#why do they insist to keep doing things with them and doing them so wrong

[suiana]

#minetolose

(yan! fwb stalks you and can't believe you talk to other guys?! gets super jealous and lowkey wants to keep you all for himself?!) (tw: erm kinda crazy man, possessiveness, i hate him) (2200 words max) (wc: 2.1k)

Aidan isn't a romantic guy. Not really.

He's never grown up like that, how can you expect him to be romantic when his parents were too busy fighting? It's just not his style. Imagine being vulnerable with someone? No thanks.

Which is why he doesn't do relationships either. They’re too sappy and too much effort. And for what? A half-assed 2-year relationship that ends with his partner cheating because 'he didn't give them enough attention' or some other excuse?

He's seen it more times than he can count and he's not going to be a victim.

So when he first met you at a work party, he thought it would end up like all of his other flings, used once and trashed later. Or maybe a few extra times if he liked the way they looked under him.

What? He's still a man with needs, okay? 

But there was just something about you that made him want to stay. Weird, huh? Mister Aidan Gunther here always thought he had his feelings separated from his dick but apparently, he was wrong.

He had never outright suggested being friends with benefits that act like a couple but he supposes that's what you two are.

Everything all happened so naturally that Aidan never really had any time to reject it. It was supposed to be just one night. Then came the coffee date, then two, then suddenly he was sleeping over at your place more often than his own. 

Your scent on his shirt, his scent on your bed.

It felt right.

Maybe that's why he never told you to fuck off and never find him again. Because somewhere in that cold heart of his yearned for this domesticity.

This closeness that only you had been able to provide.

Also, the sex? Incredible. It’s almost like you were made for him. So how can you blame him for wanting to keep you a little bit closer?

"What the fuck is this?"

Aidan doesn't even let you get a word out before he traps you in your apartment, kicking the door shut. So aggressive, but it’s not out of character. He did insist on having your schedule a few weeks back, and that time when he asked you to block an ex for good. Just a normal ‘friends with benefits’ thing, right?

Like any ‘friend’ would do, your green eyed freak decided it would be appropriate to stalk you- sorry, I mean watch you through the office security cams at work. 

'It's not stalking if I'm trying to keep you safe,' he claims. 'I just want to make sure you’re alright.'

Sure buddy, tell that to the feds. Anyway, your fuck buddy decided to 'watch' you through the security cams to 'keep you safe’ and guess what?

"I saw you talking to another guy."

That's right folks! He saw you talking to a coworker! Shocking, yeah? Bet you didn't expect that. 

You could only blink in confusion, racking your brain for any memory of talking to a guy before it finally clicks in that beautiful head of yours. Gosh, he loves the way you look when you're focused. Eyebrows furrowed and that small downturn of your lips. Man, he just wants to kiss you until that furrow turns into one of pleasure… Ugh, focus Aidan!

"You mean Joe?"

"Joe? That's what he’s called? Stupid name."

Huh? You were utterly flabbergasted, annoyed, all of the above. You've never seen him this worked up before. Not since you accidentally stepped on his good shirt and he screamed about how he hasn't done laundry in two weeks. 

"What's wrong with you? He's just my coworker dude."

You merely narrow your eyes at him before lamenting your cozy weekend. So much for looking forward to relaxing. You might’ve liked him enough to be friends with benefits but this? Living in your home rent-free and acting like a helicopter boyfriend? You’re on the verge of just telling him to get out. 

Also, the fact that you two work in different departments but now you’re seeing him everywhere in the office and at home? He’s like a parasite who’s attached himself to you permanently. Who cares if he’s a sex god? You don’t like him enough to see him 24/7!

But it doesn't look like Angry Aidan is letting up anytime soon.

"Just a coworker? You're telling me this loser is just a coworker?!"

He's losing it right now. Over what? Over the fact that you were talking to your male coworker! 

"Yeah, why are you so mad that I have a good relationship with my coworker?"

Wrong answer.

Aidan grabs both of your arms, eyes a dark green as his jaw clenches. Fuck, Aidan stay calm. You wouldn’t want to scare them off, would you?

"Because I saw the way he fucking touched you. His hand on your shoulder like he owned you, like he could own you."

His voice turns bitter and Aidan lets out a breathless laugh. 

"Fuck, just thinking about it gets me mad. Are you mad? I'm pissed as hell."

He feels his veins twitch at the memory of how Joe laughed way too happily with you. How could you not see that Joe obviously liked you? He’s doing all the stuff that Aidan does with you!

"How dare he touch you, you're-"

Mine.

Aidan's breath hitches and he momentarily stops whatever the hell he's doing. No, no, no. He couldn’t possibly be...

In love with you, could he?

Meanwhile, you’re just standing there, irritation rising at every second he had you pinned against the wall. Actually, this reminds you of that one time he freaked out because you didn’t answer his texts for three days straight. 

He was sobbing on your doorstep in the middle of the night, throwing accusations around like confetti. You pitied him, that’s all. How could you ask him to leave? It’s not like he was completely crazy yet. 

That was a mistake. 

Because him staying that night turned into a week, into a week, into him never leaving and you’re sick of it. Leaving dirty laundry on the floor, lounging on your couch, acting like an overly possessive boyfriend that you definitely didn’t sign up for. And what? Now that pity might get you killed?

All that recollection and he still has you pinned against the wall. Did he seriously forget that he was throwing another one of his tantrums and go off into some anime daydream?

"Hello? Earth to Aidan? Are you there or should I slap you?"

Silence.

"Dude, are you seriously asking for a slap?"

But Aidan still wasn't coming back. 

Not after your threat to slap him, not after you displayed annoyance. 

Nothing.

"Aidan, I will slap you."

You slap him. Hard.

He doesn't come back.

Why? Because everything clicks in his head.

So that ugly feeling that spread through his stomach before settling deep in his chest wasn't heartburn but jealousy? The way it twisted and threatened to gut him inside out wasn't anger at the stuffy room, but disgust at the fact that someone else touched you? 

It’s you.

It’s always been you. 

Aidan freezes in place, mouth parting slightly as he stares right at you like he’s seeing something for the first time. Or maybe something he’s failed to see. 

“Can’t you just like, not talk to him anymore?”

You blink at him. 

"Bro are you serious right now?"

His grip tightens around your arms, almost painfully so. You wince, he doesn't notice.

"Fuck- Uh, yeah just…"

Staring into those green depths of his, something feels off. His pupils are blown wide, more black than green. But honestly you don’t even care anymore. You shove at his chest but he doesn’t budge. If anything, he leans closer.

“You shouldn’t have let him touch you like that. It’s fucking… Wrong.” 

Wrong? You raise an eyebrow at his words, confused. Aidan lets out an annoyed groan, the tips of his ears burning red. 

"Why does it matter so much?"

Under your gaze, he feels something in him snap. The flush spreads, bleeding into his cheeks as he fights back the urge to just kiss you senseless. 

"Because I fucking care about you, alright? Way more than I should and it’s driving me insane."

For a second, neither of you speak. The air feels too still, too sharp. And suddenly, it all clicks in your head like the final piece of a puzzle.

Is Aidan in love with you?

"But Aidan, you said-"

"I know what I fucking said. I was wrong, I don't want to be just friends."

A trembling hand comes up to cup your cheek, calloused thumb rubbing your skin. Desperate. Like he’s holding onto something precious. Something so valuable that he will not lose.

"Aidan," You try to stay calm. "I don't like you like that."

"You don't mean that."

Yeah no. Your ‘calm’ is slipping.

“Aidan, listen. I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I told you that when we decided to start sleeping together."

What happened to no strings attached? You both agreed! Your cheeks flush in irritation, fists curling. You should’ve stopped this before it started. Should’ve told him to leave the second his gaze lingered a second too long or when his gaze softened when it wasn’t supposed to.

"Sweetheart.” You flinch at his reverent tone. “Don't you see? We're meant to be."

His words slap you in the face. It’s like Aidan’s already decided how this all ends, like he’s already decided you’ll be a character in his fairytale without asking if you wanted to be in.

"Aidan we don't have any romance."

"We have plenty of romance."

And just like that, he stops hearing you.

His mouth attacks your neck, leaving dark bruises in its wake while his hands wander beneath your shirt like they have a hundred times before this. 

But this is different. His touch, presence, everything feels wrong. You shove at his chest, not wanting anymore to do with him. 

“Get off me-”

"We fuck at night, then kiss in the morning. I take you out, pay for what you want and watch your shows. We do everything couples do."

He lets out a low chuckle, hair falling messily over those green eyes. What is that look? Obsession? Insanity? You don't even want to know. All you can think about is how his once-pleasant kisses now feel like hot iron on your skin. 

"I know it's a lot to take in all at once, but trust me, sweetheart, it’ll be worth it."

You try pushing him away, desperate to escape from his clutches. But Aidan is nothing if not persistent, caging you in like it’s his job.

"I can’t go back to life before meeting you, sweetheart.” He whispers, and just for a second you think you’ve finally gotten through to him. But then his tone hardens. Icy, final. “And I won’t. Because you’re mine, damnit. Mine, mine, mine.”

Suddenly, his hand is in the back pocket of your jeans, taking your phone away.

"Give that back! I didn’t give you permission!"

But he’s not listening, of course not. You watch as his thumb scrolls leisurely, deleting contacts one by one. Friends, family, everyone. Until all that’s left is him. 

"You don’t need them, no one else gets you like I do, love you like I do."

Your chest burns.

"Touch my phone again and I swear to god, Aidan, I’m calling the cops!"

That earns a reaction. His jaw tenses and you think he might start screaming. But he doesn’t. He just… Smiles. Like you’re the one being unreasonable. 

Aidan slips the phone back into your pocket with mock affection, like he’s giving you a gift. 

"Don't worry, things will be amazing. Just us. no one else."

Is he serious right now? Ah…

You know what?

“Aidan.” 

No, you will not stand for this. This is your apartment! Your safe space! Who the hell does he think he is, claiming this is his apartment too? He doesn’t even pay rent! 

“Get out of my apartment.”

You try to push him away once more but he doesn’t relent. Rolling your eyes, you simply reach out for your phone into your back pocket. No hesitation, no trembling, just a clear message.

You’re serious.

Green eyes follow your hands as you call emergency services, your phone screen flashing bright and loud. Loud enough to show him that you mean business. His eyes snap to yours, a low growl escaping his lips.

“You’re actually going to do this?” Despite his growl, there’s a small flash of uncertainty in his voice and you use that gap to escape.

“Yeah, and I’m not joking.”

He misses you by just a hair’s breadth, the door slamming shut on his face as you quickly run out. You think you hear him curse under his breath but you don’t look back. Not this time, not ever again.

“Finally.”

The fresh air outside hits like a wave. The silence, the space, the absence of him. For once, your heart isn’t clawing at your ribs and you feel light. 

Freedom.

[bloodndirt]

TLC-

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley Short

Pairing Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

MDNI! I prefer to keep my page 18+

Warnings: crappy jobs/manager, stressful days and an overwhelmed reader. Read at your own discretion.

Your day had proved to be nothing short of awful.

Starting from slipping and almost falling when you got out of the shower, to burning your toast-and finishing all that off with breaking the only hair tie you had brought with you.

The day somehow went from bad to worse by the time you arrived to work.

Being treated with nothing but disrespect from the public and your manger chewing you out over what you had done wrong closing up shop the night before.

As your lunch hour came by, your frustration only increased, spilling sauce on your uniform, leaving a dark pigment on the front of your shirt.

The day had been exhausting, mentally and physically.

The only form of comfort you had was not here with you, Simon.

About that time your phone rang, his usual lunch call.

Just to see how you were doing he insisted, yet his only true purpose was to hear your voice.

“hey, Si.”

Your usual chipper tone long gone.

“How’s my Lovie?”

He asked you with a hint of suspicion,he wondered why you sounded so down.

“I’m doing okay…”

You’d typically rattle on about various things in the work place, different tasks you had been assigned, what you had for lunch, and just how much you had missed him that day.

But today he couldn’t get anything out of you. Not even your usual giggle from his hilariously bad jokes.

When he finally continued pestering you to find out what had happened, the flood gates opened.

You had told him just how bad your day had been, from everything that happened since you woke up. Even confessing how the beginning of your day left you feeling down as he had went into work early. Only leaving you with a note saying he loved you and couldn’t bear to wake your sleeping figure.

None of this was his fault of course, but you needed to vent, and without fail, your Simon was always there.

Simons heart ached to hear you continue on about the incidents that seemed to follow you throughout the hours.

Wishing he was there to scoop you up and make everything better.

You had both ended the phone call with “I love you’s”, Simon even apologizing many times for how the day had turned out for you, and telling you how much he’ll make it up to you-even with you insisting he didn’t need to fix anything.

Your lunch break was soon over and you had told yourself to chalk it up as one of those “today was not my day” moments and move on.

You tried to zone out for the rest of your shift, doing everything that was asked of you, passing and re-passing with your co-workers. throwing yourself into any work as much as you could. Somehow the day seemed to tick by faster than you'd thought it would.

Meanwhile, as Simon had gotten off work earlier than you, he had made it his mission to give you the happiest night he could muster up.

He began by going into the shops and buying your favorite items-some popcorn for the movie night he was about to prepare, your facial moisturizer that he noticed was getting low and even finishing off his list with a box of your favorite brownies to bake.

After he took all the necessary items home, he began with his work.

He checked his watch and seen that you’d be home in about an hour, so that would be enough time for him to get everything set up for you both.

Simon put all the ingredients to your favorite meal on the stove and let them simmer while he worked on the sweet treats.

He set the table, even placing a small candle in between both of you. He put your favorite drink in the freezer to be chilled while he cooked and set up the couch with the best fuzzy blankets he could find.

He mixed together the brownie batter and preheated the oven, hoping when you walked through the door you’d be met with the blissful aroma of your favorite things being made fresh just for you.

Simon was no chef, but he learned early on how to make your favorite meal as a way to show his love for you.

He scrolled through the various streaming services and found the movie you had been dying to watch-but had never had enough time after you got home from work, always too exhausted to stay awake to watch anything.

Simon glanced at his watch again, this time finding you would be home in less the 15 minutes- he quickly turned off the fluorescent kitchen light, knowing how much the brightness bothered you. Moving to turn on an amber hue lamp in the corner and lighting the candle on the kitchen table. He plated the food and seen the brownies only had a few minutes left to bake- perfect timing for you to walk through the door.

You and Simon had been going strong for a while now, yet he still felt himself being nervous when you came home. Hoping that everything he done was to your liking, foolish of him really. You truthfully loved everything Simon had ever done for you- even if that meant stopping by your work and bringing you some lunch because you had forgotten yours- or planning an extravagant date night for you both. No matter what he done, it always warmed your heart.

Everything was set, and Simon was eagerly standing by the kitchen table for you to come in and see what he planned for you, Simon felt as if he would combust.

He heard your keys jingle to unlock the door, he listened to you set your bag down- and kick off your shoes to walk down the hallway.

Your expression was absolutely priceless, face frozen and stunned in complete heartwarming shock as to what Simon had done for you, yet from his perspective-he couldn't quite tell if you were surprised, happy or neither.

Simon rocked back and forth on his feet nervously as he closely watched your expression, your eyes flicking between the beautifully set table- your favorite meal already plated up and the best double chocolate brownies you'd ever seen- still steaming from having just been taken out of the oven.

You were overwhelmed with love, feeling so appreciated and comforted tears brimmed at your lash line.

Simons face quickly turned from happiness, fear, shock and lastly landing on worry. He was honestly confused on your reaction-even becoming more fearful as tears began to trickle down your cheeks. Had he done something wrong? Made your night worse? Had you wanted to come home unbothered and rest by yourself?

Simons doubts were fast replaced with relief as soon as you walked over to him and began to thank him in between sobs, his t-shirt turning a dark shade of grey as you cried while hugging him.

Simon finally understood in that very moment that you were significantly overworked, overwhelmed and exhausted- knowing that Simon got to be with you in your vulnerable moment, meant the world to him.

After Simon consoled you-you quickly padded upstairs and changed into your favorite comfy pjs he laid out. You began the night with Simon by eating up all your favorite food and treats he had prepared, swearing you might actually be in a food coma for good.

He then told you about the movie he rented for you both to watch, you were ecstatic.

You both padded over to the couch, snuggling up with those fuzzy blankets you love, Simon loved them too- Simon grabbed the remote and played the flick you wanted.

You eventually drifted off to sleep on Simon’s shoulder, it didn’t matter to him, you two would finish the movie tomorrow.

Simon was happy to know that your night had become a good memory for the both of you.

The stressful day you had was soon forgotten, now feeling at peace, safe and loved above all else.

—————

AHHWWWWW SIMONNN💕✨

-

I do not approve of my work being stolen, replicated or used in anything to do with AI.

[petals-justmine]

❝𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐁𝐨𝐛.❞

ʳᵒᵇᵉʳᵗ "ᵇᵒᵇ" ʳᵉʸⁿᵒˡᵈˢ ˣ ᶠᵉᵐ!ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

Summary: Bob introduces you as his newlywed wife—the two of you fresh in a new town, a new house, ready to build the quiet, happy life you always dreamed of. Everything seems to fall perfectly into place: the marriage, the home, the welcoming community. But that peace begins to crack the moment you notice something off about a few new neighbors—faces a little too familiar to him. The Thunderbolts.

And now, you'll do whatever it takes to keep Bob yours. No matter what.

!Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Fluff | Smut | Slowburn? - Marriage / Oral / Praise Kink / Unprotected do / Kidn*p / mention of dr*gs / manipulation /

Author's Note: I got very hooked up with Don’t Worry, Darling (2022) that couldn’t stop thinking of Lewis or Bob being on it, but with the twist. It was supposed to be Lewis but made some adjustments to make it as Bob/Sentry ff- they are different, hope that makes sense lol. I tried to make this short but can’t help to be detailed like how I watched the movie. Made a promise not to turn it as WandaVision, i guess I did, but instead of a shot it went 3 parts long.

