#handbag development

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 24: June 2024 - Part 5

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

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

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

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

Warnings and Notes: 

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

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

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1TeaSpiller:  GUYS. BELLE LECLERC JUST CHANGED HER INSTAGRAM USERNAME. SHE'S NOW @/belleverstappen. I REPEAT. @/belleverstappen.

🔗 (screenshot)

@/MonacoRoyalty:  WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT

@/RedBullTroll33:  So you’re telling me… Isabelle. LECLERC. is now VERSTAPPEN?????

I need to lie down.

@/FerrariF1Pain: I THOUGHT I WAS HALLUCINATING WHEN I SAW THE NAME CHANGE. SHE REALLY MARRIED MAX. AND THEY DIDN’T TELL A SOUL. ICONIC BEHAVIOR TBH.

@/F1MemeLord:  Charles: forgot Belle’s birthday Belle: changed her last name to Verstappen in front of the entire internet Me: poetic cinema.

@/gridgossip: 

EVERYONE WAKE UP

BELLE LECLERC IS NOW BELLE VERSTAPPEN

MAX MARRIED CHARLES' SISTER AND DIDN'T TELL ANYONE

IM SHAKING

@/gridgossip: 

This is the softest, coldest, most brutal reveal of all time.

No announcement.

No photo dump.

No grand post.

Just a silent name change.

And now the whole grid is screaming.

@/f1memequeen:  MAX VERSTAPPEN SECRETLY MARRIED CHARLES LECLERC’S BABY SISTERAND THEY SOFT LAUNCHED WITH A HORSE AND A USERNAME UPDATE

THIS IS CINEMA.

@/F1ChaosClub: how it started: "whose hand gave max tea on stream??"

how it's going: "max verstappen is married to belle leclerc and nobody knew and now the internet is on fire"

@/TifosiTears: charles leclerc is about to log on and have the worst 24 hours of his life i fear 💀

@/MaxIsWinning: max verstappen winning on and off the track as per usual 😌

@/WifeGuyMax: max verstappen, known cat dad and now confirmed wife guy. we love character development 💍🐎🐈

@/GridChaosDaily: the grid when they realize belle verstappen = belle leclerc = max’s wife = charles’s sister = absolute chaos

(photo attached: stock photo of a man having a breakdown)

@/FerrariTears: Charles finding out his sister is now Belle Verstappen because of Instagram is the level of sibling drama we deserve in 2024.

@/TifosiMess: Prediction:

Charles: 🧍‍♂️😭

Arthur: 🧍‍♂️😵‍💫

Lorenzo: 🧍‍♂️😳

Pascale: 🧍‍♀️🫠 Meanwhile Belle and Max: 🏇🏡❤️

@/MonacoRoyalty: So let me get this straight:

Belle disappears for weeks

Drops a horse like it’s a handbag

Soft launches her new life

NOW SHE'S A VERSTAPPEN?? I NEED TO LIE DOWN.

@/LandoSimp44:  some of you OWE the soft launch detectives an apology. they said it. they were RIGHT.

@/RedBullUpdates MAX. VERSTAPPEN. MARRIED. BELLE. LECLERC. AND THEY HID IT FROM US FOR HOW LONG???

@/FerrariPain: the way the Leclerc brothers are probably finding this out at the SAME TIME AS US 😭😭😭

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

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

Lando: HOLY SH*T

Lando: HOLD ON

Lando: SHUT UP EVERYONE

Lando: sends screenshot of @belleverstappen

Oscar: OH MY GOD

Daniel: I AM SCREAMING INTO A PILLOW

Lewis: I’m sorry. Am I hallucinating?? Because that says Verstappen. Not Leclerc.

George: BELLE. VERSTAPPEN. BELLE. FREAKING. VERSTAPPEN.

Carlos: Belle… changed her name…

Zhou: I THOUGHT I WAS READY BUT I WAS NOT READY

George: DID THAT JUST HAPPEN LIVE???

Carlos: I need a drink.

Alex: I AM SCREAMING.

Sebastian: Honestly? About time. Good for her.

Oscar: SHE CHANGED HER USERNAME TO BELLE VERSTAPPEN. THAT'S IT. THAT'S THE ANNOUNCEMENT.

Fernando: Max said "no press release, no statement, just pure chaos."

Daniel: Can we talk about the absolute audacity???

Zhou: Max dropping "I’m married" casually during a press conference and Belle changing her name quietly the night before Spain is PEAK Verstappen behavior.

Lando: I’m gonna cry. She’s not even dramatic about it. Just boop name change.

George: Meanwhile Charles is somewhere punching a wall.

Carlos: somewhere? Try several walls.

Lewis: No but seriously—Belle just silently won the whole internet.

Logan: It’s not even loud drama. It’s silent nuclear bomb energy.

Nico R.: Charles is probably Googling "how to politely kidnap your sister back."

Checo: Max playing 4D chess while Charles plays Candy Crush.

Fernando: And still losing at Candy Crush.

Kimi: Wake me up when someone crashes a press conference about it.

Oscar: Okay but real talk. I’m SO proud of her.

Lando: Same.

Lewis: She chose her happiness over their comfort. Respect.

Esteban: Someone check on Charles.

Fernando: No, no, let him suffer a bit longer. Character development.

Lance: Wait does this mean Max is Charles’ BROTHER-IN-LAW now???

Oscar: i just had a full body shiver

David: I would pay so much money for footage of Fred Vasseur reading this right now.

Mark: I would pay more to see Christian Horner's face.

George: NO ONE TELL PIERRE. Let’s just see what happens.

Logan: What if Belle walks into the paddock tomorrow wearing Verstappen merch. I would pass away.

Lewis: Max really married the one girl Charles forgot to look at properly. Poetic.

Nico R.: This is better than any soap opera I’ve ever seen.

Sebastian: Not Max breaking Ferrari and Leclerc family morale in one move. That’s championship material.

Oscar: Belle really said "forget my birthday? Watch this."

Carlos: Reminder: Max said he’s bringing her to the paddock tomorrow.

George: THEY’RE GOING PUBLIC IN PERSON TOO???

Oscar: CHAOS. COMPLETE CHAOS.

Alex: I have popcorn ready.

Lando: I'm not ready.

Daniel: None of us are.

***

Charles didn’t mean to open Instagram.

It had become a form of self-torture lately—every scroll a reminder of the silence on the other end of his unanswered texts, of the messages left on read, of the birthday that no one in the family had remembered except Belle herself.

But his thumb moved on autopilot during breakfast, and there it was.

Not a post. Not a story.

A name.

@belleverstappen

Charles blinked. Froze. Then blinked again.

No. That couldn’t be right.

He opened her profile.

Same photos. His sister’s profile. 

Charles stared at the screen.

Then he read the handle again.

@belleverstappen.

Verstappen.

A cold sweat started to gather at the back of his neck.

“Non… non non non…” Charles muttered, sitting bolt upright in his chair.

Across the hotel room, Alexandra looked up from her hair straightener. “What now?”

“Arthur,” he said, too sharp, holding his phone up like it was infected. “Look at this.”

Arthur, still halfway through a bowl of cereal, leaned over and squinted. He choked immediately.

“No. No, no, no. She didn’t.”

“She did!” Charles said, nearly tripping over his chair. “She changed her name!”

Arthur shoved his cereal away like it had personally betrayed him. “Wait—what does that mean? Did she get married? Wait, is this real?”

“What does it mean?” Charles asked, genuinely baffled. “Why would she—what—Why Verstappen?”

And then, like a bolt of catastrophic lightning:

“Oh my god. Is Jos Verstappen her sugar daddy??”

A sound of pure horror came from behind him.

“CHARLES!” Alexandra snapped. “What the hell?!”

Arthur looked like he had been personally insulted by the sentence. “Are you out of your mind?”

“I’m just saying—Verstappen! She’s going by Verstappen!”

Charles was already pacing. “She was always weirdly polite to Jos. Maybe he—maybe it’s him.He’s always lurking around the paddock! And she moved out a year ago and never told us. She quit her job. Someone’s clearly supporting her!”

Arthur looked horrified. “Charles. Please. That’s insane.”

Alexandra looked at Charles like he’d grown a second head. “You do realize Jos Verstappen is married, right? Like, currently. Publicly. Has been for years.”

“I saw her smile at Jos in Monaco!” Charles snapped. “And she said he was polite to her at the garage and she’s been so—so secretive and she quit her job and she got a horse—”

“CHARLES,” Alexandra interrupted, hands in the air. “Jos Verstappen is married.”

Charles blinked. “What?”

Arthur groaned and threw a pillow across the room. “Oh my god. This is actually the stupidest conclusion you’ve reached this month, and I was the one that thought Belle was being kept by a sugar daddy with a skincare routine.”

“IT MAKES SENSE AT THE TIME,” Charles insisted.

There was a knock, and Nicholas Todt stepped into the room, holding his tablet with the solemn expression of a man walking into a fire.

“Tell me this is not real,” Nicholas said, holding up a screenshot of Belle’s Instagram page.

“Oh, it’s real,” Arthur said, grimacing.

“Charles, please tell me this is not the first time you’re hearing about this.”

Charles opened and closed his mouth.

Nicholas pinched the bridge of his nose and sat down heavily. “This is a PR disaster. If the media connects her to Max—”

“Wait,” Charles said slowly. “Why would the media connect her to Max?”

Everyone turned.

“You’re joking,” Alexandra said.

“What?” Charles asked, defensive.

“She changed her name to Verstappen,” Nicolas deadpanned. “What do you think it is?”

“She can’t be married to Max!” Charles blurted. “Someone would’ve told me!”

Joris, who had been quiet until now, finally looked up from his coffee with the most satisfied look on his face.

Joris shrugged. “Good for her.”

Charles stared. “Good for—what?”

“She’s been invisible to all of you for years,” Joris said bluntly. “And now she’s making herself seen. About damn time.”

Charles looked between them all, suddenly feeling like he was at the center of a soap opera everyone else had watched already.

“No,” he whispered. “It can’t be Max.”

Arthur looked vaguely nauseous. Joris looked like he had several things to say and none of them were polite.

Charles could feel the room closing in. “This is not happening.”

“I actually thought it might be Zhou,” Alexandra said mildly. “Or Lewis. They’re both polite. Hot. Emotionally intelligent.”

“Okay, please stop talking,” Charles groaned.

Arthur sat down beside him. “Do you think she’ll be at the paddock tomorrow?”

“If she shows up wearing Verstappen gear, I’m gonna throw myself in the gravel,” Charles muttered.

Alexandra raised an eyebrow. “No, you’re going to smile, and wave, and act like a supportive brother who didn’t forget she existed.”

"Max," he repeated dumbly. "Max Verstappen. My biggest rival. The guy who stole my karting trophies when we were twelve."

Arthur shrugged. "Apparently, he didn’t just steal your trophies."

Alexandra smirked behind her hand.

Nicolas rubbed his temples like he had a migraine.

Charles sat down heavily in the nearest chair, completely and utterly defeated.

Belle was married. To Max Verstappen. And the whole world knew.

Everyone except him.

She hadn’t said a word.

She’d just changed her name.

And somehow, that said everything.

****

Text Messages: Arthur Leclerc & Lorenzo Leclerc

Arthur: hey you up?

Lorenzo: I am now. What’s going on?

Arthur: don’t freak out but we need to tell maman something before she finds out from the internet

Lorenzo: Arthur. Tell me now.

Arthur: Isabelle changed her Instagram username. It’s belleverstappen now.

Lorenzo: … what.

Arthur: like not “dating” Verstappen not “soft launch” Verstappen I mean she married him she’s married like legally. emotionally. spiritually. all of it.

Lorenzo: What do you MEAN she’s married to Max Verstappen?! When?! How?! WHY didn’t we KNOW?!

Arthur: because we were all too busy forgetting her birthday and ignoring her for years? just a theory. 🙃

Lorenzo: Jesus Christ. Does Charles know?

Arthur: not until like five minutes ago. he thought she was dating JOS I’m not kidding.

Lorenzo: … of course he did.

Arthur: look can you please talk to maman like right now because the whole paddock is going to know soon and if she sees this online first she’s going to cry and then go full French Catholic guilt spiral and none of us are emotionally prepared for that

Lorenzo: On it.

Arthur: thank you. 

Good luck

***

Group Chat: GRID 2024 

Members: Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz Jr., Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Logan Sergeant, Daniel Ricciardo, Nico Hülkenberg, Lance Stroll, Fernando Alonso, Sergio Pérez, Esteban Ocon, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sargeant, Pierre Gasly, Yuki Tsunoda, and Valtteri Bottas

Charles: MAX. ANSWER YOUR PHONE.

Charles: TELL ME THIS ISN’T TRUE. TELL ME THIS IS SOME STUPID INTERNET RUMOUR. MAX. DID YOU MARRY MY SISTER?

Max: Yes.

Charles: AND YOU LET ME WALK AROUND THE PADDOCK FOR WEEKS LIKE AN IDIOT.

Max: We got married in Monaco. She wanted to keep it private.

Charles: YOU GOT MARRIED AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME??

Charles: YOU DIDN’T THINK I DESERVED TO KNOW THAT MY BABY SISTER WAS MARRYING MY BIGGEST RIVAL??

Pierre: wait wait wait what do you mean married Isabelle???

Yuki: SOMEONE EXPLAIN WHAT IS HAPPENING

Carlos: Charles—

Charles: HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN TOGETHER? HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN A THING??

Carlos: Over a year.

Charles: I’M GOING TO SCREAM.

Charles: I’m going to absolutely LOSE MY MIND. You’ve all been lying to me. For MONTHS.

Charles: WHO KNEW?? I WANT A FULL LIST. RIGHT NOW. I SWEAR I WILL GO THROUGH PHONE RECORDS.

Lewis: It wasn’t our secret to tell.

George: They weren’t hiding it to hurt you. They were protecting each other.

Lando: Also, you literally forgot her birthday. You don’t exactly have the moral high ground here.

Charles: SHE’S MY SISTER.

Max: She’s my wife. Stop yelling like you own her.

Charles: SHE’S FAMILY.

Max: This isn’t about you, Charles.

Charles: SHE IS MY SISTER. MY FAMILY. AND NONE OF YOU THOUGHT I MIGHT WANT TO KNOW SHE MARRIED SOMEONE WHO’S BEEN TRYING TO BEAT ME SINCE KARTING.

Oscar: She didn’t forget to tell you. She chose not to.

Charles: SHUT UP, OSCAR.

Carlos: Hey.

Charles: NO. YOU TOO. YOU REMEMBERED HER BIRTHDAY. AND YOU SAID NOTHING.

Carlos: Because she asked me to. Because she knew you’d react exactly like this.

Charles: SO MY SISTER MARRIES MAX VERSTAPPEN AND I’M THE VILLAIN??

Max: You remember that now?

Charles: You think this is funny?

Max: No. I think it’s sad. That it took a ring on her finger and a horse on Instagram for you to realize she was gone.

Charles: You went behind my back. You should have told me.

Max: She didn’t want to. And I respect her choices. Which is more than I can say for you.

Charles: I’M HER BROTHER.

Max: Then maybe act like it. Because right now? You’re just noise.

George: Charles, this isn’t about you anymore.

Alex: It’s about Belle. And how she had to build a new life because her old one didn’t see her.

Oscar: And Max did.

Max:If you're done shouting, maybe try asking yourself why she trusted me with her future and not you.

Charles: …

Yuki: can someone please give me a recap. i feel like i skipped six seasons.

Pierre: I JUST FOUND OUT HE MARRIED HER AND NOW HE’S DRAGGING CHARLES INTO THE VOID I NEED TO LIE DOWN

Daniel: someone get Pierre a fan, he’s hyperventilating.

Charles: EVERYONE SHUT UP. EVERYONE JUST STOP.

Charles: I’M FINDING HER. SHE’S AT THE TRACK, RIGHT? I’M FINDING HER RIGHT NOW.

Lewis: Charles.

Charles: WHAT.

Lewis: Do not ambush her. You don’t get to demand explanations from someone you forgot how to see.

Charles: I DIDN’T—

George: You forgot her birthday, Charles.

Oscar: You didn’t notice when she moved. You didn’t notice when she quit her job. You didn’t notice when she stopped showing up to family events.

Carlos: You didn’t notice her.

Charles: I just want to talk to her.

Max: Then wait until she’s ready. You’ve taken a lot of things from her, Charles. You don’t get to take this, too.

Charles: You don’t get to talk to me about what I’ve taken.

Max: No? Then let me talk to you about what you didn’t give her.

Max: Time. Attention. Respect. Support.

Max: All the things she gave you without question. All the things you never gave back.

Yuki: i’m so uncomfortable but also very invested

Pierre: i feel like we should log off

Charles: ...is anyone going to back me up here?

Esteban: You kind of lost the moral high ground at “is she dating Jos.”

Logan: ngl we all knew but we also knew you’d react like this.

Lewis: This isn’t about us. It’s about her. You need to let her decide if and when she wants to let you back in.

Charles: She’s my sister.

Max: She’s my wife.

Max: And if you ever want a place in her life again, maybe start by realizing you don’t get to gatekeep her happiness.

Carlos: Max. Enough.

Max: I’m done.

The rest is up to her.

Not me.

And sure as hell not you.

***

Pascale Leclerc had always prided herself on knowing her children.

She had lived through the chaos of karting and exam seasons, through Arthur’s scraped knees and Charles’ broken hearts, through Lorenzo’s silent strength and Isabelle’s quiet brilliance.

She had watched them grow up like a garden — each one different, wild in their own way, but hers.

And yet now, as she stood in her kitchen — untouched tea cooling in her hands — she felt like she was staring at a house that had quietly caught fire.

And she hadn’t even smelled the smoke.

Lorenzo stood by the doorway, tense but calm in that way only he could be. 

He had always been the family’s voice of reason, the one who didn’t panic, who showed up with logistics when the others brought emotions.

But tonight, there was something sharp beneath his composure. A tightness around the mouth. A shadow in his voice.

“Something happened,” Pascale had said, the moment he arrived.

Lorenzo didn’t answer right away.

He looked at her — really looked at her — like he wasn’t sure how to begin. Like he was about to hand her a truth that couldn’t be unspoken.

“Isabelle got married,” he said quietly.

The words didn’t register at first. Not fully.

They sat in the air, strange and unfamiliar, like hearing a sentence in a language she hadn’t spoken in years.

“What?” Pascale asked, blinking.

“Isabelle,” Lorenzo said again, slowly. “She got married. A few weeks ago. In Monaco.”

Her breath caught.

“To who?”

Lorenzo hesitated. “Max Verstappen.”

The name hit harder than the sentence.

Pascale lowered herself into the nearest chair like her legs no longer trusted her.

“She’s… married,” she said, tasting the word. “To Max. And we didn’t even know?”

Lorenzo sat across from her. “We didn’t even know she was in a relationship, Maman. We didn’t know she moved. That she quit her job. We didn’t know anything.”

Pascale stared at the table, at her own hands folded around a now-cold mug.

It was her fault.

Hers.

Because she had believed silence meant peace. She had assumed that just because Isabelle didn’t complain, she was content.

And in doing so, she had let her daughter disappear. Slowly. Quietly. Without fanfare.

“She didn’t want us to know?” Pascale asked, voice small.

“No,” Lorenzo said gently. “Because we’ve given her every reason to believe we only care when it’s convenient. When it’s public. When it’s about Charles.”

Pascale felt her eyes sting. “I thought… I thought she would come to me, if it was serious.”

“She did,” Lorenzo said, not unkindly. “She just stopped waiting for us to see her.”

Pascale pressed a hand over her mouth.

“I didn’t even know she still believed in love,” she whispered. “After everything we asked her to give up. After everything we never gave back.”

“She did,” Lorenzo said. “And he gives it to her.”

Silence stretched between them — thick with guilt and revelation.

“I missed her wedding,” Pascale said softly.

“We all did,” Lorenzo replied. “But we don’t have to miss everything else.”

Pascale’s hand trembled as she set the tea aside. It sloshed slightly over the rim — unnoticed.

“I missed her wedding,” she repeated, more to herself than to Lorenzo.

He didn’t speak. He knew better than to offer hollow comfort.

“I missed her,” Pascale whispered. “I missed everything.”

The silence sat heavy between them, stretching until it felt like a second skin. Pascale reached for her phone on the table — out of habit, out of desperation — and stared at the screen like it might offer her redemption.

A single name burned in her memory.

Isabelle.

Her thumb hovered, hesitating over old messages, until finally, she opened the thread.

It was all still there. Every breadcrumb of her failure.

Ma chérie… I didn’t realise. I thought I messaged you, but I sent it to Charles by mistake. That’s not an excuse. You deserved more. Always. Please let me come see you. I miss you.

Even reading it now, Pascale felt the shame wash through her like floodwater.

It was a lie. She had forgotten.

Not just the day. Not just the message.

She had forgotten her daughter — in the way that mattered most.

“I lied to her,” Pascale said aloud, her voice cracking.

Lorenzo closed his eyes like he was bracing for a storm. “Maman…”

“When I messaged her,” Pascale said,  tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “After I forgot her birthday. I didn’t want her to think I forgot.  I told her I meant to text her — that I accidentally sent it to Charles instead. But that wasn’t true. I did. I forgot. I forgot the day she was born. And then I lied because I couldn’t bear the thought of her knowing that. I didn’t remember until Charles reminded us. I lied to make it seem like I hadn’t failed her. But I did. I have. Over and over again.”

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I told myself she was strong. That she didn’t need as much,” Pascale continued, tears now slipping freely down her cheeks. “She didn’t fight for attention. She didn’t make noise. She just… quietly endured. I thought that meant she was fine.”

“She wasn’t,” Lorenzo said softly.

“I know that now,” Pascale whispered. “But it’s too late to be there for the little girl who cried when we sold her horse. Or the young woman who spent her graduation alone because we were all watching a race.”

Pascale looked up, eyes brimming.

“But maybe it’s not too late for the woman she’s become. The one who found someone who sees her. Who loves her enough to ask for her forever, even when she felt invisible.”

Lorenzo nodded slowly. “You’ll have to show her. Not just say it.”

“I don’t even know if she’ll want to hear from me,” Pascale said.

“You’ll try anyway,” he replied. “Because that’s what she deserved all along. Someone who didn’t need a reminder to show up.”

The air shifted slightly — still heavy, still painful, but no longer suffocating.

Pascale exhaled shakily and picked up her phone again.

“I want to fix it,” Pascale said eventually. “I don’t know how, but I want to try. I don’t want her to think we only care now because she married someone famous.”

“Then don’t start with an apology for missing the wedding,” Lorenzo said, voice low but steady. “Start with an apology for everything before it.”

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

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

Lando: (sends screenshots)

Lando: okay so we all agree that was… A Lot™?

George: “Then maybe act like it.” Cold. Accurate. Deserved.

Lewis: I was hoping Charles would reflect Not double down on the yelling and gaslighting

Carlos: He kept yelling “SHE’S MY SISTER” like it was a spell It’s not. It’s just a fact. And not one he treated with care.

Zhou: I’m honestly mad at him. Belle deserved better than that meltdown.

Daniel: She’s been waving white flags for YEARS. The fact that she had to marry Max Verstappen for him to finally notice is… tragic.

Logan: He tried to make it all about himself. Again.

Esteban: And he really told Max “you went behind my back” like Belle is property

Sebastian: Disrespectful. Self-centered. Deflecting guilt into rage. I like Charles. But this? This was ugly.

Lance: You could see the second-hand shame through the screen

Valtteri: Honestly, I don’t blame Max for losing patience.

Nico R.: He gave Charles every opportunity to calm down. Charles chose violence.

Oscar: “Which is more than I can say for you.” Yeah. That line still lives in my head.

Fernando: Max protected her. Period. Charles tried to make it about rivalry. One of them is married. The other is playing victim.

Mark: I love when people forget that Max is scary when he loves someone Not just when he races

David: Charles thought the betrayal was the secret The real betrayal is that she stopped counting on him, and he never noticed

George: And now he’s blaming everyone except himself.

Lando: What exactly did he expect? That she’d send a save-the-date and beg for attention?

Lewis: She already did. Every time she showed up and got ignored.

Sebastian: She didn’t disappear. She just stopped asking to be seen.

Alex: And I’m done coddling Charles about that.

Carlos: Same.

Oscar: She chose happiness. He called it betrayal. That says everything.

Zhou: Should we be worried about today?

Daniel: We should be prepared. Max said he’s bringing her to the paddock. And Charles? He’ll implode.

Fernando: Let him. Maybe he’ll finally listen if it’s in public.

Lewis: He doesn’t deserve answers. He deserves the silence he gave her.

George: And if she does say anything to him, it’s her choice.

***

Belle had never liked the paddock.

Not because it wasn’t impressive — it was. Efficient, loud, organized chaos. But because it had never really felt like hers. Not even when Charles had brought her around as a teenager, wide-eyed and silent, watching her brothers shake hands and pose for cameras while she trailed two steps behind.

She knew how invisible you could be in a place like this.

But not today.

Not now.

She stepped through the gates with Max beside her — her fingers laced in his, steady and certain — and the hush that fell over the paddock was immediate.

Belle could feel it.

The weight of eyes. The slow, sharp recognition rippling outward from person to person like a silent explosion. Some turned to look, others tried not to, but they all felt it. The shift. The fact that something had changed.

That she had changed.

Max didn’t break stride. Neither did she.

The sun was warm on her shoulders, but the Red Bull jacket she wore — his, oversized and soft — felt like armor. Familiar. Safe. She’d tugged it from his closet that morning while he was brushing his teeth, said nothing as she slipped it on, and Max had only smiled at her like she was everything in the world worth looking at.

He hadn’t let go of her hand since.

Belle didn’t smile, but she didn’t flinch either.

She looked ahead, chin high, expression calm. If they wanted something loud — a statement, a spectacle — they weren’t going to get it.

They’d get this.

Her wedding band catching the light. Her hand in Max’s. Her name — Belle Verstappen — already echoing through the internet.

Let them talk.

She heard someone near the McLaren garage whisper, “Oh my god, it’s really her.” Heard another murmur, “She’s wearing his jacket.”

Belle didn’t look. She didn’t have to.

She could feel the stares. Could feel the quiet scramble of the media trying to decide whether or not to speak. To ask. To breathe.

She kept walking.

Max leaned in slightly, barely tilting his head toward her, and said under his breath, “Still with me?”

Belle’s lips curved — just slightly. “Always.”

His thumb brushed along the side of her hand in response. The smallest touch. But enough.

They moved through the paddock like a weather system — calm on the surface, but electric underneath. Some drivers straightened up when they passed. Some looked away. One engineer dropped their tablet. Someone near the Ferrari garage gasped.

Belle didn’t look toward it.

She didn’t need to see Charles to know he was watching.

She could feel it — that specific burn of a sibling’s shock, of betrayal, of too-late recognition. And it hurt, somewhere deep in her chest. But it didn’t undo her.

Not this time.

Max gave her fingers a gentle squeeze.

She kept walking.

Every step felt like reclaiming something. Every heartbeat steadier than the last.

Let them stare. Let them wonder.

They hadn’t seen her before. They hadn’t heard her.

Now they would.

Quietly. Unapologetically.

This was her life.

And Belle Verstappen wasn’t hiding anymore.

***

@/GridGossip: 🚨BREAKING: BELLE VERSTAPPEN JUST WALKED INTO THE PADDOCK HOLDING MAX’S HAND She’s wearing his jacket An emerald engagement ring And a gold wedding band I’m shaking. I’m actually shaking. 📸 (zoomed photo)

@/F1TeaSpiller: Forget soft launches. Belle Verstappen just HARD LAUNCHED HER ENTIRE MARRIAGE That’s a wedding ring, babes. A wedding ring.

@/RedBullTroll33: Max Verstappen didn’t post a wedding photo. Didn’t do an announcement. Just walked into the paddock with his wife wearing a rock the size of my student debt. Power move.

@/FerrariF1Pain: The Leclerc family watching Belle walk in like: 👁👄👁 With a RING With MAX In his jacket Wearing the smirk of a woman who’s been underrated for too long

@/f1memequeen: That emerald engagement ring is screaming “I don’t need your approval, I already have his last name” And honestly?? Obsessed.

@/WifeGuyMax: Everyone: when will Max post Belle? Max: I’ll bring Belle. Max: To the paddock. Max: With a gold band on her finger. Max: Say hello to my wife.

@/GridChaosDaily: Belle is wearing a gold wedding band and an engagement ring the size of a walnut and hasn’t blinked once Meanwhile Charles looks like he’s on the verge of spontaneously combusting

@/MonacoRoyalty: THE RING THE JACKET THE HAND-HOLDING THE WALK SHE’S THE MAIN CHARACTER

@/MaxIsWinning: Max Verstappen said:

Emerald ring ✔️

Gold band ✔️

My jacket ✔️

My hand ✔️

My wife ✔️ Legend.

@/f1memequeen: Belle: walks in calmly Internet: 💍😱🔥👗👀💀💍👑 The power of SILENCE

@/LandoSimp44: me: I’m over the Verstappen-Leclerc marriage drama also me: zooming in on the ring like it’s the Mona Lisa

@/FerrariTears: Charles is looking at that gold band like it personally betrayed him Arthur’s gone full ghost mode Pascale is probably praying in a dark room Meanwhile Belle’s just casually wearing a 5-figure emerald like it’s nothing

@/F1MemeLord: Belle: marries Max Verstappen in secret Charles: forgets her birthday Belle: walks into the paddock with a ring and a husband The plot arc is insane. The payoff? Cinematic.

