#<<< how we’ll be signing off :) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sinofwriting · 7 months ago

Text

I ❤️ MILFS - Max Verstappen

Words: 9,747 Summary: Max wasn’t too sure who the woman was that was always with Logan, but he was sure that he wanted to get to know her. Note(s): Sargeant Reader, Age Gap, Older!Reader, Logan and Oscar are both 20 during the 2023 season, not 22. The 2023 driver standings are different (I am giving Logan the season he should have had). Reader has the nickname Pan (short for momma panther). Logan is sweetheart, Max is head over heels in love. I’m gonna be honest I never thought this fic would get written or finished. I got the idea for it back in December but only started writing it on March 16th. And it would have never happened without @burningcupcakefire & @pucksandpower. Thank you both so much for all your help. (also if anyone wants to see more of Max and Pan, let me know)

Masterlist | Support Me! | I ❤️ MILFS verse

Max remembers the announcement of Oscar’s arrival to F1, the drama and hilarity of it. Sometimes he sees the kids name and has to stop himself from laughing. No nineteen-year-old had any business being that funny.

Max doesn’t remember much of Logan’s announcement to F1. Only that he was young as well, being the first American in forever, and Williams' quick admission that they hadn’t wanted to sign, had wanted to wait another year.

He wishes now that he had paid more attention.

There’s a woman standing in the William’s garage, on Logan’s side. She’s clearly there for him, with the similar pass that his trainer has around her neck, and the way her eyes intently follow Logan’s movements around the garage as he talks to the mechanics and engineers.

She also happens to be the most beautiful woman Max has ever seen.

—

She can’t help but clutch at Benny’s arm the whole race, terror gripping her along with pride.

Benny chuckles when the race comes to an end, Logan doing his cooldown lap and she finally lets go. “And just think you’ve got over twenty more races of this.” Her nose wrinkle and a hand goes over her heart that’s thudding. “Please, Benny.” He chuckles again but pats her shoulder. “You’ve got this.” “Not gonna tell me it gets easier?” He snorts. “No. This is far worse than F2 or F3 and we still were both scared watching him out there. We’ll never know a day of peace now.”

She sighs, watching the screens as it shows the top three getting interviewed and in the background you can see some of the drivers getting weighed. “He’s going to be sore and in pain.” It makes something clench inside her, the knowledge that Logan would be in pain. It was part of the job, the aches and the bruises, but it didn’t make it any easier for her to know. “I’ve already got everything set up as soon as he’s back and debriefs are done.”

Her eyes catch on the screen showing where all the drivers placed and tears prick her eyes and she shakes her head. “Twelfth in his first grand prix. I can’t believe it.”

The garage is filled with chatter as the team celebrates getting their first points of the season and their rookie driver performing better than they expected. The way they don’t even try to whisper it makes her jaw twitch. She was grateful that Williams was giving Logan his dream, but she didn’t like how they were going about it. Quickly and publicly stating that they didn’t want to sign Logan yet, wanted to wait a year. And now this.

A light nudge to her ribs makes her unclench her jaw and she gives Benny a grateful smile.

Both of their attention is quickly drawn however to the two Williams drivers entering the garage, the space filling with cheers.

She smiles as Logan grins at the team, basking in the smiles they have on their faces for him and Alex, the pats on the back he’s getting. The grin turns to a beam when he spots Benny and her and he quickly bounces over to them.

A laugh leaves her at the way Benny pulls him into a bear hug, lifting him off his feet a little. “Proud of you, kid.” He murmurs. She can’t hear what Logan says, but he’s put down and it’s her turn.

She wants to bundle him up in her arms, hold him and not let go, but doesn’t want to embarrass him in front of his team, so she raises a hand and pushes his hair out of his face. “You did amazing, baby.” He smiles at her, all bright and shiny eyes and then he’s wrapping his arms around her, hugging her tight and she’s quick to return it, rubbing his back. “You did so good, Logan. So good. I’m so proud.” She tells him again, pressing a kiss to his sweaty head. “Thank you, momma.” He tells her, hugging her tight for another moment before letting her go. She smiles up at him and god, that makes her heart ache. Her son, her baby, taller than her somehow. She woke up some days and still wasn’t sure where the time had gone and how he was taller than her shoulders. “Go shower and debrief and then Benny and me will take care of you, yeah? And I’ll get your favorite ordered to the hotel, ready as soon as you get there.” He beams at her again, darting forward to press a quick to her cheek before starting to rush away. “Best mom ever!” He calls over his shoulder and she laughs.

—

Y/N Sargeant will never forget the first time she held her son, only then at nine years old, he had been her cousin.

Logan was small, wrinkly, pink skin, and full of small cries. She could remember staring at him with furrowed eyebrows, trying to understand how he could be what her baby dolls were made to be like. She remembers her mama having her sit on the couch after asking her if she wanted to hold him and how she had quickly nodded, hoping that maybe holding him would somehow make him look better.

She remembers the sudden nerves that built in her stomach as her mama started to hand him to her. Remembers being scared that she would drop him, remembers thinking how stupid it would be if he was still weird to look at like this.

And she remembers finally holding that and it disappearing. His small cries, no more, his wriggling calmed down, and his wrinkles no longer looked weird but cute. She remembers holding him for the first time and feeling unconditional love for the first time in her life.

—

She’s twelve when she realizes that her uncle and aunt don’t like Logan much. It didn’t make sense to her then, still doesn’t now. Because they liked Dalton just fine, but not Logan.

She remembers asking her dad about it. Asking him why they didn’t love Logan, but loved Dalton and worse, she remembers the pained look in his eyes as he realizes that his child picked up on what he and his wife had as well.

It’s the first hard adult conversation she has with her parents and it’s fitting that it’s about Logan, as they sit her down and talk to her about how not all parents love their kids, and how sometimes that includes them only loving one child and not the other.

—

She remembers clearly the first time Logan calls her mom.

It’s her fourteenth birthday and she’s got the four-year-old in her lap as she sits in a rocking chair, reading her English essay aloud for him. Logan’s eyes are closed, head resting on her chest, over her heart, and his little fingers of his one hand are curled in her shirt right by his head.

She wants to sit there forever, reading to him as she rocks back and forth. But she wants another slice of cake before Martha puts it away and Logan needs to sleep in his bed where he can stretch out fully and drool on his pillowcases and not her shirt that Martha will surely tut over but then smile fondly when she sees Logan doing it all over again.

Setting the essay down on her dresser, she runs her now free fingers through his blond hair. “C’mon Logan, time for bed.” He grumbles, fingers tightening on her shirt and she can feel it being pulled slightly. “You can put on your new race car jammies, cuddle with Ello.” He shakes his head, squirming a bit in her lap as he tries to shove himself closer. “Stay with you.” “Oh, baby.” She whispers, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Y’know I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.” His head shakes again and she has to bite her lip as his head hits her collarbone. “Want cuddles, momma.” Her heart thuds painfully in her chest at the name he called her, tears pricking her eyes. “Okay, baby. Let's get you in jammies, grab Ello, and you can stay with me tonight.”

—

She’s only been eighteen for ten hours when she asks her father for the near impossible.

“I want custody of Logan. I want to adopt him. And I need your help to make that happen.” He stares at her, no expression on his face, not even shock. “He’s,” She pauses, jaw twitching and tears springing to her eyes. “He wants to do karting, just like Dalton. And he’s good at it. I’ve taken him. They told him no. They haven’t bought him clothes in two years. They don’t know a single thing about his school, his grades, his teachers. He hasn’t called David dad since he was six and he hasn’t called Madelyn mom since he was four.” Her hands are formed into fists, nails digging into her palms as she speaks. “I have money, I can provide for him. I’ve got my shares of the company now and I’ve got my inheritance from Grandma Talls. But I know that a judge won’t sign off without some influence.” “Madelyn and Daniel?” She leans forward in her seat, a spark of hope filling her. “I already talked to them, they’ll do it.” One of his hands comes up to rub at his mouth, sighing. Then it drops to open up one of his desk drawers and he’s pulling out a bunch of papers, dropping them on the desk in front of her.

“I figured this was gonna happen and I knew after you talked to them and they called me. They signed away their rights three hours ago. Michael and Lily are waiting outside to come in so you can sign the papers.” Tears slipped from her eyes, joy wrapping itself around her entire being from his words, the fact that he called their family lawyer to be on standby, that he and her mother were so supportive. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” He smiles at her. “I couldn’t say no to you. Not when it comes to Logan. I’m way too young to have a grandkid, let alone one that’s eight, but I made my peace with that years ago.” “Thank you.”

—

Max watches the free practice session coverage intently as they focus on the Williams garage, nose wrinkling when they focus on Logan’s trainer, Benny and then James Vowles. Could it really be possible that they never once caught a shot of her? He starts to get a sinking feeling in his stomach that he's gonna have to go on Twitter when the camera moves and suddenly she’s there and he’s scrambling for the tv remote, pressing the pause button just before the camera switches to an overhead shot of the Bahrain track.

His heart skips a beat as he gets his first good luck at her. Her pretty eyes and smile. His eyes then travel down, wanting to know her name and his heart drops.

Y/N Sargeant, Mother of Logan Sargeant.

Fuck.

—

“Momma Panther!” Oscar greets to the confusion of other drivers as Logan and a woman enter the room.

Lando’s eyebrows are raised as he watches Oscar stand. Watching as his teammate claps Logan on the back, before giving him an actual hug. Before he then hugs the woman as well, whispering something to her that makes her laugh.

Pulling away from her, Oscar grins when her hand comes up to pat his cheek for a second. “Thank you for the invite, Os.” “Of course.” He sends a fond look to Logan, who's standing awkwardly by the table. “Y’know Logan and you are always welcome.” She makes a humming noise. “C’mon, let me introduce you to everyone.”

Turning around, he smirks at the table. “Everyone, Logan.” Charles lets out a laugh, as the others chuckle. He gestures to her, “This is Momma Panther or Pan.” “Y/N or Pan.” She corrects, playfully shaking her finger at Oscar. “I only let the F2 boys call me Momma Pan.” He sighs. “Okay, this is Y/N. Logan’s mom.”

Lando coughs, water going down the wrong pipe. Fernando’s eyes are wide as he looks at her. Charles, George, and Alex are all nodding. Max has a weird expression on his face and Carlos looks dumbfounded.

“She,” Carlos points at her. “Is his,” he points at Logan. “Mother?” Logan moves away from the table to stand by his mom, easily melting into her side at all the attention. The action makes Oscar smile, all too used to the easy affection between the mother and son. “I got pretty lucky right?” She shakes her head. “I’m just happy you weren’t a difficult child.” Logan both blushes and preens at the same time. Carlos shakes his head, disbelief still clear.

“Please, sit.” George says after a moment. “We haven’t ordered yet.”

The seasoned drivers and her watch amused as both Oscar and Logan usher her to sit first. Oscar easily then lets Logan sit next before sitting beside the American. The two of them sharing a grin after.

It makes her shake her head as she turns her attention to the menu, tuning out the sound of conversation picking back up.

The gentle sound of a throat clearing makes her glance to her left.

The current two time world champion smiles a bit awkwardly at her. “Have you been here before?” She shakes her head, turning her head a bit to look at him better. “No. To Australia of course, for Logan’s races and to visit Oscar once, but not here.” He nods and she can’t help but notice the way he swallows harshly. “We started coming here in 2021, it’s good food. Good drinks.” She laughs, “good gin and tonic?” He flushes a little, but laughs. “Yes. Very good. Heavy on the gin.” She nods, “I think I’ll have one of those then.”

Her eyes drift back to the menu, not even wincing at the prices next to the dishes. This was nearly cheap compared to where she had been forced to eat growing up.

“Momma, can we,” “Yes.” She answers before Logan finishes, already knowing what he’s asking. “Also you two, no hard liquor. We have plans tomorrow.” She continues, still looking at the menu.

They wouldn’t get drunk from a few drinks, but she had a feeling that Lando would try to instigate something again with Oscar, making the poor kid so drunk he could barely walk, again. And she didn’t mind people thinking that she was overbearing with Logan and even Oscar. The boys knew that if they really wanted to do something they could, even if she said otherwise. It was one of the nice things about being an adult.

Logan wrinkles his nose, glancing at the drinks part of the menu, before grinning. “They have it.” Oscar glances at what he’s pointing at, shaking his head. “You and your goddamn obsession.” “We come here like once a year.” Logan defends. “And no other country sells it.”

It’s not until after the server leaves, all of their orders taken, that conversation starts again.

“So, Mrs. Sargeant,” Lando starts. “Just Y/N or even Pan.” She sends a fond look to Oscar who had made that nickname stick. “And I’m not married.” She says, amused. “Ah.” “Not married.” Fernando shakes his head. “Now that doesn’t sound right.” She looks at him amused. “Don’t believe in premarital sex?” She teases. The older driver laughs and so do the others. “No. Just hard to believe that you aren’t married. You are a very gorgeous woman.” “Thank you.”

“So,” Lando starts again, giving Max a weird look seeing how his friend is gripping his glass of water. “Will you be coming to all the races?” She nods. “Yes, I have since Logan started his career. Haven’t missed one.” Logan shakes his head, grinning at her. “Nope, not one.” “Your work allows you to do that?” Her lips press together for a second to try and hide her smile at the gentle but obvious fishing they are doing. “I have shares in some companies and a very generous inheritance. So, no true, real work.” “You do some work for Grandpa when we’re in the states.” “I organize his desk for him, which he then messes up as soon as he sits back down at it.”

“You do not mind the constant travel? It is quite tiring.” Charles asks, curious. “No. And once I got Logan in karting, I promised him that I’d make it to all of his races. Maybe in a few years, I’ll stop going to all of them, but I am part of his team as well.” “Manager?” “God, no.” She shakes her head at Carlos’ assumption. “Cook slash nutritionist. Benny, his trainer is amazing, also doubles at being a physiotherapist for Logan, but he doesn’t know how to cook to save his life. So I make their meals.” “Mine as well.” Alex pipes in. “They’re truly amazing, by the way.” “Of course.” “Can you make mine again?” Oscar asks, leaning over Logan a bit to look at her. “I’ve missed having them.” “Sure.” She laughs. “Get me your new sheets before the next race, yeah?” “Done.”

—

Max watches from the corner of his eyes as she takes her first sip of her gin and tonic. Her brows raise a bit when the drink hits her tongue and he has to force his eyes up, to not focus in on her lips, to think about them and what they’d feel like on, he shakes his head. Forcing the thoughts, the ideas away.

“Very heavy on the gin.” She whispers, turning a bit to look at him. He rubs his hands against his jeans. “Do you like it?” “It’s nice.” She smiles. Relief fills him. “Good.”

He continues to look at her, wanting to tear his eyes away but being unable to. She was simply lovely. And getting this closer look at her, he can’t believe that she’s a mother, or at least a mother to a twenty-year-old. It didn’t seem possible. She looked barely older than him. Not at least thirty-five. She was probably more like Fernando’s age as well and he glances at the fellow two world champion, more disbelief filling him. Because how could the two be close in age at all?

—

Logan sighs as he collapses face first onto Oscar’s bed. Laying there for a solid minute before groaning and turning his head.

“Dinner was nice.” Oscar hums and he can feel the bed dip beside him. “You seemed a bit more relaxed.” “No media, and you and Pan were there. A bit more relaxed.” Logan scoffs. “Yeah, because you were so tense with media before.” As he speaks, he reaches out to lay a hand on Oscar’s thigh, giving the muscle a squeeze. “It’s nuts, isn’t it? I mean we all got told that the media was so much more, so different, but…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Yeah.” Oscar sighs and then he’s laying beside Logan, the American luckily moving his hand off and away from the other’s thigh before he lies on it.

“Y’know I have no personality, apparently.” Logan snorts, eyes opening when he hadn’t even realized he had closed him. The Australian driver also has his head turned so they’re looking at each other. “What? Have they never seen a Prema video?” He shrugs as best as he can. “I’d take that over my apparent frat boyness.” “You? A frat boy?” Oscar laughs. Logan sighs as he thinks a bit more about it, the mood turning a bit serious. “I just hope momma hasn’t seen it.” “What happened?” “She’s just worried. Thinks I haven’t noticed, but she’s wondering if she did a good job with me, done enough for me. And she’s given me everything y’know. I can’t imagine what I’d be like with them as my parents.” Oscar moves a bit closer, just a few inches between their faces now. “You’d still be amazing, still great. Maybe a frat boy.” The American rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“I think Fernando has a thing for her. For Pan.” He clarifies. “What?” “I mean, just during the dinner y’know, he kept looking at her. And him calling her gorgeous.” “Well, he’d be dumb and blind to not notice that.” Logan scoffs, rolling onto his back and turning his head to the side, keeping his eyes on Oscar. “I’m being serious.” The younger laughs, poking him lightly. “I think Alonso has a thing for her.” Logan’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Dude, no. That’s gross. Momma isn’t even thirty and Fernando’s like forty-three. And isn’t he dating that journalist?” Oscar’s brows press together. “What journalist?” “The one that gave Fred shit.” “I thought she died?” The two look at each other, both baffled.

Logan thinks again of the journalist he’s seen around Fernando and the one that all of the Prema drivers, former and at the time current, had avoided or given shit statements too. They did look a bit different now that he really thought about it. Fernando’s journalist slash girlfriend didn’t have a fucking complex.

“Different journo.” Logan mutters. He then blinks, “wait, she died?” “Mate, you didn’t hear about that?” “No!” “She was supposed to be at Spa, remember. And we all were relieved when she wasn’t there. She died, car crash or something, I can’t remember.” “How do I not remember this?” Oscar shrugs as best as he can while laying down. “I don’t know.”

It’s silent for a moment, “you don’t think,” “No.” Oscar shakes his head, but he doesn’t sound too sure. “I mean, yeah no.” “Right.” He looks up at the ceiling.

“Okay, so Fernando is out of the running.” Logan groans, “Os, no.” “Look he clearly has eyes, but if he’s dating someone he’s out. He wasn’t the only one looking.” “Oscar, please, it’s my mom.” “She’s like my mom too, which is why we have to talk about this.” Oscar insists, wriggling closer to Logan. Their sides completely pressed together and when Logan turns his head to look at the other, their noses nearly brush. He looks at Oscar’s face, all earnest and caring and sighs. “Fine. Charles was looking, but he only dates one type, so safe from him.” “Lando was looking.” Logan snorts, “I thought this was for potential dates, not another kid.” He laughs, their noses brushing together from the movement. “Okay, no Lando. Max.” “He kind of looked weird when you introduced her.” He frowns. “I saw that too.” “But he also got all blushy when they talked.”