Word Count: 2.2k || Part 1 / 3

“Welcome Mr. & Mrs. Reynolds” A banner greets the couple as they enter the new house which gives them smiles on their faces. Bob’s dragging the hardshell suitcase like it wronged him in another life, his arms sore, but she’s right there, linked to him like a promise. Your white gloves catch the light—elegant, effortless—and he thinks, why didn’t I notice this softness before? He would’ve bought her a hundred pairs. “So what do you think, sweetheart?”

“It is perfect, just like you” You winked, which was a good thing, making her not see those golden rings glow on his eyes for a second.

The Reynolds just came into the town and it spread that fast in the neighbourhood and they were welcomed sweetly by everyone like it was a dream community to be in with. You smiled as you took the tray of freshly baked brownies that was made only for the both of you by your lovely neighbour who refused to enter the house. “Can you believe it? It’s the fifth food we got today. These foods can feed us well for a week.” Fixing your swing dress before sitting in front of your husband who is already complaining how full he is. He reaches for your hand and rubs his thumb to make you check on him. “No, I’m fine. I am just this happy thinking we are together and even married. Can’t you believe that?”

Two weeks long before he go back to his job but you wanted to enjoy your new house instead of going out for a honeymoon. Bob is the sweetest thing you could have and wishes nothing more- going back from groceries with flowers just to greet you 2 days after being married, morning compliment on how pretty you look, even your tangled hair is covering your face, and many things makes him the best choice you made in your life.

You felt a pair of hands in your waist and a chin placed in your shoulders while stirring the soup for dinner. “A puppy’s here” as you refer to him being needy with your attention. “I just miss you, I haven’t seen you for like uhm 20 minutes?” chuckling in him before assuring him that you are not going anywhere. “Yes, of course, not going anywhere”

After dinner, Bob insists you help him with the dishes as he doesn't want you to exceed energy for the rest of the night, like maybe save for later which made you think of something else he could pertain. After finishing the dishes, He found you in the living room reading a book, “What you reading?” You showed him the book, “some random book by uhm Carey Van Dyke? Just to kill time while waiting for my husband to finish his favorite hobby I guess.” He hops on the couch to attack with tickles everywhere. You screamed for help and he just continued making you suffer happily by his hands. 

“Is that how you thank your husband huh?”

“Bob! Stop! Hey! Nooo” 

He is now catching his breath but he does not know if it was because exceeding energy just tickles you or because he got on top of you by accident. You were just laughing there and recovering from his tickles when you saw his both arms beside you that made you realize those are supporting his body being on top of you, your eyes met his which immediately looked for something to look out. You place your hand on his cheek to guide him look at you. Both of you were too overwhelmed by the idea that you just got married and living together till the rest of your life like how both of you dream that you didn't think it will really happen but because of it you both missed the great part which was consummate your marriage.

He finally opened his mouth, “I just realize how happy and busy we are moving to this house and- but we actually haven’t done it. Oh shit- this supposed to be romantic or maybe perfe-” his lips were shut again but by yours. “It doesn’t need to be perfect, We just need to be us. I am ready for anything you could give the moment I said I do.” Bob was looking straight to your eyes as both of your breaths were syncing. 

His jaw ticked, like he was holding back words with teeth like does want to do it but too afraid to do something wrong, worse is to hurt you. A nod from you was enough to assure him not to worry to. You close your eyes as he slowly leans to you making his lips meet yours which you gladly accept. It went slow at first as he was checking if you were comfortable when his lips danced on yours, but you know he was just holding back. “Show me, Show to me what you really want.” You said in between the kisses enough to trigger something inside him. Hands on your wrist were tight enough for you to feel his desperation but not much to hurt you. 

As his kisses on you deepens it, shortening your breath, he makes his way to your neck with his tongue sliding to it. He doesn’t want to make you feel embarrassed but badly wants to mark you as his, for you to brag to others, the marks left were light enough to fade for some few days yet satisfies for him to see. Bob would love to take it slow and cherish every moment you both have. You can feel how bad he is making everything perfectly romantic, From how soft his hand as it caresses your shoulder down to your waist to how slowly he is reaching out the zipper in the side of your dress to undo it. It was also a queue for you to unbuckle his belt, even though you haven’t got into the buttons of his pants, you can hear him cursing as your hand accidentally touches his lower abdomen but his lips are still in the back of your neck. 

Both of you were one step away from being undressed completely when Bob stopped. “No, sweetie, not here.” Not in the living room with the curtains wide open. Bob carried you effortlessly without leaving his lips from yours. He made his way to the bed where he carefully placed you in the bed. While catching his breath, “I just want to let you know how happy I am being you, being chosen by you. We finally can live the life you dream about.” and you nodded as agreeing to him before colliding your lips with his again. You can’t help but open your mouth in surprise of his hand exploring under your dress and reaching your nipples. His name whispers from your lips were like a music he would love to listen to forever especially with whimpers right after it caused by his hand massaging your breast. 

Bob can rip your dress in just a second but he saves his aggression for later. He made you feel comfortable as slowly removed that swing dress he liked the most but on the other hand you were being impatient as you badly wanted to remove every piece of clothes he was wearing. The warmth and smell of his bare skin was addictive, You can’t help but to explore every inch of it wanting to know what are the spots sensitive the most. 

The blanket was the only thing covering both of you but nothing in between. His thing was already poking your thigh and he did a great job with the foreplay for you to make it wet enough. Bob paused a second to look at you. 

“Can I?”

“Bob, We are married, of course you can”

“Fuck, Don’t tell me that”

“Why not?”

“I tend to be excited and am afraid I might not be able to control it and eventually hurt you.” You held his face and made him look at you again. “Everything’s alright, Don’t worry.”

He wished he could make it as a portrait and keep in him forever the beauty of how you react when he fills you up. Hands were shaking in your waist while the other one was in the side of your head supporting him. Your name and describing how tight it is was the thing he kept chanting when he started moving. You couldn’t think of anything else but how good your husband is in you-  This is what marriage feels like, you thought to yourself. He buries his head in your neck while never stopping in thrusting into you just to hide his eyes that could glow every time you squeeze. “You- Mrs. Reynolds, is going to be the death of me” Bob whispers in between whimpers. 

Bob would love to take you in every way he knows but with help of added power in him last night you could only make it till the third round, yet made you feel sore in the morning, with no regrets. “Oh you’re awake. Good morning, You fine, sweetie?” He asked you with an apron on, looking like he was preparing a big meal for breakfast. “Just a little sore, someone decided to go hard after the first round last night.” He wanted to apologize for an hour long but you stopped him before he could do so. “I am just kidding you, Bob”

Every great story has a climax so does this night, Bob can feel something building up inside him yet he waits for you. He wanted to come together with you. “I am n-near, sweetheart.” You didn’t respond as you were focused on the thrusts you received. You couldn’t help but to dig your nails in his shoulder and hold yourself not to scream out his name as you can now also feel something forming inside you. “mmm Bob.. I am..” It was all the signal he needed. Bob moved like something unhinged—in, out, fast, deep, like the need had teeth. Every thrust felt like it came from somewhere darker, something buried. Too hard, too desperate—he almost wondered if it was really him moving like that,

or if the Sentry inside had taken the wheel and decided: we don’t do softness tonight.

“Sorry, just really carried away- I made you breakfast tho.”

You married the softest man ever. He never misses checking on you, kisses every minute as possible, and assuring you of everything, You couldn’t think of anything else. Contentment is something you wanted ever since and Bob was your endgame. Same time, You were the opposite—always curious, always pushing the edge just to see how he’d react like telling him like how good he smell with the perfume of his choice, whispering how you’d love to see him under you, head thrown back, hands gripping sheets, while you ride him like you’ve got all the time in the world. and many things that would react instantly even if he hides it you can still know what it causes him- the way his ears flushed, the red creeping up his neck, the stutter in his breath, the shift in his stance.

Before the sun’s down, Both of you got prepared since the lead of the home owners invited you to come over for dinner with some new couples in the community. You were in your poodle skirt with the color matches with Bob’s knitted vest. He made sure he would open his Chevrolet’s door for you and even buckle your seatbelt before making his way to the other side of the car. As you arrive, the homeowner’s wife, ages around 50s, welcomes both of you before taking the bottle of wine you bought for them. “What a lovely young couple.” 

She guides both of you to the dining room. All of the food was prepared like there was a feast for royalties about to happen. You knew there will be some couples joining but you never thought it would be someone unexpected. “Oh they’re here. Sorry what is your name again, dear?”

“This is my husband, John Walker and my name is Ava Sta- Ava Walker.”

“Are you okay, sweetie?” You are not. “Yes, I am. The food- yes the food was so delicious that I couldn't stop thinking how did you cook this one.” You said to the wife that made her chuckle. 

“Oh- Silly you, I can list down how I made it for you.” You remain silent despite Walkers being around you.

The lead of the homeowners has contributed most of the conversation until the topic went to the both of you,“So uhm Reynolds, right? How did the two of you meet?” John asked who is trying to show interest in the food. 

“We were part of this group, thunder-” You almost got carried away, luckily you pause for a minute before looking at your husband, “I believe it would be best if my husband tells us about that. Can you, sweetie?” He nodded,”It may sound cliche, but we bump into each other during our trip in Niagara Falls. It helped her with her paper that scattered on the floor then- then our hands touched.” while he continued telling them how you both met each other to how you got married, You excused yourself to the bathroom and locked the door.

“They have found us.”  That was the thing running in your mind the moment you saw ‘Walkers’ walks in. You shall prepare yourself for what is coming next.

Upcoming: PART 2/3

My only taglist - @tavora8 hope won't disappoint in my writing style fingers crossed. let me know ur thoughts

[nottsbabe]

Let Me

Thank you to crazysweettooth-01 for this amazing ask!

Mattheo riddle x Fem!reader Summary: Mattheo gets injured in a fight, and is comforted by you, his classmate. Warnings: slight bullying, fighting, blood, whore shaming? kind of bully mattheo. Word count: 1626

The halls were pitch black. No one was up or about. It was just Mattheo and his thoughts. He had previously been apart of a fist fight that had taken place in the great hall, when Draco had insisted they sneak down there to get a snack. One thing lead to another and Draco had made a comment about Pansy's outfit, saying it was "Whore like". Pansy of course, was offended because there was nothing wrong with it, it was modest in fact. But Draco, just wanted to argue. Mattheo and Pansy were never best friends, but he always had her back when needed, so when the insult left Draco's mouth, He was on top of him, throwing punches every which way. Mattheo must have been off his game tonight because Draco had won the fight. He knew the whole gang would be hanging around the Slytherin common room, so he continued down the corridors aimlessly walking, blood dripping down his face, staining his shirt. After a little while, he looked around him, finally aware of his surroundings. He found himself at the top of the twisted staircase in the Astronomy tower. Mattheo slung himself against the wall, outlooking over the whole of Hogwarts.

You had arrived at your dorm door after hanging out with your friends, only to realize you didn't have your key. You were up walking the halls, re-tracing your steps. Maybe you had dropped it on the Astronomy tower? The least you could do in this situation, was look. So you cautiously, and quietly made your way through the castle, to the Astronomy tower. You walked up the stairs, keeping you eyes glued to the floor, hoping to find your keys. So far, there was nothing. Faint sniffling interrupted your thoughts, when you lifted your head scanning the room for the sounds, you found Mattheo slumped against the wall, head in hands, shaking silently. You slowly approached him, contemplating what to do. Kneeling next to him, you delicately placed your hand on his shoulder. He jumped, looking up at you with fear in his irises. It was slowly restored to relief. You took in his face, glancing at every cut, bruise, and gash. He shuffled, looked down at his hands, fumbling with them meekly. You grabbed the side of his face gently, as not to disturb his wounds, and turned his gaze back on you.

Mattheo had never talked to y/n, you were simply just not in his friend group. He had seen you around the common room, and in class, but he almost never ventured out of his group, despite you being in his house.

He looked up at you, blinking slowly, comprehending what was happening. No one, had ever seen him cry. Not even his brother. So this state of affairs, caught him completely off guard. You felt his jaw clench in your hand, slowly tightening and releasing. This whole case was foreign to the both of you, but you were eager to help him. It was something about the way he looked at you, that made you want to kiss him all over, and clean his wounds. Maybe it was the way he looked at you? The way his lip quivered, and his nostrils flared? You didn't care anymore, quickly jumping into action in the situation at hand. You spoke softly, and sweetly. Your regular voice dipped in honey. If you talked to loud, to normal, you were scared he would get up and leave. You could tell he was in a delicate mindset, so you continued on, talking to him like a child who scraped their knee. "What happened Matty?" What if the nickname was too much? Your eyebrows knotted together in concern.

He swallowed deeply, maintaining eye-contact with you. "Why are you doing this?" Mattheo growled, tensing his body when you tried to message his shoulder. "I just wanna help you." You said in response. The urge to turn around and leave him there, grow strong. "Can't you just let me help you? You always look mad and neglected, and trust me, it's clear no one tries to take care of you. So please, just let me look after you, at least just tonight." You were turning cold, his words stung. You were always taking care of yourself, but never passed up the chance to help someone. You just wanted to be needed, so in a way, this was a win-win. He looked at you, obviously taken aback, no one had ever had the balls to talk to him the way you did. "Fine." He chuckled, liking the way you got all worked up over him.

You stretched out your hand after you stood up, pushing it even farther towards him when he looked at you in disgust. "I can get up myself." He said, rolling his eyes. "Jesus christ, you really are a douche." "Who said that!" Mattheo questioned, pulling your arm back when you ignored him and kept walking. "No one." You chuckled softly, revealing your dimple to him. His gaze softened. He felt like he just stepped out of a trance, and immediately felt ashamed for how he talked to you. You were a girl who was just trying to help him for nothing in return, and he was an ass to you when all the while you were trying to help him. You turned slightly, glancing back at him from over your shoulder. "Alright whats wrong now?" You asked, stopping abruptly and crossing your arms. "I'm sorry i was an ass to you, i just... No ones ever really cared for me, so this is nice." His eyes were glued to the floor. You slipped your hand in his, gently squeezing it. The walk back to your dorm continued on, until you stopped in your tracks, scanning the floor. You kneeled, grabbing a small bronze key off the floor, and slipping it into your pocket. Mattheo either didn't notice you stoop down to grab it, or he didn't care, He just continued lazily walking down the corridors.

Finally, after what felt like hours of awkward silence, you arrived at your dorm. You rushed into the bathroom, collecting everything you needed to clean his cuts. He stood in your room, looking at everything, making notes of what you liked. It was clear you favored the color pink to any other color. Your curtains were pink, the fuzzy rug that rested under your bed was pink, your duvet was pink. When you found something you liked, you ran with it. "Mattheo!" you called out from the bathroom, sticking your hand out of the door and waving him over. He sluggishly walked over to you, dragging his feet in his wake. He walked in, absentmindedly slipping his shirt over his head, and discarding it on the floor. You froze, cheeks turning pink. Did he really just do that? "Whats wrong sweetheart? Don't go all shy on me." He chuckled, walking over to the counter and leaning against it with ease. You sheepishly walked over to him, gazing into his eyes with awe. He had suddenly turned into into something else. Something you had never seen in class, or around his friends. He was soft, and gentle. His gaze wasn't piercing, and for once he didn't look like he hated you.

"Umm... Is it ok if i touch you?" Your hands were shaking as you wet the cloth you were using to clean his cuts. "Yeah." He smirked down at you. "Go ahead doll." His eyes never left your face while you delicately cleaned the dry blood off his skin, tongue sticking out in concentration. You moved from his torso, to his face, cleaning the the open gash on his lip, wincing every time he flinched. Thankfully it didn't last long, and soon you were done. You chucked the cloth into the washbin, and washed your hands. You put away the bandages you had previously used before entering your room. Mattheo was sitting on your bed, flipping through the channels on your TV. "You really made yourself at home." You snapped, walking over to your dresser pulling out your silk pajama short and top. "I'm staying here tonight." He said plainly. You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you pulled your top and bra off, then your jeans and panties. He looked hypnotized, his eyes were stuck to your bare body, acknowledging every birthmark, every scrape, and every scar. His blinking slowed, and so did his heart. You were the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on. He knew, he just knew that he loved you. Mattheo didn't love anyone, you were different. You were so intoxicating, he felt like he couldn't breathe around you. And he loved it. You put your pajamas on, locking eyes with Mattheo as you walked over to the bed.

You crawled under the covers, laying on your stomach with your head facing him. He stretched his arm out, Pulling you close to him and lifted your head to lay on his bicep. You closed your eyes, sighing contently with his action. After a few minutes your breathing slowed, and your body went limp. Mattheo pulled you so your whole body was laying on top of him, you let out a faint moan at the new position you were in. He shushed you when you started to protest in your sleep. He pulled your body up so your head was resting in the crook of his neck, and wrapped his arms around you. His hand found your hair, gently playing with it and rubbing your scalp. You both stayed like that for the rest of the night, with Mattheo kissing your forehead every time you woke up through the night.

NOT PROOFREAD ! ! !