@/gridgossip: MAX WALKING IN WITH HIS WIFE AND ZERO APOLOGY IS THE MOST VERSTAPPEN THING TO EVER HAPPEN

@/TifosiTears: Belle really said: you forgot me? let me introduce you to my husband and this giant green rock

***

The moment they stepped inside the Red Bull garage, Belle felt the shift.

It wasn’t like entering a room. It was like crossing a threshold — one she could never go back from.

There were voices, radio chatter, tire warmers humming. Mechanics moved with sharp efficiency. But as Max walked in with her hand still folded in his, everything… slowed.

Heads turned. Not in shock — they all knew by now. But in curiosity. 

She was part of it now.

Max dropped his bag with practiced ease, nodded at one of the engineers, and then looked back at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the room.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, just for her.

Belle nodded, though her heart was fluttering too fast. “Yeah. Just—this is a lot.”

“You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” she said quietly. “I want to meet the people who know the version of you I don’t get at home.”

Max smiled like that meant more than she realized — like she’d just handed him something no one else ever had.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Time to meet the chaos.”

Belle only had a second to steel herself before she heard the gruff voice.

“About time you brought her here.”

Jos.

He was already standing near the back wall of the garage, arms folded, mouth tugged up in something that resembled a smile. As he looked at her properly, something softened in his expression. Something almost proud.

“See you survived the vultures,” he said drily, and she couldn’t help but laugh. 

She blinked — caught off guard — and then smiled. “I’m told it’s a survival skill.”

Jos chuckled — actually chuckled — and nodded. “Good. You’ll need it.”

“Papa,” Max greeted casually, unbothered by the tension humming in the air. “Thanks for being here. You’ll keep an eye on her while I’m in the car.”

Belle blinked, surprised. “You didn’t tell me that.”

Max smiled slightly. “Didn’t want to stress you out.”

Jos’s lips twitched. Just barely.

“Sit where you want,” he said to her. “It’s quieter at the back. And if anyone annoys you, tell them you married a Verstappen. That’ll scare them off.”

Max gave him a look. Jos ignored him entirely.

Before Belle could respond, a familiar voice called out from just inside the garage.

“Well, well. You’re finally in the right garage.”

She turned — and smiled fully for the first time that day.

Gianpiero Lambiase stood near his station, headset already slung around his neck, amusement lighting his usually serious expression.

“Hi, GP,” Belle said warmly.

He approached, offering a half-hug, half-handshake that was somehow the perfect balance of affection and professionalism. “Max said you’d be here, but I figured he was bluffing.”

“I almost backed out,” Belle admitted. “Then he bribed me with his jacket and pancakes.”

“Classic Verstappen tactics,” GP deadpanned. “Food, flattery, and limited emotional vocabulary.”

Max, passing behind them, muttered, “I can still hear you.”

GP grinned, unfazed. “Welcome, Belle. We’ve all been betting on when you'd show up.”

She arched a brow. “And who won?”

“Helmut,” GP said, disgusted. “Which is horrifying.”

Max returned, tugging lightly on her sleeve. “Come on. Christian wants to meet you.”

Belle exhaled, nerves fluttering again, but she followed Max past rows of screens and engineers until they stopped in front of Christian Horner, who turned to greet them with the ease of a man who’d already been briefed but was pretending he hadn’t.

“Well, you’ve caused quite the storm.”

Christian Horner.

He approached with that signature half-smile of his, hands in his pockets, a subtle look of curiosity behind the polite charm.

“So this is the mysterious Mrs. Verstappen,” he said warmly. “Finally. The woman who managed to tame our reigning champion. Or so the rumors say.”

“I don’t think anyone tames Max,” Belle said dryly.

Christian laughed. “You might be right. But clearly, you’re the exception.”

She extended a hand, and he shook it firmly.

“Christian Horner,” he added, even though she obviously knew.

“Belle Verstappen,” she said quietly — testing the name again. Feeling it settle.

Christian’s gaze flicked to her left hand, where the emerald caught the overhead lights. “Well, it’s official now. Welcome to the madness.”

Belle took a slow breath as they stepped deeper into the garage, Max’s hand briefly grazing her lower back before he peeled off toward his car.

She watched him go, then looked around at the controlled chaos of Red Bull’s world — the data streams, the techs, the noise, the anticipation.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was standing on the outside of someone else’s life.

She was here.

She was his.

And the garage was exactly where she was supposed to be.

***

Arthur wasn’t sure what he expected.

Maybe denial. Maybe chaos. Maybe the internet was wrong — maybe Belle hadn’t really married Max Verstappen. Maybe someone had faked the name change. Maybe it was a fever dream.

But then he saw them.

Isabelle. Walking into the paddock like she belonged there. Wearing Max’s jacket. Wearing a wedding band. Holding his hand.

Arthur froze mid-step outside the Ferrari hospitality unit. His coffee trembled in his grip. For a second, he genuinely forgot how to breathe.

Because it wasn’t just that Isabelle was there.

It was the way Max glanced at her every few steps, the way she leaned in slightly when the crowd pressed too close. The way their fingers didn’t untangle, not once. Not even when flashes went off or someone whispered her name like it was blasphemy.

She looked calm. Not smug. Not afraid. Just… calm.

And that was what undid Arthur most.

Because she’d never looked like that before — not at races, not around the family, not anywhere she’d ever been expected to play the silent sibling to Charles’ glory.

She looked like herself. Like someone who had finally been given permission to take up space.

And beside him, Charles looked like he was about to snap.

“Unbelievable,” Charles muttered, voice too low and too bitter. “He couldn’t even tell me. He had to parade her in front of everyone like this?”

Arthur tore his eyes away from Isabelle — reluctantly — and turned toward his older brother.

“Are you serious right now?” he asked.

Charles flinched. “What?”

“She’s walking in with her husband, Charles. Not doing a press tour. What did you think was going to happen?”

“I thought maybe—” Charles stopped, jaw tight. “Maybe she’d have the decency to talk to me first.”

Arthur stared at him. “Decency? Are you hearing yourself?”

Charles ran a hand through his hair, agitated. “She’s my sister—”

“And you’re acting like she’s your possession.”

Charles turned on him. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are!” Arthur snapped, stepping closer, voice sharp. “You’re acting like she owed you something when all she ever wanted was to be treated like she mattered!”

“Don’t twist this, Arthur,” Charles said, low and warning.

Arthur laughed — harsh, disbelieving. “You forgot her birthday. We forgot her birthday!”

“That was a mistake—”

“We forgot her birthday, and then when she finally chooses herself, finally chooses someone who sees her, you make it about you?”

“She married Max—”

“She married someone who shows up for her,” Arthur interrupted. “Which is more than we’ve done in years.”

Charles’ face tightened.

Arthur kept going. “You don’t get to be the victim here. Not when she’s spent years watching you get cheered while she was ignored. Not when she begged for scraps of attention and we gave her nothing.”

Charles looked like he wanted to argue. He didn’t.

“She stopped trying to be seen by us,” Arthur said quietly. “Because she found someone who already sees her.”

Charles swallowed hard, eyes flicking toward the Red Bull garage where Belle had disappeared with Max minutes ago. “I just… I didn’t think she’d leave us like that.”

“She didn’t leave,” Arthur said. “We just never noticed when she stopped waiting.”

Silence.

Thick. Tense. Regretful.

Charles looked down, jaw clenched. He didn’t say sorry. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Arthur sighed and set his coffee down on the table beside him.

“If you want to be part of her life now, Charles,” he said. “You’re going to have to show her that you’re finally willing to see her. Not as your sister. As herself.”

Then he walked away, leaving Charles in the middle of the paddock — alone, surrounded by people, and for the first time, not the main character.

***

Belle had just sat down with a cup of tea in the quiet corner of Red Bull hospitality when she heard it.

A voice. Sharp. French-accented. Not loud, but unmistakably firm.

She looked up instinctively — and wasn’t surprised.

Arthur.

Standing just outside the entrance, shoulders tense, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets like he was trying to shrink into himself. He’d clearly made it through the first layer of staff with that Leclerc charm that used to get him everywhere.

Unfortunately for him, Jos Verstappen was standing by the doorway.

And Jos did not do charm.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing here?” Jos asked, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Arthur hesitated. “I just—I wanted to talk to her.”

“This isn’t Ferrari,” Jos said, voice calm but cutting. “You don’t get to stroll in here after throwing a tantrum across half the paddock and acting like your sister’s marriage is some kind of betrayal.”

Arthur flushed. “I didn’t throw a tantrum—”

“You don’t belong here,” Jos said. “Not after this morning. Not after the way your brother behaved.”

Arthur’s face flushed. “I came her to…”

“To what?” Jos stepped closer. “Apologize on behalf of Charles? Defend him? Make excuses for how you treated her?”

“No!” Arthur said quickly, hands up. “No. I’m not here for Charles. I’m here for her.”

Belle stood before she even realized she’d moved.

“Jos,” she said, voice soft but clear. “It’s fine.”

He turned toward her, frowning. “Belle—”

“I want to talk to him,” she said.

And for the first time in a very long time, she saw someone else hesitate when talking to her.

Jos studied her face for a beat. Whatever he saw must have been enough, because he gave a terse nod and stepped back. Not far. But far enough to say I’m still watching.

Arthur looked like he was bracing for impact as she walked toward him.

Belle stopped a few steps away, arms crossed loosely. She didn’t hug him. Didn’t cry. 

He stopped a little too far away, hands in his pockets, guilt etched into every line of his face.

“You weren’t really trying to sneak past Jos Verstappen, were you?” she finally asked dryly.

Arthur groaned. “I thought maybe if I moved fast enough, he wouldn’t see me.”

A faint smile tugged at Belle’s mouth. “He used to spot Max sneaking out after curfew with a hoodie pulled over his head. You never had a chance.”

Arthur groaned. “I thought maybe if I moved fast enough, he’d blink.”

“He never blinks,” she said.

He cracked a smile, brief and sheepish. “You look good.”

Her expression softened, barely. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I haven’t,” he admitted. “Charles is sulking like it’s a championship sport. Maman’s crying into a croissant. Lorenzo’s trying to schedule a family meeting like it’s a UN crisis summit.”

Belle sighed, gaze drifting past him for a moment. “I figured.”

He hesitated. “I didn’t come to defend anyone. Not Charles. Not Maman. I just… I needed to see you. For myself.”

She studied him in silence. Arthur had always been a little caught in the middle — younger than Charles, louder than Lorenzo, trying to carve space where there was none. He wasn’t blameless. But he hadn’t been cruel. Just… complicit.

But he was trying now.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable — just full. Full of all the things left unsaid for too long. All the messages never sent. All the birthday calls missed, the family dinners where she was present but not seen.

“You used to hide in my bed during thunderstorms,” Belle said quietly. “You’d ask me to read the same chapter of Le Petit Prince three times until you fell asleep.”

Arthur blinked, surprised. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything,” Belle said. “I remember the good things. I always tried to.”

His throat worked around the lump there. “Why didn’t you tell me? About Max. About the wedding. About… any of it?”

Belle looked down at the rings on her finger — the green of the emerald glinting faintly under the hospitality lighting, the simple gold band beneath it warm against her skin.

“Because you weren’t really looking,” she said. “None of you were. And I was tired of asking to be seen.”

Arthur didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue.

“I know,” he said instead, voice low and thick. “I think… I’ve known it for a while. I just didn’t know how to face it. But seeing you with Max — the way he looks at you, the way you look at you — I get it now. And I hate that it took this for me to see it.”

“It’s not about hating yourself,” Belle said, gentler this time. “It’s about doing better now. If you want to.”

Arthur looked at her like she was someone new. Someone stronger. Someone who had stopped waiting for the world to recognize her and built a place where she didn’t need permission.

“Are you happy?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

He exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding that breath all morning.

“Good,” he said. “That’s all I wanted to know.”

Belle stepped forward then, arms uncrossed, and opened them. The offer was quiet. Soft.

Arthur didn’t hesitate.

He pulled her into a hug like he was afraid she might vanish again. His arms wound around her, shoulders trembling just slightly. Belle hugged him back — firm and steady.

And it felt like something beginning again.

Not perfectly. Not fixed.

But trying.

When they finally stepped apart, Belle offered a quiet, teasing smile. “Next time, use the front entrance. Jos might not be so forgiving twice.”

Arthur groaned. “I’m still recovering. I think he aged me ten years with one sentence.”

She laughed — really laughed, for the first time that day.

Behind them, Jos gave a small grunt from where he stood — arms crossed, unimpressed — but Belle didn’t miss the way one corner of his mouth almost curved.

***

Max didn’t usually seek people out for conversations. Not personal ones, anyway.

He’d spent most of his life guarding things that mattered — like they were fragile, like they’d break if anyone else got too close. But this was different. She was different. And what they had now — what was growing quietly inside her — felt too big to carry on his own.

So he found GP.

It was a lull in the afternoon, the last briefing before the sim work, engineers rotating through data stations like gears in a perfect machine. But GP was by himself, leaning against the telemetry table, one brow raised as Max approached with the kind of expression that said, you better not be about to request a new steering wheel setting.

Max didn’t say anything right away.

GP waited.

“I need to tell you something,” Max said finally. His voice was lower than usual. Not tense — just held close.

GP straightened a little. “What happened?”

“She’s pregnant,” Max said.

The words came out smoother than he expected. Maybe because they’d been sitting on his tongue all day.

GP stared at him. Blinked once. Then again.

And then — grinned.

“Seriously?” he asked, already smiling. “Belle’s pregnant?”

Max nodded once, his throat tight. “Yeah. She told me a few weeks ago.”

GP exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Bloody hell. I should’ve seen that coming.”

Max raised a brow. “You didn’t?”

“I figured it was either that or you bought her a horse farm.”

Max laughed — properly, finally, the weight of the day cracking just a little. “I might still do that.”

GP was still smiling, but there was something else in his face now — something softer. Warmer.

“Kids are great,” he said, voice lower, more personal now. “I mean, chaotic and exhausting, but… they’re the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Max blinked. “You’ve never said that.”

GP shrugged. “Didn’t seem relevant when you were nineteen and trying to beat Lewis Hamilton into turn one.”

Max huffed a laugh. “Fair.”

There was a pause. A weight in the air — not heavy, but full.

“She’ll be a brilliant mum,” GP added, quieter now. “She’s got that calm strength to her. The kind you don’t notice until it’s the only thing holding you together.”

Max nodded slowly. “I know.”

“And you,” GP said, tapping a finger to Max’s chest, “are going to be fine. More than fine.”

Max hesitated. “Even with…”

“Even with your past? Your dad?” GP finished for him. “You’re not him. You never were.”

Max looked down for a moment, jaw tight. Then, after a long breath, he met GP’s eyes again. “I just want to give that kid something different. Something better.”

“You already are,” GP said simply. “You chose Belle. That’s your first good decision. Choosing that baby every day — that’s your next.”

“I’m scared,” Max admitted.

“Good,” GP said. “That means you give a damn.”

Max nodded once.

“I’m happy for you, mate,” GP added, reaching out and clasping his shoulder. “Really.”

Max nodded again, grateful in a way he didn’t know how to say.

“And just for the record,” GP added dryly, “I had a bet with my wife that you two would get pregnant before Charles figured out you were married.”

Max burst out laughing. “Did she win?”

“She always wins.”

Max was still grinning when he turned to leave, lighter than he’d been all day.

There was so much left to do — more secrets to tell, more people to face — but for now, it was enough that someone knew.

Someone who didn’t just understand racing.

Someone who understood him.

***

From the hospitality suite above the Red Bull garage, Belle had a near-perfect view of the final laps.

The Spanish heat shimmered off the track, waves of it rising like ghosts in the air, but Belle barely noticed. Her fingers gripped the arm of her seat, headset slightly askew, Max’s voice crackling faintly through the speakers — clipped, calm, focused.

She had never liked watching him race before she knew him. 

Now, she knew better.

Now, she could hear it in the way he spoke to GP. The way he adjusted. Reacted. Fought, not like a man trying to prove something — but like someone who knew exactly who he was, and who he had waiting for him at the end.

You’ve got three laps left, mate, GP said calmly in her ear.

Copy. Leave it with me.

Belle swallowed hard. Her hand settled instinctively over the front of her stomach, hidden by the loose navy blouse she wore. She hadn’t told many people yet — just Victoria, Sophie, Jos, and Emilie, and now GP, thanks to Max.

But this felt like a secret the whole world would eventually know.

The final sector flew past in a blur. Tyres screamed. Crowds surged.

And then, the chequered flag.

“YES! That’s P1, Max. Well done.”

Belle exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her hand flew to her mouth, and then, just as quickly, to her chest — right over her heart.

He’d done it.

 Again.

The team erupted around her — mechanics cheering, hugging, high-fiving, lifting cans of Red Bull like champagne flutes. Christian was already halfway out the door, and even Jos, who’d been watching beside her with arms crossed, allowed himself a rare smile.

But Belle?

Belle didn’t move.

Not until someone nudged her gently — a team assistant with wide eyes and an even wider grin. “He’s asking for you,” the girl said. “Go. Go!”

Belle blinked. “What?”

“Parc Fermé. He’s already out of the car. Go!”

She didn’t hesitate after that.

The hallways blurred past her — wide corridors filled with team personnel and security and overheated energy. Her flats slapped against the concrete. Her pass flashed in the light. People parted without even realizing it — as if they could feel she belonged to this moment.

She reached the barrier just as Max pulled off his helmet, hair damp with sweat, fire suit unzipped halfway down his chest.

And then he saw her.

His eyes lit up in a way Belle didn’t think he realized he saved for her. He started toward her before the cameras could swarm, before the journalists could shout, before anyone else could get between them.

He crossed to her like he knew she’d be there. Like he’d been driving toward her the whole time.

And Belle didn’t think. Didn’t care about the cameras or the crowd or the fact that Charles was likely still in his car wondering where it all went wrong.

She stepped past the barrier and met him halfway.

And then she kissed him.

There was no hesitation. No coy look at the cameras. No soft-launch subtlety.

Just her hands on his face, his arms wrapping tight around her waist, and the kind of kiss that felt like a homecoming.

The paddock erupted.

Somewhere behind them, a Sky Sports presenter squeaked. David Croft nearly dropped his mic. 

Belle pulled back only when Max laughed against her mouth.

“You kissed me in Parc Fermé,” he murmured.

“You won,” she said simply, brushing sweat-mussed hair off his forehead. “You deserve to be kissed.”

Max looked at her for a long moment, then down — briefly, instinctively — at her stomach, where no one else had noticed her hand lingering.

And then he whispered, just for her: “Both of you.”

Belle smiled. “You came home to us safe.”

Max kissed her one more time, softer now, and then turned back toward the swarm of cameras and celebration.

And Belle?

Belle stood at the edge of it all — her lips still tingling, her heart full — knowing the headlines tomorrow would be chaos.

But for now?

She had kissed her husband in front of the entire world.

And she didn’t regret a single second.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/RedBullTroll33: i thought the name change was chaos BUT THIS??? BELLE JUST WALKED IN AND KISSED HIM LIKE THEY WEREN’T HIDING FOR A YEAR I’M LOSING IT

@/FerrariTears: charles leclerc being forced to watch max verstappen win the race and then watch his baby sister kiss him like it’s a romcom finale is actually greek tragedy level storytelling

@/f1memequeen: Belle: soft-launched a horse and an emerald ring Belle: quietly changed her last name to Verstappen Belle: walks into parc fermé and kisses her world champion husband Me: sobbing okay queen I GET IT

@/WifeGuyMax: MAX VERSTAPPEN KISSED HIS WIFE IN FRONT OF EVERYONE AND LOOKED LIKE HE’D JUST WON SOMETHING MORE IMPORTANT THAN A RACE i’m unwell

@/f1memehub: sky sports: mid-sentence belle: kisses max crofty: glitches karun: gasping social media admin: pressing post like their life depends on it

@/LandoSimp44: the paddock was like “max has a secret wife” max said “here she is. in my arms. deal with it.”

@/MonacoRoyalty: SHE KISSED HIM IN PARC FERMÉ AFTER THE WIN AND HE LOOKED AT HER LIKE SHE PUT THE SUN IN THE SKY i’m crying this is cinema

@/MaxIsWinning: max verstappen doesn’t do drama he does declarations first her name now the kiss next stop: world domination

@/FerrariF1Pain: charles watching belle kiss max in parc fermé after forgetting her birthday is the most older brother consequences i’ve ever seen

@/GridChaosDaily: “Belle kissed Max after the Spanish GP” is now officially my favorite F1 moment no context. just vibes. just love

***

Instagram Post: @/belleverstappen

@/maxverstappen1: Every lifetime, every circuit. Every time. 💍❤️

@/redbullracing: Belle Verstappen supremacy. (also congrats Max 👀)

@/emilie_abadie: this is my new phone background. and lock screen. and wallpaper. and religion. thanks.

@/pierregasly: i need everyone to stop posting this before i start believing in soulmates again

@/landonorris: i was THERE. i SAW IT. i’m never recovering.

@/f1: most liked paddock kiss of all time? confirmed.

@tifositimes: I didn’t expect to cry over a Verstappen kiss post today but here we are.

@/chaoticgridgirl: SHE POSTED IT. THE KISS. THE LEGENDARY KISS. I NEED A MINUTE. ACTUALLY I NEED A WEEK.

@/f1softlaunchdetective: this is what soft-launch girlies do when they hit their final form. she dropped ONE photo and burned the paddock to the ground.

@/maxielflamequeen: the ring. the kiss. the caption.

@paddockwhispers: arthur liked it. charles didn’t.

@softverstappen: i will never emotionally recover from this post. ever. she wins. every time.

@maxsvillainera: look at the way he’s holding her look at the way she’s smiling into the kiss no notes. pure poetry.

***

FIA Press Conference — Post-Race | Spanish Grand Prix 2024

Drivers: P1 - Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing), P2 - Lewis Hamilton (Mercedes), P3 - Lando Norris (McLaren)

Moderator: Congratulations, Max. A win today. How are you feeling?

Max:  Good. Yeah, car felt great, team executed perfectly. Always nice to win in Barcelona.

Moderator: We’ll open the floor for questions.

Journalist #1: Max, first of all, congratulations. But obviously everyone’s talking about the moment in Parc Fermé. Can you confirm — was that your wife? And are the rumors true that you and Isabelle Leclerc got married in secret?

Max: Yes. That was my wife. And yes — we got married in Monaco a few weeks ago. We’re very happy.

Lando: (muttering into his mic) Understatement of the century.

Lewis: (grinning) Congrats, man.

Journalist #2: Max, there’s been a lot of talk online about Belle’s birthday being forgotten by her family and this being the reason she pulled away from them. Any comment on that?

Max: No.

Journalist #2: Nothing at all?

Max: (calmly) No. 

Journalist #3: There’s a narrative online that Belle’s been overlooked for years. Some say this entire paddock entrance and Parc Fermé kiss was a statement. Was that intentional?

Max: (dryly)  We walked in holding hands. We kissed. We’re married. If that counts as a statement, I don’t know what to tell you.

Journalist #4: Do you think this will affect your dynamic with Charles Leclerc?

Max: (expression flat) We’ll see. That’s between him and his sister. I’m just here to race cars and go home to my wife.

Lando: (quietly, to Lewis) He’s in his “husband first, world champion second” era.

Lewis: (laughing into his mic) He really is.

Journalist #6: Do you plan on making any public statement about the family fallout?

Max: No. That’s her story to tell, not mine. And frankly, it’s not gossip. It’s real life. So maybe let’s show a little respect.

Journalist #7: What was going through your mind when she kissed you in Parc Fermé?

Max: (finally smiling) That I’m the luckiest guy in the world.

Journalist #8: Will your wife be traveling with you to more races now?

Max (still polite, still done):  We‘ll decide what works best for us as a family. That’s between us.

Reporter #9: Was Belle’s presence in the paddock today a signal? Especially given what happened with Charles—

Max: (cuts in, voice calm but firmer) Belle doesn’t need to signal anything. She’s not a statement. She’s a person. And she came today to support her husband. That’s all.

Moderator: Alright, I think we’ll wrap it there before anyone pushes their luck. Congratulations to all three drivers. Max, Lando, Lewis — thank you.

Lando (leaning into mic): Congrats again, mate. On the win and the wife.

***

Fred Vasseur closed the door harder than necessary.

The sound echoed through the otherwise silent room like a gunshot.

Charles looked up from where he was sitting on the small couch, still in his fireproofs, helmet discarded beside him. He was sweaty, tired, irritated — and entirely unprepared.

“Qu’est-ce que tu fais, Charles?” Fred said sharply. What are you doing?

Charles blinked. “What—?”

“You want to explain to me,” Fred continued, voice calm in the most dangerous way possible, “how your sister kissing Max Verstappen became the story of our weekend?”

Charles sat up straighter. “That’s not fair—”

“No?” Fred crossed the room, standing over him now. “Because I think it’s very fair. You let your personal drama become a paddock sideshow, and now everyone’s talking about the Leclerc family meltdown while we limp home with a P5 and a ruined PR day.”

“I didn’t ask for that to happen!”

“But you made sure it did,” Fred snapped. “You didn’t know Belle got married. Fine. You didn’t approve of who she married. Fine. You could’ve said nothing. But instead, you threw a tantrum. In the paddock. In group chats. Loud enough that half the drivers are mocking you and the other half are wondering if you even see your sister as a person.”

Charles flushed. “That’s not—”

“You forgot her birthday, Charles.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

Fred didn’t yell. He didn’t need to.

“You forgot her birthday. You forgot her job. You forgot she moved. And when she stopped chasing your attention, you acted like she betrayed you.” His voice didn’t rise, but it sharpened with every word. “And now you’re shocked that the only person she trusted to hold her hand through it all was the man who sees her every single day?”

Charles looked away, jaw tight. “It wasn’t supposed to be public.”

Fred laughed — once, bitter and short. “And yet you’re the one who made it public. Max didn’t. Belle didn’t. You did. And now you’ve made us look like amateurs — not because of strategy, but because you couldn’t handle the fact that your sister’s life isn’t orbiting around you anymore.”

Charles opened his mouth. Closed it. No words came.

Fred sighed — not in exasperation, but in disappointment. And that hurt more.

“I expected more from you,” he said quietly. “As a driver, yes. But more than that — as a man. As a brother.”

Charles flinched like he’d been hit.

“You want to fix this?” Fred said, stepping back. “Then stop sulking. Start listening. And for the love of God, don’t let Max Verstappen be the better man in every single room you enter.”

He turned and walked to the door.

“Because right now?” he added, hand on the handle. “He’s not just beating you on track. He’s beating you in every other way that matters.”

And then he left.

Charles stayed seated, eyes burning, the silence pressing heavier than any helmet ever had.

***

Dinner had started out exactly the way Belle expected.

Loud. Warm. Slightly unhinged.

They were tucked into a quiet corner of a restaurant just off the Barcelona marina — the kind of place Max loved because no one there cared about racing unless it blocked traffic. The table was round, the lighting dim and golden, and the laughter had already started before the appetizers arrived.

Lando had barely let Max sit down before declaring, “You’re disgusting. You win a race and then get kissed like it’s a Netflix finale. Get out.”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” Max had said, completely unbothered.

Oscar, seated beside Lily, just smirked. “It was kind of romantic.”

Lily looked between the two of them with a soft smile. “Kind of? It broke the Internet.”

Daniel had toasted “to hard launches, soft kisses, and Verstappen chaos,” and Belle had nearly snorted water through her nose.

But now dinner had mellowed. Plates cleared. Dessert on the way. The kind of soft lull that usually came right before someone said something life-changing.

Max glanced at Belle. That look — gentle, checking, asking without words.

She nodded once.

He cleared his throat lightly. “We actually… wanted to tell you guys something.”

Four pairs of eyes snapped to attention.

“Tell me you’re moving to the countryside and buying a farm,” Lando said immediately. “Please. I need this arc.”

“Better,” Max said, eyes flicking toward Belle.

Belle rested her hands on the edge of the table. Her heart was fluttering, not with nerves exactly — more like awe. Like the moment was finally catching up to her.

“I’m pregnant,” she said.

There was a pause.

A moment of stunned silence.

And then—

“NO YOU’RE NOT,” Daniel half-shouted, nearly knocking over his wine glass.

Lily gasped, hands flying to her mouth. “Are you serious?!”

Oscar just stared, mouth slightly open like his brain had hit the brakes.

Lando blinked twice, then pointed between them. “Like… with a baby baby?”

Belle burst into laughter — the tension cracking wide open. Max was already grinning like he’d been waiting for this chaos all night.

“Yes, Lando,” Belle said, wiping at her eyes. “A baby baby.”

Oscar finally found his voice. “How long have you known?”

“A few weeks,” Max said. “We’re keeping it quiet for now. But we wanted you to know first.”

Lily leaned across the table, eyes wide and shining. “You’re going to be parents. Oh my god. That baby is going to have cheekbones and a death stare.”

“And probably a kart by age two,” Daniel added, now fully beaming. “Holy shit. Max Verstappen’s going to be a dad. I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting down,” Oscar said, still blinking like he hadn’t caught up.

“I need to sit down harder,” Daniel muttered.

Lando reached for Belle’s hand across the table, squeezing it. “You’re going to be amazing.”

Belle swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “I’m scared,” she admitted. “But… I’m also happy. Really happy.”

Max’s hand found her thigh under the table, grounding and steady. She didn’t have to look to know he was watching her with that same soft, almost reverent expression he’d had ever since she told him.

Oscar was smiling now too, the initial shock melting into something warm. “Congratulations,” he said. “Both of you. Really.”

“And selfishly,” Lily added, “I’m just glad we get to love this baby too.”