“The drivers do know, I mean Alex knows that she didn’t like birth you, right?” Logan’s frown deepens. “Of course. I mean, it’s not super well known, but it’s a little hard to believe that she naturally had a kid twenty years ago.” “Thought so.” Oscar then chuckles. “Imagine, them thinking that she did, though. Just thinking she’s got some sort of insane skin care routine.”

—

“How in the hell does she look like that with a twenty-year-old kid?” “I know right?” Alex says, looking at Carlos. “It’s insane.” Charles pokes at his own cheek. “I think I need to ask her for advice, what products she uses. I want to age like her.” “We all want to age like her.” George agrees. “What are you saying?” Fernando frowns. A few of them share a look, but Charles and Max share a different one. “Mate, you’ve got wrinkles and all these lines.” Max says. “I mean those are natural, but look at her. The skincare helps.” Fernando frowns, “Lines?” Charles touches at his own lines, “see lines. From smiling, laughing, frowning. All good things, very nice. Just not uh,” his brows furrow drawing a blank. Lando snorts at his struggle. “You just want to help your skin. Keep it healthy.” The older driver makes a humming noise, considering.

—

Her breath is caught in her throat, eyes wide as she watches the screen. Her heart feels like it is beating in double time. She wants to look away, doesn’t want to watch in case something horrible happens, but she can’t. Because Logan just overtook both Magnussen and Ocon in the same lap. Logan is in 9th. Logan is in a point scoring position with only five laps of the race left. Logan might score his first formula 1 points at his home race, at his actual home race, at his first ever home race.

Her hands are shaking, fingers locked together as she presses them against her mouth, trying to breathe, praying that Logan won’t fall back out of the points.

She doesn’t even notice that he’s lessened that gap to Pierre until suddenly he’s overtaken the other French driver, just three laps later. “Oh my god.” “Fuck.” “Benny,” she whispers, and one of her hands is dropping so she can clutch at the older man. “Benny, I think,” “He’s gonna do it.”

And sure enough he does it. Logan holds his place in front of Pierre and finishes in 8th.

“Yes!” The whole garage is cheering and she’s wrapping her arms around Benny, laughing when the trainer lifts her. “He did it! He did it!” She cheers. The garage quiets though as Gaetan starts to speak on the radio.

“Logan, you are on your cooldown lap.” “Got it. Where’s Alex?” She winces at the question, one of her hands grips at Benny’s shoulder as he sets her back down, the other holding onto her headphones that miraculously didn’t get thrown off her head or disconnected when celebrating. “Alex is P14, P14.” It’s quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’m sorry we didn’t get any points today, next race is ours right? The car felt great.” Both of her hands fly up to her mouth. “Logan.” Gaetan’s voice is full of disbelief and laughter. “Mate, you finished P8. You got us points. You got your first points.” She can see him react to the news, the car jerking underneath him for a second, before he wrangles it back under control. “What? What do you mean?” “You finished in P8. Clean race, finished ahead of both Alpines and Magnussen.” “Holy fuck.” The garage fills with laughter at his reaction and tears start to build in her eyes. “You guys,” his voice breaks. “Thank you guys so much. This was you guys, the car felt great, really.” She watches as James hops on the radio. “This was you as well, Logan. Amazing drive today.” “Thank you, James. Thank you so much for this.”

His mechanics, Benny and her, quickly go over to where the cars are parking, watching as Logan slots it into place. He’s a little shaky as he gets out of the car and he’s about to dart towards them but someone from the FIA, is ushering him to the scale.

His reluctance is clear even with his helmet on, but he goes. Letting them take his weight and as soon as it’s written down, he’s stepping off and away, fumbling with his gloves and then his helmet.

There’s an awed grin on his face, tears in his eyes, and seeing it makes the tears that have built in her own fall.

His gloves and helmet tumble to the ground as his mechanics and Benny surround him, celebrating his points.

Logan laughs when they finally let them go and his eyes light up when he sees her and he darts to her and she easily welcomes him into her arms.

“I’m so proud of you.” She tells him, squeezing his sweaty body close before running a hand through his hair. “You did amazing.” “I did it, momma.” His voice is weak and she can feel tears hit the skin of her neck where his head is buried. “You did it.”

—

“Logan did amazing, it was a good drive.” She blinks in surprise at the voice, turning in her barstool to look. “Max?” He smiles at her, cheeks flushed. “He did really well.” “He did.” She agrees before patting the stool next to her. His smile widens as he takes the seat. “I didn’t realize that Red Bull was in the same hotel.” Maybe she should have since she had spotted a few Red Bull polos, but she figured it was fan gear. “I think Aston is here as well. You aren’t celebrating with Logan?” She shakes her head. “We already celebrated. Him, Oscar, and a bunch of his friends here are throwing a party. I wasn’t really interested in watching them all get wasted, so this,” she gestures to the hotel bar, “is me having a drink to celebrate before going up to my room and ordering some room service.” “Could I join you?” His cheeks redden at the words, at the way her eyebrows raise. “Not like that. But for food? I’ve never actually eaten anywhere in Miami that wasn’t catering.” She stares at him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. And I have the perfect place to take you.”

—

“Did I actually score points yesterday?” “You did.” “Sweet.” “Very. How’s the head?” Logan shrugs, “I mean, I drank a lot, but like I’m just dehydrated.” She shakes her head, “That will change in a few years.” “Not gonna tell me to not drink underage?” He teases, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek before grabbing her glass of juice and draining it. She snorts. “We’re in Europe most of the time and I gave you your first drink. I don’t think I have a leg to stand on. And you were celebrating.” “True.”

He sits across from her, refilling the glass and taking another drink from it before setting it down and starting to help himself to her pancakes, which she just pushes closer to him. “How was your night? You could have joined us. We wouldn’t of minded.” “I’m your mom, Logan.” She laughs. “I think the me going to your friend's parties ship sailed a few years ago.” “Yeah, but you're awesome. We like having you around.” “I know.” She smiles. “I wasn’t in the mood to watch all of you get wasted.” “Fair.” he says around a bite of pancake, which she sends him a look for and he quickly swallows the food. Giving her a smile that says sorry.

“So, how was your night?” “It was good.” She tells him, spearing a piece of fruit with her other fork. “I came back to the hotel, had a drink, and then got dinner with Max.” His brows press together. “Max?” “Verstappen.” She clarifies. “Red Bull is staying here as well, he saw me at the hotel bar and asked if he could join me for some food.”

“You went on a date?” Her eyes narrow at him. “It wasn't a date.” “You went on a date.” He scrambles for his phone. “Oscar is never gonna believe it.” “I go on dates.” “Momma, you’ve gone on like five dates. And two of those were before you turned eighteen.” She scowls at him. “It wasn’t a date. We just got dinner.” She insists. “Uh huh.” He says, clearly not believing her. “Did he pay?” “Yes.” “Pull your chair out, help you with your coat, anything like that?” Her mind flashes back to Max helping her get out of his car, his insistence on opening doors for her. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean,” Logan continues. “Did he walk you to your hotel room? Say that he had a good time and he’d like to do it again?” “Oh.” Logan grins at her, smug, as he finishes typing out a text to Oscar. “You went on a date last night.” “I went on a date last night.” And she doesn’t mention the fact that a new number resides in her phone.

—

“Logan!” He stops at the sound of his name, turning to look behind him, where Max Verstappen is nearly jogging to catch up with him. “Max.” He greets, when the older driver is next to him, nerves filling him at the eyes of said driver on him, along with how a few other drivers are also looking at the pair, shock and surprise clear on their faces. “Hey.” Max grins. “How are you feeling about the track?” He looks at the older driver in confusion. They had just left the drivers briefing, why was he asking him this? Alex had already spoken about how the team was feeling about Monaco. “The car won’t be the best here, but we said that in Miami, so we’re hoping to repeat that here. Alex has a good chance at ending in a point scoring position.” He reiterates what he's been told and what he’s been telling the press. “But how are you feeling about it?” Logan stares at the Dutchman, eyes flickering around trying to see if cameras are there, if his momma is there, but there isn’t anyone. The other drivers are already gone, so are the FIA people. It’s just him and Max. “Y’know you don’t have to talk to me because you went out with my mom.” He expects relief, like that one dick Jase, and really who puts that on a birth certificate, but Max just frowns. “I know, I don’t have to.” Logan swallows around the lump in his throat, “right.” Turning around, he starts to walk, somehow knowing that the other driver will join him. “It’s a tricky track, it’s Monaco. I was here last year and I barely got in the points.” “P10 and P9.” He throws the driver a look, because that was too much to know, but Max is just looking at him, encouraging him to continue. “The car isn’t suited for it. I mean it wasn’t for Miami, but this is different. And I’m still not managing my tyres correctly, so even if I did manage to gain positions, I’d get called in to pit and lose them.” Max huffs out a laugh. “You are a rookie in a Williams, it’s impressive that you’ve already gotten points. If you could manage your tyres, when sometimes even I struggle, well I’d put you in Checo’s seat.” “Not yours?” He laughs again, “No. I’m a bit better at it than Checo.” Logan couldn’t really deny that.

“Do you want some advice? On the tyres?” Logan quickly nods. “I’ll take anything I can get.” “Don’t fight the car too much on the turns. If you need to get it to turn properly or without going on the brakes too soon, fight it. But when you don’t, let the car be stable, keep it fluid. When you come out of the corner, press harder. It might feel like you’ll go into the wall, but you won’t.” “And if I go into the wall?” Max laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think you're a better driver than that mate.”

—

“How are you doing that in the turns?” Logan looks up from his notebook, where he’d been scribbling a bunch of random words. Looking at the screen, he watches his own onboard. He thinks about saying that it was Max that told, but no one at Williams liked hearing about Red Bull, especially with Alex in the room. “Just something I thought I’d try.” “Well, it was good, continue doing it. We may have ended up out of the points, but we got close.” Logan nods. Even with his five-second penalty, he had still kept fourteenth, and Alex ended up in twelfth. “Will do.”

—

Max had thought about her in his apartment a lot, an embarrassing amount. He had also pictured it very differently. A nice dinner, wine, even though a majority of it made his nose wrinkle, perhaps some kissing on his couch as a movie plays that they both don’t care about.

He hadn’t expected lunch, with juice that he’s trying to figure out how he’s never had it when he’s lived in Monaco for so many years, and a somewhat serious conversation, though maybe he has been expecting that one or rather anticipating it.

“I like you, Max.” He flushes, “I like you too.” He really did, even though his mother was going to have a heart attack when she found out how much older Pan was than him. “And I want to continue doing this.” She gestures between them with her free hand that isn’t being held in his. “So,” sensing that there’s something she wants to say. “I’m a mom.” He blinks at her words, panic starting to fill him. He thought he’d made that clear that he knew that, understood that. He always made sure to ask about Logan. He even had Logan’s number now after talking to him about how he felt about the Monaco track. “I know.” “Logan is important to me.” Oh, god, did Logan not like him? “The most important thing to me. And if we're going to continue to do this, I just need you to know that. He’s always going to be my first priority.” “Of course.” Relief fills him, his heart slows from its frantic beating. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” She stares at him, trying to gauge how truthful he’s being before nodding. “Okay.”

“Did you think that I didn’t know that?” She shakes her head immediately. “No, it’s just. I don’t really do this.” She laughs. “Dating, relationships. Logan pointed that out to me, so I don’t really know how this goes and I just had to make it clear, put it on the table now.” “I don’t really do this either.” He hesitates to ask his next question, but does. “Logan’s father. What was your relationship with him like?” Her face screws up in disgust. “Ew.” He laughs, not expecting that reply or that word to sum up a relationship. But fair enough.

“I mean the idea of a relationship between me and Logan’s father is gross. Logan’s,” she pauses, seeming to settle on a different word. “Birth parents are my aunt and uncle.” “His what?” He could have sworn she said birth parents, but that couldn’t be right. “His birth parents.” She looks at him, concerned. “I adopted Logan when I turned eighteen. Did you think I gave birth to him?” “No.” He says, shaking head and clearing his throat. “Of course not.” She stares at him, lips pressed together. He sighs, slumping in his seat, eyes closing. “I may or may not have thought you were just a really, really young looking forty-something year old woman.” She immediately bursts into laughter and his eyes fly open at the sound. “You thought?” “The graphic for the race footage says you are his mother, I did not think otherwise. I just thought you looked great for your age.” He defends, a little embarrassed, but delighted by the expression on her face and her laughter that is still filling his ears. “I am his mother, just adopted.” “Not that either of you see it that way.” “No.” She shakes her head, laughing one last time before calming down.

“No. Logan’s mine, he’s been mine practically since he was born. It just wasn’t seen that way legally until I was eighteen and custody got signed over to me.” “Of course.” He then flashes her smile, “So can I ask how old you are?” She laughs, nodding. “Yes, Max. I think just this once it’s better to ask a lady her age than assume it.” “How old are you?” “I’m twenty-nine.” He looks at her with new eyes, the age making much more sense. “I would’ve said twenty-five.” “Really? I think you would’ve said forty-something.” “How was I to know?” He throws his free hand in the air at the tease, his other still holding hers.

—

“Hi, baby.” She greets when Logan stumbles out of his room, practically still asleep, as he drops onto the couch. “Momma.” He whines, resting his head on her lap and turning his face to press it into her stomach, trying to block out the sun. Her fingers brush through his hair as she forces her body to stay relaxed. It was always a fight when he did this.

She hated that her body didn’t bear any signs of being pregnant before, no stretch marks around her belly. She hated that she hadn’t actually gotten to carry Logan no matter how impractical it was, unless of course she was as old as Max had thought she was. She smiles at the memory of how flustered Max had looked when he realized her actual age.

He mumbles something and she turns his face away from her stomach. “What?” “How was your date last night?” Her smile widens. “It was good.” “Yeah?” She nods. “Did you see Jimmy and Sassy?” “No.” She runs her hand over his forehead, knowing that he’s thinking of Sooty. “We should talk though after you’ve had some breakfast.” “About what?” “Breakfast first.”

“What do we need to talk about?” Logan asks nearly thirty minutes later, his fruit bowl all gone and his coffee on its way to be there as well. She swallows, hands flexing. “Max.” “What about Max?” She sighs. “Well, baby, him and I talked about becoming serious last night. But that’s not gonna happen until I know how you feel.” “You know, I’m okay with it.” “I know you're okay with me dating, but this is a bit more complicated. Max is on the grid with you and we’re talking about a relationship.” Logan eyes widen a bit at the word relationship. “I mean, how does Max feel about it? About being with someone who has a kid on the grid?”

He asks knowing it will give him time to figure out how to tell her how he feels and because he wants to know, he kind of wants Max to be okay with it. He likes Max, and not just as a driver. The older driver is kind and funny, he also looks at his mom like she’s the sun, he makes her happy and that’s enough to put him in Logan’s good books. His mom deserves the best and he thinks from what little he’s seen, from how much more happy his mom has been (and god that was weird, because it wasn’t even like she wasn’t happy before) that Max might be the best for her. And Max now every time he sees Logan is always stopping to talk to him even if it’s just for a second to say a quick hi.

“Max is good with it. He knows that you're my number one and that’s never going to change.” Logan flushes at the words. “He also likes you, thinks you're a good kid.” She lets out an amused huff as the word kid leaves her mouth. It was odd to hear Max describe Logan that way, with only five years between them. But at the same time she knew it came from being practically a veteran in the sport. Max was coming up on ten years in Formula 1 despite his young age. He flushes even more. “Really?” “Yeah.” She smiles. “He always asks about you, it’s really sweet. And he knows to that if you aren’t comfortable with this or need more time then that’s what will happen.” “I am an adult.” “You are.” She was sadly well aware of that fact. “But you are my baby, my kid. I couldn’t be in a relationship with someone if you didn’t like them or if it made you uncomfortable.” He nods. “I’m okay with it. Max makes you happy, he’s nice.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.”

—

She lets out a giggle as arms wrap around her from behind, lips pressing against her cheek. “Hi.” “Hi.” Another kiss is pressed to her cheek. “Can I help?” She glances down at what she’s finishing up. “No. You could set the table, though?” “Done.” A kiss is pressed to her temple and then the blanket of heat that covered her back is gone. “What cabinet?” “First one entering the kitchen on the left.” She says, turning her head a bit to watch as Max pulls the dishes out.

Her mouth goes a little dry as she watches him. His t-shirt is tight around his biceps and chest. His skin is a little tanned after their date a few days ago on a friend's yacht. She forces her eyes to not look at his hands, instead trailing them up to his strong shoulders and neck and then to his face. Max, she thinks as he starts to put the plates on the table, is unfairly attractive. Before he can catch her staring, she checks on the final thing on the stove. “Perfectly done.” She mumbles with a smile.

The sound of the front door opening makes her smile grow wider as she grabs a pot holder. “Am I late?” “Just on time.” She tells Logan as he steps into the kitchen. “Can I,” She stops him before he can continue. “No, go wash up.” “Alright.” He bends a little to press a kiss to her cheek before turning on his heel, offering a wave to Max. “Hi.” “Hi, Logan.”

Picking up the pan, she shakes her head as Max goes to try and take it from her. “Logan and you are both going to get on too well.” “Why’s that?” He asks, a twinkle in his eye. “You both don’t like when I lift anything.” “What’s the point of having a son or a boyfriend, then?” Logan says, clapping Max on the shoulder as he comes back. Max grins at the younger, delighted as he claps him back. “Exactly. We feel a bit neglected.” She rolls her eyes, shaking her head, though a smile is stretching across her lips.

—

Max watches amused as the mother and son argue.

“Mom, it would be for two races, two, that’s it.” “One race, really.” Max chimes in, smiling when she glares at him. “Spa is nice, but Zandvoort is really what I consider my home race.” “See, it would be one race. Max wants you in his garage.” Logan says, looking at the other driver, begging for him to help but at the last sentence Max shakes his head. “I never said that. Well, I would like to see Pan in my garage, not for the whole weekend, or even a day. She’s part of your team.” Logan looks at him, bewildered. “But, it’s your home race.” He shrugs. “I’d like for her to stop by, you as well. I already have it cleared with the team. Staying for even a whole session though just doesn’t make any sense. I don’t need her on my side of the garage to know that she’s supporting me, wanting me to do well, not when you are on the grid.” “Are you sure?” Max smiles at Logan, because yes he was sure. Did he want her there, supporting him? Maybe even dressed in something with his number? Of course. But, he liked seeing her in Logan’s garage. Supporting him, wearing his merch, being a mom. “I’m more than sure.”

“Besides,” she says, drawing both of their attention. “Max and I haven’t gone public yet. Or really told anyone yet.”