[knightzp]

omg did you see there's gonna be a cgi winx reboot next year it looks so ugly and bad.. can't they just let my girls rest we need to stop these endless reboots and spinoffs

theyre doing WHAT

oh my god i just looked it up and

what did they do to our girls...... first that awful netflix series that was absolutely NOTHING like them and now this?????? can they just leave them alone fr

[drewlypso]

i was thinking too hard about utdr and started thinking about how the difference between player and character being highlighted can also be commentary on how children (queer children in this case) are often mistreated and not seen as their own person

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

nah but like

they're "seiros lapdogs" because they're fighting back against the people who attacked them completely unprovoked??? also because it so happens that thales is at garreg mach so they have to go there to reclaim the area to defeat him???

i just hate this because it's just perpetuating things about faerghus and its people that just aren't true. it frames it like they jumped into the war willingly for the church and that they're only here for the church. like nah buddy, it's not faerghus' fault you're out here fighting to protect thales and ludwig.

it also is batshit to me how he and leopold are fighting to stop faerghus from advancing but like... they know what's happening to the empire and that edelgard isn't even calling the shots anymore, yet they still stupidly fight for the very person who is literally razing their country and burning their villages. they know the empire is in shambles and that the kingdom isn't targeting them and is specifically aiming for gm to get it back from who? thales; who, mind, at this point is in his real form and not posing as arundel anymore. everything is laid out plainly, but they still act like faerghus is the bad guy.

but yeah, okay. faerghus BaD for defending themselves, fighting back, finding out who is behind all the puppeteering and heading to take him out. sure, that makes them seiros lapdogs. like what are you, an agarthan mouthpiece??? may as well be like yeah you go retreat and leave you agarthan lapdog. if they don't realize it's Someone Else in charge of course, then ludwig lapdog works fine too.

and it sucks because other than this shit, i like waldemar just fine as a character. it's just like, it feels like they forced someone to have to stick in that final faerghus BaD insult before the grand finale so they just randomly picked someone to remind us that faerghus is Always Wrong as long as they continue to fight back and prevent being attacked in the future.

waldemar here is just basically ag caspar. fighting and risking his life for thales, who is destroying the empire and basically holding the emperor hostage. if the writing here had any decent plot points, they would've all stopped and have been like hey wait, shouldn't we be fighting to get our emperor back? why are we stopping these guys from killing the people who are destroying this country?

and like, they literally went from siding with ludwig during the insurrection to siding with edelgard in this timeline to... jumping immediately back to ludwig as soon as he was at the top of the food chain (thales notwithstanding). as soon as the person in charge changes, they jump ship immediately; then of course get mad that the people they attacked are coming after them... and fighting them as they defend the very people who are letting adrestia become a literal, physical ruin.

it really just tells me that these people don't care about adrestia itself, but status, power and wealth. they don't care about the country itself as long as they're doing well. that's like, the only thing i can get from still fighting with/for ludwig/thales. the fact that they just fight for ludwig again as soon as edelgard is out of commission is also pretty gross to me. they have no loyalty at all.

and it's like, i want to like waldermar and leopold, but they come across as just selfish, entitled and only there for their own asses to be covered. and i get that - that is a realistic take on politicians, but the fact that the game regularly loops back around to faerghus BaD despite that and despite portraying these people as opportunistically selfish is like... what are they even trying to write??

[ryker-writes]

Well, here we are! After my head cannons about giving them a rock, and it might be some way to propose to fae, I’m here to deliver!

Request rules and Masterlists

Accidentally proposing by giving him a rock (Malleus)

Being friends with fae is confusing sometimes. Of course, they’re great! But their culture is new to you, and you’re trying to learn. Of course there’s bound to be misunderstandings and mistakes every so often! It’s part of the learning process.

Well, this is probably the biggest misunderstanding that could’ve possibly happened.

You’d simply wanted to give Malleus a gift to help express how much you care about him. So when you found this nice smooth black rock with specks of gray and green, you thought it was perfect for him. Who doesn’t love rocks anyway? From what you’ve learned about fae, they’re very in tune and connected to nature. So surely Malleus would appreciate the rock!

So when you see him next, you told him had a gift for him. But when you held the rock out to him, he was…stunned to say the least. The ever so calm Malleus Draconia had wide eyes when he saw it, and he’d gone completely stiff and silent. In hindsight, that definitely should’ve told you something was wrong. But at the time, you naively thought he was just stunned you gave him a gift. You were well aware he hasn’t gotten to experience friendships like the average person first most of his life. So it made sense why he’d be surprised when you gave him a gift. He’s not used to receiving gifts.

“Child of man…do you truly mean this?”

You’d smiled at him, and nodded, “Of course. I wanted to give you something to show I care and how much I appreciate you. This rock reminded me of you with the spots of green on the black.”

Just like that, the biggest smile grew on his face. One of his hands moved and gently held onto the bottom of your own hand that held out the rock, and the other carefully picked it up. He held the stone close to his chest, and looked down at you with such softness.

“Words cannot properly express how grateful I am to receive such a gift from you. I am delighted to accept this treasure. Rest assured, I will keep it safe and make the proper preparations for everything.”

It was hard to question what he meant when he said he’d make preparations when he looked so happy and held onto the rock like it’s sacred. He probably meant that he’d set something up to protect the rock, like a place for it to sit on display or something. Yeah, that seems like something he’d do.

You thought it was odd when Sebek was at the door to Ramshackle the next morning. He seemed rather upset, and he woke Grim up with his shouting, but he insisted that it was his duty to stick around. In your freshly woken up state, you didn’t quite process everything he’d said. Something about the audacity of humans, how Malleus is so humble and kind, and that regardless he would fulfill his duty to Malleus at all costs. But all that was pretty normal talk for Sebek.

It was a lot easier to let Sebek just escort you to your first class than to try and argue about being able to get there on your own. It was a lot quieter after he left to go to his own classes. Grim actually fell asleep during class, claiming that he woke up too early from Sebek’s yelling.

Around lunch time, Lilia had stopped by your table (Scaring Ace in the process). He’d greeted you with a big smile, and arms outstretched.

“Congratulations! Young people sure do move fast. But I’m glad to see Malleus so happy. He told us all about it when he came back to Diasomnia yesterday. It seems Briar Valley’s future is looking rather interesting, and more accepting of humans.”

Okay, now you were very confused, and so was everyone else. Unfortunately, when Ace asked what was going on, Lilia just laughed.

“Ah, it is hard to keep up with younger folks sometimes. Anyway, I will be off. Much to do, things to help arrange.”

He disappeared before anyone could get another word in.

It’s safe to say you were now thoroughly confused. All you did was give Malleus a rock, and now you have Sebek acting like he had to escort you places, and Lilia congratulating you? Was the rock some magical item? It wouldn’t be the first time you accidentally came across something magical. Maybe it was Malleus just being protective? He did have a habit of going over the top a bit to protect those he cares about.

Either way, the only way to know what was really going on would be to ask Malleus himself. So after classes were over, you and Grim made your way over to Diasomnia to find Malleus.

You’d never seen Diasomnia so…scattered. Several students were moving around quickly, some even avoiding eye contact or going still as you walked past them. And sitting in the lounge was the dragon prince himself, Malleus, with a big smile on his face as he spoke with Lilia.

As soon as Malleus saw you approaching, his smile grew again, and he looked at you with such joy and affection.

“Ah, Child of man, how lovely it is for you to visit. Everything is going smoothly.”

You blinked up at him in confusion, “What’s going smoothly?”

At that, he seemed surprised for a moment before answering, “The preparations for our marriage of course.”

…

What.

Grim practically squeaked beside you at the revelation and began shouting, “Marriage?! Who said you could marry my hench-human? You didn’t even ask for permission to propose to my minion!”

Malleus laughed softly, “There was no need for me to seek your approval. Child of man proposed to me themself. It was quite the honor.”

The small direbeast looked quickly between you and Malleus in shock, and slight offense that you didn’t tell him. Malleus wasn’t a mage he wanted to provoke, but you were his hench-human! How could you propose to him without even consulting or telling him first?!

In the pause, Malleus continued, “I have taken great lengths to ensure the precious stone is safe. It is a symbol of our engagement, and will be a fine piece at our ceremony. Grandmother has already received word, and will be welcoming you to Briar Valley by my side.”

Oh great seven. The Queen of Briar Valley knows you somehow proposed to the Prince by giving him…a rock?? This must be some part of fae culture you’d yet to learn about. Courtship wasn’t exactly a priority when learning about their culture, so you hadn’t gotten there yet.

Snapping out of your shocked daze, you had to ask, “We’re…engaged??”

Malleus nodded, “Of course. Was that not the purpose of your gift of stone?”

Part of you wanted to clarify that proposing was very much not the intention, but he looked so happy and Lilia was giving you a look beside him. Malleus even told his grandma, made Sebek escort you this morning, and now all of Diasomnia is treating you like some sort of royalty. He was so excited about it. How could you tell him that you weren’t proposing when he was so excited? That might break his heart.

Unsure of what to say, you stayed silent for a moment. Lilia, ever the protector of Malleus’ feelings, laughed lightly, “Ah young love. Proposing and yet being so flustered about it. It’s relieving to see the future rulers of Briar Valley being oh so in love. Humans and fae coming together after so long.”

Malleus smiled again, and stepped by your side, “I am honored to be your chosen partner. Now, we must set up a time for you to meet Grandmother before the wedding.”

Oh yeah, you’re done for.

[jewishvitya]

A pro-Palestine Jew on tiktok asked those of us who were raised pro-Israel, what got us to change our minds on Palestine. I made a video to answer (with my voice, not my face), and a few people watched it and found some value in it. I'm putting this here too. I communicate through text better than voice.

So I feel repetitive for saying this at this point, but I grew up in the West Bank settlements. I wrote this post to give an example of the extent to which Palestinians are dehumanized there.

Where I live now, I meet Palestinians in day to day life. Israeli Arab citizens living their lives. In the West Bank, it was nothing like that. Over there, I only saw them through the electric fence, and the hostility between us and Palestinians was tangible.

When you're a child being brought into the situation, you don't experience the context, you don't experience the history, you don't know why they're hostile to you. You just feel "these people hate me, they don't want me to exist." And that bubble was my reality. So when I was taught in school that everything we did was in self defense, that our military is special and uniquely ethical because it's the only defensive military in the world - that made sense to me. It slotted neatly into the reality I knew.

One of the first things to burst the bubble for me was when I spoke to an old Israeli man and he was talking about his trauma from battle. I don't remember what he said, but it hit me wrong. It conflicted with the history as I understood it. So I was a bit desperate to make it make sense again, and I said, "But everything we did was in self defense, right?"

He kinda looked at me, couldn't understand at all why I was upset, and he went, "We destroyed whole villages. Of course we did. It was war, that's what you do."

And that casual "of course" stuck with me. I had to look into it more.

I couldn't look at more accurate history, and not at accounts by Palestinians, I was too primed against these sources to trust them. The community I grew up in had an anti-intellectual element to it where scholars weren't trusted about things like this.

So what really solidified this for me, was seeing Palestinian culture.

Because part of the story that Israel tells us to justify everything, is that Palestinians are not a distinct group of people, they're just Arabs. They belong to the nations around us. They insist on being here because they want to deny us a homeland. The Palestinian identity exists to hurt us. This, because the idea of displacing them and taking over their lands doesn't sound like stealing, if this was never theirs and they're only pretending because they want to deprive us.

But then foods, dances, clothing, embroidery, the Palestinian dialect. These things are history. They don't pop into existence just because you hate Jews and they're trying to move here. How gorgeous is the Palestinian thobe? How stunning is tatreez in general? And when I saw specific patterns belonging to different regions of Palestine?

All of these painted for me a rich shared life of a group of people, and countered the narrative that the Palestininian identity was fabricated to hurt us. It taught me that, whatever we call them, whatever they call themselves, they have a history in this land, they have a right to it, they have a connection to it that we can't override with our own.

I started having conversations with leftist friends. Confronting the fact that the borders of the occupied territories are arbitrary and every Israeli city was taken from them. In one of those conversations, I was encouraged to rethink how I imagine peace.

This also goes back to schooling. Because they drilled into us, we're the ones who want peace, they're the ones who keep fighting, they're just so dedicated to death and killing and they won't leave us alone.

In high school, we had a stadium event with a speaker who was telling us about a person who defected from Hamas, converted to Christianity and became a Shin Bet agent. Pretty sure you can read this in the book "Son of Hamas." A lot of my friends read the book, I didn't read it, I only know what I was told in that lecture. I guess they couldn't risk us missing out on the indoctrination if we chose not to read it.

One of the things they told us was how he thought, we've been fighting with them for so long, Israelis must have a culture around the glorification of violence. And he looked for that in music. He looked for songs about war. And for a while he just couldn't find any, but when he did, he translated it more fully, and he found out the song was about an end to wars. And this, according to the story as I was told it, was one of the things that convinced him. If you know know the current trending Israeli "war anthem," you know this flimsy reasoning doesn't work.

Back then, my friend encouraged me to think more critically about how we as Israelis envision peace, as the absence of resistance. And how self-centered it is. They can be suffering under our occupation, but as long as it doesn't reach us, that's called peace. So of course we want it and they don't.

Unless we're willing to work to change the situation entirely, our calls for peace are just "please stop fighting back against the harm we cause you."

In this video, Shlomo Yitzchak shares how he changed his mind. His story is much more interesting than mine, and he's much more eloquent telling it. He mentions how he was taught to fear Palestinians. An automatic thought, "If I go with you, you'll kill me." I was taught this too. I was taught that, if I'm in a taxi, I should be looking at the driver's name. And if that name is Arab, I should watch the road and the route he's taking, to be prepared in case he wants to take me somewhere to kill me. Just a random person trying to work. For years it stayed a habit, I'd automatically look at the driver's name. Even after knowing that I want to align myself with liberation, justice, and equality. It was a process of unlearning.

On October, not long after the current escalation of violence, I had to take a taxi again. A Jewish driver stopped and told me he'll take me, "so an Arab doesn't get you." Israeli Jews are so comfortable saying things like this to each other. My neighbors discussed a Palestinian employee, with one saying "We should tell him not to come anymore, that we want to hire a Jew." The second answered, "No, he'll say it's discrimination," like it would be so ridiculous of him. And the first just shrugged, "So we don't have to tell him why." They didn't go through with it, but they were so casual about this conversation.

In the Torah, we're told to treat those who are foreign to us well, because we know what it's like to be the foreigner. Fighting back against oppression is the natural human thing to do. We know it because we lived it. And as soon as I looked at things from this angle, it wasn't really a choice of what to support.

[deikshen]

Omega Shen Qingqiu who is fed up with all the courtship gifts he receives. It's okay, it's entertaining, but at this point in his life he is quite tired. His Binghe has fallen (been pushed and stabbed haha oops) into the Endless Abyss, and he is really fed up with courtship gifts and having to answer civilized letters rejecting them.

So, just to spite him, Shang Qinghua sends him a courtship gift. Just to make fun of him. It's a silly little thing, literally. A flower with two long light blue petals pressed with with the description below "Hatsune Miku Flower".

Shen Qingqiu keeps it.

Okay, so if he rejects the courtship, he's supposed to return the gifts and send a rejection letter. But damn! He knows Shang Qinghua did it as a fucking joke to get on his nerves. So, he keeps the damn flower and doesn't waste his time sending the rejection letter.

Shang Qinghua comes over for tea after that, and they stay up later than would be appropriate discussing some fandom shit. In reality, time passes and it is late at night when Shen Qingqiu kicks Shang Qinghua out of his house.

A few days later, Shang Qinghua sends another gift. The truth is that, at that moment, BOTH of them have forgotten the nonsense of courtship gifts and all that. But Shang Qinghua had gone down to the village, had seen some ugly and ridiculously colorful fans, and decided that it would make a great ironic gift for his friend. So he buy them, wrap them with the most delicate care, and send them off.

And then, a few days later, he sends a very ridiculous collection of novels he found directly to his chaotic reader friend. He does so, of course, knowing that he would not be able to carry those books on his return, taking advantage of the parcel service to lighten his trip.

So when he gets to Cang Qiong, he's suddenly being looked at horribly by the other Alphas and he's just—hey, he didn't do anything wrong!!!

Shen Qingqiu enjoys his books, uses his colorful fans exclusively to hit Shang Qinghua, and only once regrettably uses one for a whole day until he realizes it and just hits Shang Qinghua swung his fan very hard, horrified.

Shang Qinghua keeps coming to drink tea, gossip and complain almost every afternoon. He often stays up late at night. At one point, Liu Qingge just stops with Shen Qingqiu to say:

"You shouldn't be with an Alpha who is courting you without a chaperone."

And Shen Qingqiu is just: "???? What Alpha is courting me?"

When Shang Qinghua arrives a while later with some sweet buns for tea, Liu Qingge rolls his eyes and runs away.

And the entire sect believes that they are in a fairly advanced phase of their courtship. Of course, it is a very serious matter; they meet all the standards of taking it as seriously as they should. Gifts, meals, providing for him; even Shen Qingqiu looks happier, using the gifts Shang Qinghua gives him to show how he accepts his courtship, eating his snacks in public, composing new songs for him.

(Shen Qingqiu doesn't compose a shit. He plays pop songs that Shang Qinghua misses on the guqin and enjoy some music he thought he would never hear again.)

When the courtship has already lasted more than half a year, everyone is restless. Although it is true that some courtships are long... The truth is that in half a year, they should already be preparing a wedding! A small ceremony at least! But neither of them seems to talk about weddings, or ceremonies, or trousseaus, or preparations, and they are all NERVOUS.

Could it be that the two peak lords are holding such a private ceremony that not even their pack of peak lords will be invited? That was rude!

Once again, Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua still have no idea what the hell is going on with them. Why do all peak lords behave so strangely? Why do they keep insisting that they go see a fortune teller? What the hell are they talking about???

[sincerelyneo]

life is a highway | n.jm

“i wanna ride it all night long”

💿now playing: life is a highway by rascal flatts

❯ summary: Being a nervous learner driver is hard enough, but throwing in your older brother’s hot, smug, patronising best friend to be your instructor? Yeah...definitely not making things easier.

❯ pairings: jaemin x fem!reader

❯ genre: enemies to...fuck buddies? smut

❯ words: 3.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, arguing, hate sex, public sex, car sex, swearing, heavy petting, fingering, unprotected sex (don't do this!), creampie, dirty talk, very tame degradation kink, literally them just arguing with each other for the entire 3k words.

an: this is very influenced by the british driving experience—hence the manual car propaganda.

Look, driving a manual is hard. There’s just too much stuff to remember all at once—gears, pedals, mirrors, observations. Honestly, you don’t understand why anyone who values their sanity would choose to drive a manual car. If it were up to you, you’d be driving around in an automatic. But it’s not up to you. Because your brother, Mark, is paying for your driving lessons.

And Mark, being the car-obsessed gearhead he is, insists that everyone should learn manual—“So you can drive any car, no limitations,” he preaches. Even when you dragged yourself through the front door on the Friday night of your third failed driving test, you thought maybe, just maybe, your stubborn older brother would show a little grace. Let you switch, take the easy route.

He didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

Instead, he did something worse.

He sent Jaemin.

Na Jaemin.