Daniel raised his glass. “To the official grid baby.”

“We’re not calling them that,” Belle said immediately.

“To Max spiraling when the baby kicks for the first time,” Oscar added, grinning.

“To all of it,” Lando finished. “To them.”

They clinked glasses — softly, gently.

And as Belle looked around at the people who had chosen her — not because she was someone’s sister, not because she was attached to a name — but because they loved her, her heart felt impossibly full.

The world could stay outside tonight.

This was theirs.

***

[wosofutbolfan]

I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar

Alexia Putellas x Explorer!R

8.5k Fluff, Fun, Minor Angst

Hi Guys,

This is pt4. in the 'I Would Climb Every Mountain With You" otherwise known as Explorer!R Universe. TW: description of killing an animal.

Highly recommend you read those 3 first, as this is entrenched in lore. Pt 1 can be found here.

It's developed from an ask I received from @karsonromanoff so thank you so much for the idea! I hope I did it justice and I'm sorry for the delay and the words. ha.

This is the first time I've written since my dad died. I'm not being emo or heavy about it but I am asking to please, be kind. I know there's nice people out there but often they're drowned out by the loud haters.

So throw us a comment, like or reblog if you enjoyed. I'm just trying to get back into something that brought me joy. I know I enjoyed writing it.

Also, may be weird for a fic about a spanish gay footballer, but you probably need a good working knowledge of Bear Grylls to understand 80% of this. ha.

As has become tradition, here's the song running though my head when writing! Yes, my music taste remains to be that of someone born in 1962. God love Helen Reddy.

“Vamos Ale! I don’t like to make Miguel wait…” you shout from the kitchen, bag resting on the countertop as you try to fix your bracelet with your left hand,

“Deja de preocuparte, a él no le importa, I will be one minute…” you head called back from the bedroom where your wife had been getting dressed for 2 hours now.

Yes.

Your wife.

Sometimes you couldn’t believe it.

Sometimes the weight of the band on your finger catches you by surprise and you’d remember.

Sometimes Alexia would place her hand on your bare thigh and you could feel the cool metal on your skin and you’d remember.

Sometimes you’d get called “Mrs Putellas” at a school talk, or at the Doctors, and you’d remember.

It felt so natural that sometimes you’d forget that you weren’t always Alexia's wife.

But now you are. And had been for almost 6 months. And married life couldn’t have suited you more.

Your wedding ring was your new favourite accessory, you never took it off.

In a fire you would save Alexia and your ring.

Maybe even your ring first.

It was embossed with the imprint of grass that Alexia has been collecting from each pitch of each game she had played in since you had met. The intricate design brought tears to your eyes as soon as you saw it. Made even worse by the inscription “’cause you are my goal”. 

You would be embarrassed if Alexia hadn’t cried like a toddler when you presented her with the ring you had made for her, which had rock from each of the 7 peaks you had scaled, as well as a granule of sand from the Dead Sea set within it. Integrated into the metal, visible but smooth to the touch. 

The inscription 'every mountain high, every valley low' on the inside of the band.

You knew you’d done good and you knew your Ale well enough to anticipate the absolute mess she would be when presented with it, ensuring you had a pocket full of tissues for the inevitable waterfall.

You weren’t wrong.

You had to assure a passing couple on the trail you had chosen that she was fine, not having a medical incident and you were definitely not mid break-up but in fact exchanging wedding bands early because you knew your fiance well enough she didn’t need her teammates to witness this much of her soft side.

Though you tried, they still saw enough on your wedding day to tease her for the last 6 months with no sign of slowing down.

Though right now your wife's behaviour was nothing but unexpected. You had agreed to attend one of Alexia's events this evening. Since getting married you had felt more of a duty to attend and make up for the years you’d left her carrying her own handbag whilst you trotted over mountains on the other side of the world. 

She insisted that you didn’t have to. Like she always did. You weren’t one for the fancy dresses and the flashing cameras. But you saw the gleam of hope in her eyes as she insisted she would be fine on her own.

You couldn’t let that sparkle dim.

Also you had to set off for a camp in a few days and you had gotten seriously stuck in the honeymoon phase meaning that an evening without your wife by your side wasn’t something you could stomach.

Not that you would admit to being so clingy.

But it wasn’t like Ale to take so long to get ready, neither of you being particularly fussy, usually she would throw on some light makeup, smack your bum whilst you ate nutella off a knife under the hob light, procrastinating getting ready until she dragged you and dropped you into the ensuite, steal a kiss and a spray of perfume, and wait for you whilst watching old football clips in the living room.

But now, as you still struggled to attach the clasp of your bracelet and you had one eye on the poor Barca driver, Miguel, waiting in your driveway, you started to grow frustrated at your wife's sudden vanity.

You smelt her perfume invading your senses as you felt her arms envelope you from behind, moving your uncoordinated left hand away and easily attaching the clasp of your bracelet for you, pressing a kiss to your neck as she did so.

“Finalmente… Let’s g-...” you spoke as you turned in her embrace, finally taking in her attire which stopped you in your tracks.

“Boobs”

You had suddenly turned into a 14 year old boy and you couldn’t explain it.

You had seen your wife naked hundreds of times.

Hundreds of fantastic times.

But here she stood looking, regal. Her hair falling lightly over her face, her dark sparkly dress with wide shoulders and only what you could describe as a boob portal you had been rendered speechless. Mouth gaping open like a fish.

“...Amor?...” you heard the delight in her voice. “Are you listening to me… my eyes are up here.” she jokingly clicked her fingers in front of your face which took you out of your breast-inspired trance.

“Ale you are so beautiful” you looked deeply into her eyes but you didn’t miss the blush rising from her neck. And you meant it. She was. Wow. 

“Do you like it?” she asked, shyly, “You don’t think it’s too much? It’s just the first event we’ve gone to together since we got married and I wanted to…”

You interrupt her but pressing a kiss to her lips, and, well, if you slipped a little tongue in there then fine. She was your wife after all.

“What? Show the world what they're missing out on? I am so proud to stand by your side, my love.” you whispered into her lips, as you toyed with her wedding band. 

You couldn’t help yourself…”and your boobs are fantastic.” 

She barked out a laugh as you leaned back into where you left off, but she took a step back, her heel clicking against the tile floor, to which you let out an annoyed grumble.

“Oi Oi, Mi Amor. What about poor Miguel, he is waiting, Si?” she teased.

“He doesn’t care… Cálla y bésame.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You took a deep breath and leaned back on your chair at the round table you found yourself at. Alexia had been pulled from your side which she had stuck to like glue all evening,  to go and present the final award of the evening which she had just done, very sexily if you do say so yourself. All confident and boob-y.

You smiled, imagining her now making small talk backstage, eyes bored but a smile plastered on her face as she tried to make her way back to your table.

Your other table-mates seemed to take the opportunity of the break in the ceremony to raid the free bar put on by the charity. Which seemed very uncharitable of them. But, as you toyed with the rim of your glass, who were you to judge?

Stomach full from a mediocre-mass produced meal and head happily fuzzy from the bubbles you had consumed you found yourself oddly satisfied as you sat here. In this conference room-turned auditorium in the middle of Barcelona, here, loudly and proudly as Alexia's wife.

Mrs Putellas.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, you felt weirdly grown-up. With your wife, your house, and your business. You blinked and missed yourself becoming so settled and for once in your life you weren’t terrified of the idea.

You saw the glint in Alexia's eye. When Irene and her wife would come round for dinner and bring their kid. She’d surrender all hostess duties and sit on the living room floor, crawling around at the beck and call of whatever imaginary game the 5 year old insisted on. You’d seen her perfect her lion roar in that very spot. It probably matched the glint in yours when you were grocery shopping and a child being pushed in a trolley would go past shoving cookies into the trolley without their Mother seeing.

Maybe, you thought, maybe it was time…

“It is you! I am so sorry to interrupt. I had to come over to introduce myself. I am such a fan…”

You glanced around, expecting Alexia to be standing over your shoulder and smiling politely at the person who had approached your table to meet her… but you were met with blank space and then you engaged your silly brain and realised the person was speaking English and looking at you and…

Oh My God.

It’s Bear Grylls.

“Oh My God. You’re Bear Grylls.” 

You let out. 

Stupidly.

Standing and thrusting your hand out like an idiot to your legitimate childhood hero.

You and your brother would watch his series for hours as children. Sat cross-legged 2 inches from the TV on your living room floor, eating up every second of his adventures. Your mum had to stop you from eating a woodlouse once in your garden because you’d seen him eat a cricket in the Amazon the evening before. Your brother smacked upside the head for trying to drink a cup of his own wee for the same reason.

Now you were a well-seasoned adventurer yourself you knew that all of that was for theatricks. 

You had spent more than 7 weeks wandering the Amazon yourself once, and not one drop of urine passed your lips. Not one 8 legged insect had you gulped down in one.

But still.

Hero.

He took your hand graciously, as you both sat back down you prepared to barrage him with questions but before you could he jumped right in…

“I have been wanting to meet you for years. But my team said you had disappeared off to Spain and couldn’t be tracked down. Please, I've been desperate to know. .. Tell me all about summiting Orjas del Salado…”

So you told him, and you asked him about his adventures, and you chatted for what could have been hours, sharing stories and advice with Bear-fucking-Grylls.

He blushed as you pointed out his for-TV tricks and you thanked him for being a portal into the wider world from your living room.

At some point you felt Alexia return, a strong hand on your shoulder. You paused your monologue about Patagonia and giddily took her hand in yours, introducing them to each other. 

Polite pleasantries exchanged you could tell she had legitimately no idea what was going on or who this middle-aged English guy at your table was, but judging from your excited eyes, she didn’t need to interrupt.

It didn’t take too long for someone from his team to pull him away for an interview with the charity. But as you stood to say your goodbyes he made an offer, “You know, me and the production company are making a special about survival in the Alps… I would love for you to be a guest star.”

You stood there like a gaping fish for a moment. “Really?” you asked, in wonder, your 7 year old self spinning around in glee in your chest. Alexia smiling up at you from her chair at the joy in your voice.

“Of course! I would be honored, it’s especially about how to survive in an Avalanche situation. Obviously, with what happened in Nepal…you are an expert in that fie…”

At that point, Alexia stopped her polite silence she had been maintaining whilst you had your moment with your childhood hero. And abruptly stood, clutching your hand hard in both of hers, stern look on her face.

“No.”

From the look on his face you gathered that this successful upper-middle class white English man had not been told no too often, and a beat of silence followed which Alexia was more than happy to fill.

“Sorry Señor Oso. She doesn’t do snow now. Thank you for the offer though.”

She said it with such finality that even you didn’t think to question it. Her mis-translation brought a smile to your face. Her hands still encompassed yours, her eyes didn’t leave his face. As though daring him to rebuff her.

He looked at you as though to confirm she could answer for you. Of course she could. But you knew this refusal wasn’t just about you, but about her also. You knew the anxiety it would cause her for you to put yourself in that situation wasn’t worth anything on this planet.

Nevermind the trauma it would dredge up for you. So obviously, you agreed.

“Sorry Mr Grylls. Not my rodeo anymore. I’ve got some contacts though who you could work with” you politely confirmed your refusal and felt Alexias hands lessen their grip on yours in relief.

“No, no, of course. Sorry. But no. I would really love for you to be involved in the series. We have an episode about promoting women in outdoor pursuits. It's still on the drawing board, but if you are interested I’ll get our people to liaise with each other!”

“That sounds amazing but… I don’t have any people for you to…”

“Don’t be silly Mi Amor” Alexia interrupts again, hand still in yours and the other expertly reaching into her clutch and pushing a card into his outstretched hand… “We have people. Please, Oso, be in touch.”

Smiling vaguely and confusedly at your wife, still clearly mildly terrified of her, he takes the card as he's dragged away by his handler. He's probably still in hearing distance as you squeal in glee and throw yourself into your wife's arms, making her spin with the momentum.

“Ale, Ale, Ale!!! Do you know who that was….” you exclaim.

She can’t help but laugh aloud at your antics, soft look on her face as she lifts you lightly off the ground to stop your spin.

“Si Mi Amor, ese era el hombre oso de la televisión. Tu favorito.” she replies with a smile on her face, speaking softly, somehow, in the middle of this event where she was the guest star, making you feel as though you were the only person in the universe.

“No.” you corrected “..eres mi favorito.” You sealed your words with a light kiss to her lips, chaste but warm.

“Ah, Si. And you have had some wine. You always get soft after wine.” she lightly rolls her eyes with affection at your gushing over her.

It’s your turn to roll your eyes as you pull her into a soft sway, your childhood hero quickly forgotten now you’re in the company of your wife.

Though the giddiness in your bones from your encounter remains.

“Si the wine.” you agree moving your lips close to her ear as you whisper, breath dancing against her cheek, your hand moves to her chest and you feel her breath falter at your closeness,

“but also your boobs.” and you quickly poke her exposed chest between her breasts before she can stop you, and you move away from her pulling her behind you as you rush off to the bar.

“Amor!” she cackles.

“Vamos Ale! A La Barra!”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Estoy Muerta.”

You grumble in complaint into the chest of the warm and moving pillow that you had clearly settled on in the night.

“Shh Ale.”

“Me estoy muriendo y a mi esposa no le importa.”

“You are not dying Ale. You are hungover and over 30”, you mumble in reply, moving away from resting on her chest, the heat becoming too much for your own fuzzy brain.

“Explain to me how that is different.” she doesn’t take kindly to your light chuckle in reply, as you move your hand to cover your eyes from the sunlight starting to bleed through the curtains.

You peek an eye open and see the remnants of your previous night strewn across the bedroom floor.

You take in the glorious dress of your wifes thrown across your chest of drawers. You recall unzipping it with your mouth after making very good use of the boob portal. Much to Alexia's delight.

You had probably taken it a little bit too far at the bar. Your giddiness let your binge-drinking brit out a little too much.

You had a flash of memory at dancing on a table at a dive bar in the town centre, before being brought down by Alba who you had called and demanded come and dance the night away.

Meanwhile Alexia had been in the corner trying to drunkenly explain to Mapi a set of complicated tactics that they should try out at an additional training session in the morning.

“I thought you had scheduled extra training today Ale” you teased after taking in her pasty complexion as you rolled over and settled back down onto your, cooler, side of the bed.

“I hate you.” she replied, quite seriously, as she moulded herself against your back, taking your hand in hers and burying her face into the back of your neck.

“Of course you do, dear, it feels like it.” you tease again, wiggling yourself and making her grumble again.

You rest there for a few moments, before you’re dragged onto your back again and pulled into Alexia's embrace as she moves you around like her own personal teddy bear.

You go with the flow, quite used to your wife's clingy nature, especially when she didn't feel well.

But your silence doesn’t last two minutes before she rolls you over again, now onto your back, “Oh bloody hell, where are we going now.” you mumble, as she rests her head on your chest this time, nuzzling into your breasts.

“me estoy poniendo cómodo.” she mutters into your bosom, “allá. ahora estoy cómodo”. You run your hands through her hair, smiling down at your wife who is practically purring at the attention.

“Bebé…”, you make a noise of affirmation.

“Will you…” you know what she wants, and you know she must be feeling bad if she’s asking for attention.

“Si, my love. voy a trenzar tu cabello. One big plait or lots of little ones?”. 

“The tingly ones por favor” she mumbles into your chest. Your heart expands at her adorableness, never quite learning the English for ‘french plait’ they became known as the ‘tingly ones’ in your household, because of the feeling she would get as you plaited her wet hair after a game, hands working through her scalp. 

It brings a smile to your face and you can see the lovesick smile on hers where it is squished against your chest.

You start to section out her hair as she lies still, your ministrations slowly putting her to sleep, working methodically in the quiet morning.

Moving strand over strand in intricate braids, lightly tugging her scalp and undoing when it's not perfect and redoing, giving her an extra scratch to the soft skin behind her ear when you get there, knowing it's her most sensitive spot. Receiving a sleepy purr in satisfaction as your reward.

You hear the animals from the national park outside, feel the sun starting to warm the room around you. Her chest rising and falling against yours hypnotising you further into the moment. You’ve got grand plans, brunch and a walk along the beach in your mind, maybe a lazy afternoon swim, hold on no. Maybe a lazy afternoon skinny dip. Yeah.

That sounds good.

You’ve almost finished tying off the last plait when you are startled back into the moment by the buzzing of your wifes phone on the bedslide table.

You fight back a smile at the groan that is emitted from your fully grown-pro-athlete-wife.  It resembled that of a teenager who’d been asked to clean their room or no dessert. When she doesn’t go to make a move you nudge her shoulder.

“Ale. Ale, your phone."

“No.”

“Yes."

“No."

“C'mon Ale.” you reach across and pick the phone up. “It could be important. It could be your secret wife wondering where you are.”

She rolls off you at your tease, throwing you a glare that resembles more of an angry kitten than anything, “It could not be, she knows where I am. I snuck out whilst you were dancing on the tables in that last bar to make plans for dinner.”

“Ah, Si of course. My mistake.”

She surges up and gives you a completely unnecessary chaste kiss, as though even the joke is too much and she has to confirm she’s kidding. The phone has stopped vibrating against the bedside table and the silence that settles over you both is welcome.

“How are you so okay? I feel like I have been run over by a truck.” she states as she rubs her face, finally sitting up to start the day.

“You are old.

“I am 2 months older than you.”

“Two, very long, months my darling.” you tap her cheek lightly as you move to get out of bed, throwing on one of her oversized t-shirts you find on the floor.

“Seria, how?” she asks again, now sprawling across the space you have vacated.

“I am English. I once did a vodka shot through my eyeball in the park. I was 14.” you state, plainley, eyebrow raised in challenge as she just looks at you, open mouthed.

“Ojalá no hubiera preguntado.” she mutters, as her phone starts to ring again.

“Ale, phone.” you say, just to annoy her.

“¡lo sé!” you hear thrown at you, as you head downstairs to set some food out for Billy-the-Goat, and make a coffee for your dying wife.

Soon after, you feel her presence behind you as you stir her coffee, turning as you feel her hands wrap around your waist and presenting her coffee and she takes it from you as though it's a ballon d’or. She takes a sip before she presses a kiss to your head.

“That was my agent.”

Your heart drops, and you can’t help the petulant whine that leaves your lips.

“No, Ale! I wanted to spend the day together. Try that new brunch place Alba told us about. Have a swim, just be together. Whatever brand needs you can wait. Tell them no, please” you finish your little monologue with a pout, and you feel a childish frustration rise as a laugh teases against her lips.  You don’t get very far when a kiss is pressed against your lips.

“Well that sounds like the perfect hangover cure Mi Amor. Do you not want me to tell you what it is before I tell them no though?” there's something in her taunt, a glint in the eye that makes you think twice as your mouth already wraps around the refusal.

You take a moment too long apparently, and she takes things into her own hands as she clutches her coffee happily and spins around, “I’ll tell them no! Don’t worry Mi Amor…” teasing lilt in her tone. Whatever the news is, it has pulled her from her hangover.

You wait a beat

Another.

“Fine, What is it!” you groan out in defeat, hands raised to the sky, Alexias t-shirt riding high on your thighs as you raise your arms.

Your wife turns and is distracted momentarily by the flesh on display. Before you cough and she remembers what she's supposed to be doing. Coy smile on her face returning.

“That was my agent…” you huff out at her drawing out the anticipation. “Or should I say our agent.” your brow furrows in confusion as she continues… “she has been contacted by a muy interesado oso.”

Realisation starts to dawn on you, memories of the previous night flashing in your mind and you can’t help the grin that forms.

“Si, Mi Amor. It turns out he really meant it. She said they were willing to offer anything to get you on. She’s getting the details now and will contact us again after our day together today to see if you are interested”.

“I am interested!” you exclaim with glee, Alexia throwing her head back in laughter.

“I know Amor, but let's let them sell it to you. You need the details. Though… I am sure it is no more dangerous than ojos de vodka.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hola, love!” you shout into your empty hallway, hands full of groceries, you shuck off your trainers, hearing them thump against the wall as you struggle into the kitchen.

Tonight was the premiere of “Man Vs Woman” , the special episode of your and Bear's adventure. After the offer was made you met with the TV production company via Zoom to go through ideas.

You pretended you didn’t know Alexia was standing just outside the door to your study, listening and clearly deciding if she thought it was too dangerous or not. At least that's what you deduced from her interrupting with a cup of tea every time a particularly hairy idea was mentioned.  

When you brought this up with her you pretended you didn't see her blush creeping up from her neck. Because you’re her wife and it was the wifely thing to do.

The concept was a really cool one. You were excited from the start. The idea was that you and Bear would both be dropped in an inhospitable environment with a map and a knife and nothing else. Neither of you would be told what type of environment but you had assurances in your contract that it wouldn’t involve snow. You had 28 days to get to the muster point. Whoever got there first won.

Simple.

Convincing Alexia it was really cool. Less simple.

“Amor what if there are animals!”

“I know how to avoid dangerous animals. And there will be a medical team on standby,”

“What if you fall and cut yourself on your knife."

“What if you get tackled and break your leg?”

“That's different. What if you lose your map and can’t find your way out and you have to live out there forever”

“I will always find my way back to you.”

“What If-”

“Ale.”

You stopped her rambling with a kiss and when you pulled away you looked deeply in her eyes.

“Que pasa I miss you too much?” eyes wide and vulnerable.

There we go. Her real source of anxiety.

You had spent more time apart than most couples but since you scaled down your travels you had fallen into a sweet domesticity you could admit was a struggle to pull yourself from. 28 days plus the week before to get to the location is longer than you’d like. But it was an adventure of a lifetime. Maybe… maybe your last adventure? The thoughts had been creeping in more and more recently.

Of early mornings chasing more than sunrises, maybe rising due to a baby's babble instead?

You’d made sure that Alexia really knew how much you’d miss her the night before you flew out. On reflection maybe you should have rested your muscles a little more before such a physically demanding month but. Be serious. Look who your wife was. 

You are not God's strongest soldier.

So, off you had gone. Competing against your childhood hero for all of womanhood. And you couldn’t lie. You loved it.

Being blindfolded and dropped in an unknown location was exhilarating. Learning the land as you went, with only a map and a knife in hand it was one of the biggest challenges of your life.

The team had made good on their promise and the tropical rainforest you were in couldn’t be further from a snowy mountain range.

You’d refused to let anything slip to Alexia in the 3 months you’d been back. Lips tightly sealed no matter what she tried. You wanted her to be surprised and watch it in real time with you. In all the games you'd attended since you had to deal with an injured Mapi yapping your ear off whilst you tried to concentrate on the game, probing for hints about if you won, what you won, where you were, if you wrestled a snake, how big was the snake you’d wrestled.

“Maria stop with the snake!” you’d finally snapped during the tense quarter final of the Queen's cup.

Which had worked.

For all of two seconds.

“What did the snake taste like?”

You’d originally planned to go home to England with Alexia to watch the premier with your family. But then a schedule mess-up in the league had meant that Ale had to play in a rescheduled game the day after the premier. It just didn’t work for her to come to England.

She insisted you still go, but you refused. You wanted to watch her game. And you knew she’d need you when the show was on. Even if she didn’t know that yet.

You started to unpack your groceries mindlessly, you’d picked some great snacks for the evenings viewing, you suddenly were hit with how suspiciously peaceful your house was, though, you were sure you’d seen Alexia's car in the drive.

“Ale! Love!, ¡Estoy en casa! Come help me unpack!” You shouted into your empty kitchen, back turned to your living room, you had a few hours before the show was on air, “I got that ice-cream you like! I know it gives you a tummy ache sometimes but don’t worry, I'll rub your tummy how you like afte…”

“Amor!”

You turned around at the panic in her voice, “Wha–”

“SURPRISE!”

Ale stood in your living area, face reddening, surrounded by her closest Barca teammates as well as Mario, his ever pregnant wife and his kids, your mum and brother as well as Eli and Alba. Everyone comically in paper party hats and some lop-sided bunting was up above your couch,

“HOPE YOU BEAT THE BEAR SNAKE!” it read, and you immediately knew who was on the decoration committee.

You jumped in surprise, dropping the ice cream and immediately ran into your mum's open arms, “Mum! You’re here!” you squealed into her neck, hiding the tears that had appeared in her presence.

“I am, love. Alexia literally wouldn’t let us refuse the flight. She pretended she didn’t understand English when we tried to at least pay for it. And you know I have a 265 day streak on duolingo but my accent must need work because she didn’t understand my Spanish.”

You pulled yourself from her neck with a wet laugh and transferred yourself into your wifes open and familiar strong arms. “Aleeee” you whined. She knew you meant thank you. And I love you. And you mean the world to me. But you were too British to do that infront of people.

“You need to stop pretending you don’t speak English when you don’t like what you hear.” you muttered without malice after placing a kiss below her ear.

“I know amor. I love you too. And your family needed to be here for your big moment! You couldn’t miss this with them because of me. And then also. Mapi happened and now we’re having a viewing party! There's a cake!”

“And Ice Cream Ale! Don’t worry, I’ve saved it! Though we don’t want your barriga to hu-” Mapi stands the space you'd just vacated holding up the abandoned and slightly battered carton of ice cream. She's stopped from her gleeful teasing by Ingrid covering her entire face with one big palm.

“We wanted to be here to support you.” Ingrid interrupted her girlfriend, addressing you kindly.

“We all did!” you hear from Alba in the back, already tucking into the buffet set up on the coffee table, paper hat skew-whiff on her head. You have never felt so loved. It was perfect.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So, when are you going to tell her you’re ready for them?”

You are brought out of your daydream by Ingrid sidling up to you and addressing you with her familiar soft lilt.

“Huh?”

She doesn’t reply vocally, just nods her head towards your wife, who is currently having a very intense game of 2v2 in your garden with 2 of Marios youngest and Mapi.

The kids little legs making them toddle around after the small ball adorably, Mapi and Ale giving soft touches they would easily catch up with.

You can’t help but laugh out loud as Ale takes Mapi by surprise and takes a shot against her hard, the ball catching her bare thigh in a manner which must have left a sting much to the small Spaniard's disdain.

Her and the two kids start to chase Alexia around the garden, dramatically tackling her as she suddenly becomes some sort of football monster, rolling around and blowing raspberries on their stomachs as Mapi cheers her toddler army on from the sidelines.

You feel another knock against your arm, dislodging your hand which is supporting your head as you lean over the breakfast bar facing the garden. Lovesick looks clearly on your face, going off Ingrid's coy smile.

“You know, barn. Kids. Munchkins…”

“Yeah, Yeah I get it Ingrid…” you steal another look outside at your more-often-than-not-stern wife getting grass stains on her comfy shorts for the entertainment of your best friends' kids, suddenly you feel like being really really honest. You turn to Ingrid with a shy smile of your own, “soon.”

Her face lights up, teeth on display unable to disguise her smile. “Yeah?” she asks, before turning to look towards the garden, “Me too.”

You smile to yourself and drop your head onto the dark haired girl's shoulder, you both taking a moment to watch your partners play with the kids. The moment is ruined by your mum mussing up your hair on her way past,

“Come on Love, we need to wrangle these last-minute spaniards, it starts in 10 minutes!”

She had a point to be fair. A very chaotic 8 minutes later you practically push Eli into her seat on the couch after she tries to get another plate full of food for Mario’s wife, “¡Está llena de Eli! ella esta embarazada no tiene hambre!” you cheekily remind her, your wife looking up at you from her place on the floor with tender eyes.

“And you…” you turn your attention towards her as you make your way to your seat, “get up here.” you demand, patting the empty space next to you.

“I’m bueno down here Mi Amor, me and Bruno can watch from down here.” she insists. the 4 year old of Marios nestled on her stomach, her arms wrapped around his sleeping form where he attached himself to her after being forced back inside.

You hesitate for a moment, not watching to make a scene or be too needy in front of all your closest family and friends, but you knew that Ale would need to be within touching distance of you in the next hour. 

You’re about to make your peace with it when Mario glaces your way. You and Mario have worked together for years. Years before you met Ale and the girls.

You’ve battled more than just bears together. Weeks spent isolated in the mountains. And a bond like that means that you can communicate with just a look.

With just that glance he’s up and pulling his toddler into his own burley arms. Bruno remaining in his deep sleep through the change.

“I’ve got el monstruo Ale. Go sit with your wife."

She doesn’t need any more direction, the small interaction is subtle and missed by everyone, except your brother who sends you an exaggerated puppy dog look.

“Fuck off” you throw at him, finger in the air, quickly grabbed by Alexia, “Hey, I thought you wanted me to sit here!” she teases, sending your brother a wink.

“Stop ganging up on me…!” you’re about to protest further before you’re shushed by Mapi, of all people, sitting on the floor between Ingrid's legs who sits on the couch above her. “It's about to start!”

She has a point, a familiar British accent fills the living room, Spanish subtitles appearing on the bottom of the screen for the Spanish contingent. Bear’s voice is as dramatic as ever, long sweeping scenes fill the screen of intense jungle, a crocodile and an action shot of a snake thrown in for good measure.

“Serpiente!” Mapi shouts, pointing at the screen, before Ingrid hushes her and pulls her back against her legs. 

           “We all know by now that humans are masters of the jungle. But the unanswered question remains. Is it the King, or Queen of the Jungle? Find out tonight in Man V Woman.”

The title fills the screen with a dramatic crescendo of music. Your friends and family whooping as though it's the champions league final. Alexia barely contains her excitement next to you. You had been steadfast in your refusal to tell anyone the outcome.

The next shot is a recognisable one, the sound of trees being hacked with a machete accompanies a close up of a muddy puddle set deep in the jungle, until the water is disturbed by a ever-familiar battered boot stomping in the puddle, blaugrana laces pulled tight, as proudly as ever.