—

“Well, this is a bit of an odd one.” Laura says as they stop in front of the Red Bull garage. The cameraman focuses on what she’s looking at. “Both Logan Sargeant and his mother, better known as Pan from Formula 2 fans, are in the Red Bull garage, currently talking with our current championship leader Max Verstappen, his engineer GP, and Daniel Ricciardo.” “Shall I see if I can steal one of them away?” Will asks, smiling at the camera as he holds the F1 TV microphone loosely. “Please.” She gestures.

Will steps towards the garage smiling at the small group hovering just inside. “Could I steal one of you for a quick minute?” The five exchange a look and Will stops himself from rolling his eyes at the way they all look annoyed at the idea, but Logan nods. “Sure.” “Thank you.”

He watches as Logan says something quietly to them, getting nods from them all. His brow furrows when Max squeezes his shoulder before the younger driver gives his mom a quick hug, making him shake his head. Logan Sargeant was an absolute mommy’s boy and it was embarrassing as all hell to see. He couldn’t imagine being twenty and hugging his mom in public, let alone all those videos and photos of him reaching for her hand.

Will ignored the part of him that did think it was sweet and felt bad for the kid. He couldn’t look all sappy while filming, especially not when in front of the Red Bull garage.

“Hi everyone.” Logan greets, taking the third mic from the newest crew member. “Hello, Logan. How are you feeling about this weekend?” He smiles at Laura. “I’m feeling okay, I’ve raced here before, obviously not in an F1 car, but I do have some experience with this track.” “And you and your mum’s visit to the Red Bull garage, should we expect an announcement of you switching teams?” She teases. “No.” He laughs. “No, uh, just visiting for personal reasons. Saying hello to Daniel, wishing Max a good home race.” “I mean, I’m not sure, he needs it.” Will jokes, gaining a few laughs. “So, no business to be done at Red Bull? Just saying a hello and wishing a good race to a fellow driver.” “Yeah,” he pauses, looking back at the garage where it’s just Max and his mom standing now watching him with smiles on their faces. It’s only that he continues when his mom gives a brief nod, one barely able to be seen by the camera. “And I wasn’t just wishing a fellow driver good luck.” “Oh?” Logan grins, looking pleased with himself. “I was wishing my new dad good luck.”

—

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” Max freezes at her words, hand still on the doorknob from just stepping into the room. “Hi, schat.” “Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” She repeats. His brain is scrambling because what exactly had Carlos done but also why was it so attractive to her say the word cunt. It had to be the accent, he decided quickly, still trying to figure out the Carlos thing. “And why is Carlos a cunt?” He finally asks, releasing the door knob and stepping further into the room.

She’s on her laptop, rapidly typing something, and he can feel anger radiating off her.

“That bullshit he spewed, blaming Oscar’s inexperience.” She scoffs, pausing her typing as she shakes her head. “It was an incident, a racing incident, something he knows a lot about. There was no inexperience fault.” “Oscar’s okay?” He already knows that he is, but knows it's good to ask. “He’s good. He knows that it's a racing incident.” Max winces. Wonders for a second if he should warn Carlos to keep his mouth shut, but shrugs. It wasn’t his fault that Carlos was getting in trouble because he couldn’t watch his mouth or correctly look at footage. “Can I help?” She sighs, hitting close on whatever she was writing in. “No.” She then closes her laptop, turning to face him, with a smile. “Hi. Congrats on the win.” “Thank you.” He bends to kiss her. “You okay?” “Yeah, just,” she waves her hand at her laptop, “stuff.” “Anything I can help with?” She starts to shake her head no as he sits on the edge of the bed, but she stops. “Actually, could I get your insight on something? Not just as a driver, but as someone who lives and breathes racing, loves data, really knows how the sport works.” “Of course. What’s going on?”

Another sigh leaves her, hand coming up to rub at her mouth for a second before it drops. “Why would a team not resign a driver?” His eyebrows furrow, because she knows the reasons, but he answers. “Not performing well, they want out of the team or sport, sponsorship issues.” “The driver wants to stay in the sport and the team.” Her lips turn downwards a bit at the word team. “And the driver brought new sponsorships to the team.” “They have to be not performing well.” “They’re a rookie in a back marker team.” “They have to be really performing badly.” Max says, trying to think of who in Formula 2 or 3 she’s talking about. “They already have six points and have placed ahead of their experienced teammate three times.” His mind is scrambling again, trying to find a reason, because what? “How many does his teammate have?” “Nine.” “I have no idea. Not unless there’s conflict within the team.” She shakes her head. “Is there potentially a more experienced driver for the spot?” She shakes her head. “They’re looking at another rookie or maybe someone who stepped away from the series for a year, though they’d rather take a rookie than him.” “I don’t have an answer for you. It doesn’t make sense to me.” She nods, expression falling and she’s rubbing at her face.

“What’s going on?” He asks, standing up just to crouch down in front of her, taking her hands in his. “The driver’s Logan.” “What?” “Williams isn’t sure they want to offer Logan another year.” Max stares at her. “How?” “I don’t know.” She shrugs, laughing. “There’s talks of them signing whoever wins this F2 championship or even the runner-up depending on who it is. Logan’s making too many mistakes.” “He’s costing them too much money.” Max fills in the blank, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous. Don’t take a rookie if you can’t afford it. You are supposed to account for the worse. And he’s doing well. It’s not his fault that they built a shit car.” “I don’t know what to do.” She admits, voice just a whisper, and his heart clenches painfully at the sound of it, at the tears in her eyes. “This is his dream. I don't know what to do if that gets taken away from him.” “It won’t. We’ll figure something out.” He tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

—

“I think I’m spoiled.” Max says, watching as she gets ready for bed. A faint feeling of arousal pooling his gut as she pulls on one of his shirts. He absentmindedly wonders if it would be weird to wear it tomorrow to the track, the scent of her lotion clinging to it. “Why’s that, honey?” He smiles, cheeks a bit pink, and that arousal builds a bit more at the pet name, at the way she shifts in the vanity chair to loosen some tension in her back. “You come to every race, you see me win, you celebrate them, you got to see me win my third championship today.” Those words feel weird off his tongue, today, but totally sober to celebrate. He wants desperately for tomorrow to come, for the race to finish so they can celebrate, him, her, Logan, the team. “I guess you are a bit spoiled.” He gasps, clutching at his heart, making her giggle. “That’s okay though.” She says, getting up and moving onto the bed, straddling him. “I think I like you spoiled.” He groans as she dips her head, pressing a kiss to the flutter of his pulse. “Schat.” It's a warning to stop and a plea for more. “I know.” She kisses the spot a bit firmer. “Celebrations will have to wait just a day longer.” She then rolls off him, his arm immediately lifting so she can press against his side.

“It’s cruel to win with a sprint race.” She snorts, “A sprint race never stopped us before.” “It’s cruel to win with a sprint race in Qatar.” He amends. “Very true.”

He sighs, staring at the ceiling as he calms down, luckily the feeling of her fingers tapping along his stomach not making it harder. “How’s Logan feeling?” Max asks, remembering how pale he looked when they got dinner. She sighs, moving somehow closer. “Not great. No fever, but his stomach is still a bit upset.” He winces. “He gonna be okay tomorrow?” “I hope so. The team knows that he’s sick, they’ll make the right choice.” “I hope so.” He echoes, wishing that Logan felt better, hoping that he feels better by the time the race starts.

—

“We are confident in him.” Max scoffs, tossing his phone aside. “I know.” “Logan still wanting to do his new routine.” She nods, lips pursed. He shakes his head. “He did good.” It wasn’t the rookie season that Oscar had, but it couldn’t be. Oscar got lucky enough to get a seat in a near top team, while Logan got one with a back of the grid team that was sometimes midfield.

Logan scoring ten points, getting himself to sixteenth in the standings, tied with Bottas in the standings, was very good for a rookie. It was a shame that Williams seemed to think he could’ve and should have done better. At least, Max thinks, the 2025 grid was wide open for possibilities.

“Are him and Oscar still joining us?” She throws him a look. “Us?” “You.” He amends, knowing that despite him joining her, he’d get caught up in Redline and different things. He was just happy she didn’t mind that. “Only for a few days and then they both are off to Australia.” “Will Logan be joining us for Florida?” “Yes. My mom has been asking the next time she’s going to see her only grandchild.” Max laughs at the eye roll. “So, Belgium first, then Monaco,” “You go to Milton for a day after.” He nods, “then Greece, Florida, Monaco.” “Not bad for the first few weeks of winter break.” “Not bad at all.” He agrees, wrapping his arms around her waist, chest pressed against her back.

It’s quiet between the couple as Max sways them.

“Max.” “Yes?” “Your mom, she does know that I’m not in my forties right? Or thirties?” She figured that the woman did, but she also had only briefly gotten to meet her at the one race, and there had been an odd expression on her face when Max introduced her as his girlfriend. He freezes. “Max.” “I knew I forgot something.”

@ohtous @cixrosie @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @quackquackhun @rewmuslupin @copper-boom @stopeatread @crashingwavesofeuphoria @jointhehunt67 @namgification @asphalstead @poppyflower-22 @racingheartsposts @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @hiireadstuff @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @bibliosaurous @skepvids @elliegrey2803

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #I ❤️ MILFS verse #I was on something when I came up with this idea and the name of this fic #sins fics

4K notes · View notes

fastandcarlos · 27 days ago

Text

Since Day One : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: since the very beginning you’ve been by lando’s side supporting his career

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by ynusername, georgerussell63 and 3,850 others

landonorris: goodbye karting, thank you for everything. looking forward to getting into the world of formula racing next year ❤️

382 comments

username1: can’t believe you’re moving on from karting, big things are coming!

ynusername: so proud of you, even if I’m gutted not to be riding around in a go kart every week from now on 💔

landonorris: @/ynusername you haven’t seen nothing yet, just wait for those f1 hot laps 😘

username2: only a matter of time until we see you line up on that f1 grid now ☺️

charles_leclerc: end of a karting era, but hopefully many more races for us to come!

landonorris: @/charles_leclerc we’ll both be on that podium one day…I’m sure of it!!

username3: so deserving of the new things coming your way ❤️

georgerussell63: hopefully be lining up on the grid with you very soon 🤞🏻

olivernorris1: congrats bro, looking forward to the free trips to some more hot destinations 😂☀️

landonorris: @/olivernorris1 and here i was thinking you were flying out to support me…

username4: still gonna be your biggest fan!!

maxverstappen1: about time you gave someone else a go at winning a karting race 😂

username5: can’t wait to see where you go from here 🫶🏻

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by alex_albon, charles_leclerc and 13,968 others

landonorris: buzzing to get my first formula 2 win, thanks to the whole team for all your support so far this season. hopefully the first of many 💪🏻🏆

1,840 comments

ynusername: you’re incredible, my race winner 🥺

landonorris: @/ynusername can’t wait to show this trophy off to you when I get home 💞

username6: first win of many gotta good feeling for this season ❤️

charles_leclerc: turns out you’re just as good at karting as you are formula 2 😂👏🏻

username7: so deserved lando, hope you celebrate hard tonight!

georgerussell63: yes lando!! a jolly good race indeed my friend 🏆

username8: a white race suit and champagne, someone in the team needs speaking to 🤦🏻‍♀️

alex_albon: someone get zak brown on speed dial asap 📞

landonorris: @/alex_albon let’s not get too excited, it’s only one race…so far!

alex_albon: @/landonorris the first of many my friend!

username9: if driver of the day was a thing, you’d get my vote 🤩

username10: that smile is my new favourite thing in the world!!

adam_norris_pure_electric: good job son, so proud of you back over here at home 🤍

username11: can’t wait to see how many more wins you get this year 🥺

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by carlossainz55, alex_albon and 58,402 others

landonorris: first couple of weeks with mclaren done, safe to say carlando is off to a good start 😝🧡

9,497 comments

username12: carlando are officially my otp btw 🧡🫶🏻

charles_leclerc: it’s a miracle you two get anything done when you’re in the same room!

username13: i can already tell this pairing is gonna be trouble!!

alex_albon: looks like you don’t need me anymore 😭

landonorris: @/alex_albon team rookies forever 💯

username14: whoever decided that these two should be on the same team deserves a pay rise immediately 😂

mclaren: admin thanks you both for constantly giving her such a headache 🧡

username15: have you ever met two more well paired drivers in your life??

ynusername: *currently googling what to do when you feel like the third wheel in your own relationship…*

carlossainz55: @/ynusername he’s mine now 😘

landonorris: @/ynusername ignore him, I promise you’re still my number one 💞

username16: forever refreshing my feed in search of carlando content 🥺

username17: can we get these two to sign lifetime contracts at all!?

zbrownceo: you’ve been awesome so far and ik you’ll continue to be too!

username18: i love how carlos us taken lando completely under his wing in f1 😭

carlossainz55: couldn’t imagine my life without you sweetie ❤️

landonorris: @/carlossainz55 stop otherwise you’ll make yn jealous again!!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt and 28,048 others

ynusername: finally managed to get to my first f1 race, so proud to see you do your thing in person lan 💞

2,960 comments

landonorris: so glad you were able to come and cheer me on, you’re definitely a good luck charm now 🫶🏻

username19: you looked stunning in the paddock, lando is one lucky guy!!

alex_albon: you’re not allowed to leave it so long next time, I didn’t realise how much i missed you!!

carmenmmundt: so happy to finally meet you, hopefully see you again soon girlie!

ynusername: @/carmenmmundt who cares what the boys say, we’re double dating asap 🫶🏻

username20: you two are just beyond stunning together ��

charles_leclerc: i still remember you being one of a handful of people watching us in karts all those years ago 💭

ynusername: @/charles_leclerc so proud of all you guys 💕

username21: silently praying for a yn appearance at every race from here on in 🙏🏻

carlossainz55: still secretly think you were coming to spy on me 👀

ynusername: @/carlossainz55 gotta find a way to stop you stealing my boyfriend somehow…

username22: from karting to f1, she’s really been by his side through it all!

mclaren: thank you for helping us keep lando under control for the weekend - admin 🧡

username23: hope you had the best time yn 💞

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 174,494 others

landonorris: first podium baby 🏆🥳

thank you to everyone in austria and back at the mtc for all your hard work. fans, friends, family and yn for always cheering me on and reminding me that i can do this 💕🧡

38,508 comments

username24: I don’t think I’ve ever been this proud in my entire life 🥺

alex_albon: the little go karter on an f1 podium 🤧

username25: idk how you did it but that was incredible, fastest lap too!!

carlossainz55: I feel like a proud father rn 🥺

username26: thank you for reminding us that mclaren can achieve podiums again 🧡

maxverstappen1: gutted I couldn’t be up there with you today

landonorris: @/maxverstappen1 next time we’ll be up there together like the old days!

mclaren: everyone at mclaren is so proud of you lando 🧡🏎️

username27: only got the podium thanks to a time penalty anyway 🙄

username28: @/username27 🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻

ynusername: have I mentioned yet just how proud I am of you?? 💞

username29: love how he gave a special mention to yn too 🥺

zbrownceo: the perfect stepping stone to get you to p1, I know we can do it 💪🏻

username30: hope you get used to being up on that podium, you’re gonna be there often!

georgerussell63: super drive buddy!!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, lilymhe and 38,497 others

ynusername: turns out monaco is the life after all, a whole new world but absolutely loving it 🥺

4,969 comments

username31: just goes to show just how much lando means to you remember!

landonorris: thank you for making such a huge sacrifice for me, i promise we’ll have the best time living out here together 😘

ynusername: @/landonorris anything to help make your dreams come true ✨

username32: look at them out here living their best lives

carmenmmundt: our next coffee date is when??? ☕️

ynusername: @/carmenmmundt I’m omw to you rn 🏃🏻‍♀️

alexandrasaintmleux: @/ynusername @/carmenmmundt make that three 🫶🏻

username33: the muscles in that first photo, yn you can’t do that to us without warning…

georgerussell63: thank you for finally giving me some proper competition playing padel 🏸

ynusername: @/georgerussell63 I did try to warn you that lando was rubbish

username34: yn always happy to satisfy the boyfriend lando fans ✨

adam_norris_pure_electric: we are so relieved that you’re out there with him 😂

ynusername: @/adam_norris_pure_electric this apartment would not still be standing without me 😂

username35: I cannot stress how obsessed I am with these two!!

maxverstappen1: I love that you’re now on our doorstep so I can constantly annoy you 😂

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by danielricciardo, landonorris and 42,950 others

ynusername: first holiday in a while with you 🛥️🏝️

7,597 comments

carlossainz55: missing my two favourite people right now

ynusername: @/carlossainz55 thank you honorary third wheel 😘

username36: no one deserves this rest more than you two 💞

danielricciardo: it’s not a true holiday cause I’m not there 🤷🏻‍♂️

landonorris: @/danielricciardo that’s what makes it such a good holiday

username37: summer break looks good on you two!!

maxverstappen1: so glad you guys are enjoying that place!

ynusername: @/maxverstappen1 thanks for such a great reccomendation! ☺️

username38: remember when everyone was obsessed with these two as karting teens, now look at them… 😭

oscarpiastri: shame he doesn’t look like he’s missing me at all 💔

iamrebeccad: wishing that I could look as good as you rn 🥺

username39: it’s not fair how good two people can look…

landonorris: the best time away with you 💕

username40: forever refreshing my feed for another gorgeous update of these two

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55 and 2,968,573 others

landonorris: the moment I’ve dreamt of for so many years, officially a race winner! thank you to every single person who has contributed to my career over the years, this one’s for you 🏎️🧡🏆

458,360 comments

username41: apologies to my neighbours for screaming so loud the entire street could hear

ynusername: wish I could’ve been there more than anything, can’t wait to celebrate with you when you’re home 💞

landonorris: @/ynusername I still felt you here cheering me on 🫶🏻

oscarpiastri: awesome drive, the only way for us right now is up

↗️

landonorris: @/oscarpiastri we’re chasing them down brother 💪🏻

carlossainz55: I always knew this moment would come one day for you 👏🏻

username42: asking for a friend…is it acceptable to cry when it’s not even you on the podium???

danielricciardo: about damn time 😂 super race today brother!!

username43: words can’t begin to explain how proud I am to be your fan lando norris

alex_albon: who’d have thought those two kids almost a decade ago would end up here 🥺

username44: so proud of how far you’ve come since the beginning lando!

zbrownceo: could barely contain myself on the pit lane, congratulations lando 🧡

charles_leclerc: such an honour to be up there with you 🏎️

username45: it’s been a long time coming, hopefully the platform for many more wins now ☺️

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, alexandrasaintmleux and 60,597 others

ynusername: second time’s the charm! so proud of you lando and so proud to be there this time cheering you on with all your family. you’re so deserving of this moment…I couldn’t be any prouder of you ✨💕

14,974 comments

landonorris: I could never have got this far without you, thank you for always loving me angel since day one 🧡

georgerussell63: he’s not stopped telling people all weekend how happy he is to have you here btw 😂

username46: how do you two still manage to melt my heart like this!?

lilyzneimer: so happy for lan 👏🏻 and so happy you got to be there to see him win this time too!!

lilymhe: you looked so cute during those celebrations bby

username47: only yn and cisca would stand out in that crowd to surprise him 😂

oscarpiastri: at least I didn’t have to listen to him mope about how much he wanted you there this time

username48: I love the relationship yn has with all his family 🥺

mclaren: admin would also like to reiterate what oscar had to say too 😂

username49: I can’t begin to imagine how excited lando must’ve been to have his whole family there

danielricciardo: was it ever in doubt??

ynusername: @/danielricciardo that’s cause he learnt from the best 😉

username50: you must be so proud yn seeing his hard work firsthand ☺️

carlossainz55: so good to see you and catch up under such awesome circumstances 🧡

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

2K notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 2 months ago

Text

Jilted

Charles Leclerc x runaway bride!Reader

Summary: you find out that your groom is a cheating bastard on your wedding day … Charles helps you pick up the pieces

The sun-drenched bridal suite buzzes with anticipation as you stand before the full-length mirror, your reflection a vision in white lace and satin. Your heart races, a mix of excitement and nerves coursing through your veins. This is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but something feels ... off.