Mark’s old college roommate—who, according to your brother, is the best teacher in the world, a saint suited with endless patience and encouragement. But if those qualities exist, they’ve never made an appearance around you. Because, from the very first lesson (four torturous sessions ago), Jaemin’s been nothing but a snarky, patronising ass. 

You hate him. And he hates you—clearly.

Sure, you may have driven on the wrong side of the road once. And stalled on a hill. And very nearly veered the two of you into oncoming traffic. But those were all accidents—you’re a learner. It’s not your fault.

Honestly, it’s Mark’s fault. 

Because you’re already a nervous driver, and throwing in a hot, built guy who slouches into the passenger seat like he owns the car doesn’t exactly help. Not with his long legs spread wide, and that muscled arm draped casually along the window, long fingers tapping a lazy rhythm against the doorframe.

It’s a distraction. He’s a distraction. A hot, smirking, condescending distraction with perfect teeth and zero empathy.

“The light is on green,” Jaemin says flatly.

You blink. “W-what?”

He doesn't even turn to look at you. Just gestures lazily toward the windscreen. “If you stopped checking me out, you’d see the traffic light has changed. That means go.”

Your jaw drops, and you finally peel your eyes off him, squinting at the green hue now glaring in your face. “I know, asshole.”

“Then go.”

You want to scream, but you don't. Instead, you slam the clutch, jam the car into first gear with more force than necessary, and the car jerks forward. You thank God, because you just narrowly avoidied stalling again, but Jaemin is never grateful. 

“You’re snapping the clutch up too fast,” he comments. “You have to find the bite, then add gas. Keep revving the engine like that and you’re gonna wreck the clutch.”

“I was not revving the engine,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. But of course, that doesn’t stop him.

“You were. Because you’re scared of stalling. But if you actually planned ahead and stopped rushing—”

“I won’t stall, yeah, yeah, I know.” You cut him off, gripping the wheel tighter. 

“Then apply it.”

You’re about to lose it. You hate the way he talks to you like you’re ten years younger than him—like you’re some clueless kid. It makes you want to punch him in that smug mouth of his. But that’d only prove his point that you’re immature and feed his ego. 

So, you grit your teeth, suck in a breath, and try to ignore the way your heart’s thudding against your ribcage and your palms go slick on the wheel. You’re trying. God, you’re trying. But he makes it impossible to concentrate.

“You can’t drive around in first gear, this is a thirty zone.”

“I know—”

“No, you clearly don’t—fuck—pull the car over!”

His voice slices through the air and your stomach flips violently. You yank the wheel toward the kerb, the tires bouncing as the car lurches to a halt. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Jaemin’s lip twitch (about to make some smartass comment about you mounting the pavement) but the fury in your expression makes him think twice.

The second the engine cuts, you explode.

“What the hell is your problem?” you snap, unbuckling your seatbelt and twisting in your seat to face him. “If you hate this so much, then don’t show up! Mark’s not forcing you to sit in this car with me, Jaemin. I could find someone else to help me.”

“Oh, totally. I’d love to make room for driving instructor number eleven,” he bites.

"Then do it," you sneer, slumping back into the driver’s seat with a shrug, arms folded tight across your chest.

He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. "Seriously, Y/N, I’m trying to help you," he says. "But you don’t listen. You never listen—"

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must’ve missed the part where you actually helped. All I’ve heard for the past four weeks is how shit I am at this.”

“Because you’re not even trying! You act like my help is beneath you. You refuse to take any criticism.”

“Beneath me?” You laugh, bitter and breathless. “I’ve failed my test three times, you absolute dick! I clearly am trying! I’m trying so fucking hard. And all you do is sit there and mock me, which just makes it worse.”

“You need tough love! This isn’t a joke—driving is serious. People's lives are on the line. Your life is on the line.”

That makes you swallow.

“If you’re talking about that time I almost hit that cyclist, that wasn’t my fault—he came out of nowhere!”

Jaemin scoffs, shakes his head and tongues the side of his cheek. “You know what your problem is?”

“Oh, please. Enlighten me.”

“You’re so terrified of failing again, so you never give yourself a real chance to get it right. You can’t let go of your pride, so every little mistake makes you panic, and you do something stupid. And then you blame everyone else for it.”

Your jaw drops. Then a furious exhale leaves your lungs. “You are—unbelievable. You’re such a—”

“You’re not listening to me,” Jaemin growls, cutting you off. “Again. You’re not listening.”

“I don’t care. Fuck you—”

But before you can finish the very creative insult forming in your throat, his hand shoots out—fisting the front of your hoodie, yanking you toward him. And then his mouth crashes into yours. Brutal and angry and heated.

You freeze. For one heartbeat. Then another.

Your whole body goes still—except your lips, which betray you, parting instinctively for him. You sink into it before you can think better of it, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket like it might steady the way your heart is rattling against your ribs. It doesn’t. 

Because he tastes like cinnamon and black coffee. So fucking predictable. So him. And, of course, unfairly good. Which just pisses you off more. He tastes good, and you like it. 

The kiss is harsh. Messy. Teeth knock, lips drag, because even now, the two of you are fighting for control. There’s no rhythm. No grace. Just lust and resentment colliding together in the ugliest way possible.

His hand grips your hoodie tighter, like he doesn’t trust you not to pull away. Honestly, he half expected you to slap him for kissing you. He didn’t expect you to gasp, to open your mouth and let him in. Let his tongue slide against yours, hot and wet and so damn hungry.

You feel the press of his thumb against your sternum, the subtle tremble in his wrist, and it hits you—weeks of tension finally snapping loose.

It’s not romantic. It’s not soft. It’s—what the hell are you thinking?

You pull away first, shaking his grip off your hoodie. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Jaemin blinks, looking just as stunned as you feel—pupils blown wide, chest heaving. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further. "I don’t know... you just—fuck, you drive me insane," he mutters. "I just wanted to shut you up."

“Oh, so your first thought was to kiss me?” you snap, swiping your sleeve across your mouth like you can erase the feel of him. A small part of you is glad it doesn’t. “That’s how you deal with people who annoy you? Because if so, you need a HR department!”

“No,” he grits out, jaw clenched. “You’re not just people. You’re—you’re impossible to be around.”

"Maybe you’re the one with the issue!” you hiss. “Plenty of people enjoy my company. You just don’t know how to be around me without being a smug, condescending prick!"

His expression twists "I’m trying to fucking help you," he says. "But, clearly, you don’t want help. You just want to fight, don’t you? You want to pick a fight because that’s all you know how to do."

“Because you infuriate me!” you shout. “You barge in here, all patronising and hot, acting like you know everything, acting like you’re better than everyone, like you’re better than me—”

You don’t get to finish.

He lunges across the console before either of you can think better of it, grabbing your face and kissing you hard. Again. 

His seatbelt strains as he twists toward you. You meet him with equal force, kissing him back like you can knock some sense into him with your mouth.

He groans into it, deep and guttural, and then he’s hauling you closer, shoving his seatbelt over his head and dragging you half onto his lap. The centre console digs into your hip, but you don’t care. Your knees press against the door, your hand grips the headrest behind him. Every inch of the car feels too small for the way he’s kissing you. Too hot.

His hands are everywhere. One tangled in your hair, the other pressing flat against the small of your back like he’s trying to fuse you to him.

You gasp when his mouth trails briefly to your jaw, your throat. “You’re such a jerk,” you whisper breathlessly.

“Shut up,” he mutters, before his lips crash into yours again.

And you do. You shut up (for once) letting him kiss you breathless while his fingers slip beneath the hem of your hoodie, calloused pads dragging over overheated skin. You shiver, nerves buzzing from the way your body is betraying you in all the worst ways. With the worst person,

“You're a nightmare,” he growls against your mouth. 

“So stop kissing me,” you bite back, fingers fisting his t-shirt.

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

Your back hits the glovebox as he shifts, pulling you fully into his lap. Your knees knock against the dash, thighs bracketing his hips, breath catching as you straddle him in the cramped passenger seat. Your head tips back, knuckles going white where they clutch his shoulders. 

“This is so stupid,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” he says, lips brushing your throat. “Say that again when you’re not grinding on me.”

You shove at his chest—but not hard enough to hurt. “Fuck you.”

His hands slide lower. Gripping. Pressing. Desperate. “Oh you’re going to.”

He rolls your hips against him, firm and rough, and you feel him—all of him. Hardening beneath the thin fabric of his sweatpants. The pressure sends a jolt through you, because if you’re really ‘going to’ fuck him, the size of him already has you intimidated.

You whimper despite yourself. It’s pathetic. Weak. And it turns him on so damn much. 

His head falls back with a dull thud, eyes squeezing shut like he’s in pain. “Fuck—why can’t you make those sounds with me all the time,” he groans, voice hoarse, “instead of running that pretty little mouth?”

You don’t answer. Not with words. Just keep grinding down, breath catching with each pass over his straining cock. You’re soaked. Your jeans are too tight. Everything is too hot. Too much.

“Fuck,” you pant, “you.”

He huffs a laugh, then brushes your hair over one shoulder, exposing your neck. His lips find your ear. Teeth grazing. “We’ve already established you’re going to,” he smirks. “But first—”

His hand slides between your bodies. 

“—you’re going to get yourself off on my thigh like the filthy girl I know you are.”

You’re about to repeat those two words again, but he captures them with a kiss—swallowing them down with a simple swipe of his tongue before he looks down to where you’re rutting against him.

You’re not sure when your jeans became the enemy, but they are now—tight, rough, in the way. Every twist of your hips adds to the unbearable friction, your breath catching in your throat with every grind. You’re not supposed to be doing this. Not here. Not with him.

But Jaemin’s thigh is solid beneath you, and his hands—God, his hands—know exactly where to go, how to hold you steady and drive you crazy in the same breath.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” he grits, fingers digging into your waist. “Can’t follow a single instruction when you’re behind the wheel, but now? Suddenly you’re fucking little miss obedient.”

You want to slap him. Or kiss him. Or both. Probably both.

“You think you’re funny?” you hiss, but your voice cracks as his thigh flexes, and your hips jolt in response. “You think you’re winning right now?”

He leans in, lips brushing your cheek—just shy of a kiss. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, condescension dripping from every syllable, “I know I am.”

“You’re soaking,” he adds, palm skating down your front before slipping inside your jeans, into your panties.

“You are the most arrogant, insufferable, smug bastard I’ve ever met,” you pant against his mouth. “And I hate you.”

“Good,” he breathes, before surging forward again.

His mouth trails downward—jaw, neck, collarbone. Tongue licking over one of the few marks he just made. Your hips jerk when he bites, just a little too hard—and he groans  like he felt it in his own skin.

“Can’t believe you’re this wet for me and still have the nerve to talk back.”

“I can multitask,” you gasp, grabbing his wrist as he reaches for your jeans. He pauses, looking up so his eyes meet yours—and for a moment, the lust between you stutters.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, low and serious.

You hate how long you hesitate. Hate how breathless you sound when you whisper, “No.”

He smirks. “Didn’t think so.”

Then your jeans are open, and his fingers slide into your underwear—hot, teasing, and maddeningly slow. You cry out, head dropping to his shoulder, clutching at the back of his neck as two of his fingers start to circle your clit. 

“God, you’re shaking,” he groans, lips brushing your ear. “You’re gonna cum like this? From barely anything? What happened to all that attitude?”

“Shut up,” you whimper, grinding shamelessly into his hand. “Just shut the hell up—”

“Not a chance.”

His fingers dip lower, circling the wet entrance of your pussy before he presses in deeper, and your whole body tenses, that coil in your belly winding tighter with every thrust.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he breathes. “Come on, sweetheart. Prove me right. I love it when you do.”

You hate him. You really do. But your body doesn’t care. It burns and trembles and demands more. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he curls his fingers just right—and then you’re falling apart, hips jerking, a strangled cry ripped from your throat before you can stop it.

Jaemin doesn’t stop until you’re trembling in his lap, wrecked and slick with sweat. When you finally lift your head to look up at him, he’s watching you intensely. Quiet for once. Hell, if you knew letting him finger you would shut him up, you’d have let him a long time ago.

Then, slowly, patronisingly slowly, he pulls his hand from your jeans, eyes locked on yours as he brings his fingers to his mouth.

You slap his shoulder. Hard. “You’re disgusting.”

He grins around his fingers. “You didn’t seem to mind a minute ago.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, still breathless. You glance down. His hands are still on your hips. “Let go of me.”

“Say please.”

“Fuck you.”

He leans in, lazily sucking another finger. “I already did.”

Your hand moves before you think—gripping his chin, nails digging into his jaw. Not a slap. Not a kiss. Just heat. Just challenge.

“You’re really starting to piss me off,” you whisper. “Keep pushing, and I might actually lose control and kill you!”

That look flashes in his eyes again—that dangerous glint that says he likes it when you fight. But instead of rising to the bait, he just smirks.

“I am pushing,” he says. “But you’re the one currently dripping down my thigh. So tell me, sweetheart…” His fingers slide into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath catch. “Who’s really in control?”

You don’t answer. Just stare. Flushed. Still trembling, still aching. Then, leisurely, you lean in—close enough that his breath stalls.

“I am,” you bite, nipping his bottom lip as you yank his hoodie up over his shoulders. “And I’m going to prove it.”

He grins—wild and eager. “Then fucking show me.”

Your fingers tighten in his hoodie, dragging it off with enough force to make his smirk falter, only slightly. His eyes are black now—blown wide with want, with need—and for the second time ever in his life, Jaemin is silent.

He just watches.

And you take.

Your mouth slams into his, teeth biting at his lip before you drag your mouth down to his neck, sucking onto the skin to return your own mark. His hands fumble with your jeans again, this time yanking them down your thighs enough to slip your panties to the side. 

You help shove his sweatpants down past his ass—just far enough to free his cock. And then he’s wrapping a hand around himself, fisting his length with slow, deliberate strokes—taunting, as you watch with parted lips. 

He’s so big and thick and pretty, your brain starts pounding like it’s bitten off more than it can handle. You hesitate for a moment, but then you remember—this is about proving you still have control. You want this. You want to prove him wrong.

So, you slide back into his lap, straddling him fully, your bare skin meeting his with a gasp that rips through both of you. His hand slides between your thighs again, not to guide—just to tease. Just to feel how ready you are.

“Scared?” he mocks in a we whisper.

You glare, reaching down to line him up with your pussy. “Shut up.”

Then you sink down—slow, agonising—and you both break at the same time.

“Fuck—” he grits, head falling back, eyes rolling. “You feel—holy shit.”

You can barely breathe. He’s thick, hot, stretching you just past the edge of pain—grounding you in something that feels too good to be allowed. It’s not fair that a guy like him gets to be this good at fucking. But here he is. Fingers digging into your hips, guiding you into a rhythm that’s filthy, desperate, and anything but slow.

You ride him like it’s a fight. Like you want to ruin him. And he meets you stroke for stroke, jaw clenched, sweat collecting at his temple as your bodies slap together—fast, ruthless. No pretense. No sweetness.

Just want.

Just need.

Just hate.

“I hate how good you feel,” you choke out.

He bites down on your shoulder. “Say it again.”

You moan, louder this time, not caring about the volume or the fact that you’re fucking your instructor at the side of the road. Not caring that it’s Jaemin. 

“I hate you,” you breathe. “I hate you, I hate you so much—”

His hand snakes up to curl around your throat. It’s not tight but barely there. A light pressure, just enough, to make your head spin.

“Then cum on my cock,” he growls. “One more time. Hate me for it.”

And you do.

You shatter around him, body convulsing and twitching as your mouth falls open in a broken sob that catches against his lips. He follows a heartbeat later with a ruined, throaty moan, driving into you one last time as he spills inside you—deep, hot, messy.

And then it’s quiet.

You stay there, slumped against his chest  for a moment. His hand drifts up your spine, strangely gentle now, thumb brushing the back of your neck. But then, a moment later, it does hit you. 

You scramble off his lap, cheeks flushed, thighs sticky, panties already ruined as his cum starts to leak out of you. You refuse to meet his eyes.

“I still hate you,” you mutter.

“Sure,” he says, casual as ever, tugging up his sweatpants with a smirk. “I’m giving you another lesson tomorrow. Same time.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re insane if you think I’m getting in a car with you again.”

“You’ll show,” he says,” Because you want to pass your test, don’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“But nothing,” he chuckles, brushing a finger against your cheek. “Now that I know you can follow instructions, if you listen to me—I'll make you cum again. You seemed to really enjoy yourself.”

You hate him.

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 13: February 2024 - Part 2

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, Me trying to write therapy sessions.

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

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Daniel Ricciardo, Carlos Sainz, Lewis Hamilton)

Lando: ok wait, are we sending flowers??

Oscar: flowers seem good

Daniel: FLOWERS YES but like what KIND of flowers

Lando: nothing too funeral Lando: nothing too romantic Lando: nothing too "you almost died but like in a chill way"

Lewis: you guys are the worst crisis team I’ve ever seen

Oscar: YOU’RE IN THIS TOO LEWIS

Lewis: i’m saying it with love.

Daniel: ok no roses…roses feel wrong

Carlos: no lilies either, too funeral

Lando: sunflowers??

Oscar: too happy Oscar: feels like "yay you survived!" party energy

Daniel: small soft bouquet?

Lewis: yeah Lewis: something like daisies Lewis: baby’s breath Lewis: stuff that feels gentle

Oscar: Lewis Hamilton out here secretly a florist

Lando: I KNEW IT

Lewis: I just have better taste than you idiots.

Carlos: confirmed.

Daniel: ok so like gentle happy survival flowers

Oscar: can we also send cookies?

Lando: yesssssssss

Lewis: i’m ordering them now Lewis: no glitter. Lewis: no weird colors. Lewis: keep it simple.

Daniel: who’s writing the card???

Lando: "Dear Belle: Sorry the world is trash. Love, some idiots who are rooting for you."

Oscar: perfect.

Carlos: send it.

***

Text Messages: Daniel Ricciardo & Max Verstappen

Daniel: Hey mate. Daniel:  Just heard from Lewis what happened last night. Daniel:  Wanted to check — is Belle okay?

