The truth would do no good for them. They have no empathy,” you mumble.

“How can you be so sure?” Rio is cautious when she reaches out towards you.

You take her hand and hold it up to your cheek, seeking comfort. Agatha sees this and moves so her shoulder is against yours, her arm tucks it self securely around your waist. Rio’s head falls onto your shoulder. You feel yourself un-tense at the contact.

“They heard my story, they saw our scars, they heard what Evanora said about Agatha, and yet, they still want to pick trivial fights,” your anger was replaced by exhaustion.

“He’s young,” Agatha tries to defend.

“It’s not just Billy. They wanted to leave you behind Aggie. What if Rio and I weren’t there, then what? They would’ve let her have you.”

You blink as the tears being to well in your eyes.

“I can't blame them, sweetheart. I would've done the same if it were any of their trials,” Agatha confesses.

Another sigh escapes you, “I’m assuming Billy made the road as well, while we’re on the topic of frustrating things?”

Agatha nods a few times, “I’m pretty sure. His powers they’re like his mothers, very tied up in his emotions.”

“I was going to kill him,” exasperation on your tongue.

Rio kisses your collarbone, “You didn’t, we wouldn't have let you.”

“He’s right, I’ve thought about it a lot you know? Nicky is somewhere up there like I was. I could’ve been there for him,” you look up to the sky as you speak.

“He’s in safest place he could be,” Agatha bows her head slightly.

“Who knew this made up road would be so stressful?” Rio concedes defeated by the things that have happened.

“At least it brought us back together. I don't think I could’ve spent another century, burning from the inside,” You attempt to joke.

“I think I know something that could relieve some of the stress,” Agatha says suggestively.

She stands, two pairs of eyes watching her intently as she begins to peel off her clothes.

“W- what are you doing?” You stutter, but don't look away from her.

She sits her clothes on a nearby rock, and struts into the creek.

“I’m taking a dip, you two are welcome to join me.”

Your jaw opens slightly at her proposal, “What if they see us?”

Rio stands as well, following Agatha’s suit, “I doubt that they would dare say anything after such a powerful display from our sweet angel.”

“Come on baby, loosen up a bit,” Agatha speaks from her spot in the water.

Rio slides up next to the witch, whispering something in her ear, causing them both to giggle.

“You know I’m supposed to be sulking,” you say getting to your feet, pulling off your clothes.

“Sulking, soaking, same difference,” Rio argues.

The water is pleasantly warm as you sink into it. The three of you bare, in the faux night of the road. It reminds you of the early parts of your relationship. Both women always up for dip in whatever body of water they came across. Nights spent in bodies of water, bathed by the soft light of the moon. Dark purple marks from the eager lips of your lovers.

The memories brought a slight color to your cheeks.

“What are you thinking about, sweetheart?”

Agatha and Rio circle you, in somewhat of a predatory fashion.

“I bet she’s thinking about all the things we used to do in the water. Am I right doll?”

“Perhaps,” you say coyly. “But if you think after centuries, I’m going to give myself to you on the witches’ road, I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“Fair, but a couple of kisses wouldn’t hurt anyone,” Rio wraps her arms around you from behind.

She trails a few kisses up the side of your neck.

“I suppose not,” you crane your neck to give her access.

“I think love bites are fair game,” Agatha’s hands find your waist. Her mouth latching on to the opposite side of your neck. She sucks with delicate force, playfully biting, before soothing the space with her tongue.

“Mhm,” you hum, the pleasure getting to you.

Your hands rest on Agatha’s stomach slowly climbing up to her breasts. You can’t help but play with them in your hands. You lick your lips recalling, how they felt in your mouth. Her moans when you would suck and tease her nipples.

“I thought we weren’t doing this here,” Agatha said breathlessly, as you play with one of her nipples between your fingers.

“We’re not,” you say, with a warmth spreading across your body.

“Then-”

You cut her off with a sensual kiss. She moans in surprise. She slips her tongue into your mouth and you suck on it teasingly. The woman laughs at your antics, which breaks the kiss.

It isn’t a moment after that you feel a hand wrap around your neck. You let Rio pull you into a hungry kiss, turning you body fully towards her. She’s trying to be dominant, but when your teeth tug on her lower lip, she lets out a whimper.

She ends up kissing down your body. Her lips stop right above your scar. She makes eye contact with you as her tongue meticulously traces over it.

It doesn’t go away, you all knew it wouldn't because it had already healed on it’s own. Yet she looks up at you with a pout that makes your knees weak.

“It was worth a shot,” she speaks innocently.

You want nothing more than to grab a fistful of her hair and yank her up to kiss your lips.

“That was hot,” Agatha says, watching with dark eyes.

“We have to stop,” the disappointment in your tone makes the other women chuckle.

“Awe, does baby want to cross her own boundaries?”

You separate from them and make your way back to land. An irritated groan leaving your lips, “We’re not fucking on the road.”

