#So that immediately backs up the hospital

[pucksandpower]

Be My Sanctuary

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles never expected to play Prince Charming to a stranger after a race, but when he comes across you being beaten by your boyfriend, he can’t just stand around and do nothing … it turns out to be exactly what you both needed

Warnings: domestic violence, abuse, and serious injury

The sun dips low on the horizon as Charles Leclerc and Fred Vasseur make their way back to the Ferrari motorhome. The air buzzes with post-race energy, a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.

“That was some driving out there,” Fred says, clapping the Monégasque on the back. “P2 is nothing to sneeze at.”

Charles grins, his eyes bright despite the fatigue etched on his face. “Merci beaucoup. It felt good to be back on the podium. I think we’re really starting to find our rhythm with the car.”

“Agreed. If we can keep this momentum going-”

A sharp crack cuts through the air, followed by a cry of pain that makes both men freeze in their tracks.

Charles’ head whips around. “Did you hear that?”

Fred nods, his expression grim. “It came from over there.” He points towards a secluded area behind one of the hospitality units.

Without hesitation, they break into a run, rounding the corner just in time to see a man’s hand connect with a woman’s face. The sound of the impact turns Charles’ stomach.

“You stupid bitch!” The man screams, his face contorted with rage. “Do you have any idea how much money I lost because of you? I told you not to come to the race! You’re bad luck!”

You stumble backward, your hand pressed to your cheek. “I-I’m sorry,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Shut up!” The man lunges forward, grabbing you by the arms and shaking you violently. “You cost me everything!”

Charles feels a surge of anger course through him. Without thinking, he sprints towards the pair, Fred close on his heels.

“Hey!” Charles shouts. “Let her go!”

The man’s head snaps up, his eyes wild. For a split second, he looks startled, but then his face twists into a snarl. Before Charles can reach them, the man slams your head against the brick wall with a sickening thud.

You crumple to the ground, unmoving.

Charles tackles the man, driving him away from the fallen woman. They hit the ground hard, and Charles feels the air rush out of his lungs. But adrenaline keeps him moving, and he manages to pin the larger man down.

“Fred!” He calls out. “Check on her!”

As Charles struggles to keep the man subdued, he hears Fred’s sharp intake of breath.

“Charles, she’s not responding. There’s ... there’s a lot of blood.”

The words send a chill down Charles’ spine. He glances over his shoulder and sees you lying motionless on the ground, a dark pool spreading beneath your head.

“Someone call an ambulance!” Charles shouts, hoping someone nearby will hear. He turns back to the man beneath him, who’s still thrashing and cursing. “Stop moving!” Charles hisses, pressing his forearm against the man’s chest.

“Get off me!” The man spits. “This is none of your business!”

Charles feels a fresh wave of rage wash over him. “None of my business? You just assaulted someone!”

Fred’s voice cuts through the chaos. “I’ve called for help. They’re on their way.” He’s kneeling beside you now, his jacket pressed against your head. “But it doesn’t look good. She needs immediate medical attention.”

The sound of running footsteps approaches, and suddenly there are more people around them. Charles recognizes some of the faces — other drivers, team personnel. Someone pulls him off the attacker, who’s quickly restrained by security.

Charles stumbles to his feet, his heart pounding. He makes his way over to where you lie, dropping to his knees beside Fred.

“Is she ...” He can’t bring himself to finish the question.

Fred shakes his head. “She’s alive, but barely. We need to keep pressure on the wound until the paramedics arrive.”

Charles nods, placing his hands over Fred’s on the makeshift compress. He looks down at your face, so pale and still. “Hold on,” he whispers. “Just hold on.”

The wait for the ambulance feels interminable. Charles keeps his eyes fixed on your chest, watching for the slight rise and fall that tells him you’re still breathing. He’s vaguely aware of the commotion around them — people asking questions, security trying to keep everyone back.

“What happened?” It’s Lewis’ voice, tinged with concern.

Fred answers, his voice low and tight. “Domestic violence. The boyfriend ...” He trails off, but the implication is clear.

“Jesus,” Lewis mutters. “Is there anything we can do?”

Charles looks up, meeting Lewis’ worried gaze. “Just ... pray, I guess.”

The sound of sirens cuts through the air, growing louder by the second. Charles feels a small measure of relief, but it’s quickly overshadowed by fear as he looks back down at you.

“Stay with us,” he murmurs. “Help is coming. Just stay with us.”

The paramedics arrive in a flurry of activity, gently but firmly moving Charles and Fred aside. Charles watches, feeling helpless, as they work on you with practiced efficiency.

“Severe head trauma,” one of them says. “We need to move her now.”

As they lift you onto a stretcher, Charles catches a glimpse of your face. There’s a bruise blooming on your cheek, stark against your pale skin. Something twists in his chest, a mixture of anger and an emotion he can’t quite name.

“I’m going with her,” he says suddenly, surprising himself.

Fred puts a hand on his shoulder. “Charles, I don’t think-”

“I need to make sure she’s okay,” Charles insists. He looks at Fred, pleading. “Someone needs to be there for her.”

After a moment, Fred nods. “Alright. I’ll handle things here and meet you at the hospital.”

Charles climbs into the ambulance, his eyes never leaving your still form. As the doors close and the vehicle lurches into motion, he reaches out and gently takes your hand.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” he says softly, “but you’re not alone. I’m right here with you. And I promise, you’re going to be okay.”

As the ambulance speeds through the streets, sirens wailing, Charles finds himself holding onto your hand like a lifeline. He’s not sure if he’s trying to comfort you or himself.

The paramedic working on you glances at Charles. “You know her?”

Charles shakes his head. “No, I ... we just found her. Her boyfriend was ...” He swallows hard. “We stopped him, but not soon enough.”