“You look absolutely stunning,” your best friend, Mia, gushes as she adjusts your veil. “James won’t know what hit him.”

You force a smile, trying to shake the nagging feeling in your gut. “Thanks, Mia. I just ... I can’t believe this is really happening.”

Mia squeezes your hand reassuringly. “Cold feet are totally normal. Trust me, once you see James waiting for you at the altar, all those doubts will melt away.”

A soft knock at the door interrupts your thoughts. Your mother peeks her head in, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Oh, sweetheart,” she breathes. “You’re absolutely beautiful.”

As she enters the room, you notice her clutching her phone, her knuckles white. “Mom? Is everything okay?”

She hesitates, exchanging a worried glance with Mia. “I ... I’m not sure how to say this, honey.”

Your stomach drops. “Mom, what is it? Just tell me.”

She takes a deep breath. “I just got off the phone with James’ mother. She... she overheard him talking to someone. A woman.”

The room spins as you struggle to process her words. “What are you saying?”

“It seems ... it seems James has been seeing someone else. For quite some time, apparently.”

The words hit you like a physical blow. You stumble back, gripping the edge of the vanity for support. “No,” you whisper. “That can’t be true. We’re getting married in an hour!”

Mia rushes to your side, her arm around your waist. “Y/N, breathe. We’ll figure this out.”

But you can’t breathe. The room feels too small, the air too thick. “I need ... I need to talk to him.”

Before anyone can stop you, you’re bolting from the room, your dress billowing behind you as you race down the hallway. You burst into the groom’s quarters, startling the group of groomsmen inside.

“Where is he?” You demand, your voice trembling.

James’ best man, Tom, steps forward, his face pale. “Y/N, what are you doing here? It’s bad luck-”

“Where. Is. He?” You repeat, each word dripping with venom.

The bathroom door opens, and there he stands — the man you thought you’d spend forever with. James’ eyes widen as he takes in your disheveled appearance. “Honey? What’s wrong?”

You laugh, the sound bitter and hollow. “What’s wrong? How about you tell me, James? Who is she?”

His face crumples, and in that moment, you know it’s true. “Y/N, I can explain-”

“Explain?” You spit. “Explain how you’ve been cheating on me our entire engagement? How you were going to stand up there and lie to my face, in front of everyone we love?”

James reaches for you, but you recoil. “Please, just let me-”

“Don’t touch me!” You scream, tears streaming down your face. “How could you do this to me?”

The room falls silent, save for your ragged breathing. James’ groomsmen shift uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact. You turn to leave, but James grabs your arm.

“Y/N, wait. I love you. We can work this out,” he pleads.

You wrench your arm free, fixing him with a glare that could freeze hell itself. “Love me? You don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

With that, you’re running again, pushing past concerned guests and ignoring the calls of your name. You burst out of the hotel into the blinding sunlight, your legs carrying you down the street without a destination in mind.

You don’t know how long you run, your white dress now stained with dirt and tears. Eventually, you find yourself in a part of town you don’t recognize, your feet aching and your lungs burning. A neon sign catches your eye — The Dive Hole.

Without thinking, you push open the door to the dingy bar. The few patrons inside turn to stare as you stumble in, a bride in full wedding attire, mascara streaking down your cheeks.

The bartender, a gruff-looking man in his fifties, raises an eyebrow. “Rough day, sweetheart?”

You laugh, the sound bordering on hysterical. “You could say that.”

As you collapse onto a barstool, the weight of the day finally crashes down on you. You bury your face in your hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

The bartender slides a glass of amber liquid in front of you. “On the house,” he says gruffly. “Looks like you could use it.”

You lift your head, offering him a watery smile. “Got anything stronger?”

***

The world spins as you stumble out of The Dive Hole, your wedding dress now stained with whiskey and regret. The streetlights blur into a hazy glow as you teeter on your heels, struggling to maintain your balance.

“Hey, watch it!” A passerby shouts as you nearly collide with him.

“Sorry,” you slur, waving a hand dismissively. “Just trying to ... to find my happily ever after. Have you seen it? I think I lost it somewhere.”

The man hurries away, leaving you alone on the sidewalk. You laugh bitterly, the sound echoing in the empty street. “That’s right, run away! Everyone else does!”

As you take another unsteady step, your heel catches in a crack in the pavement. You lurch forward, bracing for impact with the cold, hard ground. But instead of concrete, you find yourself enveloped in warmth.

“Whoa there!” A gentle voice exclaims. “Are you alright?”

You blink, trying to focus on the face of your savior. Kind green eyes peer down at you, filled with concern. The man helps you regain your footing, his hands steady on your arms.

“I’m fine,” you insist, even as the world continues to tilt around you. “Just ... just celebrating. It’s my wedding day, you know.”

The man’s brow furrows as he takes in your disheveled appearance. “Celebrating alone? In the middle of the street?”

You nod vigorously, immediately regretting the action as nausea washes over you. “Yep! Best day ever. Who needs a groom anyway, right?”

“I’m Charles,” he introduces himself, his accent warm and inviting. “And I think maybe you should sit down for a moment. There’s a bench just over there.”

He gently guides you to the nearby bench, helping you settle onto it. You slump against the backrest, your head lolling to the side.

“So, Charles,” you drawl, poking him in the chest. “What brings you out on this fine evening? Looking for love in all the wrong places?”

Charles chuckles softly. “Actually, I was just heading home after a late dinner with friends. And then I found a beautiful bride who seems to be having a rough night.”

You snort, gesturing to your ruined dress. “Beautiful? I look like I’ve been through a war. A war of the heart.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Charles offers, his voice gentle and free of judgment.

For a moment, you consider spilling everything. But the wound is too fresh, the betrayal too raw. Instead, you shake your head, feeling tears well up in your eyes once more.

“No talking,” you mumble. “Just ... can you sit with me for a bit?”

Charles nods, settling onto the bench beside you. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”

You sit in silence for a while, the cool night air slowly clearing your head. Charles remains a steady presence at your side, occasionally glancing at you with concern.

Finally, you break the silence. “I should probably go home. Except ... I don’t really know where home is anymore.”

Charles frowns. “You don’t have anywhere to go?”

You shake your head, a humorless laugh escaping your lips. “Nope. Funny how your whole life can fall apart in a single day, huh?”

Charles is quiet for a moment, seeming to wrestle with a decision. Finally, he speaks. “Look, I know we’ve just met, but ... I have a spare room. You’re welcome to stay there for the night, just to sleep it off and figure things out in the morning.”

You blink at him, surprised by the offer. “You’d do that for a stranger?”

He shrugs, a small smile playing at his lips. “Well, we’re not exactly strangers now, are we? Besides, I couldn’t live with myself if I left you out here alone.”

You consider his offer. Every logical part of your brain is screaming that this is a bad idea, but something in Charles’ eyes tells you he can be trusted. Plus, you’re not exactly swimming in options at the moment.

“Okay,” you agree softly. “Thank you, Charles.”

He helps you to your feet, steadying you as you sway slightly. “My car’s just around the corner. Think you can make it?”

You nod, determined. “Lead the way, knight in shining armor.”

The ride to Charles’ apartment is mercifully short. You spend most of it with your head against the cool glass of the window, trying to keep the nausea at bay. Charles fills the silence with gentle small talk, his voice soothing in the darkness.

When you arrive, Charles helps you out of the car and into the elevator. As you ascend, the reality of your situation starts to sink in.

“Oh God,” you groan, leaning against the elevator wall. “What am I doing? I don’t even know you. For all I know, you could be a serial killer or something.”

Charles chuckles. “I promise I’m not a serial killer. Just a guy who couldn’t leave a crying bride on the street.”

The elevator doors open, and Charles leads you down the hallway to his apartment. As he fumbles with his keys, you sway on your feet, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with you.

“Here we are,” Charles announces, pushing open the door. “Home sweet home.”

You step inside, taking in the stylish but comfortable living room. “Nice place. Very ... un-serial-killer-like.”

Charles laughs. “Thanks, I think. The spare room is just down the hall, but maybe we should get you some water first.”

He guides you to the kitchen, filling a glass with cool water. You accept it gratefully, gulping it down.

“Easy there,” Charles warns. “Small sips or you’ll make yourself sick.”

You nod, slowing down. As you finish the water, a wave of emotion washes over you. The events of the day come crashing back, and before you know it, you’re sobbing.

“Hey, hey,” Charles says softly, moving closer. “It’s okay. You’re safe here.”

Without thinking, you throw yourself into his arms, burying your face in his shirt. Charles stiffens for a moment, surprised, before wrapping his arms around you.

“I’m s-sorry,” you hiccup between sobs. “I’m getting your shirt all wet and snotty.”

You feel Charles’ chest rumble with a soft laugh. “Don’t worry about it. That’s what washing machines are for.”

He holds you as you cry, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. You cling to him, this kind stranger who’s shown you more compassion in one night than your fiancé did in years.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Charles asks gently.

You shake your head, still pressed against his chest. “Not yet. Maybe... maybe tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he says simply. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You stay like that for a while, your sobs gradually subsiding into quiet sniffles. Charles continues to hold you, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions.

As your breathing evens out, exhaustion begins to overtake you. Your eyelids grow heavy, and you find yourself struggling to stay upright.

Charles seems to sense your fatigue. “Come on,” he says softly. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He leads you down the hallway to the spare room, supporting most of your weight as you stumble along. The room is simple but cozy, with a plush-looking bed that seems to call your name.

“There should be some spare pajamas in the dresser,” Charles says. “They might be a bit big, but they’ll be more comfortable than that dress.”

You nod sleepily, already fumbling with the zipper of your gown. Charles quickly turns away, a blush creeping up his neck.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll leave you to it,” he stammers. “Bathroom’s right across the hall if you need it. And I’ll be in the living room if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay,” you mumble, your eyes already half-closed. “Thank you, Charles. For everything.”

He smiles softly. “Goodnight. Sleep well.”

As the door closes behind him, you manage to slip out of your wedding dress and into a pair of soft sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. The bed feels like heaven as you sink into it, your body finally relaxing after the emotional roller coaster of the day.

But as you lie there in the dark, the silence allows your thoughts to creep back in. Memories of James, of the life you thought you’d have, of the future that’s now shattered. Tears begin to fall once more, soaking into the pillow.

Before you know it, you’re padding out to the living room, sniffling quietly. Charles looks up from his spot on the couch, concern etched on his face.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Can’t sleep?”

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Every time I close my eyes, I see ... I just ... I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Without a word, Charles opens his arms. You practically collapse onto the couch next to him, curling into his side. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You’re not alone. I’m right here.”

You nod against his chest, fresh tears soaking into his shirt. Charles doesn’t seem to mind, just holds you tighter and begins to hum softly, a soothing melody that washes over you.

As you lie there, surrounded by the warmth and kindness of this virtual stranger, you feel something you haven’t felt all day: safe. The steady rhythm of Charles’ heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall of his chest lull you into a state of calm.

Your eyelids grow heavy once more, and this time, you don’t fight it. As you drift off to sleep, still wrapped in Charles’ arms and using his shirt as a makeshift tissue, your last coherent thought is a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be better.

***

The first rays of sunlight filter through the unfamiliar curtains, gently rousing you from your slumber. For a blissful moment, you’re disoriented, unaware of where you are or why your head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. Then, like a tidal wave, the memories of yesterday crash over you, bringing with them a fresh wave of pain and embarrassment.

You groan, burying your face in the pillow. How did you end up here? Slowly, fragments of the night before come back to you — a kind stranger, an offer of shelter, crying yourself to sleep on the stranger’s couch.

Charles.

His name was Charles.

The smell of coffee and something deliciously savory wafts through the air, making your stomach growl despite the lingering nausea. Reluctantly, you drag yourself out of bed, wincing at your reflection in the mirror. Your hair is a tangled mess, mascara smudged under your eyes, and you’re wearing clothes that are decidedly not yours.

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself to face your host. You pad quietly down the hallway, following the sounds of movement in the kitchen. As you round the corner, you see Charles standing at the stove, his back to you as he hums softly to himself.

You clear your throat softly. “Um, good morning.”

Charles turns, a warm smile lighting up his face. “Good morning! How are you feeling?”

You grimace, running a hand through your tangled hair. “Like I’ve been hit by a truck. Emotionally and physically.”

He chuckles sympathetically. “I bet. Here, sit down. Coffee?”

You nod gratefully, sinking into a chair at the small kitchen table. “Yes, please. And maybe some painkillers if you have them?”

“Coming right up,” Charles says, placing a steaming mug in front of you before rummaging in a drawer for the pills.

As you sip the coffee, relishing the warmth spreading through your body, Charles returns to the stove. “I hope you like omelets. I wasn’t sure what you’d be up for, but I figured eggs are usually a safe bet.”

“Omelets sound perfect,” you say, your stomach rumbling in agreement. “Thank you. For everything. I ... I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t found me last night.”

He waves off your thanks, sliding a plate in front of you. “No need to thank me. I’m just glad I could help.”

As Charles settles into the chair across from you with his own plate, a comfortable silence falls between you. You pick at your food, your appetite warring with the knot of anxiety in your stomach.

Finally, Charles breaks the silence. “So ... seems like yesterday is quite a story.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “A very long one.”

Charles’ green eyes meet yours, filled with gentle curiosity. “Care to share?”

You hesitate, pushing your food around your plate. Part of you wants to keep it all locked away, to pretend yesterday never happened. But another part of you is desperate to unburden yourself, to make sense of the whirlwind that turned your life upside down.

Taking a deep breath, you begin. “Well, yesterday was supposed to be my wedding day.”

Charles nods encouragingly. “I gathered as much from the dress. What happened?”

“I found out my fiancé — ex-fiancé now, I guess — has been cheating on me. Throughout our entire engagement.”

Charles winces. “Ouch. That’s ... I’m so sorry.”

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant even as tears prick at your eyes. “Yeah, well. Apparently I’m great at picking them.”

“How did you find out?” Charles asks gently.

You laugh bitterly. “Oh, it was a real soap opera moment. His mother overheard him on the phone with the other woman, literally an hour before the ceremony. She told my mom, who told me, and ... well, you can imagine how that went down.”

Charles shakes his head, disbelief etched on his face. “That’s awful. What did you do?”

“I confronted him, of course. In front of all his groomsmen. It was ... not my finest moment. There was a lot of yelling, some crying, probably some mascara running. And then I just ... ran. In my wedding dress. Like some cliché runaway bride, except I had nowhere to run to.”

You pause, taking a sip of coffee to steady yourself. Charles remains silent, his face a mix of sympathy and something else — anger, maybe?

“I ended up in some bar I’d never been to before,” you continue. “Drank way too much, way too fast. And then I was stumbling around on the street, and ... well, you know the rest.”

Charles nods slowly, processing your story. “Wow. That’s ... that’s a hell of a day.”

You snort. “You can say that again.”

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Charles says, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand gently. “No one deserves that kind of betrayal.”

His touch is warm and comforting, and you find yourself fighting back tears again. “Thanks. I just ... I feel so stupid. How did I not see it? We were together for five years. We were supposed to spend our lives together. And all this time ...”

“Hey,” Charles interrupts softly. “You’re not stupid. He’s the one who made the choice to betray your trust. That’s on him, not you.”

You nod, not entirely convinced but appreciating his words nonetheless. “I guess. It’s just ... where do I go from here? We had a whole life planned out. A home, careers, maybe kids someday. And now it’s all just ... gone.”

Charles is quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. “Maybe this is an opportunity.”

You look at him skeptically. “An opportunity? To what, have my heart ripped out and stomped on?”

He chuckles softly. “No, no. I mean ... look, I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but you’ve been given a chance to rewrite your story. To figure out what you really want, without having to consider someone else’s dreams or expectations.”

His words give you pause. You’d been so focused on what you’d lost, you hadn’t even considered what you might gain. “I ... I guess I never thought of it that way.”

“It’s okay if you’re not ready to see it as a positive yet,” Charles assures you. “Healing takes time. But I promise you, this isn’t the end of your story. It’s just the beginning of a new chapter.”

You manage a small smile, the first genuine one since yesterday morning. “Where did you learn to be so wise, huh?”

Charles grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, you know. I moonlight as a philosopher when I’m not rescuing damsels in distress from the streets.”

You laugh, surprised by how good it feels. “My hero,” you tease.

As your laughter fades, a comfortable silence settles between you. You find yourself studying Charles, really looking at him for the first time. He’s handsome, in a boyish sort of way, with kind eyes and an easy smile. There’s something familiar about him, but you can’t quite place it.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence. “I’ve shared my tragic backstory. What about you? What’s your deal, Charles?”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, you know. Just your average guy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Average guys don’t usually invite strange women in wedding dresses to stay the night. Unless ... oh God, you’re not married, are you? Did I just cause some poor woman to think her husband was cheating?”

Charles laughs, holding up his hands. “No, no, nothing like that. I’m very much single. And I promise, inviting strange women in wedding dresses to stay over is not a regular occurrence for me.”

“So what do you do, then? When you’re not playing knight in shining armor?”

A flicker of something crosses Charles’ face before he answers. “I’m ... in sports. Racing, actually.”

You nod, impressed. “Racing? Like, cars?”

“Formula 1,” he clarifies. “I’m a driver.”

Suddenly, it clicks. The familiarity, the nagging feeling that you’ve seen him before. Your eyes widen. “Oh my God. You’re Charles Leclerc. The Ferrari driver.”