This prompts another wild round of jeering from the crowd around you as the camera pans out and reveals your full profile as Alexia places a loving kiss onto your shoulder, “That's my wife!” she shouts, proudly, making you laugh. 

Bear's voice over continues as you pull Alexia's hand into yours, half pulling her on top of you, she gives you a peculiar look, this being more PDA than you would usually allow in front of your English family, but she goes with it, too full of pride to be worried otherwise.

As the voiceover continues, highlights of your career flash across the screen to introduce you to the audience.

Mountains in Peru, Arctic Explorations, Treks across Siberia, all flash across the screen, mixed in with childhood pictures your mum must have supplied painting a picture of your career so far and your expertise in your career.

The music turns more dramatic as you shift uncomfortably, being the only one to realise in the room what's about to happen.

A picture of you smiling with Arjan at the peak of Everest, ice picks raised proudly in the air. You feel Alexia stiffen on your lap, ever so subtly. Stock footage of snow hurling down a mountain as Bear describes the avalanche you got trapped in.

He gives out stats and figures to heighten the drama… “your chance of survival drops 3% every minute you are trapped after the first 15 minutes… being trapped for 2 days… our guest star did the unthinkable…”

The room is bathed in a white light as the screen changes. Camera shaky and audio changing to the shouts and heavy breaths of whoever the body worn camera is strapped too. “Yahām̐, Yahām̐, she is here!”

The camera catches Arjan digging desperately, it's clear now the camera is strapped to a rescuer on the slopes of Everest, the TV production company having access to the footage through a sister company who were filming a documentary about altitude rescue at the time.

It shakes as the man helps dig, grunts of exertion as the spade digs desperately. A flash of colour and your snow suit is revealed, face pressed up against the rock you had found shelter near.

Arjan clears snow from your face desperately and puts his head close to yours, “She’s breathing!” he pulls you up and your hand, satellite phone frozen in place, falls from the side of your ghostly white face as the camera fades out.

The whole segment couldn’t have lasted more than 32 seconds. But it had felt like time had slowed. You could feel from her placement on you that Alexia hadn’t taken a breath. Her eyes remained wide as she stared at the screen.

There was a heaviness in the room around you. 

The voiceover continued, explaining the challenge to the audience but the silence continued. Eli glances at her daughter worriedly, every few seconds.

Just as you thought the tension couldn’t get any more intense… “That's what Alexia looks like when she visits England for Christmas and mum won’t let us put the heating on.” your brother jokes, awkwardly, a crooked smile on his boyish face. 

The room is silent, your mum hiding a smile behind a hand only you notice. He goes to speak again, probably to apologise when-

Alexias' laugh shocks even you, bubbling up from deep within her chest. She closes her eyes, a stray tear escaping at the pressure. Laugh still rumbling deep in her chest, slowly the room joins in, as though they’ve been given permission, and soon your in a choir of laughing spectators, your brother blushing deep red at the attention.

“Thank you” you mouth to him across the room, as you wrap your hands around your wife, whos body still shakes with the odd giggle.

He tips an imaginary hat at you in return.

Because he is an idiot.

The challenge begins, unhelpfully, with you throwing yourself out of a helicopter into the rainforest, “Oh Dios Mio” she mumbles, heard subtly under Mapis, “Cool!”.

You press your lips against her shoulder again and mutter into her skin; “I am here, I am warm, I am Safe.” Like a mantra, you feel her nod and grip your hand tighter.

The thing about being in the environment completely opposite to an avalanche inducing mountain range, was that it was hot. Hot and wet. The camera follows both you and Bear as you struggle through the elements seperatly, deciding when to camp down and preserve energy and when to try to gain more miles.

Bear goes hard, and Mapi looks up at you aghast as you decide to build a shelter and bunker down for seven days straight. The heat zapping any energy you had.

“What are you doing! It's a race!” she exclaims, to which you laugh and zip your mouth closed with your fingers, cocking an eyebrow at her as she eagerly looks back towards the TV like a small child.

You spend two days collecting water and, seemingly, according to Mapi, wasting time cutting palm leaves and collecting bark to make twine. Meanwhile Bear is hacking down trees, making spears out of sticks and rock and throwing himself at seemingly anything that would give him a bit of protein on the move.

You’ve ridden yourself of most of your clothing due to the heat. Smothering yourself in mud from the riverbank you were camped next to, you explain to the camera its sun-cream qualities and how it’s safer than clothing as it also protects you from dehydration. 

All the while you weave and weave and weave your leaves together, quietly, assuredly.

You explain to the camera; “I am a master weaver. My wife likes it when I plait her hair. Alot. She’s cute. Sorry Ale.” you wink at the camera as your wife groans on your lap and  her teammates start to tease her, “Amor! Why!”

“Now. Let's see how this works!”  you grin and pull up a large basket to the camera.

The screen shows you scantily dressed, boots safely on a rock in the background, in the river, moving twigs into position to make a run for the fish to swim directly into your basket.

You explain the contraception, set some bait and say your goodnights to the camera, crossing your fingers for a full basket in the morning.

Cheerful music begins as the camera fades back into your campfire, fish on a stick roasting and cooking heavenly, your muddied but smiling face coming into view.

“Bear can eat his roaches and drink his wee. I’ll be here with my fish buffet!” You joke, under your shelter, camera panning to tens of fish in your basket waiting to be smoked.

The next scene shows Bear explaining the protein benefits and the unusual flavours of a witchetty grub as he struggles against the rainstorm. 

The music begins to ramp up. Graphics on the screen showing both of your progress. Bear has made much more progress than you. But struggling physically. He’s developed a terrible case of trench foot but was still making steady progress with his machete.

You chose to travel up the river. Walking along its bed you are able to make more direct progress, but it’s more energy draining wading through water. You have, however, had a relatively strong diet over the last 3 weeks.

You’re sitting on the river bed, tending to your basket of smoked fish you’re carrying with you for energy when you suddenly remain completely stock still. Dramatic music begins. Your head raises subtly and then out of nowhere.

“Serpentine!”

A snake strikes at you from the shallows, clearly after your basket, or you, or whatever it can get its fangs in. You react quickly, crouching down to your knees, keeping a low centre of gravity to keep your balance as your right hand reaches into the shallows.

You and the snake strike at the same time, and you throw yourself to the side as you bash a jagged rock against its head.

The next scene shows you taking a mouthful of grilled snake; “Tastes like chicken!” you joke at the camera. Before popping a piece of charred snake skin into your mouth.

You feel Alexia shudder in your arms.

"I'm never kissing you again" she lies.

Mapi slowly turns around, mouth agape, gobsmacked look on her face. “Snake!” she whispers, in disbelief. “You beat a snake!” You can’t help but laugh and lean over to turn her head back to the TV.

“Told you you’d find everything out tonta.”

The map on screen shows the last day of the challenge, Bear's voice over explaining distances to the muster points, as well as geographical challenges. The screen swaps quickly between the two of you, running, climbing and swimming to where you both believed the finish line to be.

You were making good progress, as was Bear.

A close up of a Brazilian flag on the edge of a waterfall.

A close up of you throwing yourself into the river.

Bear gripping a cliff edge and heaving himself up. The camera shows the bottom of the flag pole as he pulls himself up. The camera pans up. And the flagpole is bare.

The screen changes to you.

Standing, still relatively scantily clad in your battered boots, your hiking shorts cut down to short-shorts and thin vest muddied and holey, fish blood staining your arms,holding the flag proudly up in one arm.

The room around you erupts. “She did it!” “¡Jefe de la Jungla!!!!” “I always knew!”, “She killed a snake!”. You find yourself at the bottom of a pile of bodies as Alexia's teammates celebrate in the way they know how. Which is apparently to throw themselves at you in a pile up.

“That's my wife!” Alexia chants proudly from within the pile, laughing gleefully, all earlier angst forgotten.

The screen goes blank, and the image shows you and Bear embracing, laughing as the voiceover continues; “... at least this time. It's a Queen of the jungle… or should I say. La Reina de la Jungla.” Bear quips, as Alexia groans, forever hating her nickname, and the screen cuts to black.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s hours later, many more plates of food, celebration toasts and questions from Mapi about the snake later. That you're finally in the quiet of your bedroom in your wife's arms.

Your mum and brother are set up in the spare rooms and you have all got plans to meet up with the Alexias family at the game tomorrow before going out for a meal.

Your head is settled on her chest as she plays on her phone above you, struggling to calm down from the evening's events, and as usual, struggling to sleep before a game.  You play with her wedding ring on her spare hand. Feeling the cool metal beneath against her warm skin.

You feel her swipe furiously through her phone, getting more agitated as time passes, grumbles that are not-quite words emitting from her chest.

“Hey. Love.” you sit up and pull her phone away. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing.” she replies, bottom lip out in a pout, pulling her phone back into her hand.

“It’s not nothing. Tell me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Alexia.” you sigh, “We aren't doing this.. What's got you so…” you look down onto her phone and see. Yourself? It's her tiktok open and you see an edit of the show being played over… “Hot Stuff? Ale. What's this?” you glance at the comments section and see a selection from seemingly anon accounts;  

‘I have never understood Alexia more’, ‘I wonder who calls who capi.’ ,‘Capi, your wife's thighs are bigger than yours’.

“Nothing!” she grabs her phone back from your grip… you arch an eyebrow at her which crumbles her resolve in 3…2…

“Fine! It's all over my TikTok.  The comments about you. The fans have made these edits. Of you! All, wet and… muscley and… nearly undressed.”

“And you…don’t… like me wet, and muscled and… naked? Cause, love, I have evidenced otherwis…”

“Shut up! Of course I do but you're mine!”

Oh. Realisation dawns on you and you can’t help but smile.

“Don’t laugh!” she grumbles. “You’re jealous….” you tease in a sing-song voice. “I am not jealous!” she insists, “It's just… tu eres mio! And these people are all looking at you”.

“I am,” you agree, with a smile. “But, love. Try being married to Alexia Putellas. Maybe you’ll keep your shirt on at games now.” you tease, making her smile and roll her eyes.

Eyes softening as you pull her phone from her grip and plug it in for her. Settling back into her chest, nuzzling against the warm skin you find there.

“I am so proud of you.” she whispers into the now dark room, placing a kiss on your head. The moment became more serious and tender.

“I love you” you reply, softly, the moment feels weighted, and you’re not sure what makes you do it. Maybe it's the adrenaline of the evening, having completed your life's ambition, or maybe it's the wine you drank.

Though, really, you know it's because of the images of your lanky wife curling herself onto the rug in the living room because Bruno had decided she was the world's best pillow again. But you can’t stop yourself.

“Ale. I want to have kids with you.”

Her hand stops its movement in your hair and she rushes over to turn the bedside lamp back on.

“Que?” she breathes out. Hands finding their place softly on your cheeks, a look of urgency in her eyes.

“I want us to have kids. Me and you. I want that with you. Is that something you’re ready for?” you whisper, eyes looking deeply into hers.

“En serio?” she asks, as though she's afraid of the answer.

You nod in response. Moving your hand to wipe away the tears that have appeared on her cheeks.

“Sí, Mi Amor. Quiero eso contigo. Mucho.”

You're both smiling too much to kiss, but you make a good go of it anyway. And as you bury yourself into your wife's arms. Hands roaming and adrenaline of a decision made rushing through your body you can't help but think.

This is the beginning of the biggest adventure of your life. 

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (43/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Getting ready for a party is always fun when the company is good.

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of sex), fluff, tiny bit of angst (body insecurity if you squint), alcohol consumption

Word Count: 3.5k

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A/N: cherry is still sick, but this needed to get out of my head. feedback is appreciated. love ya.

When Kika puts her bag on the living room table, it clinks suspiciously. 

“My goodness, did you bring half the supermarket with you?” you ask her with a grin, which develops into a loud laugh when Pierre puts down a huge bag next to the door. ”And you brought your whole wardrobe too.”

“Of course I did,” she smiles, kissing your left and right cheek. ”After all, I don't know what you're wearing, and I thought we could coordinate our outfits a little.”

Pierre puts an arm around his girlfriend's shoulders. “I'm glad you only packed one bag,” he says, kissing her temple. “Please pick up the other stuff off the floor tomorrow. The bedroom looks like a battlefield.”

Kika rolls her eyes but snuggles up against him. “You love me.” She looks up at him with her huge brown eyes as he leans down to her. 

“I do,” he smiles against her lips, and the moment is so intimate that you leave them alone in the living room. 

Charles is standing at the coffee machine in the kitchen and smiles at you as you enter the room. “Everything okay?”

You nod and sit down on one of the stools at the kitchen counter. "How long have they been together, by the way?”

“I think about two years," he replies, leaning on the edge of the kitchen counter behind him with his palms. ”They're cute, aren't they?”

“Absolutely,” you smile. "Almost a little too sweet. I fled the living room when I saw the way they looked at each other, like he was about to propose.”

Your roommate has to laugh. "You should see them together at a Grand Prix. A few drivers – myself included – have a bet on when he'll ask her to marry him.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Did you bet for money?” 

The Monegasque raises his coffee cup to his mouth and takes a sip. "Yup.”

“And what was the stake?”

Charles hesitates and avoids your gaze. "100€.”

A grin spreads across your face. ”Can I still join?”

Your friend raises his eyes and looks at you in wonder, but before he can say anything, Kika and Pierre enter the kitchen. Pierre now places the heavy bag, which had just clinked suspiciously, on the kitchen island. Not a second later, the Portuguese woman reaches into the opening and pulls out a bottle of wine. 

“Sweet,” she says and holds out the bottle for you to see. The brand doesn't look familiar, but the label is pink and the glass is a mint green, and the way your friend looks at you, you know exactly that you'll like the wine. 

You take two wine glasses out of the kitchen cupboard and place them in front of her. “And what are the boys drinking?”

Charles puts his hand to his chest in mock outrage. "Boys? Boys?" He shakes his head. "We're men.”

You wrinkle your nose and grin at him. "Since when?”

Your roommate walks around the kitchen island and wraps his arm around your neck to put you in a light headlock. He presses you against the counter in front of you with his big body and whispers in your ear. “Do you want me to show you again?”

“Please get a room.” Kika grins and pours the wine into your two glasses. 

Charles lets his arm slide from your neck to your collarbones, where it then remains. “You're in our apartment. You can just leave,” he replies annoyed, as if your friends' presence were preventing him from dragging you to the bedroom right now. Which maybe it is. But you don't want to think about that.

“Then I'll take this one back with me.” Kika reaches into her handbag again and pulls out another bottle, before placing it in front of you both. "For your beloved Moscow Mule.”

You don't need to look at the man behind you to know that he's grinning. "If you two ever break up, I'll keep Kika.”"

“Ouch,” Pierre says, pouting. "And I thought our friendship was more important to you than ginger beer.”

With his free hand, Charles grabs the bottle and lifts it up before smiling at the Frenchman. "I thought so too.”

“Okay, okay.“ Kika grabs her glass and the bottle of wine before looking at you. ‘You and I are going to get dressed up. You can play video games or something in the meantime." She kisses Pierre on the cheek before heading for the kitchen door.  ”You coming?”

You nod, but turn around in Charles' arms to look at him again. “What are you going to wear?”

Your friend shrugs. “I was thinking of a simple black button-down," he replies, raising his hand to tuck a loose strand behind your ear. "Do you already have something in mind?”

You shake your head. ”Not really, no.”

Charles smiles gently at you before weaving his fingers through your hair before they come to rest at the nape of your neck. “You're sure to find something nice. You look perfect in anything, anyway.” He leans forward a bit and breathes a kiss on your forehead. 

“You're disgusting!” Kika's voice sounds from the hallway. 

Charles flips her the bird before letting go of you. “Go. Before you get into trouble. And let me know if you need anything.”

You smile at him briefly before taking your wine glass and following your best friend towards the bedroom. Once there, you watch as Kika empties her bag, which was just standing in the living room, onto the bed. “I don't want to imagine what your bedroom looks like at your place.”

“Believe me, it's actually better if you don't.” She grabs the clothes and starts sorting them on the bed. "How was your Christmas?”

You take a big gulp of wine. "Good.”

The Portuguese woman looks at you with raised eyebrows. “Wow, you tell it like I was already there.” She matches a white top to a dark red satin skirt. “Tell me. Did you visit Charles Mom?”

“We did,” you reply and sit down on the last free spot on the bed. “I haven't had such a nice Christmas in a long time.”

Kika smiles at you. “Did you two fuck?”

You almost drop your glass. "Kika!" you whisper indignantly and quickly close the door so that the men can't hear you. You lean back against the wood. 

“So you fucked,” she grins and raises her wine glass to toast you. When you stare at her, she lowers her glass again. ”Y'all didn't fuck?”

“We didn't.”

“But you did something.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Like a curious little child, she draws up her legs and sits cross-legged, chin resting on her fist. “Tell me everything.”

You have to laugh. ”I thought we had to get ready for the party.”

“Tell. Me. Everything.”

And you do. You tell her everything that has happened in the last few days. About the night you gave Charles a massage and about the night on the boat. That he gave you an employment contract as a Christmas present so that you can be together permanently. About Christmas and last night, when you got closer than ever before. The way he called you “his girl”. 

Kika listens intently and asks questions in between, but first and foremost she lets you say everything that is on your mind – and that seems to be quite a lot. 

You tell her how confused you are because you don't know exactly where you stand with Charles. But also that it's okay for you, because as long as you can somehow participate in Charles's life, that's enough for you. It's like you're addicted to him – and every little dose you get of him draws you further under his spell. 

When the men knock on the door an hour later, you've just finished and are catching your breath for the first time.

“Is everything okay?“ Charles asks, his eyes fixed on you. He seems to ignore the bed's mess – or he doesn't even notice it. 

“Everything's fine,” you smile.

He nods and points at Pierre, who is standing behind him. “We just wanted to get pizza so that we can eat something decent before the party. What do you want on it?”

“Just a simple Margarita, please,” you reply, Kika gives the same answer. 

Charles smiles at you. “Have you found an outfit yet?” When he sees the empty wine bottle on the dresser, he presses his tongue into his cheek. “Or did you have so much to talk about that you haven't had time yet?” He raises an eyebrow. He knows exactly what you've been talking about for the last hour.

Warmth rises to your cheeks. “The latter.”

Your roommate nods again. "Okay. You still have a little time. We're on our way. See you in a bit," he says goodbye and closes the door behind him. 

Kika looks at you. ”He's right. We really should start thinking about what we want to wear.”

As if you were at a fashion show, you try on everything that could possibly go with the club. Dark red dresses, the little black dress, satin trousers and corsets that accentuate the décolleté. But somehow there is nothing that convinces you. 

Annoyed, you lie down on the bed with your back on it, the clothes are spread out on the floor of the room. Kika lies down next to you. 

“Is it always like this?” you ask her, crossing your arms over your face. 

“What do you mean?”

You breathe out loudly. “It's the first time I'm consciously out and about with people who are famous. Is it always so exhausting to find something appropriate so you don't embarrass yourself?”

“I think you get used to it,” the Portuguese woman replies. ”I had to learn that too at the beginning. That there are some items of clothing that suit your figure and some that don't. And just because something looks good on you doesn't mean you feel comfortable in it.” 

“And how do you do it?” you ask her, looking at her. "I mean, you're a model. You obviously look good in anything. But – I don't know.”

Kika shrugs. "It took me a long time to feel comfortable in certain things. But most of the time I actually wear things that I didn't have to be convinced of at all. And then I don't care what others say about me. I feel comfortable – and I want to keep it that way.” When you don't answer, she grabs your hand. "It'll get easier. And until it does, you've got me by your side." She nudges you in the side. ”And your roommate, who practically undresses you with his eyes.”

You roll your eyes mock-annoyed. “He doesn't.”

“He does,” she grins. “But that's okay. After all, you're absolutely perfect. You could go to the club in a potato sack and you'd look bombastic.”

“Well,” you say. “Unfortunately, I don't have a potato sack here that I could put on.”

When the door suddenly opens, you both jump. The boys are standing in the doorway, Pierre has two pizza boxes in his hand and Charles a smaller black box. 

“Where have you been? It's been almost an hour since you left” Kika asks, getting up from the bed. 

“We had to get something,“ says Pierre, motioning for her to follow him. As Kika takes your wine glasses and the two of them leave the bedroom, Charles sits down on the bed next to you. 

“I brought you something,” he smiles, placing the box on the mattress between you.

You sit up and examine the box. “What is it?”

Your roommate shrugs. “You asked me what to wear to parties in Monaco, and I still owe you an answer.”

Slowly, you reach for the box and take off the lid. Inside, wrapped in dark red paper, is a dress. Black and long, with thin straps and a low-cut back. As you carefully take it out of the box, you are speechless. 

“Do you like it?” He asks and watches you get up from the bed and hold it up properly. 

You stare at it, mouth agape. "Where did you get this?" You ask him, holding it up to your body and looking at yourself in the mirror. 

“It's not important. Do you like it?“ he asks again, his eyes glued to you. 

“It's gorgeous,” you breathe, turning a little to get a better idea of how it would look on you. “I—how much did it cost? I'll definitely pay you back the money.”

“Absolutely not,” he replies immediately and with a tone that allows no argument. "It didn't even leave a small dent in my bank account." He gets up and stands behind you. He's so close that you can feel his breath on the back of your neck. "You'll look stunning in it.”

You look at him through the mirror. “And if you put on your black shirt, we'll even match,” you smile, before carefully hanging the dress over the sideboard. 

Charles wraps his arm around you to press you against him. You feel his hardness against your lower back as he leans down to you and places feather-light kisses on your neck. “That was the plan,” he whispers, and goosebumps spread across your body where his hot breath caresses your skin. 

His hand moves under your sweater and his fingertips slowly glide over your ribs before his thumb hesitantly slides under the fabric of your bra. Breathing heavily, you lean your head against his shoulder and give him more room on your neck as his thumb slowly circles around your nipple. 

“Charles,” you breathe softly and arch towards him. You want more. So much more. 

When Kika's voice echoes through the apartment, you break away from each other. ”Come on! The pizza will get cold!”

With hot cheeks and wet panties, you let Charles lead you into the living room, where the other couple is already sitting on the couch eating pizza. Another bottle of wine is on the table in front of Kika, who is refilling your glasses. 

Although the couch is big enough, Charles pulls you right next to him on the cushion and puts your legs over his lap. For a moment, you wonder if he's doing this just so the others can't see his boner. 

“Here,” Kika smiles, handing you a slice of pizza, which you accept gratefully. 

The four of you eat dinner together and chat about Christmas, Charles‘ upcoming training camp and New Year's Eve, while the boys’ pizza boxes, wine bottles and drinks get emptier and emptier. 

“I was thinking of throwing a New Year's Eve party,” Kika says, putting her wine glass back on the table. ‘You're obviously invited. I wanted to invite a few other friends, but your attendance is most important to me.”

“Well, I'd love to come,’ you smile, looking at Charles. ”Unless you have something else planned.”

The Monegasque shakes his head. “Unfortunately, I won't be back from camp until the afternoon, so we'll probably see each other again at the party first. But until then, you'll be in good company for sure.”

“Excuse me?” Kika says indignantly. “I'm the best company!”

Pierre puts his arm around his girlfriend and kisses her on the cheek. ”For me, definitely.”

Kika leans against her boyfriend before gently kissing him. “I know.”

Charles quickly grabs a pillow and throws it at them. “Please get a room!” He jokes, repeating Kika's words. When she flashes him her middle finger, he can't help but laugh. “Come on, you two. Get ready. We have to leave soon.” He runs his fingers over your shins before smiling at you. “Go put on your new dress.”

You can't stop smiling. “See you in a bit.”

While the men continue to chat, Kika and you get ready. With professional precision, she applies make-up on your face before doing your hair and then taking care of herself. The Portuguese woman decides on a short black dress with pearl embroidery. When she is finished styling herself, she helps you into your new dress. 

“Careful with the straps,” she smiles as she pulls it up your body. You put your arms through it carefully so as not to damage it. When you're dressed, Kika looks at you skeptically. "The bra has to go.”

You look at her with a raised eyebrow. "You want me to go out without a bra?”

“Don't you have an invisible bra?” When you shake your head, she purses her lips into a thin line. ”Then you'll have to go out without a bra. Unfortunately, the straps are so thin that you can see the bra underneath either way. But we can tape over the nipples if you like. At least they won't be visible in the cold outside.”

Without further ado, she disappears from the room and while she is looking for something to cover the nipples with in the apartment, you examine yourself in the mirror in your room, but no matter how you turn, it is too small to see you from top to bottom. On bare feet, you walk to Charles' bedroom across the hall, where the new, larger mirror is leaning against the wall. 

The satin dress clings to your curves and accentuates your body exactly where it should. There is a slit on the left side that reaches to the middle of your thigh and the back neckline is so low that you couldn't pull your thong all the way up because it would otherwise show. 

You examine yourself in the mirror and don't even notice that Charles is leaning against the doorframe until he starts talking.

“Let's stay home,” he suggests, his expression impenetrable. He is wearing his black shirt as promised, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looks wickedly handsome.

You smile at him and try to suppress the dirty thoughts that are trying to take over your brain. “We can't cancel now,” you reply. “First of all, the others are already here, and secondly, Lando is definitely waiting for us.”

“I don't care.” With quiet steps, he moves towards you without taking his eyes off you. Like a predator that stares at its prey before it snaps. 

You turn to him. ”You have very good taste, Charles. The dress is perfect.”

He answers without hesitation. “Not as perfect as the woman wearing it." The Monegasque stands directly in front of you and looks down at you. "Let's stay home," he suggests again. His large hands find their rightful place on your hips and pull you towards him. His eyes glow seductively. 

“It would be rude to cancel now.”

“It wasn't a request,” he whispers, turning you so that you are standing with your back to him. Once again, you can see him through the mirror. He grabs the flesh of your hip with one hand, while the other hand wanders over your upper body until it rests on your neckline. ”That dress was definitely a mistake.”

You look at him, confused. “Why? I thought you liked it?”

“That's not the point,” he whispers, kissing your bare neck. His stubble scratches a little, but you couldn't care less. "I just don't know how to hold back when you look like this." His teeth graze the soft skin below your ear. ”God, you look devine.”

His hand slides gently into the dress from above and encloses your bare chest. At the same time, a soft moan escapes you. “Charles.”

“Merde,” he curses and presses you against him. “How am I supposed to keep my fingers to myself when I know you're not wearing a bra?”

As his fingers gently play with your nipple, you bite your lip. “Who said you had to?” you tease him, whereupon his other hand gently rests on your neck, though not squeezing. Sadly.

“I can't wait to be back here later,” he gasps and presses a final kiss on your shoulder before taking his hands off you. You watch him fix his erection in his pants so that it can't be seen. But it's there, you know that. And just the thought of it gets your blood pumping. ”And then neither of us leaves this bed until I say so.” 

“Is that a threat or a promise?” you ask, tilting your head so he can see the red marks on your skin where his beard has left its mark 

Charles suppresses the urge to pull you close and throw you onto the new bed to fuck you relentlessly until your legs give out and you forget your name. He flexes his hand. “Both, mon amour. Definitely both.”

[thewritingrowlet]

The Story of The Submissive, ft. tripleS Mayu

tags: dom-sub kink, creampie, breeding

length: 5k+

-

“Mayu, my love, my baby,” you call to her out loud as you look around the house for her.

“One second!” You hear her voice coming from the bedroom, and before long, she appears from behind the door. “Yes, daddy?” You tell her about your plan to take her to lunch at Keller’s. “Keller’s? Really?” Mayu can barely contain her excitement at the prospect of going to that restaurant again. “What did I do to deserve lunch at Keller’s, daddy—I mean, I haven’t even pleased you with my body yet.” You smile lovingly. “This isn’t a reward for your good deeds, baby; I just want to make it up to you for being away.”

Mayu’s gaze drifts away from yours, but even with her head tilted down, you can still see her red cheeks. “W-well, t-thank you, daddy.” Before she melts even more, you send her away to get dressed. She immediately enters the bedroom again, slamming the door rather loudly as she does. “I’ll dress prettily for you, daddy!” You laugh a little. “I mean, you’re already so pretty.” Even if you can’t see her, you just know she’s blushing again. “I’ll be waiting in the car, alright?”

Not long after, you see her stepping out of the house in a plain white blouse and black trousers with a black-and-white cardigan in one hand and her favorite handbag in the other. Before she gets in the car, she asks if you approve of her choice of outfit. “If it were up to me, I’d have you not wear anything,” you attempt to flirt. “But that view is reserved for your eyes only, daddy,” she manages to counter. You chuckle at her witty reply. “Good answer—now, get in the car, please.”

You arrive at Keller’s after around 15 minutes of driving. “How come there’s no traffic when you’re driving, daddy?” You chuckle. “These people know better than to slow me down.”

You get out of the car with Mayu, and after giving your key to the valet guy, you enter the restaurant with your arm tangled with hers. “It’s crowded,” she blurts, disappointment thick in her voice. “Yeah, well, have you forgotten who we are and where we are?” She nods as realization settles in her mind. “Ah, you’re right, daddy.”

You mention your name to the staff member who’s stationed near the entrance, and his reaction is a polite smile. “It’s great to have you here again, sir,” he says. “If I may, have you and the miss been well?” You nod with a smile on your face. “We have—thanks for asking.” The smile on his face grows wider. “Wonderful to hear, sir.”

The staff member guides you to the private dining area that’s reserved for you and your family. “We recently developed a new cheesecake recipe, sir,” he says as you and Mayu are taking your seats. “Would you like to try it?” You defer the choice to Mayu since she’s the one who’s fond of this type of food, and she accepts the offer without thinking twice. “Wonderful, your cheesecake will arrive shortly.”