The paramedic’s face softens with understanding. “You did the right thing. You probably saved her life by intervening when you did.”

Charles nods, but the words bring little comfort. He can’t shake the image of your head hitting the wall, the sound it made. He squeezes your hand gently.

“Fight,” he whispers. “Please fight.”

The rest of the ride passes in a blur of medical jargon and the steady beep of monitors. When they finally arrive at the hospital, Charles is ushered into a waiting room while you’re rushed into emergency surgery.

He paces the small room, unable to sit still. His mind races with questions. Who are you? Why would someone do this to you? Will you be okay?

Time seems to stretch endlessly. Charles checks his phone, sees messages from Fred and other concerned friends, but he can’t bring himself to respond yet. Not until he knows something.

Finally, after what feels like hours, a doctor approaches him. Charles stands, his heart in his throat.

“Are you here for the young woman brought in with head trauma?” The doctor asks.

Charles nods. “Yes. Is she ...”

“She’s out of surgery,” the doctor says. “We’ve managed to relieve the pressure on her brain, but the next 24 hours will be critical. Are you family?”

Charles hesitates. “No, I ... I was there when it happened. I rode here with her in the ambulance.”

The doctor’s expression softens slightly. “I see. Well, I can tell you that she’s stable for now, but still unconscious. We’ll be monitoring her closely.”

“Can I see her?” The words are out of Charles’ mouth before he can think better of it.

The doctor considers for a moment. “Normally we only allow family, but ... given the circumstances, I think we can make an exception. Just for a few minutes.”

Charles follows the doctor down a series of hallways, his heart pounding. When they reach your room, he pauses at the doorway, suddenly unsure.

“Go on,” the doctor says gently. “Talk to her. Sometimes patients can hear even when they’re unconscious.”

Taking a deep breath, Charles steps into the room. The sight of you lying there, surrounded by machines, makes his chest tighten. He moves to your bedside, carefully taking your hand once more.

“Hey,” he says softly. “It’s Charles. The guy from before. I don’t know if you remember, but ... I’m here. You’re safe now.”

He stands there for a long moment, just holding your hand and watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. It’s strange, he thinks, to feel so connected to someone he’s never even spoken to.

“I don’t know your story,” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I want you to know that you didn’t deserve this. No one does. And when you wake up — because you will wake up — you won’t be alone. I promise.”

A nurse appears in the doorway, signaling that his time is up. Charles gives your hand one last gentle squeeze before reluctantly letting go.

As he leaves the room, he turns back for one last look. “I’ll be back,” he says. “Stay strong.”

Walking back to the waiting room, Charles feels a mix of emotions he can’t quite sort out. But one thing is clear — something has changed. And whatever happens next, he knows he’ll be there to see it through.

***

Days blend into one another as Charles maintains his vigil at your bedside. The rest of the Formula 1 circus has long since departed, but Charles can’t bring himself to leave. He’s made arrangements with the team, grateful for their understanding, and settled into a routine of sorts.

Each morning, he arrives at the hospital with fresh flowers and a determination that today might be the day you wake up. He talks to you, reads to you, and sometimes just sits in companionable silence, the steady beep of monitors a constant backdrop.

On the fifth day, as Charles is midway through reading an article about the benefits of having a dachshund, he notices a slight change. Your fingers twitch, almost imperceptibly. He leans forward, heart racing.

“Hey,” he says softly, taking your hand. “Can you hear me? If you can, squeeze my hand.”

For a long moment, nothing happens. Then, so faintly he almost misses it, he feels a gentle pressure against his palm. His breath catches in his throat.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “You’re doing great. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Slowly, painfully slowly, your eyelids flutter open. Your gaze is unfocused at first, confusion evident in your expression as you try to make sense of your surroundings.

“It’s okay,” Charles says, keeping his voice low and soothing. “You’re in the hospital. You’re safe now.”

You blink a few times, your gaze finally settling on Charles. Your brow furrows slightly, and you open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

“Don’t try to talk just yet,” Charles advises. “Your throat might be sore from the tube. Here.” He reaches for a cup of water with a straw, holding it to your lips. “Small sips, okay?”

You take a tentative sip, wincing slightly. After a moment, you try again to speak. Your voice is raspy, barely above a whisper. “Who ...”

“I’m Charles,” he says. “I was there when ... when you got hurt. Do you remember anything?”

You close your eyes, a pained expression crossing your face. “Jake,” you murmur. “He was angry ...”

Charles feels a flare of anger at the mention of your boyfriend’s name, but he keeps his voice calm. “That’s right. He hurt you pretty badly. But you’re safe now. He can’t get to you here.”

You shake your head slightly, wincing at the movement. “It wasn’t his fault,” you say. “He just ... he gets upset sometimes. I shouldn’t have gone to the race. I knew it would make him angry.”

Charles frowns, recognizing the pattern of self-blame common in abuse victims. He takes a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “Listen,” he says gently. “What happened to you wasn’t your fault. No matter how angry someone gets, they don’t have the right to hurt you. Ever.”

You look away, tears welling up in your eyes. “You don’t understand. Jake ... he loves me. He just has a temper sometimes.”

“Love shouldn’t hurt,” Charles says firmly. “Love doesn’t leave you in the hospital with a skull fracture.”

Your eyes widen slightly at this information. “Is that ... is that what happened to me?”

Charles nods solemnly. “You’ve been unconscious for five days. The doctors ... they weren’t sure if you’d wake up at all.”

A tear slips down your cheek. “I don’t ... I don’t know what to do now.”

“You press charges,” Charles says without hesitation. “What he did to you was a crime. He needs to face the consequences of his actions.”