“Don’t be too mad about it hon, this was supposed to be relaxing,” Agatha teases following you.

Rio is the last out of the water, “I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait.”

Going back to the makeshift camp, puts a sour flavor in your mouth, but it’s better than the burning rage you had felt when you left. Everyone is asleep when you return except for Billy.

“I wanted to apologize, for what I said. It wasn’t fair to blow up at you like that,” his remorse was real, you could tell.

“It’s fine, kid. I should be apologizing to you, hundreds of years old and I still can’t keep my temper in check. Let’s just squash it,” you start to make yourself comfortable.

“Did you mean what you said, about letting Agatha kill us?”

You suck in a breath unwilling to lie, “Yeah, I did. It might be hard for you to understand, but I’ve spent centuries away from Agatha and Rio. Having them back is everything to me, and the road strives to take them from me. I would do anything to get us off of the road and nothing will change that.”

“I- I understand. My brother, I would do anything to see him again. Whatever it takes.”

Agatha smiles, “Spoken like a true witch.”

“Word to the wise kid, power plays are never as personal as they seem. In this life, things are taken from you if you hesitate for even a moment. Don’t be afraid of your power and never hesitate.”

“Pretty sound advice for someone who isn’t a witch isn’t it?” Rio teases Billy.

He laughs awkwardly and nods.

“Get some rest, we have a road to conquer,” Agatha’s tone was parental.

Billy does as instructed, feeling better after the talk.

Your stare lingers on him a bit longer. A hand rests on your shoulder, “He’s fine.”

You nod to yourself, “Yeah.”

It’s easier falling asleep than it should've been. Your body is completely exhausted from using your powers so frequently. Time is strange on the road, you couldn't really tell how much time had passed due to the darkness.

“We gotta go now!”

You are startled awake by a panicked voice. You’re quick to get to your feet.

“Where’s the fire?”

You’re damn near being pulled along the road, as you hear steps running all around you.

“The seven are here.”

That sentence seems to shake the sleep from your body. Your eyes open wide as you begin to pick up your pace.

“Then why are we moving so slowly?”

“I’m running as fast as I can,” Lilia speaks, out of breath.

“We could use analog magic to fly?” Billy suggests it and the witches groan as a collective.

“I don’t hear anyone else coming up with ideas,” you say in his defense.

“Blast them with your angel powers,” Jen exclaims.

“Not an angel and I'm not doing a 7 on 1 attack,” you say.

One of the seven ends up catching up to you and like Jen suggested you blast them with your power. She gives you an ‘I told you so' look and you mock her.

“Brooms now,” Agatha says breaking off a branch from a tree.

Once everyone has a working broom you expand your wings and shoot up into the air.

“I thought we were any to have the coolest moment ever, yet here she goes upstaging us,” Rio smirks as she takes off, Agatha isn’t far behind her.

You don't remember the last time you flew prior to your time on the road. This is different than your trial. The cool air surrounds you as your wings flap with a familiarity. You feel free for the first time in a long time. A genuine smile takes a place on your face as you fly.

Agatha and Rio can't take their eyes off of you. It has been too long since they've seen you move freely in the sky. To them, it looks like you are home. Your smile makes them do the same, sharing a look of love between the pair. The shared adoration for you, fills their hearts. A soft fondness in their eyes as they fly side by side. Their love for each other unspoken, but heavy.

The road decides to break up the moment, forcing everyone back on to the path. You end up landing gracefully while most of the others take a rough landing.

It's no surprise that you land in front of another trial. Just like with your trial, everyone rushes in to avoid any of the wandering seven. Once inside it feels like a distasteful costume party. The witches dressed as their famous caricatures, while you have tiny fake black wings on your back with fake horns to accompany it. The only person who looks more ridiculous in your opinion is Rio.

“Why the fuck am I Skeletor?”

You giggle, but place your hands on her fake blue abs, “I think it’s all in good fun.”

Your laughter stops in its tracks when you get a glimpse of the ceiling. Knives dangle overhead threaten to fall. You see the tarot spread and immediately think of Lilia.

“Well looks like you’re up Lilia,” Alice places a hand on the older woman’s shoulder.

“Who am I reading for?”

The others chime with thoughts and theories, but for you the answer is quite clear.

“Your trial, your reading,” you say cutting through all of the chatter.

“Smart girl,” Lilia says beginning her own reading.

When the death card comes up, you can see attention shift to Rio.

She throws her hands up, “All roads lead to me, we already know that.”

The exit opens, but before anyone can step through it the seven are rapidly approaching.

“I’m tired of running,” Lilia stands her ground.

You shake your head, “You’ve got to get out of here, its not your time yet.”

“But-”

“But nothing, you’re a damn good witch, but right now you have to go,” you send her towards the door.

“What’re you doing?” Agatha asks with panic in her voice.

You don’t respond to her, “Billy, if you want to show off that power, now is the time."

Your powers manifested in your hands as you begin to shoot it at members of the seven.