Max: Yeah. Mild concussion. Some bruises. They kept her overnight for observation. She’s home now. Resting.

Daniel: Fuck, man. Daniel:  I’m glad she’s alright. Daniel:  That must’ve been scary as hell.

Max: It was.

Daniel: If you need anything. Daniel:  Or if she needs anything. Daniel:  You know — groceries, errands, new car — whatever. Daniel:  We’re all around.

Max: Appreciate it. Thanks, mate.

Daniel: Seriously, anything. Daniel:  Give her a hug from all of us, yeah? We’ll send flowers. Oscar insisted on Cookies too. 

Max: I’ll tell her. She’ll appreciate it.

Daniel: Good. Tell her we’re all thinking about her. ***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

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

Arthur: Hey, can you grab croissants on your way over?

Charles: And coffee. Please.

Lorenzo: Maman needs flowers for her lunch today.

Pascale: Isabelle, mon ange, if you have time, could you pick up some things from the market?

Isabelle: Yeah, no. Can’t. I was in a car accident last night.

Arthur: ???

Charles: WHAT.

Lorenzo: What do you mean you were in a car accident???

Arthur: This better not be a joke.

Isabelle: I’m fine. A drunk driver ran a red light and hit me. I spent the night in the hospital for observation, but I’m okay.

Pascale: WHY AM I ONLY HEARING ABOUT THIS NOW?

Arthur: Yeah, kinda rude to just drop that on us.

Isabelle: EXCUSE ME???

Charles: Were you driving too fast?

Isabelle: NO.

Arthur: Were you on your phone?

Isabelle: IT WASN’T MY FAULT.

Lorenzo: But are you sure you weren’t distracted?

Isabelle: I swear to God.

Charles: Okay, okay. Do you need anything?

Isabelle: Just rest.

Arthur: Sooo… no croissants?

Isabelle: ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW.

Arthur: Just asking.

Pascale: Isabelle, you should have told me immediately.

Isabelle: It was the middle of the night!

Lorenzo: You still could have texted.

Charles: Next time, at least let us know sooner.

Isabelle: Next time??? Do you think I PLAN to get hit by a car???

Arthur: …so that’s a no on the croissants?

***

Isabelle was curled up on their couch, a blanket over her lap, her hair still a little messy from sleep and bruises peeking out from under the neckline of his hoodie. She was nursing a cup of tea when Max came in from the kitchen with her breakfast.

“Here,” he said softly, setting the tray in front of her. “Eat something.”

She smiled up at him, touched. “Thank you.”

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, but as he sat next to her, she noticed his eyes drift toward her phone, still open to the Leclerc family group chat.

Max squinted.

“What’s that?” he asked, his tone already shifting.

Isabelle blinked. “Oh. Just my brothers being… them.”

Max, already suspicious, plucked the phone gently from her lap before she could stop him.

Scrolled. Read.

And then he went absolutely still.

When she finally looked at him, his entire body was tight with anger. Not explosive. Not loud.

Cold.  Sharp.  Deadly.

“They’re asking about croissants?” Max said, voice low and dangerous. “After you spent the night in the hospital?”

Isabelle opened her mouth. Closed it. Shrugged helplessly.

Max stood up abruptly, pacing a few steps across the living room like he needed to physically shake off the fury vibrating through him.

“They’re angry at you?” Max said incredulously. “For not calling them? After you got fucking hit by a drunk driver?”

Isabelle flinched. Not because he was yelling — he wasn’t.  Max’s voice had dropped into that awful, simmering tone he only used when he was one second from completely losing it.

“They’re blaming you?” he said, his voice rising just slightly, like he couldn't believe the words as they left his mouth. "Like you did something wrong?"

"It’s not that bad," Isabelle said automatically.

Max spun to face her. His expression was something brutal and raw.  "Don't," he snapped. "Don't defend them."

Isabelle curled tighter into herself, clutching the tea like it was a shield.

"They don’t mean it like that," she said weakly.

Max crossed the room in three strides, crouching in front of her again, his hands gentle even when his voice wasn’t.

"Belle," he said, fierce and low. "You could have died. You could have been killed. And their first reaction was to demand coffee and flowers and fucking croissants? To scold you like a child?"

Isabelle looked down, her throat burning.

Max caught her chin lightly, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"You are not their errand girl," he said, every word knife-edged. "You are not an afterthought. You are not disposable."

Tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them.

Max’s face softened instantly.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe — but she didn't want to breathe anywhere else anyway.

Max let out a breath through his nose, still fuming. “Next time something happens, you tell me before you tell them. Actually—just always tell me first.”

“I did.”

That made him pause.

She looked up at him, soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “You were the first and only person I called.”

The fight in Max deflated just a little. His jaw relaxed, and his shoulders slumped as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’ll never make you explain why your pain is valid.”

Isabelle pressed a kiss to his jaw, and despite the aches and bruises, she felt lighter somehow. Safer. Seen.

Max kissed the top of her head again, his voice low against her hair.

***

Text Messages: Sebastian Vettel & Max Verstappen

Sebastian: Hey, Max. I heard about what happened in Monaco. Isabelle okay?

Max: ... How do you—

Sebastian: Lewis.

Max: Of course.

Sebastian: He didn’t say much. Just that it was bad. And that you were with her. I figured I should check in.

Max: She’s alright. Concussion. Bruises. Scared the hell out of me, but she’s recovering. Resting at home now.

Sebastian: Good. I’m glad she’s safe. And I’m glad she has you.

Max: Thanks. Really.

Sebastian: Brave of you, keeping it from Charles. Man’s got a temper.

Max: So do I.

Sebastian: 😅 Fair enough. Sebastian:  But seriously — that’s not an easy line to walk. Sebastian:  Keeping something that important private.

Max: It’s not about him. It’s about her. She’s not ready for them to know. I’ll wait until she is. Whatever it takes.

Sebastian: Good. You’re doing the right thing. Sebastian:  (And honestly... I don’t think Charles deserves to know until she’s ready to make him see her properly.)

Max: Agreed.

Sebastian: If you need anything — if she does — let me know. Tell her I’m thinking of her.

Max: I will. She’ll appreciate that. She always liked you, you know.

Sebastian: I like her, too. Always thought she was the strongest Leclerc. Even if no one noticed.

Max: I noticed.

Sebastian: I know. That’s why she’s with you.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: Hey. Wanted you to hear it from me. Belle was in a car accident last night. Drunk Driver T-boned her. 

Emilie: WHAT. Emilie: WHAT DO YOU MEAN. Emilie: IS SHE OKAY???

Max: She’s okay. Bruised, mild concussion. No serious injuries. She’s home now. Resting.

Emilie: Max. You can’t just DROP that on me. I nearly had a heart attack.

Max: Sorry. Didn’t want you finding out through someone else.

Emilie: Thank you for telling me. Is she... really okay? I mean, really?

Max: She’s shaken. But the Volvo did it’s job. It could be so much worse.  

Emilie: Good. Emilie:  Protect her, Max. Or I’ll break your kneecaps. (With love.)

Max: Would expect nothing less from you.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW.

Isabelle: Hi??

Emilie: DON'T "hi" me. Emilie: I just found out you were in a CAR CRASH??? Emilie: A drunk driver hit you?? Emilie: AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME???

Isabelle: I was going to... Isabelle: I just didn’t want to worry you. I’m okay. Isabelle: Bruises, concussion. That’s it. I promise.

Emilie: Isabelle. Emilie: You’re literally my favorite human being on this planet. Emilie: You do not get to almost die and then not tell me.

Isabelle: 🥺

Isabelle: I’m sorry. Isabelle: I really am. Isabelle: It was just a lot last night. And Max was already there and—

Emilie: WAIT. Emilie: Max was there?? Emilie: You called him first???

Isabelle: ... Yeah.

Emilie: 😭😭😭😭 Emilie: Okay. Fine. Emilie: At least SOMEONE was looking after you. Emilie: (Still a little bit furious tho.)

Isabelle: I deserve that. I’m sorry.

Emilie: You are not allowed to apologize for getting hit by a drunk driver you absolute gremlin. Emilie: I’m just glad you’re okay. Emilie: (And also kinda glad Max is apparently ready to physically fight Monaco if needed.)

Isabelle: He’s very serious about it 😅

Emilie: Good. Emilie: You deserve people who take your safety personally. Emilie: And you deserve better than people who think you should apologize for surviving.

Isabelle: 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 Love you.

Emilie: Love you more, Belle. Emilie: See you soon. Emilie: (Also, Max better share the couch or I will fight him.)

Isabelle: 😂 I’ll warn him.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: Hey. Need to tell you something.

Victoria: Everything okay??

Max: Yeah. Now it is. Max: Belle was in a car accident. Drunk driver hit her.

Victoria: WHAT. Is she okay????

Max: Yeah. Concussion. Some bruises. She’s home now. Safe.

Victoria: Oh my god. Max. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?

Max: Took a few years off my life. But yeah. Better now.

Victoria: I can’t even imagine. Seeing something like that happen to someone you love... Victoria: I remember when you crashed in Silverstone…For a moment it just…that feeling. That helplessness.  Like the world could just... rip the person you love away from you at any second. I know what that feels like.

Max: Yeah. Exactly that. One second everything’s normal. Max: Next second you’re standing in a hospital room wondering how you’re supposed to keep breathing if they don’t.

Max: Feels like everything inside me cracked open at once. Max: I’m never letting anything happen to her again. Max: I don’t care what I have to do.

Victoria: You can’t protect her from everything, Maxie. I wish we could. But you’re doing the most important thing already. You’re there. You love her. You make her feel safe. That’s more than enough.

Max: Sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.

Victoria: It always feels like that when you really love someone. It’s the cost. But it’s worth it.

Victoria: She’s lucky to have you. And you’re lucky to have her.

Max: I know.

Victoria: Give her a hug from me. And Max?

Max: Yeah?

Victoria: Give yourself a little grace too. You’re allowed to be scared. You’re allowed to love her that much.

Max: Thanks, Vic.

Victoria: Always.

***

The apartment was dim and warm, the only light coming from the small lamp in the corner. One cat was sprawled across Max’s legs, purring softly; the other had wedged itself stubbornly against the arm of the couch.

It was quiet, comfortable — but Max barely noticed.

He was too busy keeping an eye on the hallway, listening for any sound of her.

Isabelle finally padded into the living room, wearing one of his hoodies and soft pajama shorts, her hair damp from a shower. She carried a mug of chamomile tea between her hands like it was a lifeline.

Max’s chest tightened when he saw the bruises — angry marks along her collarbone, a purple smear near her temple just so peeking out from underneath the bandage that covered her stitches — but she looked a little better.

Softer around the edges.

Steadier.

She settled in beside him without hesitation, leaning lightly into his side.

“Hey,” she said, voice gentle and tired but still teasing, still her. “What are we doing for Valentine’s Day tonight?”

Max blinked down at her like she had asked him if he wanted to fight a bull barehanded.

He set the remote down and turned fully toward her.

“Nothing,” he said firmly. “You’re resting.”

Belle blinked, surprised. “Nothing?”

“You got out of the hospital this morning, Schatje,” Max said, brushing his knuckles carefully along her jaw. “You’re bruised, concussed, exhausted. You’re not putting on a dress or pretending you have the energy for anything.”

She smiled sheepishly. “I wasn’t thinking restaurant. I was thinking… I don’t know. Candlelight? Dessert? A dumb rom-com?”

Max’s heart softened instantly.

“That’s different,” he murmured. “That I can work with.”

For a moment, there was a lull — the safe kind — until Belle sighed quietly and looked down at her tea.

“I’m sorry I ruined it,” she said.

Max froze.

“What?” he asked, sharper than he meant to.

“Valentine’s,” she said, voice even quieter now. “We were supposed to have a real night. You always say you don’t care about this stuff, but you still try. And instead, I ended up in a hospital bed, and you had to spend the night watching me sleep in an awful chair.”

Max blinked at her.

Once.

Twice.

Then, without a word, he took the mug gently from her hands and set it on the table.

“Belle,” he said, low and serious, “you are absolutely insane.”

She frowned. “That’s not—”

Max cupped her face in both hands, his touch achingly tender, like he thought she might break if he wasn’t careful.

He looked at her like she had just split the world open and made everything new again.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said, voice rough with the force of it. “You scared the hell out of me. That’s all. The only thing — the only thing — I cared about yesterday was that you were still breathing.”

Belle blinked, stunned.

Max leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against hers.

“You’re here,” he whispered. “You’re breathing. You’re safe. That’s all I want.”

Belle closed her eyes tightly, a tear slipping free before she could stop it.

“I just wanted it to be special,” she mumbled.

Max pulled back just enough to see her face, his thumbs brushing lightly along her jaw.

“It is special,” he said, fierce and quiet. “You’re here. You’re with me. There’s nothing more special than that.”

He exhaled hard, trying to keep himself steady, but the fear — the pictures his mind supplied, of her bleeding and dazed in that broken car — hadn’t really left him.

“You could have died, Belle,” he said, voice shaking despite himself. “And if you think I give a fuck about Valentine’s Day after that—”

He broke off, swallowing hard.

“You’re sitting here apologizing because I didn’t get to give you overpriced flowers and a chocolate box?” Max shook his head, breathing out a shaky laugh that was half disbelief, half heartbreak.

Belle let out a breathy laugh too, her voice cracking.

“Well, when you say it like that, I sound ridiculous.”

“You are ridiculous,” Max said fondly, his voice dropping to something unbearably soft as he kissed her forehead.

“You’re my Valentine every goddamn day, Belle. You don’t have to do anything except be here.”

And as he tucked her into his side, wrapping an arm around her, Max made himself a quiet, blistering promise:

Whatever it takes — he would make sure she always had a safe place to land.

***

Alexandra Saint Mleux had always loved Valentine’s Day.

Not for the grand gestures, not for the over-the-top declarations, but for the little things.

 The small, specific ways Charles made her feel seen every year.

Last year, it had been a bracelet with a tiny charm that matched a doodle she'd made in a notebook once.

It was never about the price or the spectacle.

It was the way Charles remembered the quiet parts of her — the parts no one else seemed to notice.

Which was why she knew, before he even handed her the gift this year, that something was... off.

The box was beautiful — simple, elegant, wrapped in gold paper.  But when she opened it, it was a generic necklace. Pretty, but impersonal.

Something anyone could have picked out of a catalog.

Charles was smiling at her expectantly, the way he always did, waiting for her reaction.

And she smiled back — because she loved him, because she didn't want to ruin it — but a small, quiet ache bloomed in her chest.

It wasn't about the necklace.

It was about the feeling that something had slipped, unnoticed, between them.

They went out for dinner after — a cozy little restaurant tucked away from the paparazzi, candles flickering between them — but even there, Charles seemed... distracted.

 Tense in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

It wasn’t until dessert, when she asked casually about his family, that she got a piece of the puzzle.

"Isabelle was in a car accident," Charles said offhandedly, swirling the last of his espresso.

Alexandra's heart stuttered. "Oh my God — is she okay?"

He shrugged, too casual. "It was just a little fender bender. Nothing serious. She’s fine."

Alexandra frowned slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Charles said, waving it off. "She said she was fine."

He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t offer any more.

And Alexandra — who had seen the way Isabelle seemed to fold herself smaller whenever the family swirled too loudly around her — felt that same ache twist sharper.

Something told her Belle wouldn’t have made a fuss even if she wasn’t fine.

Something told her that Charles hadn’t really looked.

She said nothing, just smiled and let Charles change the subject back to racing, back to schedules, back to anything but the sister who maybe, just maybe, needed him to see her.

Alexandra tucked the necklace back into its box when she got home that night.

 It was beautiful.

 It just wasn’t quite hers.

***

The apartment smelled like coffee and something sweet.

Max had gotten up early — not because he was particularly good at mornings, or baking — but because Belle deserved something warm and comforting.

He’d managed toast, burnt only slightly, and found the last few frozen chocolate croissants buried at the back of the freezer.

Small things.

Safe things.

Belle was curled up on the couch in one of his old hoodies, knees tucked beneath her, Lilly on her lap, while Jimmy was laying on her legs and Sassy sat next to her like this was all beneath her, but was slowly inching closer, jealous to at she wasn’t getting any attention.

She looked small.

Tired.

Healing.

Max was wiping his hands on a dish towel when a knock came at the door.

He frowned, crossing the apartment in a few quick strides.

When he opened it, a delivery man stood there — arms full.

Two enormous bouquets, one a soft explosion of yellow and white, the other a careful arrangement of pink and cream roses, and a box tied up with a silky ribbon.

Max blinked.

Took the flowers and box with a muttered thanks.

Kicked the door shut behind him.

Belle looked up immediately, eyebrows lifting when she saw what he was carrying.

“What’s all that?” she asked, sitting up straighter.

Max set everything carefully down on the coffee table, tugging the little notes free from between the stems.

He read the first card — his mouth curving into a small, real smile, the kind he barely remembered how to make before her.

“This one’s from my family,” he said, tossing the card onto the table for her to see. “Flowers from my mom. Chocolate from Victoria.”

Belle’s mouth fell open slightly. “They didn’t have to—”

Max shrugged. “They wanted to.”

He kissed the top of her head before reaching for the second card, tucked between the wild, chaotic second bouquet and the neatly wrapped box underneath.

He read it, and let out a soft huff of laughter.

“And,” he added, setting the card down, “these are from the idiots.”

Belle blinked. “The idiots?”

Max leaned back against the couch, stretching his legs out lazily. “Lando, Oscar, Lewis, Carlos, Daniel. Group effort. They sent you flowers and a box of cookies.”

Belle stared at him, completely thrown.

“They said,” Max quoted dryly, “and I’m reading here, ‘Dear Belle: Sorry the world is trash. Love, some idiots who are rooting for you.’”

Belle let out a small, incredulous laugh — the first real one he’d heard from her since the hospital— and covered her face with her hands.

Max just watched her, something warm and achingly fond spreading through his chest.

When she lowered her hands, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes suspiciously bright.

“They’re ridiculous,” she whispered.

“They are,” Max agreed. “But they mean it.”