Mayu waits until the guy disappears behind the door before she pulls her phone out of her bag. You look at it as it glides closer towards you with its screen facing down. “F-for you, daddy.” A low chuckle escapes your lips—the vibrator remote app is currently open when you flip the phone over. “I assume it’s positioned properly inside you, then?” Mayu bites her lip. “Y-yes, a-and I promise I won’t make a mess.”

A subtle buzz starts circling around the room along with her soft moans. “Are you this desperate for a release?” Her cheeks are red as she nods. “I-I know you hate it—oh, God—I know you hate it when I touch myself without your permission, s-so…” Mayu trails off, unable to continue her speech because of the sensation between her legs. “So, you want me to make you cum?” Her blush thickens. “P-please, daddy; p-play with me for a bit.”

You keep your eye on Mayu as you play with the intensity of the vibrator through the app. She keeps biting down her lip to prevent herself from making too much noise. “No, don’t,” you say. “No one will disturb us, so just let it go.” Mayu nods at your words, letting moans flow more freely out of her lips.

“D-daddy,” she calls to you in a tiny voice. “D-do that thing, please.” Your eyebrow rises. “Are you sure?” Mayu nods as she parts her legs wider. “Please, daddy.” You take off one shoe and put your foot between her thighs, your toes right against the wet spot on her panties, and Mayu starts grinding her crotch against them. “I-I’m such a dirty slut, grinding against my daddy’s foot like this,” she blurts between moans. “B-but I’m your slut, r-right, daddy?” You chuckle. “Whether you can maintain that status depends on your performance in the next few minutes.” Mayu nods again. “O-of course, daddy.”

Mayu picks up the intensity of her movements, showing more eagerness to please you and herself. “Oh, daddy, daddy, daddy,” she chants. “Why did you leave me—you know I can’t last a minute without you.” Love and patience radiate from your smile. “I mean, someone has to provide for the both of us, right?” She sighs. “B-but you could’ve taken me along.”

As you get ready to say something back, a knock is heard from the door. “That must be the cheesecake.” You quickly remove your foot from her crotch before signaling to whoever it is that they’re allowed to enter.

“Excuse me, sir and madam,” a server appears with a tray in his hands, “management is kindly asking you to try our latest cheesecake recipe.” You ask if it’s a different cheesecake than the one you were promised earlier, and he says yes. “There are two different types here, sir, and we would be glad if you would kindly try them both.” You nod. “My lady here will be the judge—I’m not too well-versed in such food,” you say.

The server leaves your dining room after setting two slices of cheesecake on your table. “Sweetheart, cum first or cheesecake first?” Despite being tempted by the food in front of her, Mayu chooses to finish first before trying it out, so you help her by increasing the intensity of the vibrator to its maximum capabilities. “Remember to not make a mess,” you remind her.

With a scream, Mayu comes undone, her weak body melting into the chair. You stay silent for a few minutes as you wait if she’ll make a mess, and thankfully for her, she’s not. “Good job, baby; I’ll be sure to reward you later.” Hearing the word reward excites her. “Yes, I deserve a reward from my daddy.”

You urge Mayu to start digging into the cheesecake since you guess that Keller’s management would like to hear some feedback soon. “They’re both good,” Mayu says after tasting them both. “I think I like the new one better, though.” You ask her to write down her thoughts on a piece of paper so you can pass it on to someone else later.

“Baby,” you call to her. “I want to try it too—y’know, with some… extras.” Mayu blushes. “U-understood, daddy.” She reaches down towards her still-quivering pussy, scooping some of her juice with a spoon. “F-fresh from the source just for you, daddy.” You can’t contain the excitement inside you as you take the spoon from her. You then use it to pick up a bit of cheesecake and put it in your mouth. “Oh, yeah,” you sigh in pleasure, “your juice makes it even better.” Mayu looks down at the table, too embarrassed to look at you in the eyes. “T-thank you, daddy; I-I’m glad you find it pleasurable.”

-

“Is there anywhere else you want to visit while we’re out here?” Mayu taps her chin as she thinks about her options. “Oh, erm,” she’s already blushing again, “c-can we make a stop at the… boutique?” You chuckle. “What, you want to get something new again?” She nods shyly. “T-the owner sent me s-s-sent me pictures of the new things they have, a-and I think… erm…” She trails off, unable to finish her sentence. “Yeah, okay, I suppose we can make a stop there.”

After another short drive, you find yourself sitting in the parking lot of the boutique. “Before we get inside,” you say. “Put the vibrator inside you again; you’ll have it running while we shop.” Mayu nods obediently, reaching for the egg-like toy in her handbag. She moans as her lower lips are parted gently by the toy. “It’s in, daddy.” You smile. “Now, try to not make a mess in the boutique.”

You let Mayu browse for the items by herself while you opt to look around somewhere else. A particular set of lingerie catches your fancy; the wine-red and black combination would look so good on Mayu. “Fuck, I’d lose my mind if she wore this,” you think. Before you start getting a boner, you quickly shift your gaze away from it—wouldn’t want to be caught with a hard dick in public, would you?

Mayu taps your shoulder from behind, and when you turn around, you see that she has chosen a lingerie and a negligee. “What do you think, daddy?” You shake your head. “Go find something that’s made of silk.” She pouts a little, disappointed by your disapproval, but she obeys, nonetheless. “Hey, I mean, if you like it that much, you can get them.” She squeals. “Yes, thank you, daddy!”

You say to Mayu that you will be waiting for her in the car to avoid getting horny from your own imaginations. “Here, use my card—think of it as a reward for your good show earlier at the restaurant.” She blushes. “Oh, you don’t have to be so kind, daddy.” Mayu gets on the tip of her toes to peck you on the cheek. “I promise you’ll be so pleased with my choices.”

Before long, Mayu steps out of the shop with a bag in her hand. “Where to now,” you ask. Mayu says she wants to try on the stuff she just bought, so your next destination is home (well, the bedroom, to be more precise). “Let’s go home, then.”

-

Mayu beelines towards the bedroom and locks the door behind her. “I’m not allowed to enter?” “Not until I tell you to,” she yells from the other side. While she takes her time to do whatever, you wait for her on the sofa, getting on your phone to see if there’s an update with work.

You see her reflection on the turned-off TV as she walks out of the bedroom, so you turn around to look at her. “So, erm, what do you think, daddy?” You scan her from top to bottom: she’s wearing a red-and-black negligee (that has a see-through part over the tummy area) and matching panties. Not only that, but her nipples are also poking through the material. “You’re perfect in red, baby.” Mayu bites her lip to stop herself from squealing at your praise. “Thank you for letting me buy this, daddy.”

You ask Mayu to spin around so you can inspect her looks further, and she gleefully does as you ask. “Now, the most important thing,” you say, and a blush returns to her cheeks. She moves to bend over your lap, presenting her most private parts to you. You move her lace panties to the side, and you notice something.

“Don’t you think you’re forgetting something, sweetie?”

Mayu shudders at your words, especially at the way you say the endearment.

“A-apologies, daddy, b-but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You place a finger on her tight, puckered hole. “What about now?” Realization quickly settles in her mind; she’s forgotten about your instructions to have her anus plugged when she’s with you. “B-but I did have the plug in me—I-I just took it out w-when I put on this lingerie.” Mayu desperately hopes that you’re willing to hear reason, but she’s only met with a sigh.

“To the bedroom.”

Mayu weakly lifts her body off your lap wordlessly while fear of punishment clouds her mind. You enter the bedroom after her and are met with the sight of her sitting on her folded legs on the floor. “Daddy, please,” she begs. “Look, the plug is right there.” You look at what she’s pointing at: the metallic butt plug is indeed amongst the clothes she went out in.

“Bend over.”

Tears pool in Mayu’s eyes as she thinks that you’re still going to punish her anyway. Despite that, she bends over until her butt is higher than her shoulders. She sobs when your palm makes contact with her plump flesh. Mayu closes her eyes when you lift your hand, and—

“Relax, my love; I’m not going to punish you this time.”

Mayu falls flat limply onto the floor and just cries. “T-thank you, daddy; I-I swear I wasn’t trying to disobey.” You keep rubbing her butt gently as she cries to her heart’s content. “You’re alright, love; I’m sure it was just a simple forgetfulness.” She gathers her strength and jumps onto your lap. “I’m so sorry, daddy. I’m so sorry,” she wails. You pepper her head with pecks. “You’re alright, baby, I promise.”

Once she’s calmed down, Mayu reaches for the plug and shows it to you. “P-put this in me, daddy, please.” You ask if she’s down for anal later. “I-I’m always down for anything; my purpose is to serve and please you.”

You reach around her back, running the metal plug on her back for extra dramatic effect. “Breathe, sweetie.” You gently push the plug past her tight ring, letting her muscles adapt and suck it in. “Always such a good girl, hm?” She hides her face in the crook of your neck. “Only for you, daddy.”

-

You’ve received a last-minute invite to dinner from a business partner who said he wanted to celebrate his wife’s return from coma.

“Mayu, sweetheart,” you call to her. You immediately hear the subtle sound of her steps as she approaches you. “Yes, daddy?” You tell her about the invitation to dinner, and disappointment appears on her face. “B-but… I thought we would have tonight to ourselves—y-you even plugged my anus,” she says, her gaze drifting away from yours. Guilt washes over you. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but we have a good reason to postpone our session tonight.” Mayu can only nod at your words. “Understood, daddy—I, erm, I’ll get ready now.”

You look at Mayu as she walks away from you and towards the bedroom with less-excited body language. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” you say, and she only nods in response. Mayu glances at you with teary eyes before turning her focus away from you again. “You’ll have me tonight, I promise.” She stops right before the bedroom door. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Your heart is stung; a few days ago, you promised Mayu that the trip would only take two days, three days maximum, only to end up apologizing for having to extend the trip.

You follow her to the bedroom, and when you enter, you see her sitting on the edge of the bed, crying. You kneel in front of her, holding her hands for extra comfort factor. “Love, I’m sorry, but Chaehyun-ie just woke up a few days ago, and we’re invited to reunite with her and Jaehwan-ie.” Mayu nods, still unable to calm herself down. “I-I know,” she sniffles, “I-I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to be selfish.” You put a palm on her cheek, and Mayu subsequently rubs her cheek against it. “I-I’ll get changed after this, daddy.”

After making sure that she’s calm enough, you leave the bedroom to give her space to change—well, at least that was the plan; Mayu is holding onto your wrist, begging you to stay. “I-I need to see you, daddy—you’re my purpose,” she reasons.

You take a seat on the edge of the bed while she digs through the wardrobe to find something proper to wear. “Remember, love: this is a casual meeting.” Her hand stops at a turtleneck sweater. “Yes, that and some trousers will look good on you,” you express your approval. Mayu slips out of her home clothes, and when she bends down, you’re reminded of her plug situation. “Do you want to take that out, or?” Mayu shakes her head, saying that she wants to stay ready. It is nice to hear that she’s still committed. “Alright, baby, if you say so.”

After she changes, you slip into a navy shirt and combine it with cream trousers. “Y-you’re wearing those pants again,” she comments with a subtle blush on her face. You look in the mirror to see what’s wrong. Aside from the obvious bulge in the crotch area, you think that this combination is fine. “Do you want me to change?” Once again, Mayu says no. “I challenge you to not get hard while we’re out tonight, daddy,” she says, her voice sultry. You chuckle. “I mean, as long as you don’t tease me too much, I believe I’ll be just fine.” She shrugs. “Well, I can’t promise anything.”

-

You’re now stopped in Jaehwan’s driveway next to his parked car. You and Mayu proceed to get out of the car to greet the man of the house who’s been waiting for your arrival. “Hey, man,” you pull him into a friendly hug, “first of all, congratulations.” He pats you on the back, grateful for your kind words. “It’s been so crazy recently,” he says, adding a chuckle at the end.

Jaehwan then lets go of the hug to greet Mayu. “Have you been well, Miss Koma?” It’s a habit of him to refer to Mayu by that name after learning about her background. She smiles. “I’ve been really well—what about Chaehyun-ie, though?” He sighs. “I mean, aside from the amnesia, she’s been well.” Shock crosses your and Mayu’s face. “A-amnesia?” Jaehwan sighs. “Well, it’s probably best for you to meet her now.”

“Love, the guests are here,” Jaehwan announces to his wife. “Ah, your friends?” His soft peck lands on Chaehyun’s lips. “They’re our friends, love,” he corrects her. You and Mayu take turns to greet Chaehyun who is smiling through it all. “Thank you for coming, guys,” she says, and you’re doubtful whether she indeed has amnesia.

The four of you sit in a circle at the dining table. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t remember the two of you—if you’d so kindly tell me your names?” Well, there goes your doubt; there would be no other way for Chaehyun to forget your names considering your closeness to her other than amnesia. “Ah, my name is Mayu—Koma Mayu, but I think that will soon change,” Mayu introduces herself while simultaneously hinting at something else.

While Mayu’s introduction was rather short, yours is a bit longer. Not only are you introducing yourself again, but you also tell the history of the four of you to Chaehyun. From meeting in the student council during university to eventually getting close through the years. “If our businesses could help each other, we would work together without thinking twice,” you add, emphasizing the level of trust between the four of you.

As you’re about to continue the story, a ding is heard from the kitchen. “Ah, one second.” Chaehyun beelines to the kitchen after putting on an apron. You look at the baking tray she’s pulling out of the oven. You can’t make out what it is, but it is packed to the brim with food. The food disappears behind Chaehyun’s body as she prepares serving it, but the fragrant smell fills the room, nonetheless.

Soon, Chaehyun is on her way back with a plate of food in her hands. “We’re having tuna casserole tonight,” she announces. Jaehwan fleetingly kisses his wife in praise for her hard work. “I hope everyone likes it.” Mayu looks to be the one who is most excited about this. “I just know this is going to be so good,” she says. Chaehyun grins. “Let’s eat, then.”

-

Mayu sheds her clothes as she steps into the house, leaving them scattered in her trails. “Daddy, why aren’t you undressing?” You chuckle as you reach for the first button of your shirt. “Alright, alright, damn—why are you so eager all of a sudden?” Mayu stops in her tracks and turns to you with fiery eyes. “You owe the rest of the night to me, daddy, and I intend to collect that debt.” You sigh. “Baby, we had a good cause to—” You’re interrupted when she presses a finger against your lips. “Yes, I know, now let’s put that behind us and look ahead.”

Mayu drags you to the bedroom with one hand while the other is reaching for her dripping sex. She has you sit on the edge of the bed and offers you her fingers that are coated with her proof of arousal. “Quality control, daddy, as usual.” You take a quick lick. “Yes, good as usual.” Mayu sighs in relief. “Hah, thank God. I thought I would taste bad after dinner.”

Mayu gets down on her knees in front of you, placing her hands on your thighs. Her aroused expression—wide eyes and slightly open lips—keeps your own arousal at a steady level. “Daddy, before we start,” she says. “Is there anything you want me to do?” You shake your head. “I think you can start collecting my debt right away.” She smirks. “What about the interest?” You chuckle. “I’m in quite the good mood tonight; I’ll pay plenty of interest.” Mayu giggles, her cheeks painted subtle pink. “Always a pleasure to do business with you, daddy.”

Mayu signals to you to take off your shirt while she undoes your belt and zipper. Once the rustles settle, you’re now laid bare in front of her, the same way she’s laid bare in front of you. “Ah, I just remembered something,” she pauses her strokes on your cock, “we haven’t gotten around doing that free use arrangement.” You nod. “I suppose we can look to clear our schedules,” you say. Mayu looks up at you with her pinky extended. “Yes, pinky promise.”

With the exchange of promises out of the way, Mayu begins her oral ministrations; she starts off with the thing she loves the most: dragging her tongue on the underside of your shaft. “Mm, always so big,” she mumbles.

Mayu proceeds to put the tip of your cock in her mouth, looking up at you through her eyebrows to make sure you’re looking right back at her. You give her a nod, and with it, Mayu sinks her mouth deeper into your cock. “Off to a good start, baby,” you praise her. Enthused by your words, she forces herself to take more of your cock until her nose is pressed against your pelvis.

Feeling your cock twitch, she starts bobbing her head along your shaft, occasionally letting her teeth graze the skin of your cock. Nothing painful, yet enough to send shivers down your spine. You let out a deep sigh in reflex. Mayu removes you from her warm mouth so she can stroke your shaft. “I know you’re close,” she teases. “Why don’t you fuck my mouth and send your cum right into my tummy, daddy?”

Mayu grins when your hand settles on the back of her head, knowing full well that the gesture only leads to one thing and one thing only: you, fucking her mouth without letting her breathe. “Go on, daddy,” she urges, sticking her tongue out for good measure.

Mayu licks the underside of your shaft when it first enters her mouth as a welcome, but that soon stops when you force her to take more of your length. She fights the urge to gag until tears well up in her eyes, not wanting to show weakness in front of you. However, it’s getting harder to not gag when the tip of your cock is poking the deepest parts of her cavity.

As the mouth-fucking progresses, Mayu decides that it’s best to simply surrender to you and let you take control. After all, it’s not like she has any other choice when your hand is gripping her hair; she can only stay on her knees and pray that you come soon.

She feels your grip on her hair tighten, signaling your impending climax. “Yes, give it to me,” she thinks. Mayu swallows greedily, not letting a single drop go to waste. After your cock stops spurting semen out, she pulls away, wiping her saliva off her chin with the back of her hand.

With the last bit of her strength, Mayu climbs onto your lap. “L-let me prepare you for round two, daddy.” She guides your half-limp cock into her pussy to keep it warm until you’re ready again. “Well, at this rate, it won’t take long until I’m hard again,” you quip. Mayu lets out a small chuckle. “Of course, daddy.”

You grow harder by the second, and knowing this, Mayu starts to grind her crotch against yours. “What do I do now, daddy? How can I please you?” You ask if she’s down to ride you. “Why, of course,” she smirks naughtily, “I love riding you, daddy, you know this.”

With a moan, Mayu turns around without removing you from her warm wetness, showing you her plump butt. She looks at you over her shoulder. “Are we ready?” You nod. “For you, always.”

Mayu looks forwards again, straight into the tall mirror in front of her. The sight of your cock nestled in her pussy makes her bite her lip. “Fuck, I’m so hot,” she thinks. She jolts when she feels you pinch her butt cheek. “Okay, okay, I’m starting now.”

Still keeping her eyes on her reflection, Mayu starts to ride you at a leisurely pace, savoring the delicious stretch of her pussy. “Mmh, yes,” she mumbles. Her gaze then drifts towards your perfect balls; they look so full of hot, sticky cum that will surely knock her up if she was fertile. “One day, daddy—I’ll carry your child one day.”

Returning her focus to the task, Mayu plants her feet on the carpeted floor and only moves her hips while fixing her hands on your knees for stability support. “Oh, fuck, there you go,” she hears you say. She’s glad that you approve of this approach, and to show gratefulness, Mayu makes sure to take the entirety of your shaft with every hip-drop for maximum pleasure. The heavy groans she hears from you confirm that you’re enjoying this, thus causing a proud smile to appear across her features.

Initially lost in lust, Mayu’s eyes suddenly snaps open when her brain signals that her orgasm is rapidly approaching. “Close, baby girl?” Your low voice sends shivers down her back. “Y-yes, daddy—p-please let me cum.” Without saying anything back, you start thrusting upwards to help her reach the finish line, and your efforts are met with loud, encouraging moans. “Yes, daddy, just like that!”

Mayu lifts her hips at the right time as her quivering pussy sprays all over the place, wetting everything it touches. She struggles to keep herself upright; her shaking legs are getting too weak to support her frame. Eventually, with a thud, her knees land on the carpet. Feeling bad for seeing Mayu panting on the floor while on her knees, you lift her in your arms and help her lie on the mattress.

“You’re alright, sweetheart; you’ve done so well for me,” you praise her. A smile of gratefulness stretches over her face. “T-thank you, daddy,” she says with ragged breaths. “T-thank you for everything, n-not just tonight.” A soft peck lands on her forehead. “I love you, my sweet.”

After getting down from the high of orgasm, Mayu rolls onto her tummy, presenting her bubble butt before your eyes. You ask if she has anything particular that she wants to try, and she replies, “Just pick one hole and fill it, daddy.” Your eyes promptly drift towards her anus, the tightest one among the two options which has been stretched just enough by the plug she had had earlier. “Thinking about taking my ass, daddy?” Mayu is always quick to catch on to your intentions. “I mean, can you blame me for being so in lust when you’re that tight back there?” Mayu giggles. “No, not really—eh, actually, I would blame you if I had trouble pooping after.” You laugh a little. “Of course, I’m willing to take responsibility.”

Mayu urges you to take action by lifting her butt and wiggling it, so act you do. You quickly take a position behind her, teasing her by running the tip of your shaft across her entrances. “Please, just stick it in somewhere, daddy,” she begs, getting impatient. You firmly tug at her sprawled hair. “Look at you, baby; you’re so eager to get fucked and filled.” Mayu looks at her reflection in the mirror and chuckles.

“I mean, can you blame me—oh, God, fuck.”

Before she can finish her sentence, you stick the tip of your cock in her pussy.

“I’m going to breed you, baby girl.”

Mayu’s face lights up. The prospect of finally getting bred excites her a lot. “Am I finally worthy, daddy? Am I worthy to carry your seed?” A rough slam into her is your answer. “Oh, yes, please breed me, daddy.”

Mayu can’t keep her eyes on her reflection anymore, as all she can think about is how she looks forward to having her insides get flooded—perhaps even overflowed—by your hot semen. Mayu is reduced to moans, as all she can feel is her pussy getting stuffed by your cock.

“Please, daddy,” she mumbles inaudibly, her voice muffled by the mattress. “Please put your baby in me, daddy.”

She doesn’t care whether you can hear her pleas or not; as long as you’re still fucking her at this pace with this type of fervor, she’s content with being on the receiving end.

Mayu is lost in pleasure, but the way your shaft suddenly throbs inside her snaps her out of the lustful trance. “Yes, yes, please,” she begs again. “Please fill me—make me carry your seed, daddy!”

-

Mayu wakes up before you, and after stretching around to get her consciousness together, she makes her way to the bathroom. She sits on the toilet with a pregnancy tester between her legs, and since it’s been a few days since the breeding session, Mayu is optimistic that it’s possible to discover whether she’s pregnant.

Mayu gasps in a mix of shock and excitement when she sees two lines on the tester. “W-we did it,” she mumbles. “I-I’m… pregnant.”

After getting cleaned up, Mayu rushes towards the bedroom to tell you about her recent discovery.

“Daddy, daddy,” she repeatedly slaps your arm to get you to wake up, “please, I have something to show you.”

You gather your strength to sit, and Mayu puts the tester in your hand, letting you see for yourself. “I-I’m pregnant with your child, daddy,” she begins breaking down into tears, “c-can you believe it?” Remnants of your sleep instantly fade away at the news. “You’re not joking, aren’t you?” She shakes her head vehemently. “No, I’m not; I’m actually pregnant.”

Mayu, feeling overwhelmed with emotions, lets her body crash into yours. “T-thank you, daddy—I will be a good mother for our child, I promise.” You wrap your arms more tightly around the sobbing woman. “I know you will be, my love, and thank you for blessing me with a child.”

[svnscape]

28 - enjoy that ride

a/n: long chapter ahead

explicit and mature content, minors dni

haechan doesn’t bother responding to jaemin because he actually doesn’t know what to say to him.

did he actually and foolishly fall for you?

he just wanted to get back at his ex best friends though.

but did he accidentally fall for the ex of his ex best friend then?

the many confusing words and questions turning in his head make him dizzy as he steadies himself at the main door of his frat house, shaky and sweaty palms gripping the door frame like he’s holding on for dear life.

and god knows why he’s suddenly on the verge of throwing up when he sees you swiftly and way too elegantly, climb out of jeno’s car, a way too big handbag in your hands and your usual, sunshine-like smile, decorating your breathtaking face.

yeah he’s literally about to empty his stomach right now and right in front of everybody

but he begs for composure when you joyfully reach him by the door, your eyes all sparkly and round, looking at his probably pale face.

“hey” you breathe out, setting down the heavy handbag by his feet “are you okay? you’re sweating..”

“no- yeah i’m fine sorry. that looks heavy, let me get it for you” he shakes his head, a quick hand flying to fix his hair, as he bends down to grab your bag with a loud grunt, gesturing with a head nod towards the parked car, right behind jeno’s

“that’s ours” he smiles at you from his shoulder, as you follow him, giving lara a small smile as she follows next to you.

“that’s a huge car” you chirp at him as he was putting your things in the trunk “anybody else joining us and lara?”

haechan chokes on his own spit, a fit of coughs following soon after as he grabs the side of the dark car, bending down to catch his breath.

“channie? are you okay? are you sick?” you look down at him, a comforting hard patting his back.

he straightens up his back, not before clearing his throat three times in a row, as he takes your hand in his own, very sweaty hands.

“it’s- it’s just the pollen i guess, and um, to answer your question, there’s gonna be mark with us, and maybe yuta, you’ve never met him but he’s pretty chill” he stutters out way too quickly, you barely make out mark’s name in the midst of all of that.

you smile at his panicked state, hands going from his own to his chest, getting close to him as you decide to move your hands once again, to wrap them around his neck.

“it’s okay” you whisper, slightly tiptoeing to kiss his sticky cheeks “i don’t care” you add once you’ve set your heels back down.

“i know you don’t care but it’s uncomfortable” he grabs your waist, pulling you closer to him as he caught mark’s figure coming out of the house, his now signature light brown hair catching his eyes.

“don’t let it be. i’ll put some music on and we’ll let those three in the back figure it out” you laugh, giving haechan another kiss on the cheek to see that relieved face of his once again.

he nods, leaning down a little to now kiss your lips, a satisfied sigh leaving the both of you in total sync, giving you immense butterflies at the way your bodies respond to eachother.

haechan pulls back as he can see that both mark and yuta entered the car, their stuff already in the trunk which he doesn’t know how and when, but decides to not care much about it as you give him a cute wink, telling him to get inside the car as everybody were slowly making their departures.

four hours, in a too luxurious for your own liking car, with your new girlfriend that you’ve just started to potentially develop feelings for and oh my god..her ex, her ex which happens to be YOUR ex best friend.

enjoy that ride you fucker, he hears jaemin’s voice echo in his head, making him flinch before dragging his feet to the driver’s seat, begging himself to not loose it and to not let it show.

do not let it show haechan.

after numerous hours of bickering, struggling and grunting to unload everybody’s luggage and to choose who’s taking which cabin and with who, the small resort had settled into a comforting silence, small groups of people taking pictures or chatting, sitting down on the overly green and wet grass, a few alcoholic beverages already making some appearances as the sky turned into a beautiful shade of orangey-purple.

you haven’t really spoken to either renjun or jeno the whole day as they weren’t in the same car as yours and as for lara, she had slept for most of the ride and left as soon as you all reached the resort leaving you with a small and gentle “you can have the cabin with haechan, i’ll room with someone else”

you didn’t respond to her in that moment, and just gave her a small nod as you were feeling sleepy and maybe a bit annoyed.

haechan watched the interaction in silence as your face twisted in discomfort that was quickly masked with a smile as you’ve turned your face back to him.

he continues watching you the whole time as you were both slowly settling down, taking a look around your surroundings in this place.

“you can room with her you know. lara.” he says softly, breaking the silence, as he fidgets with his denim jacket that he soon took off, sweat visibly forming again, on his neck and forehead

you respond to him sternly, picking at the grass beneath you “no. i want to be with you”

he doesn’t answer you but you could see, from the corner of your eyes, a small lopsided smile forming on his soft features making you take a look to confirm.

he locks eyes with you and gives you his usual wide grin before he sighs and lies down on the ground, hands behind his head.

“i like this place already” he murmurs

“mhm. me too. it’s quiet” you reach for his waist to bring him closer to you, laying your head on his stomach.

your turn to position yourself on your stomach, your chin taking place on his firm middle, head twisted to the side to look at what was visible of his face, as he was still lying down, looking at the slowly appearing stars.

“you’ve been quiet today” you poke his chin with your index finger

“was i?”

“yeah. and you’re sweating profusely”

“do i smell” he cackles

“no!” you smack his stomach, earning a high pitched whine from him “it’s just unusual”

“how would you know?” he sits up, making you mirror his action, as you position yourself on your elbows, legs hooked with his.

“i don’t know. it’s just obvious that’s why i’m mentioning it”

he hums, carefully pushing your legs away from his whilst keeping a hand on one of your ankles.

“you’re right. i’m gonna go shower actually”

he quickly stands up, clapping down whatever’s got stuck on his dark jeans before turning around to head back to your cabin.

“wait! haechan” you call for him, still seated on the grass “i have the keys, how are you gonna open the door dummy?”

you hear him laugh before you see him approach you again, as he extends his hand to you.

“thank you. i’ll see you later”

“you will”

———————————————————————

it was now completely dark outside as you haven’t really moved from your previous spot, the bright spotlights engraved in the small wooden pathways were now turned on, lighting up the whole place as well as the river side, making you sigh in content as you were now able to see the small clear river currents moving in sync with the chilly wind.

you close your eyes as you hug yourself in an attempt to gain some warmth as the temperature had significantly dropped, signaling the beginning of the confusing spring temperatures.

“it’s cold isn’t it?”

you immediately recognize his warm tone and the slight twang in the way he enunciates some words.

yet it feels like the first time he ever spoke to you all over again. also during spring time, the familiar cold wind hitting your worn out cheeks, your freshman features still so innocent and naive eyeing down his boyish face, wondering if this is the famous friend jeno was talking about.