“I’ll try,” magic sparks like electricity at the tips of his fingers.

“Y/n, we have to-”

You shook your head, “Get them out of here Rio. The kid and I got it, just have Alice on standby.”

Rio doesn’t reply, instead she shoves you towards the exit. She uses one hand to push you out of Lilia’s trial and with other she throws out the teen.

She closes the door behind the teen. You begin to bang on the door. You try hitting it with your power but it doesn’t budge. Your fist hits the door a few times, before Agatha pulls you back from the door.

“Why would she do that? She can’t- Agatha, we have to help her. We have too,” you were on the brink of being a mess.

Agatha grabs your face in her hands, trying to get you to focus on her. She gives you a tiny smile, “Sweetheart, they are locked in with her not the other way around. She’s la muerte.”

On cue, you hear the sound of screams coming from the room you were just in. You listen hard and pick up the unforgettable sound of a sword piercing flesh.

“Should we…” Billy says, ready for a fight.

“Easy there tiger, sounds like she has it under control,” Alice keeps the boy back with an exaggerated grab.

Rio doesn’t walk, but skips out of the space where Lilia’s trial was held. Her dagger in hand, glistening with blood. The gleeful nature of her return nearly makes you forget that you were in danger

“ The seven are now the zero,” she says spinning the knife in her hands.

“You could’ve done that the whole time?” Jen questions Rio.

Rio shrugs, “I don’t like getting my hands dirty, too much paperwork if I’m the one that does the killing.”

Instead of stopping to rest like the other trials, you decide to continue on. There’s only one member of the coven to test, before you could finally leave this hell hole.

You can basically see the nerves bouncing off of the kid. If this is the end, then whatever is next is for him.

“Well, looks like your last up kid,” you place your hand on his shoulder.

“I’m ready for whatever it is,” he steels his jaw.

“Just remember, take what you want. Don’t hesitate,” you lose pace with him to fall back with Rio and Agatha.

“Not too long ago you were trying to kill him, and now you’re giving him advice. Look how far you’ve come,” Rio teases you.

You roll your eyes, “I’m just trying to get out of here.”

“No soft spot for him?” Agatha pushes farther.

A smile tugs at the ends of your lips but you hide it well, “Nope. ”

“Guys I think we have a problem,” Alice’s voice calls for your attention.

A row of shoes in front of everyone seems to make silence fall across the group.

“Our shoes,” you hear the anger simmering beneath Agatha’s tone.

“We’re back where we started,” Alice says in disbelief.

“The witches’ road is a circle,” Billy adds on.

“And this is the finish line?” Jen is just as shocked as Alice.

You see Agatha try to use her powers and as nothing happens her face begins to contort into a scowl, “That’s it?”

She glares at Billy before yelling again, “That’s it!”

“Well, maybe we passed the trial?” Lilia tries to reason with the group.

“Then how exactly do we get off?” Agatha’s anger finally tips over.

“Well maybe we-”

“IF YOU DON’T KNOW KEEP QUIET!” She tries to stalk towards the boy, but you’re quick to pull her back into you.

You look to Rio, who carefully watches the interaction in front of her. It’s strange, because you three are the only ones who know that the road has been manifested by Billy. Therefore it is technically his domain, meaning he designed it like this.

“We need to keep going,” Agatha says with her voice low.

The rest of the group quickly breaks into chaos shouting their refusal.

“FINE! STAY HERE!” Agatha growls at the group.

Billy keeps staring at the shoes.

Rio speaks up, “Go ahead, put them on.”

“What do the shoes have to do with anything? “ Alice questions.

“Well you took them off for respect for the road right? Has the road been respectful too you?” Rio points out.

“Screw the road,” Billy says before slipping his shoes on.

No one gets a chance to say anything else. Instantaneously you find yourself confined in a dark space. You panic, feeling all around you until you find a zipper. Once you're free from the bag, you notice that you're in an all white room.

Billy, Agatha, and Jen all appear in the same situation you are in. You leave the body bag and look around.

“Where are we?” Billy asks.

“My basement give or take,” Agatha answers him.

“Where are the others?” Jen asks.

“Not too far,” you answer her.

She squints, “How can you be sure?”

“Cause my insides aren’t boiling from being away from Rio.”

“But Agatha’s right here?”

You sigh, “It’s an and/or type of thing. Meaning if one of them is too far it burns, significantly less than if they were both far, but still burns nonetheless.”

“Glad to know they’re close, but that doesn’t make us any less trapped,” Billy points out that the door is sealed.

“These are grow lights, are we supposed to grow something here?”

“There’s no water or soil,” you point out.

Agatha huffs in irritation, “Sure seems like another stupid fucking trial.”

She digs around in the body bag and gasps lightly, “We do have our personal effects.”

She pulls out her locket, causing the others to dig in their bags. You didn’t come on the road with anything so you weren’t surprised to find your bag empty.