You shake your head frantically, wincing again at the movement. “No, I can’t. He’d be so angry. He ...”

“He would what?” Charles presses gently. “Hurt you again? That’s exactly why you need to do this. To protect yourself and maybe even others.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, tears falling silently. “I’m scared,” you finally whisper.

Charles squeezes your hand. “I know. And that’s okay. Being scared doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re human. But you’re stronger than you know. You survived this. You can survive what comes next, too.”

“But where would I go?” You ask, your voice small. “Jake ... he made me drop out of school. I had to quit my job. I don’t have anywhere to go, or any money, or ...”

Your words trail off as a fresh wave of tears overtakes you. Charles feels a surge of protectiveness, coupled with a deep anger at the man who has left you in this situation.

“Hey,” he says softly, waiting until you meet his gaze. “I know we’ve only just met, and this might sound crazy, but ... what if you came to stay with me for a while?”

You blink in surprise. “What?”

“I live in Monaco,” Charles explains. “I know it’s far from here, but maybe that’s a good thing. It would give you some distance, some time to figure things out without having to worry about ... about him finding you.”

“But ... but I couldn’t,” you stammer. “I don’t have any money, I can’t pay rent or-”

Charles shakes his head. “I’m not asking for rent. I’m offering you a safe place to stay while you get back on your feet. No strings attached.”

You look at him skeptically. “Why would you do that for a stranger?”

Charles is quiet for a moment, considering his answer. “Because when I saw what was happening to you, I couldn’t just walk away. And I can’t walk away now, knowing you need help. Maybe it’s not my place, maybe it’s crossing some line, but ... I want to help. If you’ll let me.”

You’re silent for a long moment, and Charles can almost see the wheels turning in your mind as you weigh your options.

“What about your job?” You finally ask. “Don’t you have races to go to?”

Charles nods. “I do. But I have a big apartment, and there’s plenty of room. You’d have your own space. And when I’m away for races, I have friends who could check in on you, make sure you have everything you need.”

You bite your lip, looking torn. “I don’t know ... it’s a lot to take in.”

“Of course,” Charles says quickly. “You don’t have to decide right now. Take some time to think about it. But know that the offer is there if you want it.”

Just then, a nurse enters the room. Her face lights up when she sees you’re awake. “Well, look who’s back with us,” she says warmly. “I’ll go get the doctor. He’ll want to check you over.”

As the nurse leaves, you turn back to Charles. “You should go,” you say. “You’ve already done so much. You don’t need to stay.”

Charles stands, but he doesn’t move towards the door. “I’ll step out while the doctor examines you,” he says. “But if it’s okay with you, I’d like to come back after. We can talk more about ... everything.”

You hesitate for a moment before nodding. “Okay,” you say softly. “And ... thank you. For being here. For caring.”

Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest. “Of course,” he says. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

As he steps into the hallway, Charles takes a deep breath. He knows he’s getting involved in a complicated situation, one that could have far-reaching consequences. But looking back at you through the doorway, he knows he’s made the right choice. Whatever comes next, he’ll be there to help you through it.

The doctor arrives, and Charles settles into a chair in the hallway. He pulls out his phone, scrolling through the messages he’s neglected over the past few days. There’s one from Fred, asking for an update. Charles types out a quick reply.

She’s awake. It’s complicated, but I think she’s going to be okay. I’ll call you later with details.

As he hits send, Charles leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He knows the road ahead won’t be easy, for either of you. But for the first time in days, he feels a spark of hope. It’s a start, he thinks. And sometimes, that’s all you need.

***

The sunlight glints off the sleek exterior of the private jet as Charles helps you up the stairs. He can feel the slight tremor in your hand as he guides you inside, noting the way your eyes dart nervously around the cabin.

“Welcome aboard,” Charles says with a warm smile, hoping to put you at ease. “Make yourself comfortable. We’ve got a bit of a flight ahead of us.”

You nod, your lips pressed into a thin line as you sink into one of the plush leather seats. Charles settles in across from you, watching as you fumble with the seatbelt.

“Here, let me help,” he offers, leaning forward to assist. As he clicks the belt into place, he notices your knuckles turning white as you grip the armrests. “First time flying?” He asks gently.

You let out a shaky laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

Charles shakes his head, his expression kind. “Not at all. But I fly a lot, so I’ve gotten pretty good at spotting nervous passengers.”

The engines roar to life, and you jump slightly in your seat. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t realize I’d be this scared.”

“Hey, no need to apologize,” Charles assures you. “It’s a completely normal fear. Did you know that even some drivers get nervous on planes?”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really? But you guys race at insane speeds for a living.”

Charles chuckles. “I know, it sounds crazy. But it’s true. I think it’s about control. In a car, we’re in charge. On a plane, we have to trust someone else.”

You nod, seeming to relax slightly at his words. But as the plane begins to taxi, your grip on the armrests tightens again.

“So,” Charles says, leaning forward slightly. “Tell me about what you were studying before ... well, before everything happened.”

You look at him, confusion briefly replacing the fear in your eyes. “What?”

“You mentioned you had to drop out of school,” Charles explains. “What were you studying?”

A small laugh escapes you, tinged with irony. “You’re going to think this is ridiculous, but ... I was studying law.”

Charles’ eyebrows shoot up. “Law? That’s impressive. Why would I think it’s ridiculous?”

You shrug, a hint of sadness creeping into your expression. “Just seems a bit ironic now, doesn’t it? Studying law and then ending up in a situation like ... like mine.”

The plane begins to accelerate down the runway, and you squeeze your eyes shut, your breath coming in short gasps.

“Hey,” Charles says softly, reaching across to place his hand over yours. “Look at me. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

You open your eyes, meeting his gaze. Charles can see the fear there, but also a flicker of determination.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Now, tell me more about your law studies. What made you choose that field?”