“y/n? can i sit here?” mark’s voice interrupts your trip down memory lane.

“yeah sorry, sure”

he quietly takes a seat next to you, a small sigh leaving his lips as you were both avoidant each other’s gazes, looking right in front of you.

“i’m sorry for answering you a bit late” you break the silence

“it’s okay. i didn’t expect you to answer me at all actually”

you smile nostalgically, the familiarity of conversing with him hitting you harshly on the face, doubling over the feeling of the cold wind.

“what did you want to talk about?”

“you’re going straight to the point?” he chuckles sadly, finally looking at your face.

“it’s only fair, no?”

he doesn’t answer you, and for a good minute, as you were both left with the sound of chatter growing around you.

“i wanted to apologize”

silence

“apologize for leaving you with just a text. it’s not fair, like at all. and i realized how shitty it was a bit too late. i was not in my right mind and i ended up hurting a lot of people in the process, just because i was too selfish to notice that the life i’m living has other people in it, like it’s not just me, you know?”

“are you in your right mind right now?”

“what?”

“are you better?”

“of course y/n” he closes his eyes, eyebrows soon furrowing as his body fully turns to face yours “i mean every single thing i’m saying and i’m slowly trying to apologize to everyone i’ve hurt”

“did you apologize to jeno? you know he blames himself for my terrible transformation over you when you left” you breathe out a chuckle in the last part of your sentence, still not glancing at mark who was now intently staring at you.

“i did. i told him everything and i told him i should be held accountable” he says quietly, head bowing down as he starts to make random shapes on the ground, with his index finger.

“so will you tell me why you left?” you finally lock eyes with him.

mark looks down on his lap, a hand going to his hair as he thoroughly runs it through it.

“if i tell you that haechan had a part in it, would you believe me?”

your eyes widen for a millisecond before you gain back your composure

“haechan? are you all conspiring against him?”

“no.. no, why?”

“oh my god. is that why jeno didn’t care? because he knew you’d come straight to me to nag about haechan?”

“y-y/n what?” he raises his eyebrows “i mean, he probably didn’t want to stop you or tell you anything because of what happened between you two before and bec-”

“so he did tell you he tried to stop me from getting close to haechan?”

“yeah. i don’t see the wrong in that”

“it’s none of your business, that’s what’s wrong. and if haechan had anything to do with us breaking up or whatever you and jeno have on him to constantly hate on him, he would’ve told me! he wouldn’t have started this with me if you guys have bad history. he didn’t even tell me anything about you! he didn’t even know we dated by the way”

“and you don’t think that’s suspicious? me telling you that he’s been involved with me and your friends not wanting you to be with him? and do you really think he would’ve told you anything about this if he wasn’t actually guilty?” he pauses to take a deep sigh “he’s not a good person y/n, i promise”

“i’ll hear it from him”

“y-”

“oh and by the way, if you actually felt bad for what you’ve done, you would’ve immediately started telling me the reason, without having to involve a second party with you or completely blame it on someone else” you bark out before he can respond as you stand up, to get as far away as possible from him.

you walk, walk and walk, a million thoughts and doubts running laps in your head, small burning tears forming in the corner of your eyes.

why is this happening to you ? can’t a person genuinely like you ? are you too oblivious to notice if someone is actually bad ?

no.

mark’s intentions aren’t always the greatest and you’re not gonna let him play with your current relationship.

but is haechan really a bad person? why is everyone avoiding you now because you’re with him?

you haven’t even noticed that you’ve reached your cabin, your whole body shaking in anger, frustration and maybe something else

fear ?

you knock a single time, a long breathe escaping you as you wait for haechan to open the door for you so you can maybe sleep and forget all about this.

and here he was, looking as beautiful as ever.

yes, beautiful.

his hair was still a bit damp, falling flat on his head making it look rounder than usual. his cheeks were flushed and red and you were able to see the constellation of moles decorating his beautiful honey skin.

you wanted nothing more but to hug him and kiss him until the darkest hours of the night.

but you had to ask a question first.

but then honestly you knew..

you knew that no matter the answer, your emotionally driven desires had to be satiated one way or another

it’s been too long and it’s about time.

“y-”

“haechan?”

“yeah?”

“were you friends with mark before?”

you watch his hand loose the grip it had on the doorknob as he switched stances from a foot to another, his eyes never leaving yours.

“yeah. 1st year until the 2nd. we’re not anymore”

“okay”

“that’s it ? you saw him? what did he tell you? did he bother yo-“

“haechan”

he looks at you, eyes flickering frantically

“i want you” you whisper, you hands snaking around his waist as you push him inside, immediately locking the door behind you

“y-”

“you don’t?” you detach yourself from him, your half hooded eyes looking at his disheveled state.

his oversized white wrinkled t-shirt was hanging loosely around his shoulders, falling almost to his knees to meet his black shorts that showed his pretty and soft legs.

he looks down to follow your gaze, then looks back at you, a hesitant hand pulling you closer to him, your chest touching his as his hot breath hit you straight on the face.

“i-i do, i’m just-” he closes his eyes to open them once again, his gaze softening “are you sure? why are you sud-”

you shut him off with your lips because you knew exactly what he was about to ask and you frankly didn’t want to answer him, at least not now.

your hands move in a crazy manner as you reach for the back of his neck, pushing his face even closer to yours, devouring his lips in a beyond feverish kiss.

you feel his warm hands move under your shirt to hold you and keep you grounded as you were moving all over the place, a small moan bouncing back on your lips.

he then moves his hands to your collarbones pushing you as soft as possible, your back colliding with the wall facing the king sized bed, tempting you behind haechan’s burning hot body.

a bold hand makes its way down between you two as you let it sit right above his growing hardness, feeling him twitch beneath it, his lips detaching from yours so he can let out a low groan.

“already?” you croon at him, softly moving your hand in circles on his shorts, earning a muffled whimper from him as his head quickly made its way to your neck.

“y/n” he breathes out so close to your ear, making you close your eyes in satisfaction.

you slowly tug at his waistband, making your intentions as clear as possible as you get down on your knees, both of your hands touching his ass then the back of his thighs to tug down his shorts and boxers at the same time.

he watches you, mouth slightly agape, his hands going straight to the wall behind you when you harshly take his cock in your hands, pumping it mercilessly.

“fuck” he lets out a strangled high pitched moan. you can hear the sound of his nails dragging along the wall, making you smirk beneath him.

you twist your wrist as your movements get even more frantic, his precum serving you as lube, as your hand slipped easier around his twitching hot dick, his whole body convulsing in pleasure as he tried to grip the wall, his nails probably scraping it.

“y/n wait- i- wait. get up” he manages to get out between his shuddering pants, putting both of his hands under your arms to pull you up.

he lunges forward as his lips move against yours for the second time tonight but in a completely different manner with his tongue pushing past your lips to entangle with yours, teeth also taking your bottom lip, making you wince in pleasure.

without a warning, he picks you up and you automatically wrap both legs around his waist as he kicks off his shorts and boxers from his ankles before throwing you on the bed, removing his shirt shortly after.

you unconsciously moan as you take all of him right in front of you, a hand going straight to the middle of his stomach then right to his v-line, your teeth digging straight lines onto your lips.

“you like what you see?” he smirks at you, breathless.

“very much so” you lie back down, opening your legs for him as his naked body, in contrast with your fully clothed one, settles between them.

he leans down to kiss your lips quickly before he grabs your thin shirt and takes it off of you, followed by your shorts and underwear.

without a warning his hand goes straight to your core, a cheeky thumb flicking your clit as his eyes roam over your body before settling on your face.

your back had automatically arched upon his touch and your eyes fluttered closed, your mouth opening to let out a shuddered gasp.

“hae-haechan!” you yelp when he harshly manhandles you and turns you over on your stomach

“shh. get on your knees” he almost growls behind you as each arm was on either side of your body, his hard cock poking the small of your back “come on baby”

you had barely gone on your knees when haechan slides two slender fingers between your folds whilst he makes use of his other hand to unhook your bra with such speed and precision, making you wonder, right in this filthy position and with a barely functioning brain, how many times he’s done this.

that same hand goes straight to your breasts to grab them, a small moan turning your attention back on him as your mind was slowly getting clouded.

he pinches one of your nipples making you arch your back once again, using that opportunity to drag that same hand to your throat and to have your back collapse on his chest.

his two fingers were still working wonders down your core, the squelching sounds filling the room making you question the nose canceling capability of these pristine wooden walls.

“you’re so wet it’s insane” you hear his soft voice between the ringing of your ears and the shaky moans leaving your now itchy throat and dry lips.

“i want you” you manage to say between a series of moans as his fingers moved faster, your knees barely holding on if not for that steadying hand he had on your throat.

“me too, fuck —me too” he removes his fingers making you whine, pout and turn to look at him, only to find the filthiest of images welcoming you, making your wetness grow even more if that was possible.

haechan was on his knees, cheeks redder than ever, as the two fingers previously nestled in your core were know wrapped around his plump lips, his eyes closed down as his other hand was pumping his glistening cock.

“fuck” you drag out, turning around fully to watch him.

his eyes open when he hears your raspy voice react to him, fingers still in his mouth as he moves past you to lie down in front of you, cock still prisoner of his slender and thin fingers, half hooded eyes watching your chest heave at the image in front of you.

“fuck me?” he asks, words blending with eachother as his chin was now glistening with his own saliva as his fingers were still in his mouth.

he was so filthy

“yeah?” you push down his knees so you can sit on his lap.

he hisses as he feels your wet pussy settle down on his thighs, way too close to where he wants it, his crinkled fingers grabbing your waist to move you a bit higher.

“you want me like this?” you grab his hand stopping him from moving you.

you watch his face twist into an unreadable expression as he whines, his signature one he does when things don’t go his way.

“y/n- yeah i want you to ride me”

you giggle, leaning down to place your forehead on his burning hot one, before giving it a tender kiss.

“maybe i wanted to hear you ask me that”

he chuckles weakly before twisting his body slightly, rummaging through the nightstand’s drawer to fish out a very conveniently sized condom.

“uh- chenle is weird” he says when he sees your eyebrows raised in curiosity.

you don’t say much to that as you watch him place down the condom on his painfully hard dick, making him wince as he finally finishes doing so.

he had barely taken his hand off of himself when you grab him and lift your hips up just to sit right back down with him inside you, a long and loud moan escaping your throat to echo round down your chest.

he instinctively grabs your hips, back slightly arching at the sudden sensation, as you’re sure his hands had left red marks all over your waist.

“fuck! y/n oh my god” he pants, his chest flexing as you grabbed onto to it to help you steady yourself whenever you bounced on his hard and wide cock, hitting in all the right spots.

“haechan-” you can’t help but moan his name, loudly and clearly, watching him try his best to keep up with your pace, his hips slightly going up and down with you, a series of profanities and nasally whimpers escaping him.

“you gotta slow down if you want me to last” he chokes back a moan when you place your fingers around his throat, watching him gasp in surprise, or pleasure, his eyes rolling to the back of his head “fuck, y/n please, please”

“please what” you spit back at him, your voice shaky as you were still working hard on him, your ass slapping his thighs, loud and harsh.

he only moans back in response, the beautiful sounds he’s making only motivating you to keep on tormenting him even more.

“please what channie?” you tighten the grip around his throat and clench around him, moaning as you feel yourself getting closer, your other hand flying to your clit to rub circles on it, pushing you even closer to the edge.

“please fuck me harder, i’m gonna cum soon” he creaks, his voice thin and whiney, it almost makes you come in a instant.

without a second word, you remove yourself from him and drag him up by his forearms, wrapping your legs around his waist to maneuver yourself under him.

“make us cum haechan”

———————————————————————

he barely feels his legs as he watches you softly snoring next to him, your hair covering half of your face, making him chuckle tenderly.

the way his chest tightens whenever you hummed in your sleep reaching for him made him question everything about himself and his decisions.

is he fucked and he does actually like you or is he just infatuated? not to mention that he just had the fuck of his life, getting to be himself and live some minor fantasies.

he’s spent but he still felt like taking a walk outside as your scandalous endeavors only made his brain ache even more, as countless of thoughts were spinning inside of it.

he quickly grabs his discarded clothes from the floor to wear them and heads outside to be welcomed with an unbearable cold weather, making him curse under his breath.

as he was about to go back inside to grab whatever jacket he sees first, he feels an equally as cold hand wrap around his wrist.

“what the fu-”

he turns to see him, eyeing intensely, his eyes never leaving his, his grip even tightening

haechan turns back towards him, his right hand going to his to free his wrist from his menacing hold.

“what do you want?”

“she’s inside?”

“mark what the fuck do you wa-”

“does she even know?” mark cuts him off with a loud response, making haechan flinch in surprise.

“about what?” he answers nonchalantly, walking past mark to stand in front of the mini railing facing the cabin.

“about your messy behavior”

haechan chuckles at the audacity

“it’s like 1am and you’re here to blame me still mark? did i ruin your future?”

“no you didn’t actually”

“then why the fuck are you all acting like i did! i know i wasn’t the best but you were worse! it’s not my fault that you didn’t want to get help and i didn’t know how bad you’ve had it!”

haechan hates the way his voice started to shake at the end and he hates how much talking to mark again is making him feel.

“you still need to tell her”

“why would i? i’ve done nothing, i was just partying”

“haechan please for the love of god! i’m not stupid. it’s not entirely your fault but i know you had some intentions right there” mark pleads, this situation being as equally as stressful to him.

“i wouldn’t if you had just been honest with me. you sabotaged me too”

“i’m sorry but your way was not the answer and y/n needs to know about all of this so she can make her own decisions”

“what fucking decision?”

“me or you”

haechan just chuckles in disbelief.

there’s no way in hell you’re going back to mark.

this was not the plan.

neither was him falling for you though…

prev — m.list — next

taglist: @bbykaixx @alwayswonbinning @weepingsweep @dudekiss3r @kukkurookkoo @hoeingthefuckup @gomdoleemyson @haeclips @luvvhaechan @hsified @heegyuwrld @lubunnii @firydst @daengiez @nahyuckers @httpsxnox @n0hyuck @hi00000234567 @scoobysnackszoo @minkyuncutie @yuthabitz @haechology @neogotmysam @sanniekook @kisseokiss @nqyzhuo @kooookie @lovenha7 @andassortedkpop @jising-jisang-jisung

a/n: 😭😭😭 i’m sorry for this excruciatingly long chapter, apparently i had so much to say .

also i cannot write smut for the life of me so excuse this rusty piece of filth i just delivered to you, i’ll try even harder in the future.

i think you guys are gonna like the next chapter because drum roll….. we’re finally maybe getting that backstory that everyone’s been itching for. i hope it’s not too disappointing.

would love to hear what you think of all of this hehe cause y/n jumped straight into that opportunity (i’d do the same ngl) and well everything else too.

love you all and thank you if you made it till the end! i’ll try to shorten my next written chapters 🥹

[nicnak20]

Budda belly; Charlie Mayhew:

*When Charlie finds out that his wife is pregnant, he doesn't hesitate to show his love some love of his own.*

The morning sun, a soft golden hue, filtered through the delicate curtains of their bedroom, painting stripes across the polished wooden floor. Yn stirred in her sleep, a gentle sigh escaping her lips as she nestled deeper into the warmth of the duvet. Beside her, Charlie was already awake, his dark brown eyes, the color of rich, dark chocolate, fixed on her with an unwavering tenderness. He’d been watching her like this for weeks now, ever since she’d started waking up with a peculiar shade of green in her face most mornings.

He was Dr. Charlie Mayhew after all, a physician with a heart as gentle as his hands were skilled. He knew something was different with Yn. Subtle changes, barely noticeable to anyone else, had set off quiet alarms in his medical mind and amplified the already intense love he held for her. He knew Yn was kind and gentle, always putting others before herself. He knew she was smart, capable, and so devastatingly patient with him, with everyone. She was warmth and light personified, his sun, his moon, his stars.

Today, however, was different. Today, there was a palpable nervousness simmering beneath Yn's usual serene exterior. He'd noticed her sneaking glances at the calendar, the way she’d suddenly developed an aversion to her morning coffee, and the almost secretive way she’d been rushing to the bathroom first thing each day. His professional experience, coupled with his intimate knowledge of Yn, pointed to a thrilling, life-altering possibility.

As Yn finally blinked awake, her brown eyes, so like his own in color but softer in their expression, met his. He offered her a small, knowing smile, his heart already thrumming with anticipation.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he murmured, his voice a warm rumble that always sent shivers of comfort down her spine. He reached out, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of her cheek.

Yn smiled back, a little wanly. “Morning, love.” She hesitated, then, with a deep breath, said, “Charlie, could you… could you grab my bag from the nightstand?”

Her voice was just a touch shaky, and he knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, what was about to happen. He moved with practiced ease, retrieving her small handbag and placing it gently in her lap. He watched as her fingers fumbled slightly, pulling out a small, rectangular box. A pregnancy test. His breath hitched in his throat.

He didn’t say a word, only reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers tightly, offering silent support and boundless love. He watched, his heart pounding a hopeful rhythm against his ribs, as Yn followed the instructions on the box, her movements slow and deliberate. Then, she placed it carefully on the nightstand, the small window facing them both, and turned to him, her eyes wide and filled with a mixture of hope and trepidation.

The minutes stretched, each tick of the clock amplified in the quiet room. Charlie squeezed Yn’s hand, his thumb gently stroking the back of hers. He could feel the subtle tremor running through her body, the silent plea in her eyes. He loved her so fiercely, so completely, it felt like his chest might burst.

Finally, Yn dared to look. She peered at the test, her breath catching in her throat. She looked again, then again, her eyes widening further, a slow smile blossoming on her face. She turned to Charlie, her expression radiant, joyful tears welling up.

“Charlie…” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s… it’s positive.”

For a moment, Charlie was stunned, his mind struggling to catch up with the reality of her words. Then, the sheer, overwhelming joy washed over him, crashing through him like a tidal wave. He released Yn’s hand and reached out, gently cupping her face in his hands. He looked into her eyes, seeing his own elation mirrored back at him, and a choked sob escaped his lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated happiness.

“Yn,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion, “we’re… we’re going to have a baby.”

Tears streamed down his face now, mingling with the ones already glistening on Yn’s cheeks. He pulled her into his arms, holding her close, burying his face in her hair, breathing in the sweet scent of her. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her lips, each kiss a silent vow, a testament to the love he felt, a promise of devotion to her and the tiny life growing within her.

“Oh, Charlie,” Yn murmured, clinging to him, her own tears flowing freely. “I’m so happy.”

“Me too,” he whispered back, his voice hoarse with emotion. “More than you know. More than words can say.”

From that moment on, Charlie’s already considerable devotion to Yn intensified, blossoming into a magnificent display of pampering and care. Pregnancy, to Charlie, was a miracle unfolding, and Yn, his beloved Yn, was the vessel of this incredible life.

His first act of pampering started immediately. He insisted Yn stay in bed. He prepared her breakfast himself, a beautiful tray laden with light, healthy foods he knew she’d enjoy – fresh fruit, whole wheat toast with avocado, and a steaming cup of ginger tea to soothe any lingering nausea. He carried it upstairs with the care of a precious offering, placing it on her bedside table with a flourish.

“Eat, my love,” he instructed, his voice warm and gentle. “And then, you rest. Today, and every day from now on, is all about you and our little one.”

And he meant it. Every day became a testament to his devotion. He took over all the household chores, insisting Yn shouldn't lift a finger. He’d come home from his day at the hospital, where he was known for his professionalism and firm but caring demeanor with his patients, and transform instantly into a doting husband, ready to cater to Yn’s every whim.

He’d draw her warm baths, infused with fragrant lavender oil, and gently massage her shoulders and back, easing the aches and pains of early pregnancy. He’d research pregnancy-safe skincare and meticulously apply lotions to her growing belly, whispering sweet nothings to the little bump that was still invisible but so profoundly present in their hearts.

He became a master of cravings. One evening, Yn confessed a sudden, inexplicable desire for pickles and ice cream. Instead of recoiling in horror, Charlie simply smiled, kissed her forehead, and said, “Consider it done, my love.” He returned moments later with a selection of gourmet pickles and a tub of her favorite vanilla bean ice cream. He sat beside her on the sofa, watching with amusement and adoration as she happily indulged her cravings.

He talked to the baby constantly. He’d place his hand gently on Yn’s abdomen, even when it was still perfectly flat, and murmur softly, “Hello in there, little one. It’s your Papa. I can’t wait to meet you. Your Mama is the most wonderful woman in the world, and you’re so lucky to have her.” He'd read stories aloud, sing silly songs, and even explain his day at the hospital, imagining the baby listening intently from within.

He transformed date nights. Romantic dinners out became cozy nights in, with Charlie cooking elaborate, healthy meals, tailored to Yn’s changing tastes and nutritional needs. He’d set up picnics in their living room, complete with blankets and fairy lights, or transform their bedroom into a movie theater, complete with popcorn and her favorite snacks. He made sure she felt cherished, loved, and beautiful, even as her body changed and pregnancy hormones played havoc with her emotions.

He went to every doctor’s appointment with her, holding her hand tightly during ultrasounds, his eyes glued to the screen, marveling at the tiny, fluttering heartbeat. He’d ask questions, not as a doctor himself, but as an excited, devoted father-to-be, wanting to know every detail about their baby’s development.

Yn, in turn, blossomed under Charlie’s care. She felt cherished, adored, and utterly safe in his love. His unwavering support and pampering eased her anxieties and amplified her joy. She watched him talk to her belly, his face alight with love and anticipation, and her heart swelled with a love so profound it felt like it might overflow.

There were moments, of course, when pregnancy was challenging. Morning sickness hit Yn hard for a while. She was tired, emotional, and sometimes overwhelmed. But Charlie was always there, his patience unwavering, his understanding boundless. He’d hold her hair back during bouts of nausea, rub her temples when she had headaches, and simply hold her close when she felt overwhelmed, letting her cry on his shoulder, offering silent comfort and reassurance.

As Yn’s belly grew, so did Charlie’s excitement. He'd gently trace the plump of her bump, feeling the subtle movements of their child within. He’d help her choose maternity clothes, marveling at how beautiful she looked in everything. He’d read parenting books cover to cover, devouring every piece of information he could find about babies and childcare.

One evening, as they sat on the sofa, Yn’s head resting contentedly on Charlie’s shoulder, she placed her hand on her belly. “He’s kicking,” she whispered, her eyes shining with wonder.

Charlie’s hand flew to her belly, covering hers. He waited, breathless, and then, he felt it – a tiny, insistent flutter against his palm. His eyes widened, a tear tracing a path down his cheek.

“He is,” he breathed, his voice thick with awe. “Oh, Yn, he’s really kicking.”

He leaned down, pressing his lips to her belly. “Hey there, little one,” he murmured. “It’s Papa. That’s a strong kick! You’re going to be a soccer player, I bet.” He chuckled softly, then looked up at Yn, his eyes filled with love and gratitude. “Thank you, Yn,” he whispered. “Thank you for giving me this incredible gift.”

Yn smiled, her hand stroking his hair. “It’s our gift, Charlie,” she corrected gently. “Ours.”

And as they sat there, bathed in the soft glow of the evening light, feeling the tiny life moving between them, they knew, with unwavering certainty, that their life, already so full of love and happiness, was about to become even more extraordinary. Charlie would continue to pamper Yn, to cherish her, to love her with every fiber of his being, and together, they would welcome their little one into a world overflowing with warmth, tenderness, and boundless love. Their journey into parenthood, started with a tiny positive sign, was just beginning, and it was already the most beautiful adventure of their lives.

[winchester-24]

Imagine Calling your best friend Dean to come pick you up after your date stood you up.

You stood outside for an hour and a half, waiting for your date to arrive. Ever since you found out you were starting to develop feelings for your best friend, Dean, you have been trying everything to make those feelings go away. You tried entering the dating scene, which is very hard with your lifestyle for obvious reasons, and you finally found someone you thought was nice. His name was Dylan. He had a regular job working at a firm; he was kind, always complimented you, and seemed like you would have a good time with him. You had been waiting outside this restaurant he picked, hoping he would show up, but at 8:30, when it started drizzling, you sighed in defeat and fished your phone out of the handbag you bought special for tonight.

“Hey sweetheart, you have a good time?” Dean said as soon as he picked up.

“Dean, can you come get me?” You said quietly.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Dean said protectively. You could hear him starting to grab his things quickly.

“Dylan, uh,” You start to tear up a little, “He didn’t show.” You said softly.

“That asshole, I’ll be right there.” Dean hung up and you looked around at one last attempt for Dylan.

Not even ten minutes later, Dean pulls up in the Impala and gets out. You run up to him, not caring if it is drizzling, and hug him. He wraps his arms around your waist and rests his head on top of yours. You let out a few tears on his shirt and then back away, wiping the rest away.

“Can we go home?” You ask not looking at him to embrassed that you were stood up on the first date you have attempted to go on in forever. Dean took hold of your chin to make you look at him.

“That dude was an asshole and does not deserve you. We are not wasting the effort you spent getting ready, come on.”  He took your hand in his and led you to the impala. He opened the door for you, helped you get in, and then shut the door behind you. He jogged to the other side and got in roaring baby to life and taking you away from what was supposed to be a nice date.

You ended up at your and Dean’s favorite diner. You walked in and had dinner, and he made sure to make you laugh and smile the entire time. After dinner, he took you to an indoor arcade where you played all the shooter games competing on who was the better shot. When you were done with the arcade it was almost eleven at night. You walked out, and rain was pouring down. Dean shrugged off his jacket and gave it to you to put over your head. You looked at him and smiled, then said

“Race you!” You took off before he could even reply.

“Cheater!” You heard him yell after you. You two were laughing all the way to the car. Dean unlocked the doors, and you hurried inside. Dean put the heater on, and you guys laughed while trying to warm up. You looked over at him.

“Thank you, Dean. This was great—you didn’t have to do this,” you said as you looked over at him. He looked at you and smiled a soft smile that you rarely get to see.

“You deserve to be happy, Y/N. That guy was an asshole and it is my job to be there when these jerks fall short.” You smiled at him as your heart started to flutter again. He put the car in drive and started to head back to the bunker.

Getting rid of these feelings will be more complicated than you initially thought.

[missdollcouture]

Finding your personal style: self evaluation

developing your own style or aesthetic not only boosts your confidence, but it can also help you discover new things about yourself. and I know a lot of people may struggle with this because of being indecisive (like myself) or wanting to fit into society's standard so I'm here to help

find your fashion icons

style icons can give you inspiration on what you like. this can be a movie character, a celebrity, or an influencer you like. for example I love dionne davenport, london tipton, and paris hilton for my top three fashion icons

experimenting

fashion is all about experimenting with what you like best. so, find what patterns, silhouettes, colors, and fabrics you're fond of and put them together. this is all about trial and error so you're not guaranteed to find your style overnight which is totally okay, so don't rush things.

do your research!

go online and figure out what colors or styles match your skin tone, stature, or body type. this can give you a good idea of what looks best on you personally. trust me, it'll benefit you immensely

accessories

accessorizing can completely alter a look. adding jewelry or a nice handbag to a look can really boost your style. if you're struggling to decide whether gold or silver jewelry suits you the best, there's online quizzes or beauty experts you can go to in order to find that out

dress your body type

discovering your body shape is important to determine what looks best on you. keep in mind, everyone's body type is different so what may suits yours, may not be for everyone here's a guide to figure out your body type- ❤

mood boards

since I'm a visual person, I love any excuse to make a mood board. and they've really helped me develop my style. collect photos that capture the feeling and vibe of the style you're going for. use this board as a visual reference when shopping or creating outfits.

practicality

don't forget to consider your lifestyle when choosing your style. if you have a busy lifestyle, prioritize comfort and practicality without sacrificing your individual style.

shopping

when you're out shopping, take your time to really look through the items. try on different pieces and see how they look and feel on you.

[leclercss]

Tainted Love, Part 7 (Charles Leclerc ft Lewis Hamilton)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Masterlist

plot: in an attempt to fix your marriage, you've reluctantly agreed into being in an open relationship with your husband. so far, it's only been your husband that has taken advantage of your recent arrangement until one night out you meet a man who makes you begin to question your marriage.

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: (+18) mentions of smut, cheating and some swearing

authors note: drama.

word count: 3.1k

taglist: @ironmaiden1313, @ru-kru, @buendiabebeta, @flwr-quicksilver, @ravioli19, @julesandro, @hornedravenclaws, @thatobsessedreader @pinkangelavenue, @queenofshinigamis, @notleclerc, @paullinne, @bisexualbith, @tempo-rary-fix, @bbygrlllllll, @teenagedreams-cl, @lunamelona, @leclerc16s, @palomaxaxaxa @barelytolerabled, @miniemonie2001, @lightdragonrayne @tempo-rary-fix

Your hand is currently placed on Lewis’ lap, fingers laced with his. His thumb caressing the skin on the back of your hand. Your head resting against the window as the Uber took you through the busy streets of London. His touch is nice. It’s the closest you’ve felt to him in a really long time. It was impossible not to take notice of the affection that Lewis has been giving this evening, in fact he had been showering you with affection all day.

His first display of affection was waking you up on your birthday with him standing stark naked at the side of your bed, his modesty hiding behind a cooking apron which read something mildly offensive like “I fuck better than I cook”. Which proved to be true as Lewis had ordered in some breakfast from a fancy place. But he had gone more expensive on the champagne so that made up for his dire cooking skills in his words.