You see Agatha struggling to put on the necklace and walk over to her. You take it from her hands and gently sweep her hair out of the way. Knowing what’s inside the locket, keeps your hands steady as you hook the chain.

You see her smile, relief plastering over her features, “That’s better.”

You go to step away, but she grabs your wrist, keeping you close by.

Billy isn’t so lucky with his notebook, “It’s worthless.”

The body bags disappear once he tosses the book in there.

“Well, I guess the road agrees,” you say sarcastically.

It’s then that the grow lights flicker.

“And now we have our countdown,” Agatha points out.

Jen leans against the wall watching the countdown. Agatha can’t help, but antagonize the woman as their time ticks away.

“I’ll be damned if I let us all die here, after making it this far,” Jen peels herself off the wall to stand in the center of the room.

“You don’t have any magic,” you tell her without any animosity.

“Well she saved me, maybe she doesn’t need it,” Billy points out.

It’s at this point where Jen mentions Boston. You can’t help it as your mouth falls open and you look at Agatha. Her eyes also opening wide, while staring at Jen.

“You need to do the unbinding ritual,” you tell them.

“Doesn’t she need the witch that bound her to do that?” Billy says not connecting the dots.

“Agatha? Are you the one who bound me?” Jen says, rightful frustration in her tone.

She shrugs, “I don’t know.”

You narrow your eyes at her, crossing your arms over your chest, “Now is not the time.”

“You nonstop sociopath!”

“You’re the one who bound her?” Billy can’t believe it.

“How did you even know I was in Boston?” Agatha questions you.

“Old habits die hard, you always went to sell your services in Boston when times got rough, but enough deflecting, do the ritual.”

“You kept me like this for 100 years?” Jen yells.

Agatha tries to defend herself, “ I didn’t know it was you. It was the 1920’s I did the odd spell for bank notes. The patriarchy really shelled out to shush a lady. It was bind or burn!”

“100 years!”

As much as you wanted to push to get the ritual over with, you knew Jen was justified in her anger. That was time that she’d lost forever. You knew better than anyone what it felt like to walk around for years on end as a shell of your former self.

“This is so awkward.”

Jen pulls Agatha into her and starts the ritual. Once it’s over and her magic is running through her she sobs. The reunion of her and her powers means her journey is over. She vanishes from the road.

“Where did she go?”

“The road gave her what she was missing. And now she’s gone,” Agatha deadpans.

You can sense the shift in her attitude immediately. It feels as though she and the teen are facing off against each other.

“This can end right now. I want power, you have power, juice me up.”

“So you get what you're missing and I’m left here to rot?”

You scoff at him, “She could’ve killed you at any point by now. When you were bleeding out of your side or when my knife was at your neck kid, use your head.”

“No one was talking to you, do you even want anything from the road ? Shouldn’t you have disappeared by now too?” Billy tries to pick a fight with you.

“You are the only thing standing in the way of what I want,” you tell him seriously.

“So what it’s 2 against 1 now? I’m not scared of either of you,” he gets in Agatha face, but keeps his glare on you.

The gesture pisses you off and you march over to them. Agatha puts her hand out, motioning for you to stay back. You reluctantly follow her gesture

“What a good little familiar,” Billy directs at you.

Before you can do anything Agatha interrupts, “Sit.”

“Why?”

“We’re going to find your brother."

His whole energy changes, “What?”

She sits down, “That’s what you want right? Tommy isn’t waiting out there. Not in a body anyway. Why do you think Rio came here to begin with? She knows you could do it for him.”

“Do what?”

The teen was so dense that you couldn’t help your outburst, “Give him another life. Another spin around the dance floor.”

His eyes snap to yours, “You think I can bring Tommy back?”

“Time to grow up, kid,” you say to him.

Agatha pats the floor and he cautiously sits down across from her.

You watch her work in only the way she can. Her instructions clear and concise. Just as prodding as they need to be to stir his memories, and get him talking. In another life she could’ve had a coven of disciples.

She keeps him focused on his breathing. Though she has no magic in this moment, you could feel it in her aura. The way she carries herself, there will always be a witch underneath it all.

When she grabs Billy, the lights flicker. Things become intense quickly. He hyperventilates, but Agatha holds him as he begins to rock.

He begins ramble about a dying boy his questions tug at your heart strings, but you remind him, “Don’t hesitate, Billy. Don’t be afraid of your power.”

“Am I killing this boy so my brother can live?”

He lets out a strangled scream, and then he’s gone.

The lights in the room are almost completely gone. Agatha sits still her place.

“No, Billy. Sometimes… boys die.”

It breaks you to hear her like that. You sit behind her and she leans back into your arms. The lights fade faster.

“I’m sorry, we should’ve left when had the chance,” she says unable to look at you.

You just hold her tighter, “Seeing you again has meant everything to me.”

She opens the locket and you both look at the strands of Nicky’s hair. She takes it out of it’s place, finding a small dandelion seed. Agatha sniffles and you bury your head in her shoulder. Your wings expand, wrapping around the both of you.