You take a deep breath, clearly making an effort to focus on the conversation rather than the plane’s ascent. “I’ve always been interested in justice, I guess. Helping people who can’t help themselves. I wanted to make a difference.”

Charles nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “That’s admirable. And you know what? I don’t think it’s ironic at all that you were studying law. If anything, I think it shows how strong you are.”

The plane levels off, and some of the tension leaves your body. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Charles says, leaning back in his seat but keeping his hand on yours, “you chose a field dedicated to justice and helping others. That takes courage and compassion. The fact that you ended up in a difficult situation doesn’t change who you are at your core.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his words. “I never thought about it like that,” you admit.

“Have you thought about going back to school?” Charles asks. “Finishing your degree?”

You shake your head, a flash of pain crossing your face. “I can’t. I don’t have the money, and even if I did, I can’t go back to my old university. Jake ... he knows where it is. He’d find me.”

Charles nods, understanding. “What if you didn’t have to go back to your old university? What if you could start fresh somewhere new?”

You look at him skeptically. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Charles says, his mind racing with possibilities, “there are online programs you could look into. Or, if you prefer in-person classes, there’s the International University of Monaco. It’s a great school, and it would be close to where you’ll be staying.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Monaco has a university?”

Charles nods, a grin spreading across his face. “It does indeed. And they have a law program. I could help you look into it if you’re interested.”

You bite your lip, looking uncertain. “I don’t know. It’s been a while since I was in school. And the cost ...”

“Don’t worry about the cost,” Charles says quickly. “Consider it an investment in your future. And as for being out of practice, well, that’s what studying is for, right?”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “You make it sound so simple.”

Charles shrugs. “Maybe it is. Sometimes we overcomplicate things in our heads. But the truth is, if it’s something you want to do, there’s usually a way to make it happen.”

The plane encounters a patch of turbulence, causing it to shake slightly. Your grip on Charles’ hand tightens, but you don’t close your eyes this time.

“Sorry,” you mutter, loosening your grip slightly.

“No need to apologize,” Charles says. “I’m here if you need a hand to hold. Or a distraction. Speaking of which, why don’t you tell me about your favorite class from when you were in school?”

As you launch into a story about a particularly engaging Constitutional Law seminar, Charles can’t help but notice how your eyes light up. It’s the most animated he’s seen you since you woke up in the hospital, and it fills him with a sense of hope.

The rest of the flight passes in a blur of conversation. You tell Charles about your favorite professors, the most interesting cases you studied, and your obsession with Legally Blonde while growing up. In turn, Charles shares stories from his racing career, the challenges he’s faced, and the lessons he’s learned along the way.

Before either of you realize it, the captain’s voice comes over the intercom, announcing your descent into Nice.

“Oh,” you say, surprise evident in your voice. “We’re here already?”

Charles grins. “See? Not so bad, was it?”

You shake your head, a small laugh escaping you. “I guess not. Thank you, Charles. For ... well, for everything.”

As the plane touches down on the runway, Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest. “You’re welcome,” he says softly. “And hey, this is just the beginning, right?”

You nod, a mix of nervousness and excitement in your eyes. “Right. The beginning.”

The plane comes to a stop, and Charles stands, offering you his hand. “Ready to see your new home?”

You take a deep breath, then place your hand in his. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

As you make their way down the steps of the plane, Charles can’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. He knows the road ahead won’t be easy, but looking at you now, seeing the spark of determination in your eyes, he’s filled with hope for what the future might hold.

The Mediterranean sun greets them as they step onto the tarmac, warm and welcoming. Charles watches as you take in your surroundings, your eyes wide with wonder.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe, gazing at the azure sea in the distance.

Charles smiles, feeling a surge of pride for his home. “Wait until you see the rest of it. Come on, let’s get you settled in.”

As you walk towards the waiting Ferrari, Charles finds himself stealing glances at you. There’s still fear and uncertainty in your eyes, but there’s something else too — a resilience that he admires. He makes a silent promise to himself, right there on the sun-drenched tarmac of the Côte d’Azur, to do whatever he can to help you rebuild your life.

“So,” he says as you slide into the passenger seat, “shall we swing by the university on our way home? Just to have a look?”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod. “Yeah,” you say, a small smile playing at your lips. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

***

The quiet of the night is shattered by a piercing scream. Charles bolts upright in his bed, heart racing, momentarily disoriented. Then realization hits him like a wave — it’s you.

Without hesitation, he leaps out of bed and races down the hallway to your room. He bursts through the door to find you thrashing in your sheets, eyes squeezed shut, still caught in the grip of your nightmare.

“No, Jake, please!” You cry out, your voice raw with fear. “Don’t hurt me!”

Charles is at your side in an instant, gently placing his hands on your shoulders. “Hey, hey,” he says softly but firmly. “It’s okay. You’re safe. It’s just a dream.”

Your eyes fly open, wild and unfocused. For a moment, you recoil from his touch, still trapped between nightmare and reality.

“It’s me,” Charles says, keeping his voice calm. “It’s Charles. You’re in Monaco, remember? You’re safe here.”

Slowly, recognition dawns in your eyes. “Charles?” You whisper, your voice trembling.

He nods, offering a reassuring smile. “That’s right. I’m here. You’re okay.”

The tension leaves your body all at once, and you collapse against him, tears streaming down your face. Charles wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you sob into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out between sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shh,” Charles soothes, running a hand gently up and down your back. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It was just a nightmare.”

You pull back slightly, wiping at your tears with shaking hands. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I feel so stupid.”

Charles shakes his head firmly. “You’re not stupid. Nightmares are normal after what you’ve been through. And I’m glad I woke up. I want to be here for you.”