He grins sheepishly. “Guilty as charged.”

You bury your face in your hands, mortified. “Oh God. Oh God. I cried all over a world-famous race car driver. I used your shirt as a tissue. This is ... this is so embarrassing.”

Charles reaches across the table, gently pulling your hands away from your face. “Hey, none of that. I’m just a person, like anyone else. And I meant what I said — I’m glad I could help.”

You peek at him through your fingers. “You’re sure? Because I’m pretty sure I got mascara and snot all over your probably very expensive shirt.”

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “I promise, it’s fine. The shirt will survive. I’m more concerned about you. How are you feeling now?”

You consider the question, taking stock of your emotional state. “Honestly? Still pretty awful. But ... maybe a little less awful than before. Thank you. Really. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t found me last night.”

Charles smiles softly. “I’m just glad I was in the right place at the right time. And hey, look at it this way — you’ve got a pretty unique story to tell now.”

You groan, but can’t help laughing. “Oh yeah, because drunk and crying in a wedding dress is exactly how I wanted to meet one of the best F1 drivers in the world.”

“One of the best?” Charles teases, clutching his chest in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I’m clearly the best.”

You roll your eyes, grinning despite yourself. “Oh, excuse me. I didn’t realize I was in the presence of such greatness.”

As you banter back and forth, you feel something shift inside you. The pain is still there, raw and aching, but it’s no longer all-consuming. For the first time since yesterday, you feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll be okay after all.

***

The roar of engines fills the air as you make your way through the bustling paddock, the excitement of race day palpable. You can’t help but smile, still amazed at how much your life has changed in the past few years. From runaway bride to Formula 1 WAG — it’s a plot twist you never saw coming.

“Mon cœur!” A familiar voice calls out. You turn to see Charles jogging towards you, his race suit tied around his waist. He grins as he reaches you, pulling you into a quick embrace.

“Hey, you,” you say, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

Charles shrugs, his eyes twinkling. “I’ve got time. Besides, I needed my good luck charm.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “Flatterer. Go on, get back to work. I’ll be cheering you on from the garage.”

He steals one more kiss before heading back towards his team, leaving you shaking your head with a smile. As you turn to make your way to the Ferrari motorhome, a familiar face in the crowd stops you dead in your tracks.

Your ex-fiancé is standing just a few feet away, gawking at you with wide eyes. For a moment, you’re frozen, unsure how to react. It’s been years since you’ve seen him, since that disastrous almost-wedding day.

Before you can decide whether to acknowledge him or pretend you haven’t seen him, James is moving towards you, a strange mix of emotions playing across his face.

“Y/N?” He says, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Is that really you?”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “Hello, James.”

He looks you up and down, taking in your sleek outfit and the VIP pass hanging around your neck. “Wow. You look ... different. What are you doing here?”

“I’m here with my partner,” you say simply, not feeling the need to elaborate.

James’ brow furrows. “Your partner? You mean like ... a business partner?”

You can’t help but laugh. “No, James. My partner. As in, the person I’m in a relationship with.”

His eyes widen comically. “You’re dating someone involved in Formula 1? Who?”

Before you can answer, a small group of fans approaches, their eyes lighting up as they spot you.

“Excuse me,” one of them says excitedly. “You’re Charles Leclerc’s girlfriend, right? Could we please get a picture?”

You smile warmly at them. “Of course!”

As you pose for photos with the fans, exchanging a few friendship bracelets as well, you can see James out of the corner of your eye. He’s standing there, mouth agape, looking like he’s been hit over the head with a frying pan.

Once the fans move on, James practically pounces on you. “Charles Leclerc? You’re dating Charles Leclerc? How ... when ... what?”

You sigh, already tired of this conversation. “Yes, Charles and I have been together for a while now. Is there something else you needed?”

He shakes his head, still looking dazed. “I just ... I can’t believe it. How did this happen?”

“It’s a long story,” you say, not particularly wanting to rehash your past with him. “One I don’t really have time to get into right now.”

James seems to ignore your hint, his eyes narrowing. “Come on, Y/N. You can’t expect me to believe that you’re actually dating one of the best F1 drivers in the world. What’s really going on here?”

You feel a flash of anger at his dismissive tone. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, no offense,” James continues, oblivious to your growing irritation, “but last I knew, you couldn’t tell the difference between F1 and NASCAR. Now you’re supposedly dating a Ferrari driver? It doesn’t add up.”

You clench your fists, trying to keep your cool. “People change. They grow. They learn new things. Not that it’s any of your business.”

He scoffs. “Right. So I’m supposed to believe that in the few years since our ... since we last saw each other, you’ve not only become an F1 expert but also managed to snag one of the most eligible bachelors in the sport? Come on, Y/N. What’s the real story? Are you some kind of ... I don’t know, brand ambassador or something?”

Before you can respond, a warm hand settles on the small of your back. You look up to see Charles standing beside you, his expression a mix of concern and confusion.

“Everything okay here, mon amour?” He asks, his eyes flicking between you and James.

James’ jaw drops even further, if that’s possible. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

You lean into Charles’ side, drawing strength from his presence. “Charles, this is James. My ex-fiancé. James, this is Charles. My boyfriend.”

Charles’ eyebrows shoot up in recognition, but he recovers quickly, extending a hand to James. “Nice to meet you,” he says politely, though there’s a hint of steel in his voice.

James just stares at the offered hand, then back at you, then at Charles again. “This ... this is a joke, right? Some kind of prank?”

Charles drops his hand, frowning. “I assure you, it’s not a joke. Y/N and I have been together for over two years now.”

James shakes his head vehemently. “No. No way. This doesn’t make any sense. Y/N, what are you playing at?”

You feel your patience snap. “I’m not playing at anything. Charles and I are together. We’re happy. I’m sorry if that’s difficult for you to comprehend, but it’s the truth.”

“But ... but how?” James sputters. “How did this even happen?”

Charles tightens his arm around you, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Well, if you must know, I found her wandering the streets in a wedding dress, crying her eyes out because her fiancé was a cheating bastard.”

James blanches, his face turning an interesting shade of purple. “That’s ... that’s not ... you can’t just ...”

“Can’t what?” You challenge, feeling emboldened by Charles’ support. “Can’t move on? Can’t find happiness with someone who actually respects me? Can’t build a life that doesn’t revolve around you?”

A small crowd has started to gather, attracted by the rising voices and the presence of Charles Leclerc. You can see people whispering, phones discreetly pointed in your direction.

James seems to notice the attention too, his eyes darting around nervously. “Look, Y/N, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but-”

“It’s not a game,” you interrupt, your voice firm. “This is my life. A life I’m very happy with, I might add. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Charles has a race to prepare for.”

You start to turn away, but James grabs your arm. “Wait, just ... just tell me the truth. Is this some kind of revenge? Did you set this all up to get back at me?”

Charles tenses beside you, his eyes flashing dangerously. “I suggest you remove your hand,” he says, his voice low and controlled.

James lets go as if burned, taking a step back. “I just ... I don’t understand. How could you … with him?”

You take a deep breath, deciding to end this once and for all. “James, listen carefully because I’m only going to say this once. What happened between us was years ago. I’ve moved on. I’ve built a life I love, with a man I love. Your inability to believe that says far more about you than it does about me.”

You turn to Charles, softening your voice. “Come on, love. You need to get back to the team.”

Charles nods, pressing a kiss to your temple before addressing James one last time. “It was ... interesting meeting you. Enjoy the race.”

As you walk away, leaving a stunned James in your wake, you can’t help but let out a small laugh. “Well, that was ... something.”

Charles chuckles, squeezing your hand. “You handled that beautifully, mon cœur. Though I have to admit, I was tempted to deck him when he grabbed you.”

You lean into him, smiling. “My hero. But I think leaving him standing there like a fish out of water was far more satisfying.”

As you approach the Ferrari garage, you pause, turning to face Charles. “Thank you,” you say softly. “For being there, for backing me up. For ... everything, really.”

Charles cups your face gently, his green eyes full of love. “Always. You know I’ve got your back, just like you’ve always had mine.”

You stretch up on your toes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you, you know that?”

He grins, that boyish smile that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. “I love you too. Now, how about we go win a race, yeah?”

As you enter the garage hand in hand, the organized chaos of the team preparing for the race enveloping you, you can’t help but marvel at the twists and turns that led you here. From the lowest point of your life to the highest — all because a kind stranger couldn’t leave a crying bride on the street.

You squeeze Charles’ hand one more time before he heads off to his car. As you watch him go, you silently thank whatever twist of fate brought him into your life that night. The road hasn’t always been smooth, but you wouldn’t change a single moment of it.

After all, sometimes the best love stories start with a broken heart and end with a chequered flag.

2K notes · View notes

prozach27 · 1 year ago

Text

#when I got out of intensive outpatient in late February / early March all therapy was ended #and they set me up with like four different places I could transition to #and I reached out to all of them but it wasn’t until this month they got me off the waitlist lmao #today I finally got my first appointment set up for next week #four months after my treatment ended lol #not doing great but I signed up for weekly sessions again and I think that’ll be good #need to continue that hard work asap and get caught back up to where I was previously #lil nervous about my therapist but we’ll see #it’s a woman who’s very passionate about art therapy and idk how I feel about that lmao #but she’s trained in CBT so hopefully that will be what we use 💀#not looking to draw my feelings lmao

0 notes

lifetimeoftired · 3 months ago

Text

How to adopt a dead kid in three weeks or less

It's midnight and I'm hopped up on that ADHD juice. Been thinking on and off about this prompt and how things play out. Might clean this up for ao3 posting later but whatever.

Part 1 || Part 2

____

Danny can feel the weight of their stares like it’s physical. A last mournful glance at his pancakes- Actually no, fuck it. He grabs the last one from his plate, flashes the whole Wayne family a peace sign, and turns invisible. The pancake is eaten as he dashes out the door and away from the shouting and chaos he leaves the family in.

“Where the FUCK did he go!?” Jason’s shout somehow made it above the din of the others- and got Bruce and Dick yelling ‘language’ back at him. The pricks.

“I say! Watch your tone Master Jason! As for the rest of you-” The whole family shut the immediate fuck up when Alfred speaks. His displeased expression more than enough to cow them into submission. “I expect you to clean up after yourselves today and a quiet trip to the batcave to find our new ward. Master Jason, you will be taking care of Master Danny’s plates, and I will hear of an apology from you for scaring that poor boy.”

There’s a chorus of ‘yes Alfred’ from the chastised bats, but Bruce- carefully mind you- presses.

“Alfred, how long has he been here? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“The young master has been staying for the past three weeks sir. And despite my best attempts, I have not yet been able to convince him to sleep in his own room.”

Bruce groans and rubs at his face before turning back to his other children, “Nobody thought to tell me!?”

The kids all look at each other, and then back at him with the most judgmental ‘are you serious’ looks they can muster. Except Cassandra, who very excitedly signs; New brother! All Bruce can do is sigh into his hands.

“We’ll discuss this later-”

“Why didn’t you notice then old man?” Jason grins, a little feral at Bruce’s dirty look but sue him.

“Okay okay, let’s hurry up and get this place cleaned up. There’s no telling how far Danny got- and the sooner we go after him the sooner we figure out what’s going on.” Dick said, quickly gathering his own plate.

“And the sooner I can get all of you presents.” The entire family stops. Staring at Jason in shock. “Only the finest ‘World’s best detective’ mugs for all of you!”

The groan he gets from all of them is perfect.

“I cannot believe you didn’t think to tell me either!” Batman scolds Oracle later.

Everyone is out in force. Even Batwoman, Batwing, and Bluebird (after having a good laugh at Batman’s expense) had joined. They had all been searching for Danny the better part of the day. Batman had even agreed to let Red Robin and Robin join the search and skip school. That’s how seriously the kids knew he was taking this. And how important it was for one of them to get to Danny before Batman scared him off for good with his infamous paranoia.

“If you didn’t notice, that one’s on you Batman.” God Jason really loved Barbara sometimes.

“Oracle would not have allowed a dangerous individual into our midst. She is thorough when it comes to such things.” Robin is moving fast, probably swinging right behind Batman. No doubt headed east where the nicer areas were and any sane person was bound to head.

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, baby bat.”

“O, you wouldn’t happen to have a new update on Danny’s whereabouts would you? Or anything from his past?” Nightwing cuts in after Robin’s little ‘Tt’. He’s somewhere near the border to Bludhaven, in case Danny’s making it out that way.

“Nothing Nightwing.” They can hear her frustration, and concern, through the voice modulator. “The kid’s practically a ghost. All I can tell you is that he’s not from Gotham. What little I can find of his time here in Gotham is some security feeds of dumpster diving and sleeping on a bench.”

“He’s also definitely a meta.” Signal mutters, somewhere to the west and near the coast..

Jason remains quiet and lets them all talk. As funny as it is- and holy shit Jason will never let any of them live this down ever- it is a little strange this random kid would just... Show up out of nowhere. Meta or not. Alfred said he wouldn’t sleep in a bed of his own, but he also hadn’t left until after Jason questioned his existence. This ‘Danny’ had been around the manor, the bats coming and going, for weeks. He could’ve found out their secrets, and even if he hadn’t sold them out yet, there’s no telling who might pick him up and drag those secrets out of him. Or worse, if he was sent here by someone, then they needed to find out who. And fast…

….

Ugh. He sounded like Batman.

“Hey guys, how well do you even know Danny?” Jason pulls over near an abandoned apartment building. Cutting the engine to his bike to hear them all better. “He was there for a few weeks, pick up anything on him? Might help us figure out where he ran off to.” That last bit was added as an afterthought, not wanting to be too paranoid, but it was also true.

“I know how this is going to sound, but uh, well, he does seem really nice actually.” Signal helpfully offers. “Dick and I ran into Danny I think not long after he got there?”

“O’s camera feed tells us Danny arrived at the manor 28 days ago, Thursday night 11:38 PM. Looking at the records, he was picked up prior to that in front of Wayne Enterprises by one of our drivers- Archer Tenson. He’s reliable and honest, no record of any sort that would make him a suspect of subterfuge.” Nightwing rattles off the information pretty calmly, but they all know him well enough to hear the concern. “According to the records, he was going to pick up the caffeine addict after the cafe got an alert of his fourth Death Latte-” They all ignored Red Robin’s little ‘hey!’, “-and dropped him off safely at home.”

“Red Robin.” Batman’s parental disapproval was palpable through the comms.

“There wasn’t a fourth Death Latte!” Red Robin protested from his place in the batcave. Aiding in the digital search and combing over the camera feeds over the past few weeks for any information about Danny. “The third Death Latte was the last one. An Alert at W.E. was the plan the whole night. Nobody made it back to the manor until sunrise and the cafe kept saying there wasn’t any more coffee and-!” He gasped, horrified! Outraged! And the rest were left to hold their snickers as Red Robin said, “He stole my last coffee!”

“That’s right, Danny said he was a caffeine addict too.” Batwing mused. Probably flying somewhere over the more open suburbia in case Danny was trying to make a break out of the city that way.

“Wait when did you meet Danny?” Spoiler asked- Jason knew she was patrolling nearby with Bluebird. Those two, Orphan and Signal were the only ones who were allowed to come close to Crime Alley. Mainly because they annoyed Jason the least, but also because they understood how bad the streets could get and looked the other way better than the others. Signal surprised him about that one.

“Start from the beginning.” Batman orders. “Nightwing, Signal, you met Danny when?”

“Looking back, it was actually the day after he got there it sounds like.” Signal sighs. “I was headed downstairs for breakfast, and saw Dick in one of the sitting rooms. I thought I saw our caffeine addict passed out on the couch and thought dick was going to wake him, so I went in to help…”

#dc x dp #batman #batfamily #jason todd #danny fenton #writing prompt #the next few bits will be all the bats and their meetings with danny

1K notes · View notes

pathologicalreid · 1 month ago

Text

what to expect | s.r.

in which you find yourself frustrated at the end of your pregnancy, and spencer talks you off a ledge

margotober

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff (hurt/comfort) content warnings: pregnancy, lamaze classes, self-consciousness, boy dad spencer, spencer is perfect, birth talks, breastmilk mentioned, crying word count: 1.68k a/n: i'm writing all of these a/n's at the same time and i'm running out of interesting things to say to you. this was a request! i hope you enjoy!

“Now,” the instructor continued her presentation, “Our recommendation is the five-five-five rule.” The yardstick that she was using to emphasize the slides smacked against the projector screen, “That’s five days in bed, five days on the bed, and five days near the bed.”

Leaning back, you rested your back on Spencer’s chest and whispered, “If you try to keep me in bed for five days, we’ll have to start marriage counseling.”

Your husband hummed in response, “Why don’t we just see how you’re feeling after he’s here?”

Holding back a groan at his diplomatic answer, you turned your head back to the screen, anxiety already at an all-time high after watching video footage of a live birth. At a friend’s recommendation, you had signed yourself and Spencer up for Lamaze lessons, but you hadn’t anticipated how in-depth they would go.

It didn’t help that Spencer had been on a case when you were supposed to start, pushing back your start time. Now you were finishing your last lesson on the same day your OB had given you the ‘any day now’ speech. “Are you alright?” Spencer asked, noticing the way you didn’t respond to his suggestion.

Your head bobbed in confirmation, “Yeah, just tired.” The lights were dimmed in the classroom, between that and the warmth of Spencer behind you, you were ready to fall asleep.

Your sweet husband was beginning to toe the line of being overbearing, “Do you want me to take the rest of the day off?”

“No,” you answered. He had taken an extended lunch to be able to go to this lesson with you, there was only a week until his paternity leave officially started, and it wasn’t necessary for him to stay with you for the rest of the day.

Besides, having him around all day was only going to make your prenatal anxiety worse.

He was already the perfect father, his eidetic memory contributing to all of the facts that he listed about newborns and birth. He knew more about the changes happening to your body, and the worst part was that everyone knew it.

Cringing as the lights went up, you leaned back on your hands as Spencer stood up, packing up your bag before crouching down to help you up. Looking around the room, you watched all of the other couples in your class smiling and laughing with each other, the moms moving around the room with an ease that you no longer possessed.

You took a deep breath, placing one hand on your side in an attempt to brace yourself, “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Spencer asked again, watching you zone out in the middle of the Lamaze studio.

“Mhmm,” you reassured him, “Braxton Hicks,” you added, trying to wave off some of his concern.

Nodding in understanding, Spencer gently placed a hand on the small of your back before the two of you started to make your way out of the room, stopping to grab the gift bag your instructor had put together for you. His hand dropped to hold yours before walking down the steps, leaving the two of you at the entrance to the parking garage, “Hey,” he nudged, trying to lift your spirits, “No more classes.”