He shifted closer, resting his hand lightly against her thigh.

“Victoria sends her love, by the way,” he added. “Said next time you’re in the Netherlands, you’re not allowed to leave without a girls’ day.”

Belle laughed again — a softer, breathier sound this time — and toyed absently with the edge of her sleeve.

There was a pause.

A shift.

And then, almost too quietly to hear, she said:

“Your family’s starting to feel like mine too.”

Max stilled completely.

He turned, reaching for her hand instinctively, finding her fingers and curling his own around them.

Belle looked up at him, vulnerable in a way she almost never let herself be — open and a little raw, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say it out loud.

Max melted.

Utterly.

He cupped her face gently in both hands and kissed her — slow, deliberate, reverent — like he had all the time in the world just to love her properly.

When he finally pulled back, his voice was rough with emotion.

“They already think of you that way,” he whispered against her forehead. “You’re one of us, Belle. You always will be.”

She blinked fast, trying and failing to fight the tears burning her eyes.

Max just pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight.

Not too tight.

Just enough.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Victoria Verstappen

Isabelle: Hi Victoria, Thank you so much for the flowers and chocolates. It really meant a lot to me. You didn’t have to do all that.

Victoria: First of all: YES I DID. Second: you’re welcome. Third: you’re stuck with us now. No returns. No exchanges. No refunds. Family policy. Love you.

Isabelle: 😭 I love you too.

Victoria: Tell Max if he doesn’t keep spoiling you, I’ll show up and do it myself. (And make it VERY public and VERY embarrassing.)

Isabelle: 😂 I’ll warn him.

Victoria: Good girl. Rest up. Heal. And when you’re ready, come visit — Lio made you a "Get Well" card and it’s mostly just glitter but the intention was pure.

Isabelle: I can’t wait to see it. Thank you, Vic. Really. For everything.

Victoria: Always, Belle. Always.

***

Text Messages: Sebastian Vettel & Kimi Räikkönen

Sebastian: You’re not going to believe this. (Or maybe you will. You’re hard to surprise.)

Kimi: Busy. Make it fast.

Sebastian: Max Verstappen is dating Isabelle Leclerc.

Kimi:  Huh. 

Sebastian: That’s it? Huh??? I just dropped a nuclear paddock secret on you!

Kimi: Not my business. If they’re happy, who cares.

Sebastian: I mean. True. But still.

Kimi: Good for them. Hope she can handle him. Not many can.

Sebastian: I think she’s the only one who can.

Kimi: Makes sense. Quiet ones are dangerous. Good match.

Sebastian: Also apparently no one in her family knows yet. Including Charles.

Kimi: Charles will cry about it. Not my problem.

Sebastian: 😂

Kimi: Tell Max if he breaks her heart I’ll run him over with a snowmobile.

Sebastian: Will pass along the message.

Kimi: Good. Busy now. Kids want ice cream. Tell Max congratulations.

Sebastian: Will do. (Enjoy the ice cream.)

Kimi: Always.

***

Max hated this.

He wasn’t even trying to pretend otherwise.

He stood by the door, suitcase packed, keys and phone in one hand, looking like someone had asked him to do the impossible instead of board a plane for pre-season testing.

Belle watched him from the couch, a blanket wrapped around her, her bruises faded now but still faintly visible under the soft lamplight.

"You have to go," she said gently, reading his mind like she always did.

Max grimaced, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I don’t like leaving you."

"You’re not leaving me," she corrected immediately, voice calm, steady.  "You’re going to work. You’re doing what you love."

Max ran a hand through his hair, visibly struggling.

"You just—" he started, then stopped.  "You just got hurt, Belle. I should be here. I should be with you."

"You are with me," she said, rising slowly from the couch and padding over to him.

She reached up and cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

"Every time you call, every time you text, every time you think about me — you’re here," she said softly. "I’m not alone."

Max closed his eyes, leaning into her touch like he physically couldn’t help it.

"And you’ll be home before you know it," she whispered, brushing her thumbs over his cheekbones. "Then you can hover and fuss and drive me crazy again."

A reluctant, broken laugh escaped him.

"I don’t want to leave you," he said again, more quietly now.

Belle smiled, tears prickling her own eyes — because even now, even with the whole world pulling him in a thousand directions, he was still here with her first.

"You’re not leaving me," she said again. "You’re just chasing your dreams. And I’ll be right here when you get back."

Max bent his head, resting his forehead against hers.

"You’re my dream too," he whispered.

Her breath hitched.

"And you’re mine," she whispered back.

They stayed there for a long moment — just breathing together — until finally, finally, Max exhaled.

He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, like he needed to memorize her, and she kissed him back just as fiercely.

When he finally pulled away, it was with visible effort.

"Promise me you’ll rest," he said, brushing his knuckles down her cheek.

"I promise," she said. "And you — promise me you’ll drive safe. Listen to GP. Don’t try to out-stubborn the car."

Max huffed a quiet laugh. "Bossy."

"Someone has to be," she teased, smiling.

He kissed her forehead one last time, squeezed her hand, and finally — reluctantly — turned to leave.

Belle watched him go, feeling the ache of missing him before he’d even stepped outside the door.

But it was okay.

Because he would always come home to her.

And she would always, always be waiting.

***

Text Messages: Lewis Hamilton & Max Verstappen

Lewis: Mate.

Lewis: Did you just drop off a bag of stuff at my motorhome?

Max: Yeah.

Max: Belle made something for Roscoe.

Lewis: I just opened it.

Lewis: A handwritten note. And homemade vegan dog treats???

Max: She insisted.

Max: Wanted to thank you properly.

Max: Even though she’s supposed to be resting.

Lewis: I don’t even know what to say. The note made me emotional and Roscoe is probably going to try and mug me for the biscuits.

Max: Good. He deserves them.

Lewis: Tell her thank you.

Lewis: Seriously.

Lewis: She didn’t have to do anything.

Lewis: I was just in the right place at the right time.

Max: You stayed.

Max: It matters to her.

Max: It matters to me too.

Lewis: You’ve got a good one there, Max.

Lewis: Also, if Roscoe explodes with happiness, I’m sending you the vet bill.

Max: He’ll be fine. Belle double-checked the recipe three times.

***

GP had known Max Verstappen for a long time.

Long enough to recognize when something wasn’t sitting right under the surface — even when Max didn’t say a word about it.

He noticed it that morning, before Max even climbed into the car.  The slight tightness around his mouth.  The way his hands flexed once, sharply, before putting on his gloves.  The way his answers in the pre-session briefing were short, mechanical. Efficient, but colder than usual.

GP filed it away. Max would tell him when he was ready.

And he did — just after the second run of the day, in the shade behind the Red Bull garage, water bottle in one hand, telemetry printout in the other.

“She was in a crash,” Max said, his voice flat enough that if GP hadn’t been paying attention, he might have missed it.

GP frowned, stepping closer. “Who?”

Max didn’t look up.  “Belle.”

The name hit harder than GP expected.

“What happened?” he asked, more sharply now.

Max’s jaw tightened. “Drunk driver ran a red. T-boned her car. Hit the passenger side, just behind the front wheel. Sent her spinning into a light post.”

 Quiet. Clipped.  Words that barely scratched the surface of the horror GP could hear pulsing beneath them.

GP stared. “Christ. Is she—?”

“She’s alright,” Max said. “Bruised. Concussion. Hospital kept her overnight.” He paused. “But it could’ve been a lot worse.”

GP’s stomach twisted sickly.  He couldn’t — wouldn’t — let himself imagine Max getting that phone call in the middle of the night. Wouldn’t let himself imagine what it must’ve felt like to walk into a hospital room and see Belle curled up in a stark white bed.

And then Max said, in that same low, steady voice that somehow carried more weight than shouting ever could:

“The Volvo you helped me pick out for her? It saved her life.”

GP went still.

The memory flickered: Max months ago, texting him…asking for his opinion. 

Just buy her a Volvo. Safe. Reliable. Built to last. Also one of the best crash-tested brands in the world. You did say you were thinking about kids, right?

And now — thank god — Belle was still breathing because of it.

GP swallowed thickly, feeling a knot loosen somewhere deep in his chest.

“Thank fuck,” he said hoarsely.

Max gave a short nod.  No dramatics. No sentimentality.

But GP could feel the magnitude of it radiating off him like heat off the tarmac.

This — this — was the side of Max Verstappen few people ever saw.  The side that loved without conditions.  That protected without compromise.

“Thank you,” Max said quietly. 

No dramatics. No fuss.  Just that heavy, quiet sincerity Max reserved for the rarest moments.

GP reached out and clapped a hand to his shoulder — a solid, grounding gesture — knowing Max didn’t need anything else from him right now.

"I’d do it again tomorrow," GP said.

Max nodded again, and GP watched him turn back toward the data screens, pulling his headset on, ready to work like nothing had happened.

But GP knew better.

Max had always raced like he had something to prove.  Now, this season, he was racing with something to protect.

And GP would make damn sure everything — the car, the strategy, the team — was ready for that fight.

Then there was no margin for error anymore.

Not even a sliver.

He pulled his headset back over his ears and keyed into the comms with a calmness he didn’t entirely feel.

“Let’s run another systems check before lunch,” he said smoothly.  “And someone triple-check the safety settings while you’re at it.”

The comm crackled to life with quick affirmatives.

***

Text Messages: Gianpiero Lambiase & Eloisa Lambiase

GP: We’re getting you a new car.

Eloisa: ???

Eloisa: Good morning to you too?

Eloisa: What’s wrong with my car?

GP: Not safe enough.

Eloisa: You’re the one who picked it out, love.

GP: Doesn’t matter.

GP: We’re upgrading.

Eloisa: Did something happen?

GP: Yeah.

GP: Belle — Max’s Belle — she was in a crash last week.

GP: Drunk driver ran a light.

Eloisa: Oh my god.

Eloisa: Is she okay???

GP: Shaken. Concussed. But alive.

GP: Because she was driving the Volvo Max bought her.

GP: The one I told him to get.

Eloisa: Oh.

GP: Yeah. That’s why we’re getting you a better car.

Eloisa: Gianni…

GP: No arguments.

GP: Please.

Eloisa: …okay.

Eloisa: But only if I get to pick the color this time.

GP: Deal.

GP: Something with five stars on every crash test rating.

GP: I’m sending you options this afternoon.

Eloisa:  (And coffee. You owe me coffee for giving me a heart attack.)

GP: Already on it.

GP: Triple order.

GP: Love you.

Eloisa: Love you too, you giant overprotective marshmallow

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Max: We need to get you a new car.

Isabelle: Max, I’m fine.

Isabelle: The Volvo did its job.

Max: Exactly. Which is why we’re getting another one.

Isabelle: You’re serious?

Max: Volvo customer for life now. I’m about to put their logo on my helmet at this point.

Isabelle: You’re ridiculous.

Max: Not taking chances, Schatje.

Max: Same model or you want to pick something else?

Isabelle: …I did love that car.

Max: Same brand, non-negotiable. Colour’s up to you. Same as before or something different?

Isabelle: Honestly? I liked the old one. That dark green felt like me.

Max: Then we’ll stick with it. Dark green it is.

Isabelle: You don’t have to do all this, Max.

Max: I do. I’m not letting you drive anything that isn’t built like a tank.

Isabelle: You’re going to spoil me until I forget how to function on my own.

Max: That’s the plan.

Isabelle: You’re impossible.

Max: You love me.

Isabelle: Very much.

Max: Fortunately, it’s mutual.

Isabelle: Fine. Dark green Volvo. But I’m picking the air freshener this time.

Max: Deal. As long as it’s not something that smells like cupcakes.

Isabelle: No promises. And it was strawberry. 

Isabelle: Consider it payback for forcing me into an indestructible Swedish fortress.

Max: Best decision I ever made. Second only to falling in love with you.

Isabelle: You’re dangerous when you’re sweet.

Max: Only for you.

***

Alexandra wandered the halls, pretending to admire a modern art installation while covertly people-watching — one of her favorite pastimes when the pace of life let her slip out of the Ferrari bubble for a few hours.

She was standing near a collection of minimalist sculptures when she caught snippets of a conversation between two women nearby, both well-dressed, deep in quiet, intense discussion.

"I still can't believe it," one woman murmured, her voice low but urgent. "She could have been killed. Did you see the photos? That car was destroyed."

Her friend nodded, wide-eyed.  "Near the tunnel, right? Total mess. And poor Isabelle  — I mean, she's so sweet. She did that whole project for our office last year."

Alexandra’s heart stopped.

She took a tiny step closer, pretending to examine the sculpture in front of her.

"Isabelle Leclerc," the first woman said again, confirming what Alexandra already knew. "Such a shame. She's so talented. And to walk away from something like that — it’s a miracle, really. They said the drunk driver didn’t even hit the brakes."

Alexandra felt her stomach churn.

Destroyed.  Miracle.  No brakes.

That didn’t sound like a fender bender.

That didn’t sound like "nothing."

Another man chimed in, sounding grim. "I heard the paramedics said it was a miracle she didn’t have internal injuries. They were worried about a collapsed lung at first."

Alexandra blinked hard, the art blurring in front of her.

Collapsed lung.

Not a fender bender.

Not nothing serious.

She pressed her lips together, hands curling slightly at her sides.

The women moved on, voices fading into the low hum of the gallery, but Alexandra stayed frozen in place for a long moment.

When Charles had told her about the accident, he’d been so casual. So dismissive.

Alexandra swallowed hard against the knot forming in her throat.

Isabelle hadn't been fine.

Isabelle had survived something horrific.

And Charles — either through ignorance or unwillingness — had looked the other way.

Again.

Alexandra didn’t know what bothered her more: the fact that Charles hadn't seen it, or the gnawing fear that maybe he did — and just didn’t know what to do with the parts of his sister that didn’t fit into the neat, tidy picture of the world he needed to believe in.

She glanced down at her phone, thumb hovering over Isabelle name in her contacts.

For a moment, she debated it — reaching out, saying something, offering something.

But what could she offer that wouldn't sound hollow?

Her family saw her as nothing more than background noise and Alexandra loathed to admit that she was guilty of the same on more than a few occasions. 

It was just…so easy not to think about Isabelle. Which sounded horrible, the longer she examined that thought. 

Isabelle was so happy in the background, so sweet and kind in a way that never seemed to want any kind of attention for it. 

 So easy to overlook. 

***

Text Messages: Alexandra Saint Mleux & Charlotte Di Pietro

Alexandra: Hey, random question. Did you know how bad Isabelle’s car accident actually was?

Charlotte: ?? I thought it was minor? That’s what Lorenzo said when I asked.

Alexandra: It wasn’t. I overheard people talking at the gallery tonight. Paramedics thought she might have had a collapsed lung. Car was totaled. Impact was bad — drunk driver didn’t even brake.

Charlotte: No one told me any of that. Lorenzo made it sound like a dented door and a headache.

Alexandra: Yeah. Charles too. He brushed it off like it was nothing.

Charlotte: …They’re acting like it’s an inconvenience.

Alexandra: Exactly. It’s been sitting wrong with me all night. Like there’s something broken there that no one’s talking about.

Charlotte: Maybe. But I do know they love her.

Alexandra: I don’t doubt that. But love isn’t the same as seeing someone. I’m not sure they know how to see her properly.

Alexandra: I am not sure we know how to see her properly. None of us thought to invite her to lunch…you know, when we ran into her. 

Charlotte: You are right…They aren’t the only ones guilty of forgetting her…

Charlotte: Speaking of forgetting. 

Charlotte: Guess who forgot about Valentine’s Day until the morning off. 

Alexandra: Oh? (Spill.)

Charlotte: Valentine’s Day. Lorenzo didn’t plan anything. Literally nothing.

He said, "Well, it didn’t feel like a big deal this year."

Charlotte: Later he grumbled that "normally Belle helps" and "everything feels off without her."

Alexandra: Wait, what?

Charlotte: Yeah. Apparently Belle used to remind them, plan ideas, even organize half the stuff so they wouldn’t forget.

Alexandra: …Oh my god. Alexandra: That tracks. Alexandra: You know, her friend once joked that Isabelle was the one who bought all my birthday presents from Charles.

Charlotte: Wait, seriously??

Alexandra: Apparently. Alexandra: I didn’t take it seriously at the time — Alexandra: Thought it was just teasing. Alexandra: But now… Maybe it was true.

Charlotte: She shouldn’t have to carry everyone. Charlotte: It’s not fair.

Alexandra: No, it’s not. Maybe it’s a good thing they’re feeling the consequences now.

Charlotte: Let them sit in it. They need to learn.

Alexandra: Agreed.

Charlotte: (Also. Are you ready for Arthur's dramatic downfall?)

Alexandra: LOL. The girlfriend disaster?

Charlotte: The girlfriend disaster. At this point, I’m tempted to bet how long until he posts a sad song on Instagram.

Alexandra: 100 euros says it’s before Thursday. Bonus points if he posts cryptic black-and-white stories too. With quotes he definitely doesn’t understand.

Charlotte: You’re on.

Alexandra: God help us all.

***

The Bahrain paddock buzzed under the heavy sun — mechanics shouting, tires rolling, the faint scent of burning rubber hanging in the air.

Charles leaned against the barrier separating the hospitality areas, sipping from a bottle of water as he chatted with Pierre, both of them still in their race suits, unzipped halfway down against the heat.

Pierre had just casually asked, somewhere between a joke and genuine concern, "Hey, by the way — your sister’s alright, yeah? Heard she had some kind of accident?"

Charles waved it off immediately, flashing a small, tight smile.  "Ah, yes. Isabelle is fine. Just a little fender bender."

Pierre nodded, a little relieved but still wary. "Good. Glad she’s okay. Monaco drivers, man."

Charles laughed lightly. "Exactly. Probably more dangerous in the city than on track."

But before he could say anything else, a voice cut through the air, calm and deliberate.

"It wasn’t a fender bender, Charles."

Charles blinked, turning instinctively toward the sound.

Lewis Hamilton stood a few feet away, gloves dangling loosely from his fingers, expression unreadable.

Charles frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

Lewis shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest. "I was there."

The words dropped like stones into Charles’ stomach.