She looks between your wings and the seed, “Out of death, life.”

She lifts your face out of her shoulder, and swipes the small seed across your tear stained cheeks. She quickly buries it in a crack of the grounds foundation.

You watch as a dandelion quickly sprouts and the room begins to shake. You are quick to hop to your feet as the lights turn back on and the walls begins to shake. Dirt begins to fill the room, much like with your trial.

“What’s happening?”

“The trial is over, we can’t stay here, come on” you begin look towards the previously locked exit.

Agatha pushes the door, but it doesn’t budge. You join the effort to help her, but it’s like something is still blocking it.

“Stand back,” you push her behind you, ready to shoot your powers at the door.

Just as you’re about to blast it, the door is opens. You and Agatha rush through, covered in dirt

On the other side is the coven, who watch the two of stumble into Agatha’s backyard. Your back hits the grass and you close your eyes. You can’t remember the last time you were this relieved to be on the earth’s soil.

The peace doesn’t last long as Agatha tries to use her powers and it doesn't work.

“You have to be fucking kidding me? I WANT MY PRIZE,” Agatha exclaims.

You look at Billy from your spot on the floor, “What gives kid, everyone gets a prize, but her?”

“Why are you asking me?”

Rio ruffles the boy hair with a laugh, “Isn’t it obvious? Billy, conjured up the witches’ road.”

The other witches turn to him, with their jaws dropped. He begins to sputter and point wildly at you three, “Are we seriously going to believe them? Death, the Fallen Angel, and Agatha. What do they even know?”

“We know that the road was never real,” you say sitting up in your spot.

“But Agatha said she walked the road?” Alice points out.

“Is it surprising that she lied?” Jen chimes in.

“She didn’t lie,” Rio defends.

Your jaw clenches, you close your eyes and take a breath. You speak calmly, “Agatha, please… tell them truth about the road.”

She plays with the locket around her neck, “The ballad… I made it, with our son. That’s why I know it’s originally coven 2, it’s about me and him. It wasn’t even about witches, it was about the winding roads we used to have to travel.”

“What really happened to him?” Lilia is the one to ask.

Neither Agatha or Rio speak up. You bring your knees to your chest and face away from the coven, “Nicky, was born sick… he wasn't- he couldn’t. He was made from scratch. With tears of a fallen angel and a heartbeat from death.”

“Rotten ingredients,” Rio doesn’t hide the crack in her voice.

You nod, “Agatha was the only one who could provide him with flesh. It didn’t matter, how much with loved him. Our ingredients just never mixed well. Nicky wasn’t the first, but Agatha begged and pleaded.”

“And threatened,” Rio says quietly.

“Rio had already broken the rules for me. To do it again so soon, was a big risk for her.”

Alice was the one to ask, “What did you do?”

Rio bites her lip, “I could only give him time.”

You bury your head in your knees, “Being around him could’ve gotten Rio in trouble, so we all decided it would be best for us to keep our distance from Nicky.”

“How much time did he get?” Billy asks.

“He was only 6,” Agatha clutches the necklace harshly.

You bury yourself further into your knees as if it would protect you from her words. Rio looks at the ground, unable to relive this yet again.

The coven looks between the three of you, piecing the rest of it together. The tragedy of it all displayed across each one of your bodies.

“The one day I didn’t kill any witches, he died. I went on a rampage after that, I used the ballad to lure witches into my trap. Then I’d get them to attack me and drain them of their powers,” Agatha explains wiping her own tears.

“So that’s what you were going to do to us?” Billy asks, but his tone isn’t accusing.

“Pretty much,” she says with a bored tone.

Jen interrupts, “So you knew it was him the whole time, even with the sigil?”

“Well as soon as the road appeared, I had a hunch.”

They all begin to go back and forth about how it was all for nothing and unfair. The spew words of negativity at Agatha for hiding the truth from all of them. It doesn’t sit right with you or Rio.

“Are guys even listening to yourselves? Alice you aren’t cursed anymore, Lilia you’re done running from your powers, Jen you’re unbound, and Billy you reincarnated Tommy, all thanks to Agatha. So, what are you bitching about? She helped you all achieve what you wanted, whether you want to admit it or not,” Rio goes off on the group.

“She deserves this and as her coven you know that,” you say, getting to your feet.

“Fine, I’ll do it, just don’t kill me” Billy speaks up.

“Scouts honor,” Agatha says as Billy gears up to shoot her.

You stand next to Rio, leaning on her slightly. She wraps her arm around your shoulder, pulling you further into her side. She feels your eyes on her and meets them. You slowly glance over to Agatha and Billy and then back at her. She shakes her head and you nod to yourself.

When Billy shoots Agatha the coven gasp seeing Agatha’s power in real time, sucking the magic out of the boy.

“She’s going to kill him,” Alice mumbles under her breath.