Admittedly, the Lamaze lessons weren’t your favorite couple activity, and Spencer knew that the only reason you kept going was that they were non-refundable. “Right,” you agreed, knowing that now you’d have to face the next hurdle—actually giving birth.

“Okay,” Spencer said, gently herding you over to a park bench. He set the bags down on the seat before you sat down, leaving him squatting in front of you. “What’s wrong, honey? I know something’s wrong,” he insisted, knowing you well enough to be able to tell when you were burying your feelings.

You leaned back onto the bench, “I’m pregnant,” you shrugged as if that was answer enough.

Spencer frowned up at you, “Yes, this much I am aware of,” he confirmed, eyes flickering down to your bump before going back to your face.

“I just…” you struggled to find the right words, “I’m pregnant, and you’re doing all of this research into pregnancy and labor and birth, and I’ve done none of it. None of the research or the work and I’m— I feel useless!”

His expression softened at the sight of tears welling in your eyes, “You’re not useless. You’re so far from useless that it’s not even on the list of adjectives I would consider while describing you.” He rested his hands on you, one on top of your knee to maintain his balance and another on the side of the bump, skimming his thumb over the cotton of your t-shirt. “You’ve been growing our baby, and he’s beautiful and healthy and he’s going to love you regardless of how much research you’ve done about him.”

Huffing, you wipe at your teary eyes, “It’s so embarrassing though! Going to the BAU today and hearing everyone talk about how prepared you are, the stacks of books on your desk and on your nightstand and on the coffee table.” You paused to take a deep breath, “In those stupid classes where you knew so many of the answers that the instructor stopped calling on you to give everyone else a chance.”

“Sweetheart,” Spencer murmured, “I like being prepared. Especially for big changes like this.”

You nodded, resting your hand on top of his, “And I love that about you, but I have never felt so unprepared for anything in my life,” you confessed, struggling to catch your breath.

It wasn’t like Spencer didn’t understand your frustrations, he just wished you had voiced some of these concerns sooner, “You don’t need to prepare like I do, though. Your maternal instinct? It’s inherent. It’ll immutably move you to sense and take care of the baby, okay? With dads it’s different. I don’t have any sort of physical connection with him like you do, I won’t develop a similar instinct until I actually spend time with him. So, technically, you’re ahead of me,” he explained, using all of his research to soothe you out of your panic.

“I just want him to love me as I love him,” you pouted, looking down at the bump, “but I ache all over, Spence. My boobs hurt. They’re not even tender anymore, they just hurt,” you complained.

Spencer chuckled lightly at your breast comment, “He will love you as you love him; I guarantee it. Your boobs hurt because they’re producing colostrum, and we can call your doctor later to see if it’s alright to pump. That’ll help relieve the pressure.”

Some of the tension in your body released, and you sniffled timidly, “I think those classes are designed to freak people out of ever having another baby. Oh my god,” your eyes go wide as you recall the live birth video, “You can’t watch.”

“Watch what, honey?” Spencer asked.

You looked at him with abject horror in your eyes, “The baby. You can’t watch me give birth. Is that why the dads always used to wait in another room? Should I be having you wait in another room while I’m in labor?”

He shook his head, “I’d like to be in the room with you, but if you’d be more comfortable having me somewhere else, then we can figure that out. However, we just went through twelve hours of birthing classes together, so if you’d rather I just refrain from actually watching you push the baby out, then I will promise to abide by your rules.”

Horror stories that you had heard from other moms about how their husbands wouldn’t touch them after birth filled your mind, and that type of rejection horrified you. With wide eyes, you looked at your husband and whispered, “I can’t do this.”

Spencer watched helplessly as tears filled your eyes once again, “Can’t do what?”

“Have a baby,” you answered, your voice tight with emotion, “What was I thinking? I never should’ve done this, oh no.” You continued muttering to yourself, sending your head into a tailspin as Spencer desperately tried to get you to come back down to earth.

“Hey,” Spencer crooned, “Y/N, hey,” he tried to get you to snap out of it. “Hey, we made this decision together, remember? Why didn’t you tell me you hated being pregnant?”

Your eyes snapped to his, “I don’t hate being pregnant. I’m just over it!”

Pushing your bags off to the side, Spencer sat down next to you on the bench, “You want him here, huh?”

Nodding melodramatically, you cover your eyes with your hands, “I just wish he could be in my arms instead of in my belly, and now that I’ve been told he could come any day it’s so much worse.”

“Thirty-seven weeks is any day now territory,” Spencer acknowledged, “but not today, I’m afraid.”

Dragging your hands down your face as you met his eyes, knowing that today was, in fact, not the day. “I miss hugs,” you told him mournfully, wiping at the fresh tears in your eyes.

Spencer casually put his arm around your shoulders, leaning over to press a soft kiss to your temple, “I hug you all the time,” he reminded you.

“It’s not the same with the bump,” you admitted, there was always an awkward lean involved, and you could never get close enough to him.

He raised his eyebrows at you curiously, “So, if I promise to give you a hug after the baby’s born, will you stop crying?”

Leaning your head back and using his arm as a headrest, your head bobbed slightly, “Yeah, I think that could fix me.”

“Honey,” he started, “I promise to give you the coziest, most rejuvenating hug of your entire life after the baby comes. I will hug you like you’ve never been hugged before.”

Turning to face him, a timid smile grew on your face, “Well, now you’re kind of laying it on thick, don’t you think?”

He sighed desperately, “I just really want you to stop crying.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #spencer reid dilf agenda

1K notes · View notes

ozzgin · 7 months ago

Text

Yandere! Werewolf Headcanons

I've been stalked by the guilty feeling that my Romanian Werewolf boy got a lot of backstory but not much romance or interaction. So there you have it: some headcanons featuring the ancient Beast, a post-kidnapping sequel.

Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, monster romance, mild NSFW at the end, ridiculously older yandere

You followed the gargantuan stranger back into the city, leaving the bloodbath behind as if it was just a distant dream. Admittedly, you’d expected to be dragged into some mountainous cave or an abandoned mansion, not the cozy - albeit a little dusty - apartment on a main, historical street. On second thought, he did function as a human outside of his monstrous escapades, so it made sense. “Is this your place?”, you sheepishly asked while he wiped the thick layers of blood off him. “One of them, yes”, he answered curtly. “It’s central”, you remarked, trying to make conversation. “Well, I didn’t know about it back then. It’s been a few decades.”

Your ears perked up at the words. Gazing at his features, he didn’t seem necessarily aged to you. The deep creases contouring his face felt more like a sign that he’s lived sorrows beyond most people’s comprehension. “How old are you?” You finally asked as curiosity replaced your initial fear. He abruptly stopped his movements and leaned back, brows furrowed in deep contemplation. “I’m not so sure anymore. I was born in the 80s”, he concluded. “That’s not too far back, is it?” You inquired, this time more relaxed. “80 BC, I meant. You do the math.”

He freshened himself up as you counted the millennia on your fingers, frowning in confusion. He chuckled at your intense focus, then quickly looked up into the mirror. When was the last time he smiled like this? The reflection was a foreign sight to him. “We’ll get you everything you need tomorrow”, he continued, still in a daze. What a strange idea, having someone to speak to after an eternity. And suddenly, it occurred to him just how rusted his communication had gotten: “I’m so sorry, I haven’t asked for your name once”, he said, embarrassed. “It’s (Y/N). And you are...?" Might as well introduce yourself to your benevolent captor.

The dreaded question. How did they call him back in the day? He hasn't had anyone spell it out for him, nor did he feel the need at any point to say it himself. Why would he? He hadn't anticipated meeting you. With pursed lips, he searched his mind. Eventually, from the depths or memories, from days of yore, it made its way back: "Daos."

Given your first gory encounter (where he quite literally murdered everyone else), you were surprised to find out he's otherwise a calm and polite individual. Well, he's had centuries to mature, you suppose. You've also noticed he has that rather old-fashioned chivalry to him. He's very attentive despite his stoic demeanor, and often follows with acts of service.

"You're insulting me. I can carry this myself with ease", you'll argue. "I never doubted you can. Nonetheless, it is my wish to do it for you."

As the days pass, your reluctance seems to vanish as well. In fact, you've become particularly cheeky, encouraged by his warm, unperturbed behavior. Maybe you haven't gotten the worst deal out there, after all.

"You know, you talk like an old man", you've teased him once. He was visibly taken aback by your statement, and you could discern a faint blush on his face. "Do I? My apologies, I haven't spoken to anyone in a long time. I'm not familiar with modern speech. Have I embarrassed you somehow?"

He spends his free time reading, though he will frequently take you on walks. It's an interesting affair to say the least. You can feel the curious eyes of the passersby and hear their not-so-discreet whispered gossip. You can't truly blame them: Daos is enormous even as a human. He towers above everyone else with his imposing appearance. To match, his voice is deep and coarse as a result of not using it much until recently.

The ancient werewolf is a living history book. If asked, he will narrate to you important events or details you might be curious about regarding his culture. Once, when he'd been in a good mood, he even shared fragments of his life before turning into a creature. He'd been a high-ranked Dacian warrior, spending his days training or fighting. He still remembers the flag he carried with bitter fondness, yet another irony to his fate: a wolf-headed serpent. It was meant to showcase their way of life; barbarians with no fear of death. They'd greeted the Roman Empire with nothing but a sword and a shield, no shred of doubt.

He might've been betrayed by his people, but the pride remains. The pride of a soldier who's never known defeat. You learned quickly that his beastly form doesn't count as a significant change by any means, save for appearances. The man has brute strength even as a human. You'd once strayed from his view, and a stranger approached with a daring whistle, gawking you up and down. Before you could react, Daos clawed him by the throat. You heard the twist of the skin and the creak of the bones giving in to the immense pressure of his large hand.

"It's the second time I have exposed you to such unpleasant sights", he said, discarding the body as if it was any other garbage. "Forgive me, but I will not have you disrespected like this."

He is very much aware he's taken you away from the world out of his own selfish desire. The fact that you accepted it is more than he could ever ask for. That's what he keeps telling himself, even as his eyes wander to your lips whenever you speak. Or as his hand lingers a moment too long against the curve of your back. Or as he hungrily takes in your scent whenever you're nearby.

He might be unhealthily possessive of you, but Daos will never do anything against your will. No matter how obvious his urges are. In fact, no amount of flirting or teasing will shake his resolve. You will have to be very direct with your approval.

Once the reality settles in, he'll become extremely affectionate, bordering on obsessive. To think he could have you in every way possible. Oh, he's waited thousands of years for you. All the suffering, the loneliness, the anger, they're stripped of any meaning now that he has you.

The city strolls at an awkward distance have since become a habitual excuse to hold your hand and show you off to the mortals. The quiet evenings of passing time with a book now include your merely noticeable weight cuddled into his lap. You didn't expect him to be this adoring. Being touch-starved for millennia counts as one reason, naturally, but there's more to it, so much more. And it all leads back to you.

He is a little taken aback when you ask him to do the deed in his werewolf form. "Don't be foolish. I can't overcome my instincts as well when I'm a creature. I could harm you", he'll lecture you. "Besides, you can barely take it as it currently is", he'll add, smirking at your baffled expression. It seems he's picked up on your cheekiness.

After a lot of pleading and waiting for the right moment - when he's ravaging you in a daze - he finally agrees. True to his word, his tune instantly changes. The tender hold turns into a desperate grasp sinking into your skin, and the thrusts become irregular, almost frantic. His drool cools your burning cheeks as you hold onto the coarse fur, feverish and overwhelmed.

His golden eyes rest on the small human squirming underneath him, and suddenly, he can't help but notice: you have the perfect birthing hips.

3K notes · View notes

mind-empty-just-fictional-people · 10 months ago

Text

Too Many Beds

main masterlist | supernatural masterlist

summary: you want nothing more than an excuse to sleep next to dean again

pairing: (pre-s1/s1) dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 2.1k

warnings: none really, language, bed sharing, kissing, mutual pining, idiots in love, brief mention of the death of reader’s dad

timeline: starts slightly before season one, ends near the beginning of season one

author’s note: a spin on the classic 'just one bed, what ever shall we do?' trope lol

You’d known Dean all your life, practically. You met him when you were six and he was eight; two lonely little kids stuck with absent (job-driven) fathers and baby brothers you felt responsible for. Over the course of the last eighteen-or-so years you ran into the Winchesters during hunts enough that you considered them family.

When Sam left for college you were there for Dean and when you lost your dad in a hunting accident Dean was there for you. He actually stayed with you, not wanting you to hunt alone since your brother was off at college too.

So, for the last six months you’d been hunting with Dean (who hadn’t spoken to Sam for over a year).

“One room, two queens,” Dean said to the woman behind the counter, placing “his” credit card on the space between them before sliding it toward her.

“We’re all booked up I’m afraid,” she said.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I was actually about to turn on the no vacancy sign.”

“This is the third motel we’ve been to,” you said, “every one of them has been full—you’ve gotta have something!”

“I mean, there’s technically one room left but the heater’s out and my boss said not to let anyone sleep there because of that.”

There was a silent pause; you and Dean shared a knowing look.

“We’ll pay in cash, your boss ‘ll never know,” you told the woman. She smiled and nodded as you paid her with cash.

“Room 209, my boss gets here at ten tomorrow morning so please leave before then.” She handed you the key and you nodded in thanks.

You had underestimated just how cold the room could be, but when you unlocked and opened the door you understood why the owner didn’t want anyone staying here.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mumbled, following you into the room and feeling the cold air. “We’re gonna freeze our asses off in here!” he quickly closed the door behind him, hoping the icy air hadn’t swept any snow into the room.

“It’s either this or we sleep in the Impala,” you shrugged, “and, no offense to your car, but it’s fuckin’ uncomfortable to sleep in.”

“And there’s only one bed,” Dean sighed.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” you told him, ignoring his complaints.

“Are you shivering or crying?” Dean asked.

You rolled over so you could meet his stare; “Shivering! It’s fuckin’ cold in here!”

“You wanna…cuddle up, maybe?” he asked hesitantly.

“Excuse me?” you laughed a little.

“Look, I’m not thrilled about it either, but it’s cold in here and unless we both wanna catch fucking pneumonia we better be smart and share body heat.”

You sighed, weighing your options; “Fine. But we never, and I mean never speak of this again, you hear me?”

“Understood.” He nodded.

You rolled back over as he scooted closer to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you into his chest.

“This okay?” he asked quietly, his lips ghosting the back of your head.

“Yeah,” you mumbled back. “Thank you, Dean.”

You woke up to the sound of Dean snoring loudly. You were used to his snores, sure, but he’d never been this close. He was laying on his stomach and resting on your chest; his mouth open and his hair tickling your neck. Your first reaction was annoyance but then it quickly washed away as you realized you didn’t want to move a muscle, so Dean could continue sleeping.

And the more you laid there, listening to his snores, the more you realized how comfortable you were…even in such a physically uncomfortable situation.

As the time passed and the sun began to rise, you cursed the light that was slowly but surely peeking through the curtain and onto Dean’s face.

“Morning,” he mumbled to you as he lifted his head up. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his right hand before wiping his mouth. “Sorry,” he chuckled, noticing the small spot on your gray sweater dampened with his drool.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled back. “I think it’s your sweater anyway.”

“I thought it looked familiar.”

He rolled off of you and out of bed.

You watched as he padded across the dirty carpet and over to the small kitchen. He turned on the coffee maker and the loud, off putting grinding noise made his face scrunch before he quickly shut off the (definitely broken) machine.

“So much for coffee,” he grumbled. “You gonna sit there all morning or you wanna get outta here? We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

“I’m getting up,” you replied. You would usually be annoyed at him for rushing you to wake up, but this time the annoyance was…different. Something about his bedhead, the way his lips were pouting over the lack of caffeine, and how he looked in his brown Henley and baggy sweats just made you wanna hold him again. All you wanted was to pull him back into bed with you and hold him in your arms forever.

You were beyond frustrated at this point. How many stupid fucking hotels had to have vacant rooms with two beds and a functional heating system!?

It had been nearly six months since you and Dean shared a bed and you had been looking for an excuse to sleep next to him ever since.

But the last couple weeks had been different—Sammy was back. Yes, you loved Sam like a brother, but you missed getting to be alone with Dean. You missed sitting shotgun in the Impala and watching him drive.

Sam definitely noticed the way you looked at Dean, but the younger Winchester didn’t say a word. Without being too obvious about it, he tried to do little things that would let you be close to his brother. He’d sit in a certain chair or part of the couch so that you and Dean had no choice but to sit together. Or he’d make some lame excuse so that he got his own room while you and Dean had to share. “I need to do some more research and I need the light, why don’t you two just sleep in the other room?” for example.

“Two rooms, please,” Dean said, reaching into his coat pocket for his wallet.

“Unfortunately we’ve only got one room left,” the cashier replied.

You almost couldn’t believe your ears, fucking finally!

“Oh, that’s too bad,” you faked your best frustrated look, of course Sam saw right through that.

“Well, I am not sharing with either or you,” he said with a teasing smile.

“There’s actually a pullout couch in that room, as luck would have it,” the cashier informed the three of you.

God fucking damn it, you thought to yourself.

It was barely after two when you felt the bed behind you dip, and you shook yourself awake.

“The hell?” you asked, still half asleep.

“The pullout couch isn’t working,” Dean mumbled quietly. “You mind sharing with me?”

You smiled a little and scooted closer into his arms, indicating you were okay with him sleeping next to you.

“Of course I don’t mind sharing with you,” you whispered and his grip tightened.

“I’m gonna go get breakfast,” Sam announced. “I’m assuming you want your usual?”

Dean put his right pointer finger to his lips and furrowed his brows angrily. He gestured to you as you slept and Sam got the message.

“Usual is good,” Dean whispered before Sam left.

Dean stayed laying perfectly still as you slept on his chest, soft snores escaping your lips and to Dean they were the sweetest sound.

As you stirred awake slowly, he rubbed your back a little.

“Morning,” you mumbled, a small smile on your lips. “Where’s Sam?”

“He went to grab breakfast,” Dean told you.

You furrowed your brows as you sat up, looked across the room, and realized something; “The pullout bed looks fine? I thought you said it wasn’t working?” You turned back to Dean, who had a sheepish grin growing on his lips.

“So…maybe I’ve just been looking for an excuse to sleep next to you again. Like we did back in that motel when the heat was out.”

“Really?” You attempted to hide the smile trying to find its way onto your face.

“When we were checking in last night I noticed how your face lit up when they said there was only one room left,” Dean admitted. “And I saw that disappointed look you made when they said there was a pullout couch. So, am I wrong, or have you been wanting an excuse too?”