"I saw the crash," Lewis continued, voice low and even. "Drunk driver ran a red light. Slammed into her side full speed. Spun her into a pole. The car was totaled."

Charles opened his mouth — but no words came out.

Lewis wasn’t finished. "Isabelle was trapped in the car. Shocky. Barely able to talk. I called the ambulance. Stayed with her until they got there."

Charles’ heart kicked hard against his ribs, cold and sickening.

He tried — for a second — to picture Isabelle in that moment.

 Tried to imagine her small body pinned in a wrecked car, blood trickling down her forehead, gasping for breath.

It made something twist inside him — sharp and ugly and guilty.

"She’s lucky she survived," Lewis said quietly. "Don’t call it a fender bender."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Lewis gave him one last look — not angry, not cruel — just disappointed.  And then he turned, walking away toward the Mercedes garage without another word.

Charles stood frozen in place.

Pierre cleared his throat awkwardly after a beat. "Uh," he said lightly, "maybe you should... check on her properly. Yeah?"

Charles didn’t answer.

He just stood there, staring after Lewis, feeling — for the first time in a long time — the uncomfortable, foreign sensation of having missed something important.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Daniel Ricciardo, Carlos Sainz and Lewis Hamilton)

Lewis: Guys. GUYS.

Oscar: uh oh

Lando: what happened now

Lewis: Charles just called Isabelle’s crash a "fender bender." fender bender. LIKE. MINOR. INSIGNIFICANT.

Daniel: ...oh no.

Lewis: IT WAS BAD. Lewis: Bad enough that the car was crushed against a streetlamp. Lewis: Bad enough that she couldn’t even get the door open. Lewis: Bad enough that she was shivering and barely breathing and covered in cuts and glass.

Lando: Lewis is going full caps lock. This is bad.

Oscar: It’s worse than bad. He’s spiraling.

Lewis: I WATCHED HER BLEEDING IN A BROKEN CAR. Lewis: I HELD HER HAND UNTIL THE PARAMEDICS GOT THERE. Lewis: AND CHARLES IS OUT HERE LIKE "lol oopsie minor incident"????

Daniel: Breathe mate Breathe

Carlos: Yeah, deep breaths. We need you alive.

Lewis: HE CALLED IT A FENDER BENDER. I AM GOING TO LAUNCH HIM INTO THE SUN

Oscar: Not before Max does.

Lando: Max is gonna find out eventually and we will ALL need to evacuate Monaco

Lewis: I literally saw it. Lewis: I thought she was dead for a second. Lewis: And Charles didn’t even know how bad it was. Lewis: Didn’t even ask. Lewis: Didn’t even CARE.

Daniel: You okay mate?? Do you need snacks?? Or wine??

Carlos: Or a punching bag???

Oscar: Or a very large blunt object???

Lewis: I need Charles to grow a brain cell.

Carlos: Welcome to the nightmare brother.

Daniel: We have t-shirts.

Lando: and wine Lando: lots of wine

Oscar: and emergency stress snacks

Lewis: I’m bringing tequila next meeting. Lewis: We’re gonna need it.

***

Leclerc Siblings Group Chat

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

Charles: Isabelle. Why didn’t you tell me the accident was that serious??

Isabelle: Because you didn’t ask.

Arthur: Wait what? Serious?? I thought it was a little crash?

Charles: It wasn’t. Lewis told me today during testing. He was THERE. He said the car was totaled. You got spun into a post. You were trapped in the car, Isabelle.

Lorenzo: What do you mean, trapped?!

Isabelle: I didn’t want to worry anyone. I’m fine now.

Charles: You said you were fine. You made it sound like you got a scratch and drove home.

Lorenzo: That’s not the point.

Charles:  You lied to us.

Isabelle: I didn’t lie. I said I had a concussion and bruises. And spent the night in the hospital. Which was all true. I said I was okay. Because I am.

Lorenzo: Isabelle, why didn’t you say anything?

Isabelle: Because I knew this would happen.

Isabelle:  Exactly this.

Isabelle:  You’d all get angry or guilt-trip me or turn it into something about you.

Charles: Of course we’re angry!

Arthur:  You scared us, Isabelle.

Lorenzo:  Do you think Maman could handle hearing you almost died?

Lorenzo: We are not going to tell her.

Lorenzo:  I’m serious.

Lorenzo:  It would crush her.

Lorenzo:  Better she thinks it was nothing.

Isabelle: So let me get this straight.

Isabelle:  You’re mad at me for not telling you…

Isabelle:  And now you’re also deciding for me that Maman shouldn’t know?

Isabelle:  Because you think she can’t handle it?

Lorenzo: Exactly.

Isabelle: Okay. Noted.

***

Raymond Vermeulen prided himself on knowing everything about Max Verstappen’s career — both on and off the track.

It wasn’t arrogance. It was necessity.

You didn’t manage Max Verstappen successfully by being two steps behind. 

You stayed ahead. You anticipated. You knew.

Which was why, when Jos Verstappen of all people leaned over during a quiet moment at a post-testing dinner and casually said: "Max is serious about a girl,"

—Raymond almost dropped his fork.

He blinked, slowly, suspiciously.

Jos didn’t do casual. Jos didn’t mention Max’s girlfriends unless it was a complaint. Normally, the subject was treated like some embarrassing injury you didn’t talk about in polite company.

Raymond cleared his throat, playing it cool. "Oh? New?"

Jos grunted. "No. Been a while."

Raymond narrowed his eyes. "And you’re... okay with this?"

Jos shrugged. Shrugged.

Like Max Verstappen — his pride, his legacy, his entire life project — dating someone was just fine and normal.

Raymond was officially in uncharted waters.

"Who is she?" he asked carefully.

Jos reached for his beer, nonchalant. "Isabelle Leclerc."

Raymond froze mid-sip of his wine.

Isabelle. Leclerc.

As in Charles Leclerc’s little sister.

As in Ferrari’s golden boy’s little sister.

As in political nightmare fuel if the media ever got hold of it.

"You're telling me Max is dating Charles Leclerc’s sister," Raymond said slowly, like he was trying to defuse a bomb.

Jos grunted again. "Mmh."

"And you’re fine with this?" Raymond pressed.

Jos actually — God help him — almost smiled. "She's good for him."

Raymond sat back in his chair, stunned.

Not just because Max was apparently neck-deep in a secret, long-term relationship.

 Not just because it was Isabelle bloody Leclerc.

 But because Jos — notoriously impossible to please, allergic to softness — actually liked her.

Jos approved.

Raymond processed that for a long moment.

The earth hadn’t split open. The sky wasn’t falling.

Miracles did happen, apparently.

"Well," he said finally, recovering some professionalism. "That’s... good."

Jos nodded, unbothered. "She makes him happy."

Raymond exhaled slowly. If Jos was using words like happy, it was serious. Monumentally serious.

And suddenly, Raymond understood something deeper:

This wasn’t a passing thing.

This wasn’t a fling.

This was real.

Max had gone and fallen in love — quietly, stubbornly, like he did everything else — and somehow, without anyone noticing, built himself a life outside the machine of Formula One.

Raymond reached for his phone under the table.

Because if the media ever got a sniff of this, he was going to need a very detailed contingency plan.

And maybe a drink.

Or several.

***

The office was quiet.

Soft light filtered through gauzy curtains.

A pot of chamomile tea sat untouched on the side table.

Isabelle sat curled into the corner of the couch, sleeves of her sweater pulled over her hands, staring at the stitches in the rug instead of at Simone.

Simone waited.

She always waited.

Finally, Isabelle exhaled a shaky breath.

"It’s so stupid," she said quietly. "I shouldn’t be this upset. I didn’t even get badly hurt."

Simone didn’t flinch at the deflection.

She just tilted her head slightly.

"You’re allowed to be upset, Isabelle. Something frightening happened to you."

Isabelle bit her lip, fingers tightening in her sleeves.

"I didn’t even want to tell them," she said. "My family, I mean. I knew how it would go. And it did."

Simone’s voice stayed soft. "Tell me what happened."

Isabelle shrugged stiffly. "I mentioned it. Just… dropped it into the family group chat. Like ripping off a band-aid. Thought maybe they’d be a little worried, and then we’d move on… " she admitted softly. 

Simone waited again.

Isabelle’s mouth twisted bitterly.  "Arthur and Charles kept asking if I was distracted or speeding—like it was somehow my fault."

Simone’s brows furrowed slightly.

“And then a few days later, Charles found out that it wasn’t just a little fender bender. And suddenly they were angry with me. Because I didn’t tell them how bad it was. But I did. I told them that I was…I told them I had a concussion and bruises…And then Lorenzo," Isabelle continued, voice tightening, "he said—he said he wasn’t going to tell Maman. Because it would 'crush' her."

She laughed, a thin, broken sound.

"Apparently, I’m a bigger problem for them if I exist hurt than if I just… pretend everything’s fine."

Simone stayed silent, letting the words hang in the air between them.

Isabelle blinked hard, willing herself not to cry.

"It’s always been like that since Papa died," she said eventually, quieter now. "Maman either sticks her head into the sand—pretends bad things aren’t happening—or she panics. Makes everything about her fear."

Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, and she pulled her knees tighter to her chest.

"So I learned to make myself smaller. Easier. Less trouble."  She smiled bitterly. "Invisible, sometimes. That’s the safest way to survive it."

Simone leaned forward slightly, her voice still low, but firm now.

"Isabelle, what happened to you wasn't your fault. Not the accident. Not your family's reaction."

Isabelle closed her eyes.

"It feels like it is," she whispered.

"It isn’t," Simone said. "You are allowed to take up space. You are allowed to be hurt. You are allowed to need help, without carrying their feelings on your back."

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Daniel Ricciardo, Carlos Sainz Jr. and Lewis Hamilton)

Lando: okay Lando: hear me out

Oscar: this is already a bad start

Lewis: absolutely not

Daniel: proceed Daniel: i love bad ideas

Lando: what if Lando: instead of everyone panicking about charles finding out Lando: we just... Lando: tell him softly???

Carlos: what the fuck does "softly" mean

Lando: like, we ease him into it Lando: drop hints Lando: plant the idea Lando: subtle Lando: caring

Oscar: you're insane.

Lewis: he'll kill us all.

Daniel: ok but i kinda wanna see where he's going with this

Carlos: no Carlos: lando’s plans never end well

Lando: NO LISTEN Lando: like maybe Lando: i casually say Lando: "hey charles did you know belle’s been hanging out with max lately" Lando: and when he starts freaking out Lando: we just Lando: soothe him Lando: with like Lando: positive reinforcement.

Oscar: you think he's a puppy???

Lewis: lando. Lewis:  this is the worst plan anyone’s ever had.

Carlos: you’re going to get us murdered.

Daniel: actually i’m free next thursday if we wanna die then.

Oscar: i vote no. Oscar: hard no. Oscar: hardest no of my life.

Carlos: softly = we still die  Carlos: but maybe slower and more painful

Lando: NO NO Lando: like Lando: we sit him down Lando: give him snacks Lando: maybe a hug Lando: and then just... you know... gently mention that max is in love with his sister

Oscar: lando.  be serious.

Lando: I am serious

Lewis: this is the worst idea i've heard in a long time

Daniel: give him snacks???  what is he, a wild animal???

Oscar: you’re going to get us killed.

Lewis: softly telling charles is still telling charles.  he’s gonna go full Leclerc rage no matter what.

Daniel: AND THEN MAX IS GOING TO KILL US

Lando: ok but hear me out again Lando: what if we tell him Lando: and then IMMEDIATELY leave the country

Oscar: i'm already packing my bags

Carlos: dibs on Spain

Lewis: i'm going to pretend i don't know any of you

Daniel: same

Daniel: i’ll be in australia by the time charles processes step one.

[astonmartinii]

popularity contest | alex albon social media au

pairing: alex albon x fem doohan!reader

jack is struggling with making friends in formula one, good thing he’s got an annoyingly popular sister and a reluctantly friendly brother in law.

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

f1

liked by yourusername, pierregasly and 1,209,778 others

f1: for the first time ever, we have in-laws on the grid! jack doohan makes his full debut for alpine alongside his brother in law alex albon, who is married to y/n doohan, one of australia's biggest business women!

view all comments

user1: not for long

user2: for real admin is being a little bit optimistic here

user3: the way franco was last season, i think he’d also like to take y/n off of alex’s hands too

user4: omggggg can you people let us have anything

yourusername: proudest big sister ever

yourusername: and wife i guess

yourusername: alex has been doing this long enough he can wait for the praise

alexalbon: i’ll let him get away with it this once just because it’s his debut

jackdoohan: you’re soooooooo generous alex!

alexalbon: i know this is sarcasm but i’m choosing to ignore that

user5: i’m not reading all of that - don’t care - bring back franco

user6: true i need his cute face back on the grid

alexalbon: never disrespect those doohan genes again

jackdoohan: i knew you believed in me alex

alexalbon: you’ll kill it dude, but i was referring to the fact that i am hopelessly in love with your sister

yourusername: doohan face card never declines

jackdoohan: 💅

user7: i’m so glad jack will have his sister in the paddock and alex, his entry to f1 hasn’t been the kindest

user8: alex is such a beloved personality in the paddock as well so hopefully that’ll help jack make friends

user9: i know y/n has been bugging alex about taking jack to the padel dates

yourusername: ho are you in my walls

user10: flavio briatore if you tear my family apart you will be hearing from my lawyers

user11: i’ll be needing a lawyer after my actions

user12: we need him to ban him again

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, pierregasly and 892,046 others

tagged: jackdoohan

yourusername: baby brother is a formula one driver! words can’t express how proud i am watching him zip around albert park.

view all comments

user13: nothing you people (alpine) can do will ruin this moment for me

user14: her literally crying in the alpine garage with their dad watching him was so cute eventhough sky insisted on yammering on about franco the whole time

user15: i can’t wait for jack to prove them all wrong

liked by yourusername

jackdoohan: it felt 100x better knowing you guys were there too

yourusername: we wouldn’t miss it for the world

yourusername: that includes alex

jackdoohan: he’s contractually obligated to be here

alexalbon: doesn’t mean i’m any less proud!

yourusername: oh great, now i’m crying again

user16: yeah this is cute and all, but am i the only one getting annoyed at her shading franco constantly

user17: yes there’s literally no reason she needs to be liking those kind of comments

yourusername: chat is it illegal to be excited for and protect my brother?

user18: you can keep franco’s name out of your mouth to do so

yourusername: i’ve never said a bad word about franco, so watch your tone, especially when he hasn’t been the most respectful towards my relationship himself.

user19: omg why is she spilling the tea when it’s 3am in europe 😭

oscarpiastri: two aussies on track at albert park - we love to see it

oscarpiastri: but now i’m thinking about it, why aren’t i sponsored by doohan me?

yourusername: girly i think you have enough sponsors already

jackdoohan: this is the greed they wrote about in the bible…

user20: so jack is a nepo nepo baby?

yourusername: tell me you don’t love your brother without telling me you don’t love your brother

user21: also she literally sponsors alex as well… why wouldn’t she help out the people she loves when she owns the biggest apparel and makeup companies in australia…

alexalbon: i’m chopped liver this weekend…

yourusername: you can be second for one weekend

alexalbon: fine… i’ll hold you to that

yourusername: and i’ll hold you too

alexalbon: oh hehehehehe

georgerussell63: loser

alexalbon

liked by danielricciardo, oscarpiastri and 672,099 others

tagged: yourusername & jackdoohan

alexalbon: p6? and Q2 for jack? i guess you could say we're doohan okay :P

view all comments

user22: doohan/albon family you are so precious to me

user23: this post got me crying in the club at 6am

user24: the way jack RAN to alex in parc ferme was so so so cute i can’t

yourusername: it’s sweat in my eyes i SWEAR

alexalbon: okay baby, we believe you

jackdoohan: i always knew i was your favourite brother

yourusername: you’re the only one?

jackdoohan: omg p1

alexalbon: a win is a win

user25: jack being second of all the rookies is just what he needed this weekend !!!

user26: babe is not playing around

georgerussell63: get in there alex!!!

georgerussell63: but please stay away from my car tomorrow

yourusername: i know this man ain’t talking

georgerussell63: i’m not engaging with this

yourusername: … pussy

alexalbon: when your wife and friend get along

georgerussell63: eh hem * best friend

alexalbon: slow your roll there buddy

georgerussell63: who could possibly be your best friend - and don’t say y/n because that doesn’t count

alexalbon: jack is right there

georgerussell63: i’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that

alexalbon: well the rest of you have hardly made him feel welcome have you?

user27: omg alex is out here gagging the girls

user28: and he ate!

user29: i mean alex was lucky having george and lando when he made his debut, jack has the other rookies but i’ve got the sense he’s been made a bit of an outsider

user30: this whole situation is so sad i’m not going to lie - i’m glad alex is clearly there for him and that y/n goes to like 90% of the races

danielricciardo: flying the aussie flags high boys, proud of you!

jackdoohan: thank you daniel :))))))))

alexalbon: the thai flag is right there… but i’ll take it dude! see you for dinner tomorrow xx

yourusername: we’ll see if we can kidnap oscar and make it a full on aussie affair

alexalbon: i am not aussie !!!

yourusernamel: yes you are

alexalbon: yes i am

user31: how all husbands should be ^^^

f1newsandgossip

liked by user42, user50 and 11,045 others

f1newsandgossip: it’s being reported that both alex albon and max verstappen called a grid meeting to call out the exclusion of jack doohan. insiders state it got extremely heated, with alex albon not holding back.

view all comments

user31: i mean…. i have to agree with alex like that dinner was unnecessarily cruel

user32: it’s SO strange that they managed to invite all of the other rookies but not him

user33: if it’s not cruel it’s extremely negligent from the grid

user34: hey wasn’t george on some anti-bully tirade at the end of last season? what happened to that…

user35: he’s the head of the GDPA and likely was the one to organise this meal - he should know better

user36: if george did organise it and alex was as incensed as they say, it was BAD bad

user37: max standing up for jack is so needed thank you

user38: i mean we all know how max was treated as a rookie…

user39: and he was super chatty with jack at the photoshoot so at least he’s tried

user40: more than what some could say

user41: i think it’s crazy that the grid haven’t made an effort with jack considering they are constantly licking y/n’s ass trying to ride her coat tails

user42: SO TRUE

user43: they like the doohans so much that they’ll constantly use and wear her products, making sure to tag her but they can’t invite her brother to dinner?