After a naked breakfast, he proved his fucking was better than his cooking by treating you to a morning full of sex and champagne.

This was followed by a naked shower together before Lewis sent you out for a girlie afternoon with Whitney, having booked you a trip to the salon for a hair and nail appointment for you both. All expenses covered by Lewis.

Someone’s finally getting his finger out at last, Whitney remarked. Which you followed with a playful eye roll.

Once you returned home, Lewis surprised you with a whole new outfit for the evening. From a stunning new little black dress and to a brand new pair of Louboutin heels with a new YSL handbag to top off the new outfit. All for your fancy dinner reservation with a couple of friends at Nusr Et.

But despite the extra effort that Lewis had put into your birthday and somewhat your relationship lately, you couldn’t help but feel that it all felt so materialistic and forced. And while your relationship had improved over the last couple of months, you were sure that Lewis was going the extra mile to compete with Charles. He didn’t know who Charles was, but he knew he had competition on his hands.

Throughout the birthday filled with sex, pampering and luxury, your mind always drifted back to Charles. You just couldn’t help but compare the contrast in how your birthday was celebrated.

After the incredible sex with Charles last weekend, he confessed that he was falling in love with you. He hadn't even realised it slipped out of his mouth until you lifted your exhausted body from his chest to look at him.

He instantly noticed the shock on your face. He’d really thrown himself under a bus, he thought to himself, telling a married woman that he was falling in love with her. What an idiot he was. He was ready for the world to swallow him whole until he felt your lips on his.

“Charles, I think I’m falling for you too”.

He had never been so relieved. You loved him, and now he was so sure of it. How could you not be after the months that you had spent together? The bond that you had developed was deep and this weekend was only confirmation of that.

After your declarations to each other, you continued your physical infatuation through more sex. Although this time more romantic and sensual. At some point the champagne and birthday cake became involved.

You weren’t sure what time either of you fell asleep at. After all, you’d spent hours talking about life in between love making, embracing one another. And when you did eventually fall asleep, you remained tangled in one another. Connected both physically and emotionally.

You could have never imagined how that one random girls night would change your entire life. But you were forever grateful for meeting Charles. The love he gave you, gave you the fulfilment you had yearned for so long.

“Baby, we’re here,” the sound of Lewis’ voice brought you back to reality.

“Huh?”

“We’re at the restaurant,” Lewis answered before he followed up with a light chuckle. “You okay, babe?”

You laughed it off. “All good, sorry. Think that last glass of champagne hit me a little”.

You let Lewis take the lead as he helped you out of the taxi, making sure your hand was in his.

“Or the two you had before that getting ready,” he teased as you made your way to the restaurant. You’d be joined by a couple of friends this evening. Well, they weren’t really friends. They were acquaintances. Yourself and Lewis didn’t have many friends in common. And if you did spend time with others as a couple, it was usually with another couple that you were friendly with. But never friends.

As you reach the front door of the restaurant, you feel Lewis stop in his tracks. A little confused, you turn to him. He’s staring at you, his eyes glistening, and you feel him take your other hand in his.

“Baby, you look so beautiful tonight,” he sounds so sincere, how can he not be when he’s looking at you like this. “And I’m so glad that we get to spend your birthday together”.

You smile at him.

“I love you, [Y/N]”.

You lean in to place a peck on his lips, “I love you too, Lewis”.

You both make your way inside and find that George and Carmen are waiting inside for you. After a quick exchange of greetings and the obligatory “happy birthdays” were thrown around, you all enjoyed a drink or two at the bar while you patiently waited for your table.

Lewis lead the way with the birthday cheers. “To the birthday girl”, he exclaimed before placing a soft kiss on your neck.

“Happy birthday, baby”.

“So, [Y/N], that YSL bag is looking pretty new,” Carmen giggled.

“Indeed. A special gift from the husband,” you laughed before stretching your foot out to wiggle your foot.

Carmen gasped. “Louboutins as well? Lewis, you really went above and beyond,” she cried out which led an already delighted with himself Lewis to take more pride in his purchases.

“George, take notice,” Carmen warned him before you both carried on with some girly chats while George and Lewis rambled on about some new car they were both thinking of buying.

Not long after, you were informed that your table was ready and Lewis led you to the table, hand in hand. You weren’t sure if it was the several glasses of champagne that was coursing through your veins but you were feeling positive about tonight.

“I’m really excited about tonight, baby,” Lewis whispered into your ear as if he was reading your mind.

You flashed him a reassuring smile and squeezed his hand, “Me too”.

That reassurance was very short lived. For about five seconds to be precise. Just as you turned to find yourself at your dinner table, you made eye contact with someone who was the last person you expected to see tonight.

It was Joris.

He looked just as shocked as you did. And when his eyes moved lower to see your hand in Lewis', both wedding bands on display, his shock turned into a combination of horror and disgust.

Oh my Go- If Joris was here it often meant that Charles was in tow. In a subtle state of panic, you had a quick look at the table. Some momentarily relief hit you as there was no sign of Charles, just a couple of other guys but then you saw there was an empty seat beside Joris.

Your legs began to feel like jelly and you were pretty sure they were about to give way at any moment.

“[Y/N], our table,” Lewis’ voice once again pulling you back to reality again this evening. You noticed he’d pulled your chair out for you and you nodded, praying to God he hasn’t just seen you take the biggest gulp of your life and your sudden state of panic.

You spent the next few moments pretending to listen to the waiter who was beginning to explain the menu and specials of the evening, but all you could think about was who was about to fill that empty space in the chair on the table opposite you.

You barely even noticed that Lewis’ hand was on your thigh as he asked the waiter for a bottle of champagne. Champagne was the last thing you needed. Right now you needed a rocket ship to take you out of this planet because your worst fears have just been confirmed to you as the empty seat beside Joris is filled by none other than Charles. You can’t even bear to look at him, you’re trying to listen to what George is saying to distract yourself but your heart is thumping so loudly in your chest that you can’t hear anything else.

But you can’t miss that in the corner of your eye, Joris has whispered something into Charles’ ear. And Charles instantly looks in your direction. You’re not sure if the expression on his face of fear, horror or shock. Most likely all three. Because he’s sitting on the table directly opposite from you and your husband. And he can’t help but notice the hand that Lewis has on your upper thigh.

A wave of nausea hits him, but he’s pretty sure that you’re feeling a thousand times worse than he is.

He has no idea how he’s going to survive this evening, let alone get out of this restaurant in one piece.

-

“[Y/N], are you okay? You look a bit pale?” George asks you.

Fuck off, George, you think to yourself but he’s only being kind. You’ve not said a word since you sat down at the table and that was a whole … three minutes ago?

Jesus Christ. You were pretty sure a lifetime has passed since you realised you’d be having a double date with your husband while your secret lover was sitting two seats away from him.

You cough, realising you haven’t answered George.

“I’m not feeling the best. I think that last glass of champagne has hit me badly,” you mumble as you stare blankly at the menu in front of you. You haven’t been able to look at anything else for the past couple of minutes.

“Fuck, it’s been a long day. We probably drank a little too much,” Lewis assures Carmen and George as he soothes your back gently while his other hand moves a strand of hair that has fallen onto your cheek, tucking it behind your ear.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers in your ear but you shake your head. Too traumatised to speak.

You vaguely hear Carmen asking the waiter for some water as Lewis continues to console you. He’s confused at your sudden change of mood. Just five minutes ago you were laughing and giggling but something has affected you so badly.

He was pretty convinced it wasn’t drugs, that wasn’t your thing. But he didn’t have a clue what else could have happened. As he looks around to ask the waiter for some ice his eyes can’t help but fall on the scene at the table next to him.

There’s a brunette guy, staring at him angrily with his brown eyes. Lewis frowns, not sure why he’s on the receiving end of a filthy look.

Who the fuck is this guy? And what’s this guys problem?

That’s a question for another day as it’s the other brunette beside him who now has his attention.

His head is low but he’s looking at your table. No, he’s looking at you. It’s a strange look he’s giving you. Lewis doesn’t catch it at first but as his mind starts to wander it reminds him of the kind of look Roscoe gives the two of you when he’s eaten one of your shoes, or socks or your-

Wait, this guy looks… guilty?

Lewis feels a cold sensation run through his body. What the… And when he turns back towards you, to see how you were doing, he finally recognised the expression that’s been on your face the last few minutes.

You were guilty too.

It was … him.

-

It didn't take much convincing for you to know that Lewis knew that was Charles was… him. The other guy in your life who you never spoke about but who you spent every spare moment with. And to your surprise, Lewis didn’t let it faze him from the outside. After he got you some water and ice and gave you the opportunity to “sober up a little”, charming Lewis made an appearance and boy did he put on a show.

You practically winced every time he laughed a little too loudly at one of George’s dry jokes. Or when he pulled you in for a kiss on the lips, followed with a “that’s my beautiful wife”. You were pretty impressed with yourself that you didn’t throw up any time that his hands touched you in a loving and affectionate way. Sometimes pushing the boundary of inappropriate for the dinner table.

You accepted your fate of going to hell in the after life when Lewis not-so-quietly hinted at the sex you had this morning and his naked Chef bit. Even Carmen looked a little surprised at his revelation. She didn't know you guys well enough for Lewis to be revealing such information but you and Lewis both knew that this wasn't for Carmen and George.

It was for him.

And God it was so obvious to the three of you (you, Charles and Lewis) what Lewis’ intentions were. All he needed to do to complete the humiliation for Charles was for Lewis to piss on you like a dog marking his territory.

Through the chaos, you found yourself being impressed by Charles’ ability to sit through the rest of his dinner without storming out. Or for not throwing a punch in Lewis' direction. You wouldn't blame him if he did. But you didn’t miss the disheartened looks he threw you every now and again. Those looks were often followed by looks of disgust from Joris. Fuck, you’d spent so much time building trust with Charles’ friends only for it to all crumble within seconds at some stupid, overly priced celebrity restaurant.

You hated this place.

It was almost embarrassing how over the top Lewis’ orders were when it came to the food and drinks but he didn’t seem to care. “It was your birthday after all” and boy did he let it be known that he, as your husband, was pulling out all of the stops. He was going to take every single opportunity to silently lap it up in front of Charles that he was the one that was sitting beside you, with the wedding ring on his finger while he touched you all evening.

You had to refuse to go to the toilet with Carmen at one point out of fear of what would take place between Charles and Lewis if you dared leave the table.

When would this nightmare come to an end?

Thankfully, Charles, Joris and co quickly finished off the last of their drinks and practically ran out of the door as soon as he they had finished paying their bill.

Charles didn’t even look at you as he stood and walked by you. How could he when Lewis was being this obnoxious?

You could feel yourself slowly start to breathe again as the weight of Charles’ presence began to lift. That relief was soon replaced with guilt as you thought about how awful and embarrassed he must feel having sat through this ordeal tonight. Only one week after he had told you he had loved you for the very first time.

“You seem a little better now, [Y/N],” Carmen remarks as some natural colour returns to your face.

You smile at her, “I think it was a good idea to lay off the champagne to get me through dinner in the end”.

“I think you’ve got this man to blame for all that champagne,” George chuckles and flashes Lewis a cheeky grin.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you manage to look into Lewis’ eyes. You can’t make out the emotions in his eyes. They certainly don’t match the smile that’s spread across his face.

“Can’t believe I forgot how messy she gets when she’s champagne drunk. I’ve witnessed it far too many times when she’s come back from those bottomless brunches”.

His playful tone still doesn’t match up with the look he’s giving you.

You smile nervously, “I’ve forbidden myself from a bottomless brunch ever again after the last time”. You hope a funny drunken story can replace the ever growing tension between you and Lewis. Thankfully George and Carmen don’t seem to realise, they don’t spend enough time around you to pick up on such behaviour.

As dinner draws to a close and Lewis pays the bill for a meal he’ll surely be regretting for a very long time, you excuse yourself and head to the bathroom so you can catch your breath ahead of what will be the most dreaded Uber of your life so far.

As you take a deep breath, you look in the mirror at your reflection. You’ve somehow managed to look presentable on the outside as your walls begin to crumble internally.

How likely was it that you could lock yourself in this bathroom and stay here forever?

It was impossible. At some point you had to face reality with Lewis but you were more torn up about facing reality with Charles. After all that you had built over the past few months, surely this evening was going to end your relationship in glorious fashion.

You stare at the text that you’ve composed to him, thumb hovering over the send button. Contemplating if it was going to make it all worse. How could you salvage this situation? But you take the risk and press send on your message to Charles.

I’m so so so sorry Charles. I never imagined that this could ever happen and hate that you had to go through something like this. I have so much love for you and I hope that, when you’re ready, we can talk. Love, [Y/N] x

You lock your phone and make your way out of the bathroom to meet up with Lewis, George and Carmen before the three of you make your way out of the restaurant. Heading in different directions, you say your goodbyes and await your individual Ubers.

George and Carmen’s arrive before yours and you wave them off as you’re left to stand in silence with Lewis.

The tension was unbearable as you both refused to look at each other. You were almost shaking despite it being a warm summer evening. Lewis on the other hand seemed hot and bothered as he began to fidget with his shirt while pacing up and down the pavement. His gaze fixated on the concrete beneath you.

You’re not sure how much time passed by before you found the courage to speak to Lewis.

“Lewis, I’m so sorry,” you begin. The guilt and desperation is clear in your voice.

He stops in his tracks. “I don’t want to hear it,” he growls but you ignore his request.

You’ve got word vomit. “I didn’t know he was going to be here. I promise you”.

“Lewis, please”.

“I would never do this to you. I’m so sorry. I never meant for this to happen”.

“I don’t know why he was there. We never hang out in the same places so for him to be here”.

'Why is this happening to me?"

“I love you, please say something”.

But he says nothing.

And as your Uber pulls up and you wait for him to join you inside, he finally looks at you.

“I’m not coming home tonight, [Y/N].”

You hadn’t noticed that you were crying until your breath catches in your throat.

“What?”

“I’m not coming home,” he says again. No emotion in his voice. “I’m done. Enjoy the rest of your birthday”.

[bullet-prooflove]

Home: Angel Reyes x Reader (feat: Felipe Reyes)

Tagging: @witches-unruly-heart @keyweegirlie @trhett21 @annetje @infinity-mars @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @thatonesexycancerian @weiwei0210 @anime-weeb-4-life @harperdoodle @cheyrenee @fanfic-n-tabulous @deliriousfangirl61 @daydreaming-belle @est1887 @thanossexual @creativitybeware @librarian1002 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @wnbweasley @spookyboogyuniverse @skyesthebomb @spaghettificationandpretzels @joyfulfxckery @nu1freakshow @thebaileybugle @legally-a-bastard @bonsaijoons @justreblogginfics

Companion piece to:

Secret - You keep a secret from Angel.

Traditions - You and Angel make your own traditions this Christmas

Felipe knows you’re pregnant.

You’ve tried to hide it over the past few weeks, the morning sickness, the exhaustion but Felipe sees it. He remembers Marisol being the same way when she was carrying both Angel and EZ. Reyes babies are not easy on their mothers.

It’s the shift in Angel’s behaviour that tipped him off. His oldest son had always been attentive towards you but it’s different this time. His palm comes to rest on your belly more often than not, when he looks at you with moon eyes, like you’re giving him the entire world.

Felipe understands why you haven’t told him, you’re still trying to come to terms with it yourself. Your life has changed since the shooting. Before, you were fiercely independent, juggling everything on your own to the point of it being detrimental. During your recovery you’d been forced to make changes, to rely on the people around you. You’d learned that there was no shame in asking for help, and you’d leaned into it because the truth was, you needed it.

You’d been hoping to get back on your feet, immerse yourself back in the business however now you were pregnant and that meant bigger concessions because you couldn’t be around the buds you farmed. That’s the other thing that tipped him off, you suddenly stopped going to the farm. Instead, you spent your days cleaning up his backyard, developing it into a place where Valeria would be able to play when she finally got her legs under her.

He tries to do little things to help with your morning sickness, he stocks the cupboards with ginger tea and crackers, he takes Valeria off your hands in the morning, allowing you to rest a little longer.

“You’re going to have a brother or sister soon.” You overhear him telling the baby as he feeds her in the kitchen. “Mama just needs to get through her first trimester and then she’ll be as right as rain.”

“It’s a boy.” You tell him as you step into the room. You root around in your handbag for a second before withdrawing the sonogram to show him. “We got the ultrasound yesterday.”

Felipe takes it from your hand, studying it intently. His thumb chases over the shape of the tiny jellybean, the edges of his mouth tipping up into a smile.

“It’s going to be a busy house.” He remarks as your hand smooths over Valeria’s dark hair before you place a kiss on her forehead.

“Are you still ok with that?” You ask him, your palm coming to rest upon your abdomen. “We can look for another place if its too much, the sale on Angel’s house is going through this week.”

“You’re about to have two kids under three, you’re gonna need all the help that you can get.” Felipe tells you in that low, grumble of his as he places the sonogram on the fridge, pinning it in place with a magnetic. “Besides, this is my grandkids home, your home and it always will be.”

Love Angel? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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[warwickroyals]

Sunderland's Royal Jewel Vault (55/∞) ♛

↬ Princess Ruby's Vifte Tiara

Despite once being a prospective queen, Ruby Dewitt Claypoole never amassed a large jewelry collection like her mother and sisters-in-law. Married to the ill-fated George, Prince of Danforth in 1938, Ruby’s brief marriage was largely overshadowed by the Second World War. Despite not entering the war effort until early 1942, Sunderland had entered a period of austerity amid the global economic downturn. The dazzling receptions and state visits that dominated the royal court in previous decades had disappeared. Nonetheless, Ruby’s fiancé gifted her a small tiara in the lead-up to her wedding. A slender, fan-shaped tiara with delicate floral motifs and lozenges of yellow diamond. Ruby wore the tiara as a necklace when she accompanied Queen Anne and Princess Elizabeth to the premier of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. The press reacted to Ruby enthusiastically, eliminating palace fears that she wouldn’t be accepted due to her American heritage. However, Ruby stopped visiting the cinema, becoming more invested in international affairs. Ruby and her husband took a keen interest in the war effort and were quickly adopted as symbols against fascism. The prince and princess travelled extensively across North America, venturing as far as New Mexico. In 1941, she broadcast to women and children evacuated to Sunderland from Europe. Ruby also trained as a nurse, a practice she kept secret as Queen Anne, who was traumatized during her stint as a Red Cross nurse during World War One, did not approve. Member of Parliament Julius Sirrey believed Ruby to be more “pro-Liberal” than other members of the family. Queen Matilda-Mary once snarked that Ruby wanted to make a “communist heaven” on earth. “Dear Ruby, so bewildered and bright-eyed,” the declining queen remarked, in German. “I do love her.” George was assassinated by a member of the Sunderlandian National Socialist League in 1943. Ruby herself barely escaped death when the assassin fired a dud bullet at her. George II’s biographer described her as “the royal family’s only war widow”.

Following her husband’s murder, Ruby lived at Woodbine Castle, only venturing outside to inspect the cadets of her regiment. The princess allegedly carried a revolver in her handbag, going as far as to learn how to shoot, but agreed to give up the weapon upon the urging of the defence minister. By the time the princess returned to public duties, it was 1946 and the war had ended. Her first official appearance as Princess Dowager was for the christening of her nephew, Prince Louis of Woodbine. Just twenty-six at the time of her widowhood, it was widely expected that Ruby would remarry, with some courtiers suggesting she marry Prince Michael, George’s youngest brother. However, Ruby remained unmarried and resumed royal duties with an increased enthusiasm in 1947. She again travelled extensively, representing Sunderland as “the King's beloved daughter-in-law.” In 1949, she visited Greece and Turkey. Ruby visited Egypt in 1951, 1963, and 1970, having developed an “obsessive fascination” with Egyptology. By 1954, she was Colonel-in-Chief of half a dozen regiments within the Royal Army, appointments she had been racking up since 1939. When asked if she had plans to start a family in 1958, Ruby replied, “I do have a family.” As a state representative, Ruby began wearing her vifte tiara again. It was appropriate for white-tie events, while also small enough to not overshadow her sister-in-law Katherine, the new Princess of Danforth and later queen consort. She wore the piece to several high-profile royal events. Notably, the Wedding Ball of Louis, Prince of Danforth and Lady Irene Wynn 1968, the Enthronement of Louis V in 1970, Sunderland’s bicentenary celebrations in 1982 and countless state events between 1953 and 1997. When Ruby died in 2006, the tiara returned to the vault, although rumours that it was inherited by one of Ruby’s numerous godchildren persist to this day.

[glowup-princess]

ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɢʀᴀᴄᴇ ᴋᴇʟʟʏ

Grace Kelly is an icon of timeless elegance, poise, and sophistication. To embody her style and essence, consider focusing on a mix of her fashion sense, demeanor, and overall approach to life.

1. Embrace Classic Fashion

Wardrobe Staples: Invest in timeless pieces like tailored dresses, silk blouses, pencil skirts, trench coats, and fitted blazers.

Color Palette: Stick to neutral tones like white, beige, navy, black, and pastel hues. Add subtle pops of color for a polished look.

Accessories: Pearl necklaces, scarves, structured handbags (like the iconic Hermès "Kelly" bag), and understated jewelry were her go-to.

Silhouette: Opt for clean lines and flattering fits. She loved A-line skirts, boat necklines, and cinched waists.

2. Refined Hair and Makeup

Hair: Grace often wore her blonde hair in soft waves or neatly styled updos. Keep your hair well-groomed and simple.

Makeup: A natural look was her signature. Focus on flawless skin, subtle eyeliner, mascara, and a touch of blush. Add a classic red or nude lipstick for sophistication.

3. Carry Yourself with Poise

Posture: Stand tall, walk gracefully, and move with confidence. Good posture is key to an elegant presence.

Body Language: Be composed and deliberate in your gestures. Avoid fidgeting or abrupt movements.

Speech: Speak softly, clearly, and thoughtfully. Practice active listening and choose your words carefully.

4. Cultivate Inner Elegance

Education and Hobbies: Grace was well-read, cultured, and interested in the arts. Expand your knowledge, attend cultural events, and develop hobbies like painting or photography.

Kindness and Grace: Treat everyone with respect, no matter their status. Be warm, humble, and approachable.

Privacy: She valued discretion and maintained an air of mystery. Share selectively and maintain boundaries in your personal life.

5. Confidence and Individuality

While Grace was known for her ladylike demeanor, she also embraced her individuality and modern sensibilities. Stay true to yourself, and don’t feel pressured to conform entirely.

Be kind w others <3

Pt. 2?

Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated <3

[misseviehyde]

CLOAKED

It was summer recess and Maisy and her best-friend Erin wanted to earn some extra money for the holidays. The two girls had long been friends and shared many interests, so they were planning to travel together and see the world.

In order to save up - they were willing to work any job they could find. Babysitting, bar work, office temping... anything that paid.

As full-time students they couldn't take on a full time position, but as sensible trustworthy girls, they didn't find it hard to find work. Still - the savings were only growing slowly and they had a long way to go until they had finally saved enough.

Then Erin hit a jackpot. An old friend of her Mom's who had married into a rich family needed someone to be a cloakroom attendant at a massive party she was throwing at her mansion. Erin got the invite and was staggered at how much was being offered for just a few hours work.

That evening Erin found herself in a plain black dress standing in the luxurious hallway of the mansion. As guests arrived she would take their coats and hang them in the large purpose built cloakroom near the entrance.

As more and more guests arrived, Erin found herself growing jealous of the rich successful people she was seeing. Her own family were poor. She was a scholarship student and had had to work hard for every opportunity. Skinny, plain and shy - she was a million miles away from the beautiful confident bitches who thrust their clothing into her arms without a second thought.

In the cloakroom Erin carefully hung the coats and gave each person a ticket. Eventually a lull developed. Most of the guests were now here and she idly browsed on her phone and sent Millie a selfie.

Bored she purveyed her small kingdom and suddenly realised there were a number of unticketed coats that had been there before she arrived.

They looked like expensive fur coats. They were rich and bitchy looking. Like something a spoiled instagram model or sorority Queen would wear.

Intrigued Erin slid one off a hook. It was a dark grey, super stylish coat and it looked made to fit her. Her fingers bit into the soft fur and evil whispers began to echo in her mind.

Erin groaned and shivering in delight she slid the coat on. It was like it had been waiting for her and it felt like she was putting on a new skin. A better skin.

Erin moaned as her short bitten nails lengthened into an expensive manicure and her plain features shimmered with new makeup. A bitchy blonde streak shot through her hair as her bones cracked and she shot up in height to become tall and thin.

Her plain black dress plunged down to show off her expanding cleavage as it morphed into a designer dress and she was pushed up in expensive black heels.

"Mmmmmh ohhh fuck yessssss," she hissed in a bratty new voice, tossing back her silky hair and standing more confidently with her hands on her Dior belt.

A spoiled sneer appeared on Erin's pefect pink lips as gold bangles encircled her wrist, gold hoops dropped from her ears and an expensive handbag trailed down from her shoulder.

Pushing a pair of Chanel sunglasses onto her now blonde head, Erin giggled like a bitch and clopped out of the cloakroom. This job was beneath her now.

A woman walking down the corridor raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Where's the cloakroom girl gone?"

"Like how the fuck should I know?" sneered Erin. "That fucking little loser seems to have vanished. Too bad huh? Guess you'll have to find your own coat."

Grabbing a glass of champagne from the welcome table, she gave the woman a fake smile and strolled into the party. Ohhhh it felt so good to be a bitch.

Somehow the coat had transformed her. Shy unconfident Erin was gone. She was a bitch now and she loved how it felt.

She felt a hunger for attention as all eyes were drawn to her. Tonight was going to be A LOT of fun.

She entered the party and felt the hungry gaze of every man, married or unmarried fixate on her.

If there was a feeling even better than an orgasm... she had just found it...

******

Erin admired herself in the window of a passing car as she made her way home from the party, her head spinning. She looked amazing. As the night had progressed - her transformation into an evil rich bitch had accelerated and she could still feel herself transforming, even now. It seemed she could only get even more evil and she loved it.

The longer she wore the fur coat, the more it changed her. Erin's hair had become even blonder, her face even prettier. Wealth and privilege now dripped from every pore of her spoiled bitchy body. Long acrylic nails decorated every finger, flawless blue eyes gazed boredly out of a pretty face with long lashes. The fur coat was now white... having transformed to match her white wedge heels.

"I'm a fucking Goddess," she hissed as she tossed back her hair. She had always wanted to look like this, feel like this.

Tonight at the party she had been the centre of attention and it had felt good. She looked down at her phone and the contact numbers of the rich men who had begged to be her sugar daddy. With this new body and attitude she would be able to get whatever she wanted.

Her lips twitched into a cruel smile. She could travel the world, enjoy private jets and expensive cruise ships. She certainly wouldn't be wasting time with that loser Maisy.

A wicked shiver ran through her and she felt herself get wet at the thought of bullying and dominating her former friend. She wanted to lord it over that pathetic little bitch... to show Maisy what a loser she was. Her breasts tingled and her pussy got wet.

Being bad made her feel good.

The coat seemed to reward her evil thoughts. Her face became even prettier her boobs grew another cup size. Being evil would be rewarded. She was an addict to the power now.

"I want more," she hissed. "I want to destroy the old me and become completely corrupted. I need it."

The coat felt warm, comforting. It numbed her guilt, her remorse. It made her feel nothing but pleasure at her new depraved body and malicious mind. She was eager to go even deeper. Her pace increased.

It didn't take long to get home. Reaching the small dorm she shared with Maisy she flung open the door and stormed in.

Her friend was lying on the sofa, her face was a mask of shock. "E...Erin? Wh... how? Is that really you?"

Erin laughed and grabbing Maisy's hair pulled her viciously off the sofa and hurled her onto the floor. Maisy screamed, her hair burning as the other woman stood over her dominantly.

"Ahhhhhh what are you doing?" screamed the terrified Maisy as her former friend brought a foot down and pinned her to the floor like a bug.

"Stop squirming you pathetic little loser. From now on I'm in charge here. You'll do as I say or... do you remember that essay you cheated on by copying my work? I'll tell the university about it and you'll be finished."

"Noooo, you promised you'd never tell..."

"I promised a lot of things," hissed Erin. "It feels good to break those promises and just do what I want. I'm all that matters you see."

Erin laughed as she summoned up saliva and spat a long slow stream out onto Maisy's face. The other girl cried. How humiliating... how funny.

"Stop snivelling loser. Move your worthless stuff out of our room. From now on you sleep on the sofa out here and I get the room to myself. And you better get used to calling me Mistress Erin."

"Y...Yes Mistress," sobbed Maisy.

*****

The next six weeks were hellish for Maisy. Erin had completely changed. The kind and friendly girl was now a mean, vicious, psychotic rich-bitch.

She had their dorm ripped apart and rebuilt to suit her tastes and she bullied and humiliated Maisy every chance she got.

Worse, she was now raking money in from her rich doners and she took every possible moment to taunt and tease Maisy about her upcoming travels.

"Remember how we wanted to see the world. Well I will still get to, but you can stay here you pathetic little bitch. You don't deserve to travel and see the world. You don't deserve anything but to be my footstool."

Maisy was desperately trying to figure out what had happened to make her friend so evil. It had all changed the night Erin had worked the cloak rooms and she had come back wearing a fur coat. She always seemed to be wearing the coat. When she took it off for the briefest times - she seemed less bitchy, more like her old self.

Maybe the coat had something to do with it? Maisy decided if she could destroy the coat, maybe she could get her friend back. First she just had to get it off her.

It would be dangerous. Erin was now much stronger, faster and more violent then she used to be. If Maisy failed, her friend would be sure to punish her.