“I really liked sleeping next to you that night,” you said, avoiding eye contact. “And you’re right, I have been hoping for another ‘oh no just one bed, guess we’ll have to share’ situation but…”

“But what?” Dean asked when you trailed off. You looked down at him.

“Dean, you and Sam have been like my brothers for as long as I can remember. I mean, Bobby practically raised all three of us and my actual brother as siblings! Your dad and my dad knew each other basically forever and I guess…I guess I figured our lives are too entangled for anything to ever actually happen between us. We’re family.”

“Chosen family, Y/n.” Dean smiled softly. “Doesn’t mean you have to be my chosen sister, you could be my chosen…you know…”

You leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his full lips.

“That,” Dean finished his previous statement.

“Let’s just keep this between us for now, okay?” you suggested. “If Sam finds out, then your dad will find out, and he’ll immediately tell my brother, then before we know it Bobby—”

“I get the picture, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled before kissing you again. He put his hands on your cheeks as he sat up. He pulled you onto his lap, your legs now straddling his hips. His hands moved to your shoulders then trailed down to your lower back as yours went into his hair. You pulled away from him after a moment, huge smiles on both your faces.

You looked into his eyes, his truly beautiful eyes, and you bit your bottom lip ever so slightly. Your right hand rested on his left cheek, your thumb stroking his skin lovingly.

“You’re awesome, Dean Winchester,” you whispered.

“You’re fuckin’ incredible,” he replied before he kissed you again. “And gorgeous, too,” he added. “You know how fuckin’ annoying it’s been, sleeping without you every night since that one time?”

“I do know, Dean, I’ve been just as annoyed about it.”

Dean kissed you one more time before he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace, tucking his head into your neck. You wrapped your arms around him too, pressing your lips to his temple.

You pulled out of the hug so you could once again look at his face. Resting your forehead on his, you smiled before you kissed him again.

“Breakfast,” Sam called out as he opened the door, “is served!”

You and Dean froze for a split second before you hurried off of him.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Sam said, “did I interrupt you two?”

“What?” you scoffed. “Of course not!”

“Interrupt? There’s nothing to interrupt?” Dean added.

“Oh…wow you two are fast,” Sam mumbled, shaking his head as he made his way to the kitchen before putting the food down. “Well, pancakes, eggs, and bacon from the continental breakfast.” He gestured to the food now on the table. “Hope you’re hungry.”

As Sam sat down to eat, you looked at Dean anxiously. Say something you begged him with your eyes.

“Sammy,” Dean started as he got out of bed, “would you mind uh…not telling dad? About me and Y/n…kissing just now? When we find him, I mean.”

“Dad’s never really been invested in your love life, but he’s not an idiot,” Sam laughed.

“So…you are gonna tell him?” Dean furrowed his brows in frustration.

“Dean, he knows you two are together, it’s not some big secret?” Sam replied, shoveling more food into his mouth. “Damn that’s good.”

“Okay, just hold on—what?” Dean asked. “What do you mean dad knows? There’s been nothing to know since like four minutes ago?”

“Wait,” Sam stopped eating and fully turned to face you and his brother, “are you trying to tell me this is the first time you two have kissed?” Sam furrowed his brows deeply as you and Dean both nodded. “So…never in high school?” You shook your heads again. “That prom we crashed?”

“Sam you were there the whole time? When would we have kissed?” you asked.

“Huh,” Sam let out a laugh. “I genuinely thought you two had been a thing since like… ‘98.”

“What!?” you and Dean exclaimed in unison.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester comfort #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural fic #supernatural fluff #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #dean x reader #by mind empty just fictional people #by jean

5K notes · View notes

gurugirl · 4 months ago

Text

Assistance Needed | assistant!reader

based on this request (thank you anon! hope you enjoy!)

Summary: Harry finds himself in an awkward position when you walk in on him in his office just as he's in the middle of something quite improper.

Word Count: 3,053

Warning: smut (oral sex), inappropriate relationship, power imbalance (boss/assistant)

| main masterlist |

. . .

How could you not know the lacy edge of your bra was peeking out from your lovely white silk top? Eyeglasses pushed up on your head while you leaned over the table and held the pencil between your teeth as you pointed to the paragraph in the document that you felt didn’t belong.

Harry stared down at the contract as you pulled the pencil from your lips to speak, “This looks like it doesn’t belong here. I feel like it was accidentally copied from a different contract altogether but we need to remove it.”

He looked up at your pretty eyes, already on his, and stood with a curt nod, “Yes. I think you’re right, Y/n. Once that’s done, print out enough copies for all the partners and we’ll sign them before the end of the day.”

You smiled at him and he felt his face warm. That’s all it took. Your smile.

But that was a problem because he was your boss. He paid your salary. You worked your ass off and you were the best assistant he’d ever had. You were even catching mistakes his administrative assistants didn’t. Sometimes he felt like you knew him better than his mom did. But that didn’t mean he was allowed to pine after you the way he was.

After closing the door to his office when you walked out he sat in his cushy leather chair and ran his hands into his hair. He couldn’t keep this up. His imagination would get the best of him at times but it’d been too frequent as of late. But part of him wondered why you had started wearing the things you were suddenly.

When you first started on, just over a year ago you always dressed professionally but very conservatively. There was no hint of anything particularly sexy or flirty. So Harry had never really looked at you like he had more recently. He always thought you were cute and smart and he was often surprised by how well you listened.

But then it turned into something like a friendship. He would seek you out for advice or to just chat, maybe even vent when the mood was right. He’d text you randomly midweek in the evening, then eventually he’d find himself shooting you a text on a Saturday afternoon, then a Saturday evening. And one day, when he was thinking about you while he was grocery shopping he realized he didn’t just find you refreshing to be around. Nor was he just simply happy to see you and enjoyed your company. No. He liked you. Liked you, liked you.

It really all blew up in his face, though, when you walked into the office one morning a couple of months ago wearing this dress that had his heart stopping and his tongue sliding out of his mouth (yes, just like a cartoon). He felt like a creep. He already knew he was developing feelings for you on some level but when he got a glimpse of you in something slightly more revealing it was like he was 16 again. It was embarrassing when he had to hide the front of his pants because all it took for you to make him hard was to wear a high heel or a dress that was on the shorter side.

Or wearing a thin white silk shirt tucked into a well-fitted pencil skirt and the tiniest peek of lace.

And he decided to do something he’d never done in his life. It’d be fast. No one would ever know and Harry could talk to you with a clear head and it would keep his boner at bay, at least until he left the office.

Scooting in closer to his desk he unzipped his pants and opened up his drawer to pull out tissues before spitting into his palm and smoothing it down his shaft. The relief was instant. He was swollen and already throbbing in his hand, which is why he knew it’d be fast. He could take his time later on at home, but in that moment, he needed to get off before you walked back into his office with the updated documents.

His breaths got deeper as he dropped his mouth open and closed his eyes and thought about your laugh and the curve of your bottom, your lips…

Pumping himself faster he laid one hand flat on his desk as he softly grunted the closer he got to this end. Another glob of saliva over himself made the glide of his big palm even better and he sighed when he felt his balls tighten and imagined your pretty lips wrapped around him, big, soft eyes looking up at him, the front of your shirt fully unbuttoned so he could get a proper look at the pretty bra he knew you were wearing underneath.

He was almost there when he heard a single knock at his door before it opened. You walked in with a folder and a smile on your face before closing the door behind you.

“I printed out copies for everyone. Michelle confirmed that the paragraph was transferred over from the Cota documents.”

Harry scooted himself into the desk and tried to catch his breath and act normal, hoping you wouldn’t see what he was doing or notice anything was off but he’d been right at the edge and his tip was already leaking as you laid the papers down on his desk. So far, it seemed as though you had no idea.

“Everything okay, Mr. Styles?” You suddenly paused and looked at his face. He seemed on edge.

“Yes. Fine. Thank you. I’ll sign these in a few minutes. Just, uh finishing something here.”

You squinted at him and noticed how flushed he was. How wide his pupils were. How dark his pink lips were. And his erratic behavior was a little odd.

“Are you sure? Is there something I can help you with?”

He looked up at you from his spot in his cushy chair and noticed the flirty grin on your face (was it flirty or was he just losing his mind?). The edge of your mouth quirked up as you slid your gaze downward to the space where the bottom half of his torso was just hidden underneath his desk.

“I don’t think that’s…” he inhaled, trying to calm his ragged breaths and will his erection away.

But instead of you stepping back and heading to his door to leave you cocked your head and sauntered to the side of his desk as if you already knew what he’d been doing and were determined to catch him in the act.

See, you’d been aware of his growing interest in you. And when the texts he’d send you on the weekends turned into flirtatious banter well into the evenings you decided to test out your theory. The first time you wore a dress that was just slightly shorter and tighter than normal with high heels that showed off your legs you realized he was checking you out.

So you did it again and again until you were positive it wasn’t just in your head. He was attracted to you. And it was so wrong of you to feed into it the way you did but it was hard not to enjoy the attention because Harry Styles was quite the specimen. Handsome and tall and witty… he was sexy, you’d always thought so.

And it was quite bold of you to assume anything but that day, you were feeling bold. Everything had been working for you since you woke up. Your outfit was banging (if you did say so yourself), your lipstick was staying put, you’d gotten the perfect amount of sleep, and your coffee order had been exactly to your preference. But what had you feeling extra confident was the double take Harry did when you stepped into his office that morning with his coffee.

“Mr. Styles,” you placed your hand on the edge of his desk and leaned down closer, “Tell me what you need.”

He blinked in surprise and swallowed, “I… what?”

Sliding your hand closer to the edge of the desk where he was you bit your lip as your shirt draped open slightly and you saw his pupils drag over your lacy bra.

You looked down at your cleavage and back up at him, “What? Do you like it?”

You watched him swallow again, a thick lump bobbing in his throat, “Do I like it?” He furrowed his brow and looked from your bra to your eyes, “It’s pretty.”

A grin took over your expression as you looked back down at your shirt, “Want to see more? I don’t mind.”

“I can’t. I’m…” he inhaled a shaky breath and looked down at his lap before pinning his eyes back to yours, “I’m your boss. This is inappropriate.”

You shrugged and pushed yourself back up, “I understand,” and turned to walk out. If he didn’t want to take it further you’d certainly not push it. But you knew he was up to something under his desk and you had a feeling what it was.

“Y/n wait a moment, please.”

You looked back at him and placed your arms over your chest with a soft smile, waiting for him to continue.

“Are you serious that you don’t mind?”

Shaking your head you released your arms, letting them fall to your sides, “I mean… this is embarrassing but I sort of wore this on purpose. Thought you might like it. So if you wanted to see more, well it’s for you anyway.”

“For me…” he repeated your words quietly as he considered his next steps.

“Yes. I’ve been dressing for you. I know I shouldn’t because, like you said, you’re my boss but… I don’t know.”

“I am your boss. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about you in ways I shouldn’t be.”

“Like you were doing just before I walked in?”

His jaw clenched and he looked back down at his lap with a nod before turning his gaze back to yours, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not. I think about you too, you know.”

“Probably not like this.”

“Like what? Were you… Mr. Styles, were you touching yourself under your desk?”

He was like a deer caught in headlights. Eyes wide and scanning as he shifted uncomfortably, “I was. I apologize, I…”

Stepping forward you shook your head, “Don’t apologize. When I asked you if you needed something I hoped you’d let me, you know…” you breathed out a laugh and shrugged.

“You wanted to… help me? Like…” his brows scrunched together as if he couldn’t believe where the conversation was headed.

“Yes. If you wanted. We can pretend nothing happened and I’ll leave right now but I would love to– assist.”

He swallowed again, the gulp sounding in the quiet of his office, “Fuck,” he cursed and looked down at his length. He felt like such a pervert but here you were offering your assistance. When he looked back up at you, you’d already made your way back to his desk, eyes wide and hopeful.

“I can’t ask you to do that, Y/n. I don’t want to take advantage of you in that way.”

“You wouldn’t be taking advantage of me. If anything I’d be taking advantage of you. I’ve been hoping it’d come to this and that you’d need me to help you. Whatever you want. My hand, my mouth…”

Harry couldn’t believe his ears. His pretty assistant was standing there waiting for the word. You wanted it. He knew it would be a big mistake but he nodded despite his better judgment, “Okay. I’m already hard and I was pretty close when you walked in so it won’t take long. I’m not gonna make you use your mouth but if you wanted–“

“I would like to use my mouth if you’re okay with it,” you placed your glasses down and began to round the desk to be closer to him when he moved his chair back and you saw it. Ruddy tip, thick from root to crown, precum pearled at his slit and slowly dripping down the impressive length. It looked heavy. His cock was almost as gorgeous as he was.

“You poor thing,” you knelt down next to his chair and slid your hands up his thighs, “I want to make you feel good, Mr. Styles. Is it okay if I suck you off or would you rather me just use my hand?”

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back into his chair, “Fuck… fuck…” his cock twitched as you moved in, perching yourself between his thighs and waiting for his answer.

“If you want you can use your mouth. It’s up to you. I’m not in the position to be picky really, am I?” He laughed his green eyes on yours again.

You smiled back at him and let your nails scrape over the material of his pants before you allowed yourself the indulgence of wrapping your palm around him and he hissed, his head falling into the back of the chair again, but this time he kept his eyes opened as he watched you.

You licked your lips and smeared his precome down his shaft before fixing yourself on your knees and spitting over his head, “You can come in my mouth too,” you added before dipping down and tonguing at his slit for a taste of what was to come. He smelled clean and neutral. The precome was only slightly salty and bitter.

But the moment you took him in your mouth, lips stretching over his crown he gurgled a moan and placed his palm on the back of your head.

Smooth strokes of your mouth up and down, your tongue cradling the underside of his cock as you sucked and hollowed your cheeks. He was quite girthy and long. You clenched your thighs as you took him deeper, wondering what he’d feel like tucked into your cunt, pressing through your already clenching, slick walls.

“Oh fuck… Y/n… shit…” he let curses fall from his mouth as you lightly gagged around him, your drool starting to make a bit of a mess on his pants, “Fuck me… such a good girl. Oh my god…”

He was delirious. It was just what you wanted; to have him mumbling nonsense and praise and to have him shivering… soon he’d be pouring into your throat.

You bobbed over him, his chair squeaking as he tensed his thighs to keep the bottom from swiveling and you felt pressure on your head as he instinctually attempted to keep you in place with his hand. Your sinuses burned as he rutted up into your mouth, a gagged moan coming from the back of your throat as he throbbed and fucked his tip further back, “My god, Y/n… holy shit, such a good fucking assistant, aren’t you? Gonna take my come down your throat? Yeah?”

You moaned and let your blurry eyes slide up to his face and he groaned when he made eye contact with you. It was dirty and sexy, and completely improper for him to be balls-deep in his assistant's mouth. But fuck it was pretty. You were pretty but with your lips wrapped around him, drool slipping from your mouth and down your chin, and watery eyes blinking up at him, the scene was lewd.

He pulled you up so you could gasp for air, strings of saliva connected to his cock and your lips as you heaved in a breath and he wrapped his palm around your neck and pulled you in, his lips pressing against yours.

You were already slick in your panties but now this was making you dizzy. You moaned and pumped his cock slowly before he whispered against your lips, “You okay still?”

“Yes. So good. Let me finish you off.”

So he released your neck and you immediately encased his cock with your warm mouth again, sucking and bobbing and moaning wetly until he was quivering and thrusting his hips, hand pressed over your head once again as he began to pump hot, sticky cum into your mouth. You gulped him down and curved your tongue along his length as he let out a hoarse groan.

It was sloppy. You’d drooled a lot and you were sure your mascara was running down your cheeks, but you didn’t care. You’d risk being a bit of a mess if you could have him like this. You’d take what you could get of your handsome boss.

Harry moved his hand away from your head and you swallowed the last of him down as you pulled up, letting your tongue lick any missed cum, suckling at his tip before sitting back and looking up at him with a smile.

He was breathing hard as he reached for your face, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” you laughed softly and pushed yourself to stand. “Think I need to clean up a little before I step out of here.”

Harry tucked himself back into his pants and laughed, “A little. I like the raccoon look, though.”

You opened up the cabinet next to his desk, the door had a mirror on the inside as you dapped tissues at your eyes, “You only like it because of what it represents,” you grinned. “Anyone else would be confused and worried about me if they saw me like this.”

Harry watched as you cleaned up and noticed you kept squeezing your thighs together, “What about you, Y/n? Need anything?”

You huffed a laugh, still feeling flustered and on the edge of crazy for doing what you just did, “Nothing I can’t take care of myself. Besides, there’s no time right now. You’ve got a conference call in a few minutes and I need to run these documents to the other guys before they leave.”

He stood up, following you to the door and stopping you before you could step out, “Will you come find me before you leave today?”

You bit your lip and nodded, “I always do, don’t I?”

Harry pushed a laugh out through his nose and nodded, “You’re right. You do. See you in a while then?”

You opened the door and smiled at him, “Of course, Mr. Styles.”

. . .

Feedback/Thoughts | Ko-fi | Main Masterlist | Patreon

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like 💕

Tags: @yousunshineyoutempter @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swiftmendeshoran @tiaamberxx @lukesaprince

@closureesny @angelbabyyy99 @damnasstyles @malwtilda @love-letters-to-uranus

@itjustkindahappenedreally @ssaama @onlyangellucifer @harryistheonlyoneforme @butdaddyilovehim-hs

@lc-fics @mema10 @hannahdressedasabanana @babegoalsreads @harrrrystylesslut

@elidoho @gotdrxnkonu @freedomfireflies @cathy-1997 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa

@certainlysyko @tiredinwinter @princessaxoxo @angeldavis777 @lillefroe

@monicaalexandraaa @hsonlyangelxo @brittanyzelazno @lemoncrushh @golfrry

@caynonmoondreams @danaehldy @mellamolayla @ladscarlett @babyurthendofjune

@heartateasee @littlenatilda @virgopr1ncess @finelinepie @michellekstyles

@harrysredroom @harrydeary @mrs-anna-styles211994 @devilsqueen722 @bananabk9756

1K notes · View notes

sourcherryandsprinkles · 4 months ago

Note

I was wondering if you could do a fic where the reader is pregnant with Aegons baby but when he usurps the throne she and Jace pretend the baby is his so she doesn’t have to face consequences for sleeping with Aegon 🫶🏼

I'm back from my trip and back to writing/posting!! I hope you enjoyed the requests I had queued while I was away

Warnings: mention of pregnancy

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Standing in your nightgown, you looked down where your belly would swell very soon, your hand covering the slightest curve. A babe was growing there. A little babe with white hair and dark eyes, like the one in your dream. A perfect mix of you and Aegon.