You take a shuddering breath, trying to calm yourself. “It felt so real,” you whisper. “I could feel his hands on me, hear his voice ...”

“But it wasn’t real,” Charles reminds you gently. “He can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let him.”

You nod, but Charles can see the lingering fear in your eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks.

You shake your head. “No, I ... I just want to forget.”

“Okay,” Charles says, understanding. “Is there anything I can do? Maybe get you some water or tea?”

You bite your lip, looking uncertain. “Could you ... would you mind staying? Just until I fall asleep?” The words come out in a rush, as if you’re afraid to ask.

Charles feels a surge of protectiveness. “Of course,” he says without hesitation. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

Relief washes over your face. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Charles helps you settle back against the pillows, then hesitates for a moment. “Is it okay if I ...” He gestures to the other side of the bed.

You nod, shifting over slightly to make room. Charles slips under the sheets, careful to maintain a respectful distance. But you surprise him by moving closer, seeking comfort in his presence.

“Is this okay?” You ask, your voice small.

“Of course,” Charles assures you. He opens his arms, offering an embrace without pressure. “Whatever you need.”

You hesitate for just a moment before curling into his side, your head resting on his chest. Charles wraps his arms around you, feeling the rapid beat of your heart against his side.

“Try to relax,” he murmurs. “Focus on your breathing. In and out, nice and slow.”

You nod against his chest, making a conscious effort to steady your breathing. Charles can feel some of the tension leaving your body as the minutes tick by.

“Charles?” You say after a while, your voice soft in the darkness.

“Hmm?”

“How do you do it?” You ask. “How do you stay so calm and ... and kind, even when I’m such a mess?”

Charles is quiet for a moment, considering his words. “You’re not a mess,” he says finally. “You’re healing. And that takes time. As for staying calm ... well, I’ve had my own struggles. I know what it’s like to need someone in your corner.”

You lift your head slightly, looking up at him. “What do you mean?”

Charles takes a deep breath. He’s never been one to open up easily, but something about the quiet intimacy of the moment makes him want to share.

“Seven years ago now, I lost my father,” he says softly. “It was ... it was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. There were nights when I thought the pain would swallow me whole. But I had people who stood by me, who helped me through it. They taught me the importance of being there for others in their darkest moments.”

You’re silent for a long moment, absorbing his words. “I’m so sorry about your father,” you say finally. “That must have been awful.”

Charles nods, feeling the familiar ache in his chest. “It was. But it also taught me something important. Pain doesn’t last forever. It changes you, yes, but it doesn’t define you. You can come out the other side stronger.”

“Do you really believe that?” You ask, a hint of doubt in your voice.

“I do,” Charles says firmly. “I’ve seen it in myself, and I see it in you too. You’re stronger than you know.”

You’re quiet again, and Charles can almost hear the wheels turning in your mind. “I want to believe that,” you say eventually. “But sometimes it feels like ... like I’ll never be whole again.”

Charles tightens his embrace slightly. “Healing isn’t about going back to who you were before,” he says. “It’s about becoming someone new. Someone who carries the lessons of the past but isn’t defined by them.”

You nod slowly, considering his words. “That makes sense,” you admit. “It’s just ... it’s hard to see that future sometimes.”

“I know,” Charles says softly. “But that’s why you’re not alone in this. I’m here to remind you of that future when you can’t see it yourself.”

You lift your head again, meeting his gaze in the dim light. “Why are you doing all this for me? You barely know me.”

Charles is struck by the vulnerability in your eyes. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before responding.

“Because when I saw you that day, something inside me just ... knew I had to help,” he says. “I can’t explain it rationally. But I believe that sometimes, people come into our lives for a reason. Maybe I’m meant to help you heal. Or maybe you’re meant to teach me something. I don’t know. But I do know that I want to be here for you, if you’ll let me.”

You study his face for a long moment, as if searching for any sign of insincerity. Finding none, you lay your head back on his chest.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For everything.”

Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says. “Just focus on healing. And remember, you’re not alone in this.”

You nod against his chest, and Charles can feel your body relaxing further. Your breathing becomes slower, more even, and he knows you’re drifting off to sleep.

As the night deepens around you, Charles finds himself wide awake, acutely aware of your warm presence against him. He’s never been in a situation quite like this before, and he’s surprised by how natural it feels.

He thinks about the past few days, about the small victories you’ve already achieved. The way your eyes lit up when you toured the university campus. The quiet determination in your voice when you asked about application procedures. The shy smile that appeared when he showed you around Monaco.

Charles knows the road ahead won’t be easy. There will likely be more nights like this, more nightmares to soothe. But looking down at your peaceful face, finally relaxed in sleep, he feels a surge of hope.

Whatever challenges lie ahead, he’ll be there to face them with you. And somehow, he knows that together, you’ll both come out stronger on the other side.

As the first light of dawn begins to creep through the windows, Charles finally feels his own eyes growing heavy. He allows himself to drift off, still holding you close, a silent promise of protection in his embrace.

In the quiet of the early morning, as the world outside begins to stir, there’s a sense of peace in the room. It’s fragile, perhaps, but it’s there. And for now, in this moment, it’s enough.

***

The first rays of sunlight filter through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. Charles stirs, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. He feels a weight against his chest and looks down to see you still nestled in his arms, your breathing deep and even.

For a moment, he simply watches you sleep, struck by how peaceful you look compared to the night before. He’s careful not to move, not wanting to disturb your rest. But as the room grows brighter, he sees your eyelids begin to flutter.

You blink awake, confusion briefly clouding your features before recognition sets in. “Charles?” You murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Good morning,” he says softly, offering a gentle smile. “How are you feeling?”