“She won’t,” Lilia and Jen say at the same time.

Agatha hears them and subtly surprised by their confidence in her. Upon hearing it, she cuts the ties with Billy. He stumbles to the ground, but is quickly helped by the rest of the coven.

“Finally, everyone get what they wanted?” Rio claps her hands together.

The all hum in agreement.

“Great, now get out,” she points to the exit of the backyard.

It starts a commotion again as they start to talk over each other.

“SILENCE!” Your voice echoes causing them all to stop talking. “I get it, you’re a coven now, found family yay, etcetera, etcetera. As a familiar who has been separated from her witches, I would really hate for you to get in the way of what would be our first time alone together in centuries. That would really piss me off.”

They murmur in consensus.

“We’ll let you know when it’s ok to come over,” Agatha says shooing them away in the process.

They all pile into Billy’s car and the three of you wave them away. As soon as they pull off, you enter Agatha’s home.

“Well, now what?” Rio asks.

Agatha flicks her fingers replacing her dirt covered clothes, before doing the same to you.

“I don’t know about you, but my back has been begging for a mattress after sleeping on that awful ground,” Agatha cracks her back.

“Pillows,” you nod in agreement.

The three of you climb up the stairs to the bedroom. Once you’re inside, you fall face first into the middle of the bed. Moaning in pleasure as the bed melds to hold your body.

“I hope to hear more of that later,” Rio lays in the space to your right.

Agatha lays to your left, “Such a pretty sound, sweetheart.”

You groan, turning your head between the two women, “Yes, later we can do that, but now it’s time to sleep. So less talking, more cuddling.”

“It’s not even 5 pm.”

“I can go sleep on the couch if you want to argue with me,” you tell them.

“No,” they say in unison.

You smile, “That’s what, I thought. Now, hold me.”

Agatha and Rio’s fingers intertwine as they wrap their arms around you. It’s warm and safe, the horrors of the road, no longer haunting.

You too, had gotten what you wanted from the road. It was this. Rio and Agatha; you all back together. For a moment, having a simple domestic life.

You knew it wouldn’t last long, especially now that Agatha had her own little coven of chaos. Yet the thought of it made you smile. As long as the three of you were together, everything would work out alright.

#lowkeyerror #agatha x reader #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness x rio vidal #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #rio vidal x reader #rio vidal #lilia calderu #jennifer kale #alice wu gulliver #billy maximoff #agatha harkness x rio vidal x reader

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prinzrupprecht · 8 months ago

Text

When someone else gives you gifts

Featuring: Okita, Sasaki, Loki, and Anubis ( part 3 )

I’m doing young Sasaki instead of 60 year old dilf Sasaki. For those that don’t know who Tatsunosuke was. He is an actual character in chapter 5 Chiruran.

Read part 1 and 2 for the other characters

TW: some possessive tendencies, and cute/fluff moments and hurt/comfort

Okita

Everyone from Kondo’s dojo always teased how Souji liked you even though he denied it. A part of you hoped that he does like you more than a friend. Deep down it always hurt hearing how he always said you two were just friends.

You decided to visit Tatsunosuke who was a sick young boy dying from a fatal lung disease. He reminded you of Souji a lot and he was nice to you. He was the son of a high-ranking samurai at the military centre. He was too far gone for any treatment to work. “Here, you shouldn’t move much.” You went to hand him a mug of herbal tea.

“I don’t think I’ll be here much longer,” he was breathing heavily and his condition looked to be worse than the last time you saw him. You didn’t say anything and thought back how he never looked down on you for being a part of another dojo.

He went to grab his wakizashi and looked down at it. The scabbard was red and the guard was silver. “I want you to have it and remember me when I’m no longer here.” He put it in your hands. It was painful but you silently accepted it. This might be the last you see him.

Tatsunosuke was like a younger brother to you but the others from Kondo’s dojo thought you were dating him which was embarrassing sometimes. Souji on the other hand never said anything about your visits with the dying boy. As you forbid your farewell with him and left to return back to the Shieikan dojo. You saw a few of the kids playing outside. “Where have you been?” A voice asked you from behind.

“Hi to you as well?” You saw how he looked irritated while giving you a murderous stare. You avoided the question. Souji knew but wanted you to be honest. Did you like Tatsunosuke? Were you seeing him as if you two were dating? What pissed him off more was the unknown wakizashi you were holding. It looked oddly familiar as if Souji hadn’t studied the boy you liked hanging out with.

“No need to give me that look, Souji-san. You know where I was at. Besides, where are those fan girls that normally come around here?” You weren’t making the situation better.

“They don’t mean anything to me unlike what he means to you,” he muttered while his gaze met with the ground. You wanted to say something else. You always found comfort with Souji more but Tatsunosuke was dying and didn’t have many friends close to him. He tried to move past you to go back inside the dojo and probably avoid you for the rest of the week.

“Souji wait!” you called out to him. He stopped and waited for you to say something without turning his head to look at you.