You’ve known for two moons that you were with child, but had not been able to tell anyone. When your bloodmoon was late, you thought of going to King’s Landing and tell Aegon in person, but the King drew his last breath and the Greens usurped your mother’s throne before you could get on your dragon.

You’ve been hiding your secret under your clothes, but your belly was starting to grow and show through your looser dresses. You could no longer keep your pregnancy a secret.

The issue was, you could not tell Aegon. The Greens would make the babe a part of the war and tell their supporters that Rhaenyra was keeping Aegon from his child, and you didn’t wish that. You wanted this unborn babe to be safe.

So you told Jacaerys.

There is nothing Jacaerys would not do to protect his twin sister. He would throw himself in front of a fire to shield you and commit war crimes for you.

You jumped when you heard another knock on your door, immediately removing your hand from your belly. You assumed it was one of the servants asking if you wanted your evening meal brought up to your chamber, but the knock was different. Special.

‘’Come.’’ You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, erasing all traces of tears.

The door opened and Jacaerys stepped in, dressed in his riding gear. You could smell the dragon from across the room, meaning he must have been in Vermax’s company.

‘’Have you spoken to Mother about my plan?’’ he asked after closing the door. ‘’I know we said we would never wed each other, but I see no other option than to claim the babe as mine.’’

As he spoke of the babe in your belly, your hand fell to protectively lay over your stomach as it was before Jacaerys came in. You shook your head, and he noticed the tear stains on your face and the signs or irritation around your eyes.

A pained look crossed his face. ‘’Have you been crying?’’

You turned your head away from him, confirming his guess.

‘’Sister...’’ His voice was gentle as he stepped forward, a soft hand being placed over your hip, but you shrugged him off, refusing to look him in the face. ‘’I promised I would protect you and the babe. You need not to worry anymore.’’

You shake your head, the tears already welling in your eyes again. ‘’What if the babe has white hair? How will we explain that to the realm, Jace?’’

‘’We’ll say nothing. Like Mother did when we came out of her womb with dark hair,’’ he replied.

‘’I refuse for my child to have their legitimacy put into question and live through the same accusations we went through as children.’’

Your little affair with Aegon was a secret to most. All thought that you were just close, not close. If a babe with white hair came out of your womb, Alicent will know. She will either request Aegon to claim the bastard child or have the babe slain so, in case it was a boy, you would not try to claim the throne.

You felt sick at the thought of the latter. Aegon would never allow the death of his child. He loved you.

Jacaerys pulled you into an embrace, no words coming out of his mouth. He let you bury your head in his shoulder and silently cry for as long as you needed.

‘’I won’t let it happen,’’ he assured, feeling the soft curve of your belly pressing against his stomach. ‘’No matter what anyone says or does, I promise I will always be by your side, raising, loving and defending this babe as strongly as I would defend you. I will never allow anyone to harm him or her.’’

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios@lover-of-helios@shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden @memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08 @mymultiveres @secretsthathauntus @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit @blublock404 @Icefyre19 @paulilvsremus @mfedits @aemondwhoresworld @angrybirdxx @YarianyIrizarry @frutiloopslupin @minedofmoria @aleemendoza2425-blog @quinquinquincy @Rosey1981 @maria-reads-everything @eddieslut69 @barnes70stark @baybaybear @prettyduckling22 @Briefwinnerpersonaturtle @darlingcharling-blog @deliaseastar @Wolfgirl-205 @visenyareads @Nanaldy @Lovelywiseprincess @not-neverland06 @newtmyhusb @mikimimic

All and more taglist: @kenqki @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis @katherinejess @rafesgirlstuff @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity @Anouk nani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21 @Spacexdrago @nhlfs

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #prince jacaerys #jacaerys x reader #house targaryen #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd

1K notes · View notes

lemonturquoise · 3 months ago

Text

Midnight Antics

Sylus x Reader

Luke and Kieran swallowed hard, their nerves frayed as they faced their boss’s anger. The stern look in Sylus’s eyes was a clear sign of his disappointment, and the tension in the air was almost palpable. Although they were partly responsible for letting you go out with your friends, their main concern was the lateness of the hour. It was already midnight, and you still hadn't returned. Their anxiety had mounted with each unanswered call, making the waiting seem endless. When Sylus came down the stairs, his stern expression only heightened their dread.

Suddenly, the main door burst open with a loud crash. “Sylus!” You stumbled into the house, your movements unsteady as you clung to him. Your disheveled appearance and slurred speech made it evident you were quite drunk. Luke and Kieran let out a collective sigh of relief, their tension easing as they saw you finally home safe. "I miss you” you mumbled, your voice thick with intoxication. Sylus, trying to maintain his composure, gently but firmly grabbed your chin to make you look at him. "Where have you been?" he asked, his voice a mix of concern and frustration. Your gaze was unfocused as you struggled to respond. “I… hmm… went out with my friends” you replied with a giggly hiccup. Sylus’s irritation deepened. “And you didn’t even bother to let me know?” His tone was sharp, and his grip tightened slightly. “Ouch!” you exclaimed, pulling his hand away with a wince. “I told Luke and Kieran about it and thought you weren’t coming home tonight” you added, your laughter fading into another hiccup. Sylus lifted you into his arms and carried you to your room.

He threw you on the bed, and you swayed slightly, trying to steady yourself. “I need to change” you said, your voice slightly slurred. As you struggled to change out of your party clothes and into something more comfortable, Sylus watched with a mix of exasperation and concern. Your attempts were clumsy and slow, revealing just how drunk you were. After you managed to change, you stood on the bed, trying to balance as you almost reached Sylus's height. The sight of you struggling to stay upright while trying to look him in the eye softened his irritation. You started pinching both of his cheeks with a playful grin. “Come on, don’t be mad.” you laughed, though your laughter was somewhat incoherent. “You’ve surely had a lot to drink, huh?” Sylus tried to hold your hands to stop you from pinching his cheeks. “Sleep now. We’ll talk tomorrow.” he said in a cold tone.

As he walked to the door to leave, he heard the soft sound of crying. He turned around and saw you lying on the bed, tears streaming down your face. Your sobs were muffled, and Sylus felt a pang of guilt. He sighed deeply and approached you. “Why are you crying?” he asked, his voice softer now. “You’re mad and you don’t love me anymore.” your voice breaking with emotion. Sylus looked puzzled, but then his lips curved into a faint smile. He sat down beside you, his earlier frustration wearing away. “I’m not mad. Just don’t do it again.” he said, gently patting your back. “Really?” you asked, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. “Yeah, now go to sleep.” he reassured you. You suddenly threw yourself at him in a tight hug, nearly making him lose his balance. As you clung to him, Sylus found your state and the way you misinterpreted his feelings both warm and cute.

He was about to say something but was cut off by your playful pinching of his cheeks once more. Sylus managed to disentangle himself from your embrace with a tired smile. Despite the late hour and his earlier frustration, he found your antics charming. “Alright, enough.” he said with a small affectionate smile. “I’m going to my office for a bit. We’ll talk things through in the morning. Go to sleep now, kitten. I love you, okay?” as he kissed your forehead.

He settled you back into the bed, your crying subsiding as you relaxed into the blankets. “Goodnight, Sylus. I love you too.” you murmured, your voice now soft and content. Sylus left the room and headed back to his office, feeling a mix of relief and lingering fondness.

#love and deepspace #lnds sylus #lnds #sylus fluff #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x y/n #lads sylus

1K notes · View notes

tongue-like-a-razor · 8 months ago

Text

Hotter Than Texas | Part II

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

A/N: I'm so excited that y'all loved the first part! Thanks for your enthusiasm, you rock <3

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.

Aka it's a road trip, strap in.

CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)

WC: 2000+

Part I | Masterlist

“I’m getting hungry.”

Bradley glances at the restaurant sign as he passes it on the interstate, suppressing a sigh. He usually skips lunch on long trips so he can arrive at his destination before nightfall. “I’ll get off at the next exit,” he says.

“Will you?” you exclaim excitedly, as though he’s offered to catch and cook your next meal himself.

Bradley chuckles mildly. “Well, I’m not going to let you starve.”

“You’re so sweet,” you reply, and Bradley eyes you with a grin because he’s about eighty percent certain you’re being facetious.

“What’re are you in the mood for?” he asks as he gets on the off-ramp.

“Something greasy and very bad for my heart.”

Bradley lets out a small laugh. What’s bad for his heart is you sitting next to him being all cute for the next twenty hours straight.

He pulls into the lot of a little diner just off the highway and parks his car while you flip down your sun visor to glance at your reflection in the mirror. “How do I look?” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

Bradley tries not to examine you directly and instead just glances in your vicinity. “Better than the truckers, I bet,” he comments, noticing the row of semis at the back of the lot.

You give him an unimpressed look and then push open your door. “I sure hope they have French toast.”

“I thought you wanted something greasy,” Bradley says, walking around the front of the Bronco to join you.

“I want options,” you state, marching forth toward the front doors.

Bradley strides ahead and pulls the door open for you. He can’t say he isn’t looking forward to having a sit-down meal with you, like it’s a date or something. And, as much as he hates to admit it, he’s almost thrilled at the prospect of the other patrons assuming the two of you are a couple.

You walk through the open door and Bradley stalls for a moment, trying to clear his head. He shouldn’t even be thinking about that sort of nonsense. He and Hangman have enough issues without adding Bradley’s crush on his baby sister to the mix. They’ve just begun to mend their bumpy – to say the least – relationship, and Jake would sure as shit not appreciate his colleague developing feelings for his younger sibling.

“You comin’, sugar?” you call from inside.

Bradley, who’s clearly taken too long of a beat, glances at you in a bit of a daze. He’s sure you just called him ‘sugar’ and that has utterly thrown him. He enters after you and gives the hostess a look that he hopes might resemble a polite smile. But his face feels hot and numb at the same time, so he can’t be sure.

…

“I think I’ll get the pancakes,” you muse, flipping through the menu leisurely.

Bradley smiles at you when you’re not looking. “Want to share some things?”

You glance up at him happily. “Can we?”

Bradley chuckles. “Why not? I could go for a pancake. What else should we get?”

Your eyes light up and you instantly refer back to the menu. “Fried pickles.”

Bradley cringes but he’s still amused. “Those’ll go great with the pancakes.”

“I agree,” you respond without a hint of sarcasm. “Chili?” you continue. “Or tacos?”

“Why not both?” Bradley shrugs.

You give him a serious look. “That’s just crazy talk.”

Bradley laughs. “You’re right, what was I thinking?”

“I sort of want some pie, though.”

Bradley closes his menu and leans forward into the table. “I’ve already thought of that,” he mutters under his breath, as though he’s about to divulge a secret. You lean in too, your bright eyes blinking up at him eagerly. “We’ll get one for the road,” he whispers.

You gasp. “You’re a genius!”

Bradley chuckles, leaning back in his seat proudly. “I won’t deny that.”

…

When the server arrives to take your orders, you let Bradley do the talking, but chime in with little requests now and again; onions on the home fries, maple syrup for the bacon, sour cream in the chili. And Bradley can’t help but delight in the fact that, every time you think of something, you tap his hand that's resting on the table, ‘oohing’ with excitement.

Bradley eyes you with a smile once the server departs. “Maple syrup for the bacon?”

You wave a hand at him. “You’ll see.”

Bradley shakes his head with a smirk. “Not on my bacon.”

“Yeah, my brother warned me that you’re a bit of a square.”

Bradley raises his eyebrows and scoffs. “Your brother said what?”

You grin at him mischievously. “Don’t worry, I can make up my own mind.”

“Your brother warned me that you’re a bully,” Bradley replies, his smile only getting wider. “And, coming from Hangman, that’s saying something.”

You let out a peal of laughter so exuberant that several faces turn to look in your direction.

“Don’t worry,” he adds when your laughter partially subsides. “I can make up my own mind.”

“And?” you ask with soaring eyebrows. “Have you?”

Bradley hesitates for a moment and then decides to respond in a cheeky manner to avoid any awkwardness. “Not just yet,” he says with a chuckle.

You reach out and lightly smack his forearm. “Stop!”

“I’m joking,” Bradley concedes, grabbing your hand before you can strike him again. “It’s not like you’ve ever hit me to get your way,” he says pointedly.

You shake your head with a smirk and withdraw your hand.

…

“Everything was delicious,” you gush to the waitress as she clears the table. “We had such a wonderful time!”

“Glad to hear that, dear,” the waitress gives you a smile and then winks at Bradley, as though she’s in on some scheme with him.

Bradley furrows his eyebrows in amusement as she walks away and then digs into his pocket for his wallet. “My treat,” he says when you reach for your purse.

“No way!” you exclaim. “You’re already giving me a ride. The least I could do is feed you.”

“You don’t have to do anything. I’m happy to be your ride.”

“I insist,” you declare.

“I insist harder,” Bradley presses, laying down several bills onto the receipt tray.

You gaze at him pensively and finally slide your wallet back into your purse. “So, you’re stubborn,” you note.

“So, you’re observant,” he remarks.

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Thanks for lunch, Rooster.”

…

Back on the road, you offer Bradley a turn with the radio, muttering something about not wanting to be a bully by hogging the music. He can tell you’ve said it in jest, but he still wants to make sure he hasn’t offended you.

“You know I don’t think you’re a bully, right?” he says, glancing between your face and the road several times.

You eye him playfully. “Well, give it a minute.”

Bradley chuckles. “It’s getting dark,” he notes after a little while. He was hoping to get farther on the first day, but the prospect of maybe spending an extra day with you on the road doesn’t seem nearly as daunting as it might have in the morning. “Want to stop for the night?”

“I can drive if you want,” you offer.

Naturally, Bradley overthinks your response. He wonders if maybe you’ve had enough of him and would prefer to get to Texas as soon as possible. “No, no,” he responds. “I can drive. I just thought you might be tired.”

“From sitting?” you quip.

Bradley gives you a flat look. “It’s been a long day.”

You shrug. “It flew by.”

That sets his mind at ease somewhat. A day doesn’t fly by unless you’re having a good time. “I think we should stop,” he says.

“Alright,” you respond, “let’s stop.”

…

“You two lovebirds want the mountain or city view?” the hotel’s front desk clerk enquires with a beam.

Bradley is about to explain that the two of you will, in fact, require separate rooms because you are the absolute opposite of lovebirds, when you respond with, “Mountain, please.”

The clerk hands you a key and Bradley follows you down the hall mutely, with both of your suitcases in tow. He’s not about to dispute your decision to share a room, despite knowing that it’s exactly what he swore he’d avoid doing the moment he laid eyes on you.

You open the door and enter, holding it open for Bradley so that he can bring in the luggage. He sets it down gingerly by the door and straightens his back to look around. The are two double beds against the wall and a large window with a spectacular view of the Santa Catalina range.

You flop down on one of the beds with a contented sigh. “You know what, darlin’? I am tired.”

Bradley watches you climb further up the bed and rest your head on one of the pillows. He’s used to you calling him all sorts of terms of endearment at this point, but it still warms his heart each and every time you do. “No dinner tonight, sweetheart?” he responds, adopting your speaking style on a trial basis.

You lift your head from the pillow. “Let’s just order in?”

You seem unfazed by the fact that Bradley just called you sweetheart. Meanwhile, he’s nearly thrown up from the anxiety it’s caused him. He resolves not to call you that – or any other overly-friendly name – ever again. “Yeah, we can do that,” he responds casually. “Pizza?”

You nod. “With barbeque chicken.”

“You got it.”

…

“Did you always want to be an aviator?” you ask, taking a bit of pizza while dusting crumbs off the bedspread.

The two of you are sitting cross-legged atop one of the beds with the open pizza box between you. Bradley grabs another slice. “Pretty much.” He doesn’t really want to get into specifics, because that means being vulnerable, a state which Bradley does not much enjoy.

“Interesting.”

“What about you?” he asks. “What are you studying?”

“Math.”

Bradley nearly chokes. For some reason, he expected something less cerebral. “Are you going to be an accountant, or something?” he asks with a smirk.

You frown slightly. “I sure hope not.”

“Well, what do you want to be?”

“A good person,” you respond thoughtfully.

Bradley lowers his pizza and stares at you. “You are a good person,” he says hoarsely.

You shrug. “I have my days.”

“I mean, I don’t know you very well,” Bradley reasons. “But you seem great. Much better than your brother.”

You laugh and lower your gaze. “Aren’t you a sweetheart?” you say warmly.

Bradley can feel his heart pounding like a double bass drum. The only sweetheart in this room is you and he can hardly keep that to himself. To think that you might be doubting your own integrity is affecting Bradley on a near-physical level. “You’re a good person. Anybody who tells you otherwise is an idiot,” he states.

You smile, still looking downward. “Thanks.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

You place your half-eaten slice of pizza back into the box and fall back into the pillows, sighing dramatically. “I’m stuffed!”

Bradley, who’s just taken his final bite, mutters around the crust in his mouth. “Me too.” He closes the pizza box and picks it up to set it onto the floor by the bed. Then, he moves to the other bed and lies down on his back with a weary exhale.

“Hey, Rooster,” you call from your bed.

“Hmm?”

“Are you a good pilot?”

Bradley turns onto his side to face you. “I think so.”

“My brother said you were just alright,” you say.

Bradley snorts and throws a pillow at you. You laugh and then stuff the pillow in between your knees. “Joke’s on you, I’m keeping this.”

Bradley adjusts his second pillow under his head and mutters, “You’re welcome.”

“Tomorrow you can choose what you want to listen to,” you say.

Bradley chuckles. What he wants to listen to more than anything is probably you.

“Hey, Rooster,” you say quietly.

“Hmm?”

“Is there any pie left?”

Read Part 3

Tag List

I’ll be tagging the rest in the comments shortly!

@joaquinwhorres

@katiemcrae

@sehnsuchts-trunken

@toomuchfluffs

@wintercap89

@lonelywitchv2

@callsign-jupiter

@rosiahills22

@olliepig

@coffeeaddictedmay

@boringusername3

@ratedtvpg

@mak-32

@annedub

@jules-1999

@black--lightning

@j-velvet

@xoxabs88xox

@cyanide-cryptid

@callsignvenus

@artemissunn

@gcldtom

@atarmychick007

@callsign-sunshine

@shanimallina87

@birdy-bat-writes

@wkndwlff

@chaosmxlcolm

@iminlovewithenchilidadas

@daniibzz

@avis15

@valhallavalkyrie9

@ijustwantedplums

@hal3ynicol3

@avengersfan25

@hallecarey1

@nik2blog

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@lilianashomaresparza

@lovingperfectionsblog

@bblpbb

@Elenavampire21

@SometimesAnAlice

@risingtripletaurus

@adaydreamaway08

@mattyskies

@desert-fern

@catsandbooksandstuff

@Topguncultleader

@avengers-fixation

2K notes · View notes