user44: anyone seen those pictures kym illman posted of y/n on the phone in the paddock?

user45: baby was PISSED

user46: rightly so tbf

user47: the fact that both her and her dad ignored sky this morning >>>

user48: i mean, as they should, all they do is talk about franco when jack is on screen

user49: alex and jack coming in together this morning, both wearing doohan me merch …. kings

user50: the only positive from this meeting/ idk fight is the fact that a load of drivers flocked to alpine

user52: charles bringing leo ???

user53: took too long, but i’m glad they pulled their heads out of their asses

f1

liked by maxverstappen1, lewishamilton and 2,945,300 others

tagged: jackdoohan

f1: aussies… are you doohan good? jack doohan scored points on his full debut at home, picking up a p9 finish. we don’t think anyone was happier than his sister, but brother in law alex albon was pretty pleased too…

view all comments

user54: flavio briatore… come outside… i just want to talk

user55: aussies we be smoking on that briatore pack tonight

user56: y/n’s smug smile at him in the garage was ALL of us

oscarpiastri: aussie aussie aussie

jackdoohan: oi oi oi

oscarpiastri: stoked for you dude honestly

jackdoohan: much appreciated - congrats on the podium!

user57: my aussie boys !!!!!!!!!!

user58: alex holding jack while he cried is the moment of the season already i don’t think we’ll top it

user59: i need it tattooed on the inside of my eyelids for real

user60: the other drivers all coming to congratulate him - better late than never

user61: i honestly think alex was happier for alex than himself even though he got fourth

user62: that’s family right there

yourusername: jack doohan world dominance would bore no one

yourusername: but on a real note, unbelievably proud of you baby brother

jackdoohan: would never have happened without you - i love you <3

alexalbon: nothing but love for my favourite brother in law!

alexalbon: there’s been a lot of chat about him but jack is the real deal

yourusername: my two favourite boys, i love you guys and i’m so proud

user63: jack getting points at home is such poetic justice

user64: i need him to know we love him

user65: i mean other than oscar’s podium his points was defo the biggest cheer of the weekend!

alpinef1: it’s just what he does 🤩

yourusername: and what he’ll continue to do…

user66: the way this is an actual threat LOL

jackdoohan

liked by georgerussell63, landonorris and 348,208 others

tagged: alexalbon & yourusername

jackdoohan: this weekend has been everything and more for me. to get my first points at home, means the world, and to be supported by my favourite people in the world made it all the more sweeter. y/n, these points are for you, thank you for always supporting me and alex, thank you for being there for me - it’s been lonely but you’ve welcomed me as best as you could. here’s to the rest of the season!

view all comments

user66: i am NOT crying

user67: thank the lord for alex albon!

user68: my shaylas

liked by yourusername

maxverstappen1: congratulations jack, the first points of many!

jackdoohan: thank you max, maybe i’ll be able to get close enough to race you personally…

maxverstappen1: hopefully it’s for podiums…

lewishamilton: well in jack! congratulations!

charles_leclerc: congratulations on your first points jack :D

user69: looks like a stern talking to by alex albon works a plenty

user70: we love to see it

alexalbon: mr jack, there’s nothing me or your sister wouldn’t do for you - never hesitate to reach out. we’re so proud of you and will be here for you every step of the way!

yourusername: what he said

yourusername: i love you baby brother and i’m so so proud. i won’t stop saying it until i die

jackdoohan: i love you guys so much

yourusername: also @alexalbon you’re the best husband in the world, looking out for jack. you’re the most amazing man in the world xx

alexalbon: i’d do anything for you and for jack. i love you and i wake up thankful everyday that you decided that i’m worth marrying

yourusername: there’s no one else in the world worth marrying xx

landonorris: @jackdoohan how are you so chill about them professing their love under your congratulations post?

jackdoohan: i love them and i love that they love each other?

user71: i need a relationship like y/n and alex

user72: i need siblings like them omg

isackhadjar: you slayed jack!

kimiantonelli: 🔥

user73: why are we all fawning over the drivers in being in the comment section? it’s clear alex just guilted them into doing it

user74: for real, f1 isn’t a popularity contest it’s about winning

yourusername: jack doesn’t have to be popular, but he will be respected

alexalbon: and if anyone is ‘guilted’ into being a nice person, that’s their issue

jackdoohan: :3

fin.

note: she's back? she's also been up since 3am to watch the f2 so enjoy my sleep deprived fuelled love for alex (let's go p6????) and jack (because seriously, give him a shot god damn)!!!

[gibbearish]

i will say also one thing ive noticed with the cake smash debate is by and large (and esp in wedding situations), women tend to hate it and men tend to be the ones who think its turbo hilarious and the women are being big whiny babies and can't take a joke. just food for thought

[snowballseal]

Tipsy Tricks

Sylus X Reader

Summary: You and Sylus agree to focus on work for a little bit, meaning you don't have time to see each other. That is...until you get a panicked call from the twins saying their boss is drunk and needs someone to cuddle with.

Word Count: 1836

Note: FLUFF - Sylus is drunk, but honestly, I feel like he can handle his alcohol well so he does a bit of acting. It's all just to get your attention and he's a little more clingy. Also, Luke and Kieran my beloveds.

---

“Miss, we need your help!”

You blink at the sudden shout that comes through your phone the moment you answer it.

“Luke?”

“Please Miss! Boss is not acting himself!”

“Kieran? Wait- hold on, just-”

“Ah! We’re too late!”

“Please Miss, come save us!”

You blink again as the call ends just as abruptly.

What the-?

You stare at the now dark screen for a long moment, just trying to process what happened. It’s late, late enough that you’re already dressed in your pajamas and winding down in bed. The last thing you were expecting was to get such a panicked call from Luke and Kieran.

What were they even talking about? Why do they need saving? Is something wrong with Sylus?

The thought wedges into your chest like a thorn, sharp and uncomfortable. You hadn’t heard from the Onychinus leader - your lover - in a few days due to his busy schedule. Neither of you liked it, but you agreed it was best he just focus on work, and you’d do the same to keep yourself occupied.

Getting a call like this only makes your anxiety skyrocket.

You don’t even bother wasting the time to change, throwing a coat over your pajamas and snatching your keys as you hurdle out the door. 

---

“Miss!!! Oh you’ve come to save us, thank you!”

Luke and Kieran throw the door open before your knuckles even touch it. You jump back, chest heaving from having run all the way from the transport station. They look just as frazzled, well, as frazzled as two men in masks can look. 

“What’s wrong? Is Sylus okay? Why are you guys freaking out?” You shoot out questions quickly, grabbing one of the twins by the shoulders. “You guys were infuriatingly cryptic over the phone! Seriously, who calls in the middle of the night like that?”

“We’re sorry,” Luke leans in, trying to rescue his brother from your vicious grip, “We just didn’t know what to do. Boss hardly ever gets like this!”

“He kept talking about you so we figured you could help us,” Kieran insists, ducking away with the help of his brother.

“Okay, but what’s wrong? Is he hurt?” You press for more details, concern only growing. “What happened to make him act weird?”

“He’s drunk.”

…

Your jaw shuts with an audible click, going tense as you stare at them incredulously. Seriously? All of this, all of the panic, the urgency, because Sylus got drunk? You take a deep, slow breath, trying to ease the immediate desire to knock their heads together.

“Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that you called me. In the middle of the night. After I had settled down for bed. Screaming bloody murder over the phone. Because Sylus had too much to drink?”

“...yes.”

“That’s right.”

You close your eyes. Another deep breath. Slowly, the panic that had washed over you recedes, leaving a sliver of irritation and amusement. You really should expect nothing less from them.

“Okay,” you sigh and prop your hands on your hips. The two seem to relax, like they had actually expected you to smack them. Which you might have, if they hadn’t sounded truly distressed earlier. “So why is this such a bad thing? Sylus is an adult, he can handle being a little drunk, but you two are acting like the world is ending. Why?”

“Well you see-”

“Boss gets incredibly physical when he’s drunk-”

“Not in a violent way-”

“Unless he’s around people he doesn’t like.”

“Right.”

You blink slowly at them, “...so?”

“It’s scary!” Kieran crows.

“It’s like having a kodiak bear trying to give you a hug!” Luke adds, curling his fingers in a gesture you’re sure is meant to mimic said bear.

“We love the boss, but we can’t handle him like this.”

“And he kept asking for you! So we called.”

Ah.

You take a moment to really process all of it. Sylus is drunk. Sylus is a touchy drunk…

It’s too good to pass up on

“Alright, boys,” you hum, an excited grin slowly spreading across your lips. You clap both of them gently on the shoulder. “I’ll take it from here. You can go hide wherever you usually do.”

“Thank you, Miss.”

“We knew calling you was the right decision. Please take care of our boss.”

“I’ll do my best.”

The twins skitter off as soon as you let them go, leaving you alone in the foyer. You quietly slip your coat off, hanging it up properly before making your way further into the base. Not knowing exactly where Sylus could be, you check all the obvious places. The bar. His bedroom. The kitchen. All of which are empty.

Finally you come to the den. Each step makes your heart race a little quicker, the thick silence putting you on edge. A drunk person shouldn’t be so hard to find. But as you step into the room, looking over every nook and cranny (despite how large the man in question is), you once again find it empty.

Where on earth could he be?

“My, my, a kitten’s wandered into my home.” You nearly jump out of your skin when an arm curls around your waist, drawing you back against a solid chest. The familiar warmth of his touch is like a balm to your nerves. You glance over your shoulder, gaze meeting a pair of sleepy vermillion eyes, their depths hazy and dark. “You broke our agreement, sweetie.”

You bite back a smile, “Maybe I wouldn’t have had to if a certain someone hadn’t gotten tipsy and scared the boys.”

Sylus huffs, his face dipping to nuzzle into the crook of your neck in an uncharacteristically soft show of affection. His breath is dizzyingly warm against your skin, his nose tracing featherlight along the column of your throat, like he’s breathing you in. It makes you feel dizzy. You clutch onto his arm to anchor yourself, breath hitching when his lips press tenderly against your racing pulse. 

“I’ve missed you.” 

The words are a mere whisper, the sound rumbling through his chest, so deep you can feel it with how his body leans into yours. You let out a shuddering breath, eyes flickering shut.

“I missed you too, Sy.”

So much. You didn’t want to admit to yourself just how much his absence had been wearing you down. Little by little until you could feel the gaping emptiness, like a stream carving a canyon. You were homesick. And it makes your heart flutter to know he felt the same.

“How about we sit, huh?” You suggest softly, and his arms tighten. Turning your head, despite the awkward angle, you press a reassuring kiss to his silvery locks, “I’m not going anywhere, love. I can’t support your weight much longer, though.”

Seemingly appeased, Sylus lets out an understanding hum. In a puff of black smoke, you find yourself settled on the couch, your back pressed into the soft leather with Sylus laying on top of you, his arms still curled around your waist, head resting on your chest. He nuzzles into you like a cat, letting out a long, drawn out sigh.

It’s adorable really. And jarring. While Sylus has never shied away from being affectionate, it’s always been in his rough, teasing way. This feels tender. Vulnerable. While you were originally planning to tease him to no end, you find yourself overwhelmed with a gentle kind of adoration for the man, your fingers softly fussing with his hair.

“You know, I think I like this side of you.”

“Hmmm, is that so?” Sylus mumbles sleepily, his eyes barely open as he gazes up at your face.

“Yah,” you breathe, tracing the relaxed line of his brow, fingers skimming down his cheek to brush the corner of his lips, “You’re acting so cute and docile. Maybe I should start calling you kitten.”

Even sleepy Sylus won’t let that stand. The second your fingers graze his lips, he nips at them, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you snatch them back, inhaling sharply. Heat curls in your chest, matching the heat burning behind his gaze as he flashes you that lazy yet dangerous smile.

“Don’t mistake my affection for passivity, sweetie,” he rumbles, pushing himself up just enough to graze his lips against yours, the smell of expensive alcohol and his rich cologne clouding your senses. “You should be more wary of a man when his restraints are loose. There’s no telling what he might do once you fall for his trap.”

Ah. You hold back a giggle, eyes narrowing up at him with mirth. So that’s what this was all about.

“Trap, huh? Is that what this was? Did you get tipsy and scare the twins on purpose so they’d call me?”

Sylus doesn’t look ashamed for even a second, offering a nonchalant shrug. The way his ears go red, though, tells you that you’ve hit the nail on the head.

“Aw, you did all that just cause you missed me?” Reaching up, you loop your arms around Sylus’ shoulders and draw him even closer. Your lips brush his as you murmur, “You could have just called, pretty bird.”

“And what fun would that be?” Sylus tilts his head, eyes flickering down to your lips. 

He wants to kiss you breathless, the sensation of your lips ghosting against his driving his already muddled thoughts wild. The way you look under him, hair a mess, dressed in such cute pajamas, is a perfectly tempting image, but it’s the fact that he can’t quite think straight that makes him hold back. While getting drunk was certainly a good way to get you here, it was not conducive to anything else he might want.

And simply having you by his side is enough.

You sigh as Sylus presses a sweet kiss to your lips. Unlike most of your kisses, this one isn’t about passion or hunger. Intense, yes, but intense in a way that feels like devotion. It’s reverent and slow, leaving a lingering hum under your skin as he draws away.

“Will you stay?”

Fondly, you rub your nose against his ever so slightly, “Of course.”

“Good.”

Sylus lowers himself back into you, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. Your arms loop around him, fingers going back to his hair. The silence that envelops you is comforting, the only sound being that of your mingled breath. His warmth covers you so completely, you can’t help but relax, eyelids growing heavier with each second that ticks by. Sylus’ breathing steadily grows deeper, lulling you further and further into sleep. Until you slip under, your lips pressed to his temple as you fall asleep.

And that’s how Luke and Kieran find you the next morning. Cuddled up, with their boss curled around you protectively, like two lounging cats.

You wake up to a notification on your phone.

The picture immediately becomes your new background.

(And secretly, Sylus also makes it his, too.)

---

Hope you enjoyed, my lovely fishies!!!

[chuluoyi]

࿐ ࿔ hot, hot summer !

in which you got the offer of a lifetime—takes place in 2006-2009 era! @mrrpmiao miao, you’re so responsible for the brain worm you’ve instilled in my mind🙂‍↕️

a part of gojo's love entries

summer is as hot as you are pretty.

it’s an undisputed fact to satoru. after all, he chose you. so of course you were the best. he supposed even strangers here would eventually come to realize it too… as it wasn’t the first time their kind had done so.

kamakura beach was packed in summer, and he stepped away a bit to get you shaved ice only to come back to this appalling sight.

“miss! ooh! you’re so gorgeous!”

this suspicious-looking middle-aged man—with goatee, long tied hair, wearing palm shirt and beach shorts—approached you so merrily as you were chilling under the parasol.

“ah thank you…?” you pasted a taut smile, totally clueless and spooked, hoping he would go on his way.

“i mean it! your body is so—wow!” the man gasped dramatically, appraising you from head to toe. “your bust—it’s perfect! you’d make a good cover girl, you know!”

you were wearing the bikini of the same brand inoue waka endorsed at satoru’s insistence, and true, it was indeed a sight for sore eyes.

his sore eyes, specifically. not others.

satoru scowled, and he marched towards where you were. he would do his job as always—chasing away no-good men from you.

“hey you,” he barked. “what business do you have with my girl here?”

the bearded man regarded him with surprise, before he assessed him from top to bottom. “oh! you’re mr. boyfriend? whoa, you don’t look bad yourself!”

“if you’re trying to bother my—”

“no, no! you’ve got the wrong idea!” the man defended, raising both hands in surrender. “you see, i’m about to offer the pretty lady a gig as a gravure model!”

wha? you gaped. satoru blinked.

“m-me?” you stammered, flabbergasted, pointing at yourself. “uh, are you sure?”

“yes! 100% sure!” the agent man replied with stars in his eyes. “miss, with your assets, you’ll outshine even inoue waka or kaoru sakurako themselves!”

“really?!” you almost laughed. it was a strange compliment, but a compliment nonetheless.

but next to you, satoru’s face darkened, his eyes obscured. his fists clenched around the paper bowl of shaved ice so hard it shook. the next thing you know—

“here, hold this.” he suddenly shoved the shaved ice to you, before he plucked his sandal off and—

“YOU!” satoru raised the flip-flop above his head, his eyes blazing with fury, ready to swing it at the man. “GET LOST YOU SLIMY BOZO!”

“—?! WAIT, YOUNG MAN!”

and then came the most disastrous scene before you: your boyfriend chased the agent with his sandal, throwing it at him that it bonked his head, then grabbed someone’s big-ass water gun without permission and continued the pursuit, determined to catch him.

. . .

“how could you?! why do you seem even remotely interested!?” satoru fierily questioned you after he was done cooking the gravure video agent, panting and sopping wet. in the end, the two of them got into a water gun fight that ended with him winning.

you turned to him, feigning an unimpressed expression. “he said i can outshine inoue waka. who wouldn’t want that chance?”

“you can’t!” he retorted almost immediately, aghast. “i mean, yeah you can! but no! no way! you can’t flaunt your body for everyone to see!”

“why?”

“you are mine!” he pouted hard, irked. “i don’t want to share you! you are for the consumption of my eyes only!”

his blatant response made you giddy, truthfully. and as if to stress his point, he suddenly pulled you to his chest from behind, wrapping both arms around you, making you squeal.

“satoru, you’re wet!”

“so? when i marry you someday, we’re going to share a lot of things together. wet is one of them.”

“does this mean you’d pick me over inoue waka?” you threw him a suggestive smile, looking up at him expectantly.

his face then turned pink, as he smooched you in the head. “you know the answer to that, dummy.”

who would have thought that he would really keep his promise and that you'd come to the same beach years later...?