You shift slightly, seeming to become aware of your position. A blush creeps across your cheeks as you pull back a bit. “I’m ... I’m okay,” you say. “I’m sorry about last night. You didn’t have to stay.”

Charles shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I wanted to stay. I’m just glad you were able to get some rest.”

You nod, running a hand through your tousled hair. “Thank you,” you say quietly. “For everything. I don’t know what I would have done if ...”

Your voice trails off, but Charles understands. “Hey,” he says, gently tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “You don’t need to think about that. You’re here now, and you’re safe. That’s what matters.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “You’re right. I just ... I’m not used to someone being so kind without expecting anything in return.”

Charles feels a pang in his chest at your words. “Well, get used to it,” he says, injecting a lightness into his tone. “Because that’s just how things work in the Leclerc household.”

You laugh softly, the sound warming Charles from the inside out. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely,” Charles grins. ��It’s in the contract. Kindness, comfort, and an abundance of croissants. Speaking of which, are you hungry? I could whip up some breakfast.”

You nod, sitting up slowly. “Breakfast sounds great. But you don’t have to cook. I can manage.”

Charles waves off your protest as he sits up as well. “Nonsense. I insist. Besides, I make a mean omelette. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried my secret recipe.”

Your eyebrows raise in amusement. “Secret recipe, huh? Do I get to know what’s in it?”

Charles taps the side of his nose conspiratorially. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore, would it? You’ll just have to trust me.”

As he moves to get out of bed, a thought strikes him. He hesitates for a moment, then turns back to you. “Actually, before we head to the kitchen, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

You look at him curiously, a hint of apprehension in your eyes. “Oh?”

Charles takes a deep breath, suddenly feeling nervous. “I was wondering if ... well, if you might want to come to my next race with me?”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Your next race?”

Charles nods, watching your reaction carefully. “Yeah. It’s in a couple of weeks. I thought maybe a change of scenery might be good for you. Plus, you’d get to see what I do up close. But if it’s too soon, or if you’re not comfortable with the idea, I completely understand.”

You’re quiet for a moment, biting your lip as you consider his offer. “I don’t know,” you say hesitantly. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just ... the last time I was at a race ...”

Understanding dawns on Charles’s face. “Oh, of course. I’m sorry, I should have thought of that. We don’t have to go if it brings up bad memories.”

You shake your head quickly. “No, it’s not that. Well, not entirely. It’s just ... I’m worried about being recognized. What if Jake sees me on TV or something?”

Charles leans forward, his expression serious. “Hey, look at me. If you come to the race, you’ll be under the full protection of the team. No one gets near the garage without proper clearance. And as for TV, well, we can make sure you’re not caught on camera if that’s what you want.”

You still look uncertain. “But won’t people wonder who I am? I don’t want to cause any trouble for you or your team.”

Charles can’t help but smile at your concern. “Trust me, the team has dealt with far more complicated situations than this. If anyone asks, we’ll simply say you’re a family friend. No one needs to know the details.”

He watches as you mull over his words, hope building in his chest. Finally, you look up at him, a small smile playing at your lips. “You really want me to come?”

Charles nods emphatically. “I really do. I think it could be good for you. A chance to create some new, positive memories associated with racing. Plus,” he adds with a grin, “I’d love for you to see me in action. I promise I’ll try to put on a good show.”

You laugh, the sound lightening the mood in the room. “Oh, is that so? Pretty confident, aren’t you?”

Charles shrugs, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “What can I say? I aim to impress.”

You shake your head in amusement, but Charles can see you’re still hesitating. “You don’t have to decide right now,” he says gently. “Take some time to think about it. The offer stands whenever you’re ready.”

You nod, looking grateful for the lack of pressure. “Thank you, Charles. I’ll think about it, I promise.”

“That’s all I ask,” he says, standing up and stretching. “Now, how about that breakfast? I believe I promised you a life-changing omelette.”

As you make your way to the kitchen, Charles can’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. He knows he’s taking a risk by inviting you to the race so soon, but something tells him it’s the right move. He’s seen glimpses of your strength over the past few days, and he believes that this could be a crucial step in your healing process.

In the kitchen, Charles busies himself with preparing breakfast, stealing glances at you as you settle at the counter. You still look a bit hesitant, but there’s a spark in your eyes that wasn’t there before.

“So,” he says as he cracks eggs into a bowl, “while you’re thinking about the race, why don’t you tell me more about your law studies? Any particular area you’re most interested in?”

You perk up at the question, and Charles listens intently as you launch into an enthusiastic explanation of your passion for human rights law. As he watches you speak, animated and engaged, he feels a warmth spread through his chest.

This, he thinks, is what healing looks like. Small steps, day by day, reclaiming pieces of yourself. And if he can play even a small part in that process, well, that’s a victory more satisfying than any podium finish.

As he serves up the omelettes, Charles makes a silent promise to himself. Whatever you decide about the race, whatever challenges lie ahead, he’ll be there. Supporting you, cheering you on, just as fiercely as any fan in the grandstands.

Because in this moment, watching you take your first bite and exclaim over his “secret recipe,” Charles realizes something important. In helping you find your strength, he’s discovering new depths of his own.

***

The energy in the paddock is electric as Charles makes his way to the Ferrari garage. He can feel the excitement buzzing through the air, the anticipation of the race to come. But today, there’s an extra flutter in his stomach that has nothing to do with pre-race jitters.

He spots you standing near the back of the garage, looking a bit overwhelmed by the flurry of activity around you. Your eyes light up when you see him, and he can’t help but smile.

“Hey,” he says, approaching you. “How are you holding up?”

You give him a small smile. “It’s ... a lot. But exciting. I can’t believe I’m actually here.”