“He… he doesn’t mean as much to me as you do. He’s dying and doesn’t have much time left to live.” You wanted to grab ahold of his sleeve but the wakizashi gift still irked him. He would have to give you something better for you to protect yourself. Was he acting jealous over this boy? He met him once or twice and beat him without trying in practice training.

Souji unexpectedly turned his head and smiled. “It’s fine, I would get you something better for you to protect yourself. Maybe me perhaps?” Was this his awful way of flirting with you? Huh? Him protect you? That doesn’t sound too bad.

Without a second thought, you wrapped your arms around him accepting that offer. “How about we put a label on us?” It was about time you two would stop denying it around the others and are official and he’d be your only gift.

Sasaki

During the closing years of the Sengoku period, you had met some interesting people and one in particular caught your attention. Sasaki Kojiro. He was a bit skinny but his determination to keep fighting had made you curious about this young man.

You were just some odd woman training in the same dojo as him. It was Toda’s dojo and it was owned by Seigen. You saw him enter the dojo late like usual and took a smacking by the owner’s nephew like usual. “Sasaki-san, you should take this dojo seriously if you want to get stronger,” you light-heartedly sighed.

You and him sparred a bit but he normally gave up and said you were stronger than him. It made you wonder if you were strong or if he was just weak. You saw how he sparred with Kagekatsu numerous of times and forfeits the matches normally. “Sasaki-san, why don’t you actually try and put in your all?” You pouted but he awkwardly laughed and said there was no point because if he were to fight you a hundred times you would still beat him. Huh?!

Sasaki was always one to follow you around like a lost puppy in the dojo which was cute and you admired that side of him. He wanted to get better but his confidence wasn’t there. His training lacked so you were certain he was either going to be kicked from the dojo or he would train elsewhere. You wanted him to stay and not slack off. You would help him if he would take your help but he doesn’t want it. He said it numerous of times.

After a few weeks had gone by of not seeing Sasaki you were growing more and more upset. Did he already quit? Give up with the sword? One of the members of the dojo gave you a kimono robe and said it was a gift for your hard work. The kimono was patterned and made with silk and not cloth. You had no idea whether to accept it but it was better than what you normally wore. Short baggy pants and shirts with no sleeves.

You had left the dojo to see if you could find Sasaki. You were worried someone could’ve killed him with the time he was gone. Yet after some time wandering the woods, you heard ruffling from a few leaves and saw a rabbit. Then what surprised you was Sasaki jumping to catch it from behind. “Wh—what the hell?! What are you doing?” You were furious how he was turning into some animal.

“Haha, what are you doing here? I was training,” he scratched the back of his head. You sighed and sat down on a fallen log.

“Sasaki-san, I was worried you were killed from the missing weeks you stopped coming back.” You mumbled and the truth was you didn’t want him to disappear from your life.

“I would… eventually return when I feel like it. Besides what is this? I have never seen you wear something like this before,” he walked up to you and touched the sleeve of the robe.

“Someone from the dojo gave it to me for my hard work. I don’t feel like I deserve it though, and you look like you need new clothes eventually.” You scolded him for always getting dirty.

“Oh well, I actually wanted to get you something… nicer. I guess someone else beat me to it.” Sasaki was giving up already? Your left eye twitched.

“There’s no limit to who can give me things. How about I take you somewhere to eat properly that isn’t raw bunnies and snakes?” You stood up and grabbed the front of his kimono. Sasaki admired how you were persistent and wanted to check up on him when no one else has.

“I don’t eat them raw… I still cook the meat.” He raised his hands up in defence.

“Agh, never mind. Let’s go somewhere and this time I’ll watch over you.” He didn’t say anything after that but a part of him was happy and he would prove to you one day that he would take care of you better than anyone else.

Loki

You were incredibly close to Loki and had long accepted him for who he was. His tricks never worked on you and you can easily tell if he shape-shifts into someone else. He wasn’t that unpredictable. You could tell he had a troubled past that he wouldn’t tell anyone, not even you.

As the two of you resided in the same Asgard palace, Loki liked to follow you around even if he was disguised as small animals that would not be in your peripheral sight. He couldn’t help but grow irritated by how some of the guards would joke with you and talk so freely around you.

One of the guards gave you a ring and this made Loki snap on the inside. This guard— was he proposing to you?! He didn’t want to out himself that he was spying on you or else this could strain your friendship. He wanted to kill the guard for trying to steal you from him.

He found you alone in the library reading and this was the time to ask you if you feel the same way as he did for you. Love? He couldn’t deny how utterly in love he was with you even if it was obnoxious or just infatuation.

You heard him enter the room and turned your head. “Loki? What are you doing?” Your calm voice eased his anger from what he saw earlier. Confusion was written on his face. You weren’t wearing the ring?

“Ya I— I was bored and wanted to see you!” He tried to give you one of his not-so-innocent smiles. He was hiding something and you knew it.