She just needed the right opportunity.

Erin currently had her scrubbing the floors of the bathroom and doing all the cleaning. Maisy was busy scrubbing the floors with a soapy bucket of water as the Queen Bitch entered.

"Having fun loser?" scoffed Erin. "It's so much fun watching you slave away for me."

With a sudden scream, Maisy unexpectedly flew at her, a thick heavy soapy sponge smashing into Erin's face. The bitch staggered back blinded as Maisy dashed behind her and tugged the fur coat down enough to pin Erin's arms in place.

She roughly pushed Erin forward and down, trying to grab the coat and pull it off.

It all seemed too easy and it nearly worked. But Erin wasn't about to give in that easy. With a snarl she kicked back, knocking one of Maisy's legs loose and then pushing back she crashed Maisy into a wall knocking the air out of her.

Struggling to pull the fur coat back up and free her arms, Erin lashed her head back and reverse head-butted Maisy making her head spin. She resolutely held onto the coat though, knowing this was her only chance.

Erin struggled and fought like a wild thing but she couldn't shake Maisy off. Then changing tactic she shrugged off the coat causing Maisy to fly back and crash into a wall still holding the coat.

Coatless, Erin growled. Now free she could deal with this loser and then put her fur coat back on.

"You think you can stop me Maisy? I'm gonna have to break you in even harder now. By the time I'm done, you'll never oppose me again."

Maisy was trapped. She had no way to destroy the coat and no way past Erin. In moments her friend would have the coat back in her possession and she would probably never get another chance ever again.

She did the only thing she could think of. She put on the fur coat herself.

Erin's sulky mouth opened wide in a shocked expression. "What... no... NOOOOO!"

*BOOM*

The air vibrated and shook. Erin doubled up like she had been punched in the stomach and with a WHOOSH all of the evil power was sucked out of her body. She went limp like a rag doll and collapsed to the floor. She was no longer beautiful, her hair was now brunette again, her fingernails short and stubby and her face plain and anxious.

Maisy struggled to rip off the fur coat before it was too late, but her arms felt heavy and a delicious feeling thrilled through her as the evil power exiting Erin flowed back into the coat.

Her skin tingled and she felt herself begin to transform. She fought it for a moment... then surrendered.

Yessssss. Why not just give into it? It was her turn to be the bitch, her turn to have the power. Erin was going to suffer for all the humiliation she had put Maisy through.

"Yessssss, transform me," she groaned as the coat fit snugly on her body and her mind was warped and transformed into the most evil possible version of herself.

All that was good, kind and innocent about Maisy was reversed and subverted. She was becoming just as corrupt as Erin had once been.

Her hair turned blonde and pink bitchy lips twisted into a pouting sneer. Long nails shot from her fingers and her stance changed as her clothing altered and she was pushed up on six inch stiletto boots.

Walking over to the shivering Erin, who was going through the worst withdrawal imaginable, Maisy looked down with cold cruel eyes and reaching down cruelly grabbed the other girls hair and yanked her head up.

"I'm the Mistress now loser," she hissed in delight. "Now I'm going to break you just as you wanted to break me. I'm going to turn you into my whimpering pussy slave - so broken that you can't even imagine betraying me and wearing the coat ever again. You're nothing now Erin and soon you'll be even less."

Erin sobbed as she looked into Maisy's cold eyes and knew every word was the truth.

She was doomed

***

Landing down in New York, Maisy watched her servants packing her luggage into her expensive car.

She had enjoyed travelling the world and living her dreams... visiting the fashion capitals of the world had been fun.

Now back in the USA she would spend a bit of time here in New York before heading back home.

She smiled at the thought of Erin, plugged and obedient waiting for her back home. Tonight she would take a couple of male lovers to pleasure her, but tomorrow when she got back she had put time aside to play with her favourite toy.

She wondered if Erin was looking forward to it as much as she was...?

THE END

[nightlyrequiem]

Latrodectus

II. Fragmented

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

AO3

Latrodectus Mactans, otherwise known as the Black Widow, are known for their uncouth treatment of their partners. The 'widow' part of their name stemming from the common occurrence of the female devouring her partner after mating.

Tags/Warnings: Abduction, Violence, Emotional Manipulation, harassment, A Dabble of Psychological Torture, Drugging, Breaking And Entering, Fem!reader

================================================

Valeria learned to adapt, like any good animal. She mastered the art of mimicry, and her peers were none the wiser. She studied their faces and mannerisms and copied them to perfection. In hindsight it was pointless. Once puberty hit and she grew into her face and body nobody cared that there was something just a little off about her. Being pretty and physically developed meant she could get away with a lot more. No longer would she be shunned for her off putting ways. In fact, it just made her all the more desirable to her hormonal male peers. Their attention was wasted on Valeria, who spent most of her time chasing girls she found 'special.' Marie Sanchez turned out to be very unremarkable. Not as deity-like as Valeria thought she was. Then came Elle Minote, with her honey blonde hair and mousy round face. Her good looks rivaled Valeria's and she quickly swooped in to claim her. Crowning herself as Elle's best friend. 

Even before their friendship fell apart, Valeria's treatment of Elle was far from appropriate. She smothered her. Elle wasn't allowed to hang out with other people when Valeria was not pleasant. Elle wasn't allowed to have other friends. If she refused to stop hanging around them Valeria would throw guilt-tripping fits. Valeria would harshly criticize any boy Elle showed interest in. Making her feel foolish for even considering going out with him, why would Elle want a boy like that? She's far too pretty and likeable for someone about as interesting as a cheap handbag. Elle couldn't handle the overbearing weight of being Valeria's object of affection, though. She drifted away and found herself a boyfriend. Heartbroken and furious, Valeria vowed to ruin every relationship Elle ever got. It's not like she had any issues doing so. Boys are simple creatures after all.

You didn't eat the sandwich. Valeria stares at you with disappointment and you glower right back at her from the corner. Your skin is looking dull. Probably from the lack of nutrients and sunlight.

"Why are you being so difficult?" Valeria asks sharply. Why does she even bother with carefully handmaking your food if you're going to be so unappreciative?

"Why am I being so difficult?" You repeat. Voice hard with anger. "Gee, I don't know, maybe it's because you kidnapped me and locked me in a fucking cell!" Your hands grip your iron chain tightly.

"A cell?" Valeria scoffs incredulously. How dare you call this a cell. It's clean. You have a nice, soft bed with blankets. It's far more luxurious than any prisoner would get. She storms up to you and grabs your face. "You are so incredibly ungrateful." She whispers dangerously. Dilated eyes locked onto yours. 

You were an artist. In the background of one of your pictures, barely in frame, was a half-painted canvas. It took her a while of staring at the photo to realise you were painting a lamb. After some digging, she found out you did commissions. You didn't make a whole lot off of those though so to make ends meet you worked at a bar. Wasting your talents and life away serving up elaborate cocktails for ungracious patrons. Valeria became a regular. The bar was subpar and hardly worth the money she spent there but with you behind the chipping counter, illuminated by the sickly glow of the old hanging lights, she could spare a few pesos.

Her blood pressure would spike every time a male patron would flirt. She seethed even more whenever you'd giggle or smile at whatever stupid remark they'd make. You were only doing it to get tipped, Valeria knew that, but it still angered her to no level. No man was deserving of you. They would never be able to appreciate all your little intricacies. Not in the way a woman could. Not in the way she could. She had to walk out one night when you were laughing a little too hard at something one of your coworkers had said. She crouched in the alley behind the bar, stiff with hatred, fingers clutched in her hair. She hated him and she hated you.

Your nails bite into the skin of her wrist. Valeria shakes her arm harshly before grabbing your wrist and wrenching your hand away. Your nails scrape against her flesh as they're moved away. Leaving thin raised lines in their wake.

"I could show you what a cell really looks like." She growls. "I could leave you in a cold, dark, damp room. No bed, no toilet, maybe I should let you starve too." Valeria feels hurt that you are comparing your room to a cell. You're throwing her hospitality back into her face. She's doing her best with a shitty situation. She sees the fear coursing through you. The way your brows twitch down and the way your breathing hitches.

"Why are you doing this to me?" You ask. Your voice breaks, a warning that you're going to start crying. "... Is it sex you want?" Valeria releases your face. She has to take a step back to stop herself from slapping you. She already explained everything to you. Are you stupid?

"No." She snaps. Glaring at you. "I already told you why I'm doing this."

"You don't love me, don't stand there and try to convince me you do." You hiss. You press close to the wall.

Valeria is appalled by your words. She hates it when people try to claim to know what she feels. They could never begin to understand her feelings. Not even her parents could begin to understand it. The violent screaming and crying fits followed up by weeks of numbness. Valeria loves you so much that she didn't give up after you turned her down. She has so many plans for your life together. She takes a deep breath to calm herself down. Those plans won't ever come true if she kills you.

"I know this is scary and that you don't understand," She explains slowly. "but I am doing what's best for you." And, what's best for her. She can't function like she needs to when she's constantly on the verge of snapping. All because the woman she wants isn't hers.

You aren't receptive to her words at all. You put your face in your hands. Your body is so tense that she can see a slight quiver in your shoulder.

"Let me OUT!" You screech. You throw your back against the wall and scream. Hands sliding up your face and into your hair. "Let me go you fucking PSYCHO!" You claw at your own arms and hyperventilate. Valeria watches silently. She knows you'll scream your vocal cords raw for the next few hours then curl up in your bed, unmoving for the next few weeks. Your behavior is repetitive and resonates with Valeria in a way that nothing else ever could. She sees herself in your rage. In the intense anger you direct onto yourself. She turns and walks out of the room.

Your screeching stops being audible at the top of the stairs. She locks the basement door and walks into the living room and sits down on her expensive dark grey couch. Her back aches in protest. She didn't realise how sore it was until now. She leans back with a sigh. Silence rings loudly in her ears as she thinks. You've been here for a month now, yet you aren't warming up to her at all. Perhaps it's the lack of stimuli. Animals kept in captivity develop zoochosis when under stimulated. Her gaze shifts to the painting she hung above the mantel. The beady eyes of a lamb stare unfeelingly back at her. She taps her fingers on her knee. She commissioned that one from you. 

You're frustrated and need an outlet. Valeria understands that now. With you being so deprived of anything you enjoyed pre-capture you'll probably jump at the opportunity to do anything other than stare at the depressing stone walls of your room. Painting is a good way to relieve stress and it's also a good way to bond. The sun shines through the window. Warming the little lamb. Highlighting the delicate paint strokes. She imagines how you must've looked while painting it. An engrossed look on your face as you twist your wrist in a delicate arch to capture the soft woolly curls.

When she was in primary school, Valeria would eat alone at lunch. Kneeling in the itchy grass beneath a large tree. The grass would leave indents on her calves and thighs. She had to come up with ways to entertain herself. She would read, play with bugs, tear strips of bark from the tree that shaded her. For her twelfth birthday her mother bought her a small, coiled notebook. It was pink and had bees on it. The best part was that she didn't have to use it for school. She filled the lined pages with drawings. Some of her favourite memories are of her sketching away at lunch, tuning out the joyful noises of her classmates. She knows how good art can be for the soul.

She browses through the paint section at a small craft store and wonders if she should get you your own sketchbook. The thought is tempting, but she'd have to give you something to draw with and she's unsure if she wants to provide any potential weapons. The paintbrushes she's getting you is risky enough. Her eyes scan over the coloured tubes of acrylic. Each one fighting for her attention. The whole store smells faintly woody. It's a little disorienting. She grabs twelve colours. The basic ones as well as a few different shades. She grabs some canvases too and walks to the front to pay. The little old lady at the front gives her a judgmental look. Valeria doesn't break eye contact as she hands over the cash.

Back home, she sets down the art supplies on the dining room table. She spreads them out and inspects them. The paints, the canvases, the brushes. She can feel her own creative spark flaring up at the sight. She puts all of it back into their respective bags and carries them over to the basement. She sets them down by the door and continues further down the hall. She walks into her bedroom. The room is tidy and free of dust. The queen bed with its light pink sheets is made, the pillows arranged against the headboard with care and precision. The day is on the hotter end, and she's sweated through her shirt. Jeans and a black long sleave clearly weren't the way to go. She digs through her wardrobe and settles on a comfortable pair of black cotton shorts and a t-shirt made of a thinner material. She gives her reflection a quick check, admiring the tattoos visible on her arms. She quickly combs her fingers through her hair then walks back out.

She picks up the bags and walks down the stairs. She reaches your door and presses an ear against the wood. There's no screaming or crying. She unlocks your door and peers inside. The light is off, but your shape beneath the covers is slightly visible from the light behind her.  You don't so much as shift when Valeria steps inside and turns on the light. She spots a few red droplets over in the corner. She's worried for a second that you did something to yourself, so she sets down the bags and speeds over to you. She grabs the edge of your blanket and yanks it down. There are a few red scratches on your forearm already beginning to scab. She relaxes when she realises it's nothing serious. She will need to cut your nails though. 

Valeria looms over you as she softly calls your name. Trying to coax you into sitting up. Despite your eyes being closed she knows you aren't sleeping.

"Hey." She murmurs. Grabbing your shoulder and giving it a small shake. "I know you're awake. Come see what I got for you." For a few seconds you remain still. The prospect of receiving something intrigues you enough to open your eyes though. Valeria respectfully steps back and watches you sluggishly rise up. You focus your blank gaze on her and then to the bags behind her. Valeria turns and drags them towards you. Setting them beside the bed. She walks back and sits down on the ground. The cement in cool and pleasant against her bare skin. You lean over the edge of your mattress and look through the first bag. Fingers grasp the rough material of a canvas, and you pull it out.

Valeria stares at you intently. Trying to discern what you're feeling. She feels frustrated at the lack of reaction. You hold the blank canvas in your lap and simply stare at it. Valeria decides it's because you're picturing what you could paint. You set it down to the side and to Valeria's pleasure, continue to look through her gifts. You take your time looking at the other canvases and all of the paints. At the sight of the brushes, you seem to perk up. She bought you ten, wanting to give you a little variety. You hold the largest brush and turn it over. Inspecting it at every angle. You softly trail a finger down the wooden handle. Raising your head, you lock eyes with Valeria.

"I know you liked to paint." Valeria says calmly. You look cute like this. You're not baring your teeth in a gleeful grin but Valeria can still tell you're happy and for that she feels smug. A month without anything for entertainment means anything new will seem far more interesting than it normally would.

You look back down at the paintbrush and Valeria takes the opportunity to approach. She shuffles over and rests an elbow on your bed. You look back at her and she gazes at you. Feeling awed by the sight of you. She has you within her grasp.

"I did." You murmur. Eyes glazing over as you retreat into your head. "I was - am - good at painting." You tell her. 

"I'll go get a cup of water; we can paint something now if you want." She says. Hoping you can't hear the satisfaction in her voice. You nod. Features soft for the first time since she took you. Valeria smiles and gets up, leaving your room. She doesn't bother locking the door. She won't be long.

Valeria hurries back down to you. Spilling some of the water on the stairs in her haste. You're sat on the floor with your paints spread out around you. Valeria realises that she forgot a palette. You don't seem to care though. You're hunched over a canvas. Dipping one of the brushes into a small splotch of green you just squirted onto the cement floor. Valeria feels the need to grab a rag and wipe it off, but she can't do it when you're finally starting to warm up to her. Valeria sits down across from you and places down the water cup between you two. Eight brushes sit off to the side and Valeria grabs one and a canvas. Starting her own painting.

Her eyes periodically shift back up to you. You're so focused that you don't take notice. Valeria is glad. She doesn't normally feel embarrassed but there's something vulnerable about painting the woman she loves. She does her best to mix colours to perfection. She remembers the detail and texture you created for the lamb painting. She tries to imitate it. To give your skin and hair life.

"Hey... Valeria?" You speak. She looks up again and stares. "... I need your opinion on something, could you come here and look at this?" Valeria sets down her canvas and moves towards you. Twisting awkwardly to look at your painting. It's a beautiful, lush landscape. She can see the brushes in her peripheral. She can hear your slightly fast breathing.

"I was wondering if I should add a cabin." She glances at the brushes again. Seven lined up side by side. She furrows her brows.  

"Um... Yeah a cabin would look nice." There should be eight.

The first time Valeria was ever stabbed was during an offence mission. She was cornered by an enemy. The feeling of his steel blade passing through the flesh and tendons of her hand didn't hurt as much as she imagined it would. It didn't hurt much at all. It just felt cold. Maybe because of the adrenaline rushing through her at the time. The rattling of your chain is the only warning she gets before the jagged edges of broken paintbrush pierce through her arm. You were quick but Valeria was quicker. Had she not blocked your attack you would've stabbed her in the side of the neck. 

The wood drags against her skin, leaving slivers as you pull it out to stab at her again. Valeria roughly grabs your arm and wrestles you into submission. You struggle and cry. Writhing beneath her. She squeezes your wrist until you're forced to let go of the paintbrush. Red runs down her arm. Dotting your painting with little red puddles. Valeria's movements are fluid and smooth as she wraps her hands around your throat. You wheeze and feebly try to fight back but Valeria only tightens her grip. Valeria feels betrayed and hurt. You attacked her, after she tried to do something nice for you, you attacked her. You start going still when she suddenly releases your throat. She glares down at you as you pant and cough. Her heart is hammering. Valeria needs to leave before she kills you. She aggressively grabs the paintbrushes and storms out of the basement. Locking the door behind her. She's given you too many chances. You're starting to run out.

[junos-jrabbles]

oh god oh no there's a small angry man in a small angry car watch out!!!

authors note except all i say is im using a comically long lead to get wifi from my phone because my laptop absolutely HATES this internet, it's like a handbag chihuahua that's used to brita filter water like no. please. i need to use tumblr stop doing this to me. anyway!! cw// you guys get hit by a car but its fine, the other possible ending involved a penny farthing, so prompt from scealaiscoite's november prompt list! (hope that hyperlinked right)

November 1st - Traffic Lights, Sniper x reader, 1.2k words

Dimmed headlights whizzed by opposite you two on the long, two lane road. It wasn't late, not particularly, but with it being early winter, the nights had began to grow much darker and colder, much quicker.

It was only maybe… You look down at his wrist, hand laid listlessly onto the rim of the steering wheel, and manage to make out that it was only about five in the afternoon. “The shop’ll be shut in a bit less than an hour, how long until-”

A short cough interrupts you, and blue eyes, muddied by orange hued aviator's flick your way. “Not long, s’third time you've asked. In a rush to get the boys their dinner, ey?” The base had run out of the basics. Soldier, of course, preferred practicing the precise art of rocket jumping over doing the weekly shopping.

“Well, yeah, there's at least three of you who'll kill me if they don't get their milk in their tea or coffee, and I'm sure even you can appreciate a good tray of lasagna, of which we've run out.” No lasagna sheets, a travesty, of course you were eager for a shopping trip.

The camper's less worn passenger seat still creaks beneath you as you adjust, the sound barely audible over the engine's low hum, but you feel it against your backside. “Hey, who knows, maybe this was actually a ploy to hang out with you for twenty minutes.” He doesn't respond, and you think your attempt at a joke had fallen flat until a small, low chuckle rumbles out to your side.

“Yeah well… it's a good one, I s’pose. Wouldn't take much bribery mind, had to tell you not to bother with gas money a few too many times anyway.” He chortled softly, and cocked a leg to the side, knobbly knee bapping against yours over the low center console. In response, you roll your eyes and knock his leg back.

“Alright, alright, I'll make sure to beg you to take my ten bucks even harder next time.” And with that, a lull in conversation develops. There wasn't really much to talk about, anyway. The view wasn't exactly spectacular, the seats, and even the camper itself were a bit stiff, jostling as he'd adjust his foot on the accelerator.

The night sky and air filtered in through the barely rolled open window in a low whistle, tone fluctuating with the speed, radio crackling away in the background as you look out your window, barely making out the shadows and shapes of the rolling, sandy hills.

Five, maybe ten minutes pass of comfortable silence between both parties, until the camper whistles to a stop at a red light. You drum your fingers against your thigh, and huff a small sigh.

“I didn't say it quite right.” He's looking away as he speaks, words nothing much more than an airy utterance, rolling a bead of torn faux leather between the fingers of his gloved hand, he continues, “I really don't erh… Mind… You. Y’know?”

Whatever he's trying to say still isn't coming out right, and you’re staying quiet. He knows you're trying to let him get his words out, the look on your face says that much, but there's not enough air in here, so he rolls his window lower.

“As in, I don't mind you coming in here, like, to chat, or hang out or whatever–, I know you've seen me shoo Scout out a couple times,” He sounds more nervous than usual as he laughs, shifts, and leans forward to look up at the light, still glowing a deep red. “And that's cause he's a prick.” He clarified with a huff, and sits back.

“You're a bit less of a prick.”

You've sat back too, by this point, arms crossed over your chest, body turned towards him, attentive to his words. You didn't see him this… Concerned over his words often. For someone who's usually quite cool, calm and collected, especially with his marksmanship, he sure seemed a little muddled.

“You're lucky I don't take offense to that.” You laugh softly, reaching over and patting his arm. He seems to flinch at the touch, but relaxes quickly. “A bit less of a prick, yeah, fuck off dickhead.” You push him lightly and lean back, huffing with faux indignance.

“Thanks, though, I mean…” You knew no one really came up to hang out with him, but had always assumed he just didn't really like the company much. “Thought it'd be a bother if I came around. Plus, I'm not eating feckin’... Rabbit on a stick, or whatever you have for dinner, sorry mate.”

You laugh, he laughs, and clarifies. “Lizard, actually.” You shudder.

“Yeah, well, I'm not eating lizard either- You should come eat dinner in the base sometime.” You remember seeing him eat dinner with the rest maybe… twice? Usually when you all have to move to a new base, he'll come down, help set stuff up, have dinner, then go back to the camper.

“Engie makes the most fucking spectacular short ribs ever, genuinely, I bet you'd like ‘em. They're not emu ribs or nothin’, but they're real good.” Suddenly, a car which neither of you had realised had pulled up behind you, starts absolutely sounding away, blaring the horn and making wild gestures out the window.

“Bloody- Feckin' yobbo- Right!” He huffs annoyedly, shaking his head as you both realise the light had gone green, the camper snorts back to life, jittering as you two skid forward, your hands instinctively reaching down to grasp the sides of your seat.

It takes a minute until the camper settles back into a normal pace, and his shoulders can relax. “I'll try ‘em sometime. Who's cooking tonight?” Longest traffic light of your lives, you're sure.

“Me, or– Well, it was going to be Pyro, but, given how the morning's pancakes went,” Charred, maybe possibly entirely inedible, even if they'd tell you otherwise, “I thought it'd be best to take over… I'm sure I can convince Engie to make his ribs if you're wanting.” You hum, and settle back into the seat, glancing back over your shoulder to see the small, black car eagerly tailgating you two.

“What're you making?” He asks, voice as clipped and curt as usual, before he clears his throat.

“I’ll come down for tonight, seeing as you're all clearly missing me.” He chuckles, but it's halfhearted, you meet the laugh halfway, nerves stir in your stomach as the car continues to beep behind you. You're trying to psychically explode the driver's head.

“Well, f’course, you're part of the team, you've got your own room n’all.” You mutter, eyebrows furrow, and you reach forward to dial the radio louder, trying to drown out the incessant beeping.

“Fuckin' bed's probably gone mouldy mind–” Another red light, great. The camper jitters, slowing with the quiet squeal of brakes, when, suddenly— BANG– You both jolt forward, Sniper slaps one arm across your chest trying to hold you back, winding you somewhat in the process as he darts forward, a loud, droning growl of a groan rolling from him.

“Oh for fucks sake!” He cries out. You're clutching the seatbelt, glad you'd been clever enough to put it on when you'd gotten in, hissing in pain from the friction of it, and praying the other car had crumpled like a tissue. ~~~~~~~ the end !! this has literally taken me an hour to try and sort out on this laptop god help me i love and hate this thing,, anyway enjoy this mid little thing you can definitely tell i haven't written in ages LOL they definitely did not get to the shops in time, rip 2 lasagna night

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

A Goddess by Association | Mr & Mrs Laufeyson AU | Loki x Reader

Sometimes Loki just wants to feel…royal. And he wants you to feel it too. So when it's time for him to choose his anniversary 'treat' he knows exactly what he wants...

Warnings: 18+ sexual content, roleplay, royalty/power kink, oral sex, unprotected p in v sex, sex in clothing.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Mr & Mrs Laufeyson Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

Loki, despite his protests, was acclimatising very well to Midgardian life. He liked the clothes, much more comfortable and practical, he found the food interesting, sweets were great and he could no longer pretend to hate the Midgardian's themselves. Your hedonism as a race was something to behold. Besides he had met and married you within 18 months so any following complaints were met with stoic silence and you pointing at your ring finger.

Despite all these things. The funny TV adverts, all night off licences and take away food there was one thing that Loki was having real trouble with.

Not being royal.

Although most of the village still paid due reverence to his presence, especially as his magic remained, he wasn't a Prince and it irked him. Thor hadn't cared when he gave up the throne and it's not that Loki had wanted it, it seemed like an awful lot of work, he just wanted to be Royal. Special.

Now he was no longer Loki Laufeyson, Prince of Asgard, God of Mischeif, rightful heir of Jotunheim... he was just Loki. And the final tragedy was, he never got to make you a Princess as you truly deserved. A Goddess, even if just by association.

"Lo? You in here?" Your voice called through the cottage. He generally despised the nickname, but from you? It sounded like perfect.

"In here!" He called back. Midgardians, so uncouth. You opened the door, not really looking at him stood at the foot of your bed, and grabbed your handbag, and turning to go again before a flash of gold caught your eye.

"Loki?" You span round and faced him properly, his height excentuated by the cloak at his back, the tall gold horns adoring his neatly styled black hair and the leather clinging to every muscle and sinew of his lithe body.

"My darling?"

"I see you've decided how you'd like to play for your anniversary present. Not this again," you rolled your eyes dramatically while you tried to keep your composure, always taken aback by the sheer force of Loki's presence in his formal attire. If you were going to spend the evening paying court to him, then he deserved a little teasing beforehand.

"Indeed," he took a long stride towards you, holding out a hand to take yours. You bobbed a little curtsey ready to end all your evening plans for this exciting development. You'd certainly complain and tease first, but you always enjoyed your husbands filthy plans.

"My Prince," you smiled, dipping your head to avert your eyes as any good...chamber maid? Hand maiden? Would, it didn't really matter who you were, little wench or servant. It all amounted to the same, you'd be on your knees before he could ever ask, every time.

But not tonight.

"Princesses do not kneel," he commanded, his voice booming and hand tight around yours keeping you upright.

Oh. A Princess? A shimmer of light surrounded you, your boots, jeans, top and handbag vanished with a flourish to be replaced with a flowing ballgown of deep, forest green. Loki smiled, holding back his grin, trying to remember his courtly smile instead. You looked...devastating. A lucky thing he didn't meet you at court or he would have run away with you and lost his title regardless.

He dropped a toe back to bow deeply, savouring your little gasp of pleasure at the luxurious fabric now wrapped around your body.

"Princess, may I have this dance?" He enquired politely, and through you were in your low ceilinged cottage bedroom you, the glint in his eyes made you feel as if you were in the towering ballrooms of Asgard.

You nodded though there was precious little room to dance in. He placed your hands delicately on his body, scooping you close and nudging your silk slippered feet with his own leather boots to make them move the right way.

In return, you giggled, leaning into his chest despite the cold leather and metal, seeing comfort in the beat of his heart and the familiar feeling of his warm chest. He let his cheek rest against the top of your head, breathing you in and peppering soft kisses in your hair. Layered as you both were it was still hard to ignore Loki's growing arousal with each half spin of your failed waltz.

Eagerly you snuggled closer, attempting to lead the dance towards your bed.

"Princess, you know we must not engage in such lewd behaviour while we're still only betrothed," he whispered in your ear.

Ah so this was the game, lust pooled between your legs, heating you from the inside out. A forbidden love, and yet he was here in your bedroom. A delicate, coy, smile curved your lips upwards just a little.

"Only betrothed? But, my Prince," you bit your lip, batting your eyelashes flirtatiously, "I need you now!"

"Well. If you need me, perhaps there's another way I could please my betrothed?" He backed you slowly towards the bed, guiding you to sit at the edge and then falling to his own knees before you.

If only the rest of the village could see him now. Kneeling before you despite his regal appearance.

The golden helmet vanished in a green flash and so did Loki's mop of black hair in a flurry of green and black tulle. His lips finding the soft, ticklish edge of your knee before moving upwards.

"Oh! Lo!" In all of the layers of ballgown you hadn't really noticed your lack of underwear, until now, until your once royal husband was buried beneath those layers, two fingers deep inside of you, his tongue on your clit.

He pressed his fingers into your thighs, holding you steady as he twisted his other hand, fingers bending and rubbing against the soft, deep little spot inside of you that made you make Loki's favourite noise.

"Loki, LOKI, L-" you fell back against the bed in a cloud of silk, your orgasm rippling through your body, making your body strain against the tight confines of the bodice of your dress.

Loki appeared again, standing to his full height before flicking a neat handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbing his mouth ostentatiously.

"Are you ready, we'll miss our reservations?" He asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as his royal attire replaced itself with a neat black suit.

"You fucking kidding me?" You huffed, riding out your high with deep panting breaths.

His smile became fond and, as he pulled you from the bed, the dress changed too, not the clothes you had chosen before but, a little black dress, tailored to fit perfectly, silk shoes still hugging your feet.

"You look regal my Princess," he kissed the top of your head again and led you out, still giddy and glowing.