Charles nods, understanding. “I know it can be overwhelming at first. But you’re doing great. And I have a little surprise for you.”

Your eyebrows raise in curiosity. “A surprise? Charles, you didn’t have to-”

He cuts you off with a grin. “I wanted to. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Charles leads you to a quieter corner of the garage where his race gear is laid out. He picks up his helmet, turning it so you can see the design.

Your eyes widen as you spot the purple ribbon painted prominently on the side. “Is that ...”

Charles nods, his expression softening. “A domestic violence awareness ribbon. I had it added for this race.”

You’re quiet for a moment, your fingers hovering over the ribbon without quite touching it. When you look up at Charles, your eyes are shining with unshed tears. “Why?” You ask softly.

Charles takes a deep breath. “Because I want to use my platform to raise awareness. And because ...” he pauses, meeting your gaze, “because I want you to know that you’re not alone. That there are people out there who care and want to help.”

You blink rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “Charles, I don’t know what to say. This is ... it’s incredible.”

He reaches out, gently squeezing your hand. “You don’t have to say anything. Just know that when I’m out there on the track today, I’m racing for you and for everyone who’s been in your position.”

You nod, unable to speak. Charles understands the emotions you’re feeling — he’s feeling them too.

A voice calls out from across the garage. “Charles! Five minutes!”

Charles turns back to you. “I’ve got to go get ready. Will you be okay?”

You take a deep breath, composing yourself. “I’ll be fine. Go. And Charles?” You meet his eyes, a small smile on your face. “Thank you. For everything.”

He nods, giving your hand one last squeeze before heading off to finish his pre-race preparations.

The race itself is a blur of adrenaline and focus. Charles pushes himself to the limit, hyper-aware of the special helmet he’s wearing and what it represents. When he crosses the finish line in second place, his heart is pounding with more than just exertion.

As he pulls into parc fermé, Charles can see the crowd of reporters already gathering. He takes a deep breath, knowing what’s coming. Sure enough, as soon as he steps foot in the media pen, he’s surrounded by microphones and cameras.

“Charles! Congratulations on P2!” One reporter calls out. “But everyone’s talking about your helmet today. Can you tell us about the ribbon?”

Charles nods, his expression turning serious. “The ribbon on my helmet today is a symbol of awareness for domestic violence. It’s an issue that affects millions of people around the world, and I wanted to use this platform to bring attention to it.”

Another reporter jumps in. “Was there a specific reason you chose this race to highlight this cause?”

Charles pauses, carefully considering his words. “I believe that as public figures, we have a responsibility to use our voices for good. Domestic violence is a problem that often stays hidden, and I want to help bring it into the light.”

“Will the helmet be part of any specific initiative?” A third reporter asks.

Charles nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “Yes, actually. I’m going to be auctioning off this helmet, with all proceeds going to charities that combat domestic violence and support survivors.”

There’s a murmur of approval from the gathered press. “That’s a wonderful gesture,” one reporter says. “Can you tell us more about why this cause is so important to you?”

Charles takes a deep breath, his eyes briefly scanning the crowd. He spots you standing at the back, partially hidden behind a barrier. Your eyes meet, and he draws strength from your presence.

“It’s important because it’s a problem that affects so many people, yet it’s often overlooked or ignored,” Charles says, his voice steady and clear. “I ... I have seen firsthand the devastating impact it can have on someone’s life. And I want to do whatever I can to help break the cycle of violence and provide support for those who need it.”

There’s a moment of silence as the reporters absorb his words. Then the questions start flying again.

“Have you partnered with any specific organizations for this initiative?”

“Do you plan to continue raising awareness for this cause in future races?”

“How do you balance your focus on racing with your desire to address social issues?”

Charles answers each question thoughtfully, his passion for the cause evident in every word. As the press conference winds down, he can’t help but feel a sense of pride. Not just for his performance on the track, but for using his platform to make a difference.

As he makes his way back to the Ferrari garage, Charles spots you waiting for him. Your eyes are bright with emotion, and he can see the pride and gratitude written all over your face.

“That was amazing,” you say as he approaches. “I can’t believe you did all that.”

Charles shrugs, suddenly feeling a bit shy. “It was the least I could do. I hope it helps, even if it’s just a little bit.”

You shake your head, a soft laugh escaping you. “A little bit? Charles, do you have any idea how much impact something like this can have? You just brought attention to this issue in front of millions of people.”

He nods, the weight of what he’s done starting to sink in. “I just hope it makes a difference. That it helps someone out there feel less alone.”

You reach out, squeezing his hand. “It already has,” you say softly.

Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest at your words. He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, a voice calls out from behind him.

“Charles! A word?”

Charles turns to see a familiar face — Federica, a respected journalist he’s known for years. She approaches with a warm smile, notepad in hand.

“Federica,” Charles greets her. “How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you,” she replies. “That was quite a statement you made out there today. I was hoping we could talk a bit more about it. Off the record, if you prefer.”

Charles glances at you, silently asking if you’re okay with this. You nod encouragingly.

“Sure,” Charles says. “What would you like to know?”

Federica’s expression turns serious. “I’ve known you for a while now. This isn’t just a random cause you’ve picked up. There’s a personal connection here, isn’t there?”

Charles takes a deep breath, weighing his words carefully. He feels you shift closer to him, offering silent support.

“You’re right,” he says finally. “It is personal. I can’t go into details, but ... I’ve seen up close how devastating domestic violence can be. And I realized that I had an opportunity to do something about it.”

Federica nods, her eyes softening with understanding. “That’s very brave of you, Charles. Both to take this stand and to admit the personal connection. Can I ask what made you decide to do it now?”