“What is it?” Your expression grew more serious and Loki grabbed your shoulders.

“It’s just— I want us to be more than what we are now." you couldn’t deny how you had never seen this desperate side of him. Was he playing with you?

“Don’t play with my feelings, Loki. Whatever this trick is—"

“I’m not playing any trick! I swear— I swear I wanted to kill that guard from earlier who tried to propose to you.” What?!

“You admitted to spying on me? And Balder wasn’t proposing to me, you idiot. It was one of those rings that can open portals for fast transportation.” You had no idea why Loki was so upset but he looked a bit more at ease. So he might’ve been telling the truth.

“So— sorry, I assumed too quick…” he was embarrassed but now you know how he feels when he’s around you.

You walked over to him and wrapped your arms around his waist. “You shouldn’t have hidden your feelings from me like how you hide yourself in different forms,” you smiled genuinely. Loki was frozen in place but reciprocated your comfort by keeping you in his arms. It was better than feeling as he did before assuming others wanted you just as badly as he did.

“How about I make you mine completely?” he tilted your chin up and gave you a smug look as if he was hinting at something else.

“We can take it slow, no need to rush things." you lifted the palm of your hand to touch his cheek. Even though he frowned at your words, he still had you at the end of the day.

Anubis

You were his, and he made sure everyone knew that. As you resided in the Aaru, the heavenly paradise for the Egyptian pantheon. Some of the other Egyptian gods didn’t like messing with the hyper-energetic god of funerals. He was strong and devoted to being your loyal guardian and companion.

He expresses his feelings a lot and doesn’t hide things from you. Something about him made you more drawn to the god. He saw something in you that even you couldn’t see yourself. Were you as perfect as he always tells you?

You didn’t believe it. As some moments passed, you found Bastet and Hathor whispering to each other in the main hall. They stopped and saw you staring at them. Bastet snickered and called you a pet. “I uhm… was looking for lord Ra—" you were interrupted.

“He’s not looking for you nor cares what you want. Tell me what it is and if it’s important I’ll relay the message to him.” Hathor stared down at you as she had her arms crossed. Bastet smirked and you knew in the back of your head that these two never liked you.

“Sorry.. it’s not important.” You lied as it wasn’t any use to talk to them. You needed to tell Ra that Osiris left the Aaru without permission. You went to leave but Bastet spoke up.

“What does my nephew see in you? Is it your pretty eyes? Face? Hair? Hmm… maybe something else? Are you two fu—"

“No—! It’s none of that. I— I don’t know exactly. We’re good friends! That’s all… I think.” You raised your hands up but Bastet wasn’t done interrogating you. Hathor pulled her back and told her there was no reason to start a fight.

Good friends? Bastet heard Anubis call you his consort on numerous occasions. Even Osiris and Set disapprove of his behaviours and obsession with you. Yet you called him a close friend? Or were you embarrassed?

“Here take this and think of it as a small courtesy thing, and go level your head a bit. Sorry about my sister.” Hathor passed you a bottle of red wine, but the worst thing was, that you had never drank before. Only higher authority gods were allowed to. You were just a simple deity of the pantheon. It was no wonder no one approves of you around here.

You walked back to your corridors with a frown on your face. Were the other gods right? You were unworthy of Anubis’s attention? It brought you discomfort for some reason and the fact he says he loves you a lot without thinking made you believe that he knew what the emotion was. Yet you wondered if you feel the same back? Some of the women and maids would try to get his attention but he acts oblivious to their advances.

You decided you wouldn’t drink since it wasn’t your thing. Anubis was lying on the bed in your room. “Why are you in my room?” You put the bottle on one of the stands in the corner. You didn’t expect him to be waiting for you, well it’s not the first time.

“I really really wanted to wait for you. I couldn’t find you so I decided to wait here instead.” He jumped off the bed like an excited animal. You couldn’t help but blush a bit at his excitement.

“Well, I ran into your aunts in the hall and Hathor gifted me this.” You picked up the bottle to show him and he stuck out his tongue in disgust. He was exaggerating. You quickly chuckled. You can tell he hated the taste of alcohol.

“Yuck yuck yuck! I should tell them to not give you this stuff!” He pouted but you sat on the bed and had already decided that you weren’t going to drink— at least not try it in front of him. Anubis looked unhappy and you had walked over to him and asked him if he was upset that they tried to get you drunk. He looked a bit flustered but he wasn’t entirely stupid. Part of the reason was that he doesn’t like others giving things to you. The wine could’ve had poison in it.

“It’s nothing! It’s nothing, let’s just cuddle!” He pulled you down on the mattress and was suffocating you with his arms squeezing around your body.

He soon forgotten why he was mad since you were with him in his arms. His soon-to-be wife for sure.

Note: this is the end of part 3! I saw a request in my box for Valkyries and it intrigued me that if I do a part 4, I’ll probably do side characters and Valkyries but they’ll probably be shorter than normal.

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