Charles glances at you again, a small smile playing at his lips. “Let’s just say I’ve been inspired by someone very brave. Someone who showed me that it’s possible to turn pain into purpose.”

Federica follows his gaze, her eyebrows raising slightly as she notices you for the first time. “I see,” she says, a knowing look in her eye. “Well, I think what you’re doing is wonderful. And I would be happy to help spread the word about the helmet auction, if you’d like.”

Charles nods gratefully. “That would be amazing. Thank you.”

As Federica walks away, Charles turns back to you. “I hope that was okay,” he says softly. “I didn’t want to say too much, but ...”

You shake your head, cutting him off. “It was perfect. Really. I ... I don’t know how to thank you for all of this.”

Charles reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to thank me. Seeing you here, seeing how far you’ve come ... that’s all the thanks I need.”

For a moment, you just look at each other, a wealth of unspoken emotions passing between you. Then, impulsively, you step forward and wrap your arms around Charles in a tight hug.

He returns the embrace without hesitation, holding you close. In that moment, surrounded by the noise and chaos of the paddock, Charles feels a sense of peace wash over him.

This, he thinks, is what really matters. Not the podiums or the points, but the ability to make a difference. To help someone heal and find their strength again.

As you pull back from the hug, Charles sees something new in your eyes. A spark of determination, of hope for the future. And he knows, without a doubt, that this is just the beginning of something beautiful.

***

The late afternoon sun streams through the windows of Charles’ Monaco apartment, warming the living room. Charles is sprawled on the couch, idly scrolling through his phone, when he hears a sudden gasp from the kitchen.

“Oh my god,” your voice carries through the apartment, a mix of shock and something else Charles can’t quite place.

He sits up, instantly alert. “Everything okay?” He calls out, already moving towards the kitchen.

You appear in the doorway, your face flushed and your eyes wide. You’re clutching your phone like a lifeline, and there’s an energy radiating from you that Charles has never seen before.

“I ... I got in,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles furrows his brow, confused for a moment before realization dawns. “The university? You heard back?”

You nod, a smile breaking across your face like the sun emerging from behind clouds. “I got in, Charles. They accepted me!”

The joy in your voice is infectious, and Charles feels his own face split into a grin. “That’s amazing!” He exclaims, stepping towards you. “I knew you could do it!”

What happens next seems to unfold in slow motion. You close the distance between you in two quick steps, and before Charles can process what’s happening, your lips are on his.

The kiss is brief, a burst of spontaneous happiness, but it sends a jolt through Charles’ entire body. For a split second, he’s frozen, his mind struggling to catch up with the reality of your lips against his.

But as quickly as it began, it’s over. You pull back abruptly, your eyes wide with shock at your own actions. “Oh god,” you stammer, taking a step back. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to ... I was just excited and I ...”

Charles can see the panic rising in your eyes, the fear that you’ve crossed a line. He wants to reassure you, to tell you that it’s okay, more than okay, but you’re already backing away, words tumbling out in a rush.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what I was thinking. Please don’t be mad, I-”

“Hey,” Charles cuts in gently, reaching out to catch your hand before you can retreat further. “Stop apologizing.”

You freeze, uncertainty written all over your face. “But I-”

Charles shakes his head, a soft smile playing at his lips. “You have nothing to be sorry for. In fact ...” he takes a deep breath, gathering his courage. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for months.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “You ... you have?”

Charles nods, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand. “I have. But I didn’t want to rush you. I wanted to give you time to heal, to find yourself again.”

You’re quiet for a moment, processing his words. “So you’re not ... upset?”

Charles can’t help but chuckle. “Upset? No, definitely not upset. More like ... thrilled. And maybe a little disappointed in myself for not making the first move.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “Really?”

“Really,” Charles confirms. He takes a step closer, his free hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. “In fact, if you’re okay with it, I’d really like to kiss you again. Properly this time.”

You nod, a mix of nervousness and anticipation in your eyes. “I’d like that,” you whisper.

Charles leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to change your mind. But you don’t pull away. Instead, you meet him halfway, your lips connecting in a kiss that’s soft and sweet and full of promise.

This time, Charles is fully present in the moment. He savors the feeling of your lips against his, the warmth of your body as you step closer. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair.

When you finally break apart, you’re both a little breathless. Charles rests his forehead against yours, a smile playing at his lips.

“Wow,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” Charles agrees. “Wow indeed.”

For a moment, you just stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms. Then Charles remembers what started all this.

“So,” he says, pulling back slightly to meet your eyes. “You got into law school. We should celebrate!”

You laugh, the sound light and carefree in a way Charles has never heard before. “I almost forgot about that for a second there.”

Charles grins. “Well, we can’t have that. It’s not every day you get accepted to study law at the International University of Monaco. This calls for champagne!”

He starts to move towards the kitchen, but you tug on his hand, pulling him back. “Wait,” you say softly. “Before we celebrate ... can we talk about this?” You gesture between the two of you.

Charles nods, his expression turning serious. “Of course. What do you want to know?”

You bite your lip, suddenly looking uncertain. “I just ... where do we go from here? I mean, I like you, Charles. A lot. But I’m still ... I’m still healing. And I don’t want to complicate things or ruin our friendship if-”

Charles cuts you off gently, taking both of your hands in his. “Hey, look at me,” he says softly. When you meet his gaze, he continues. “I like you too. A lot. And I understand that you’re still healing. I don’t want to rush anything or pressure you in any way.”

You nod, relief evident in your eyes. “So what do we do?”

Charles smiles. “We take it slow. We keep being friends, but we also explore these new feelings. And most importantly, we communicate. If at any point you feel overwhelmed or want to slow things down, you tell me. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, a small smile playing at your lips. “And what if ... what if I want to speed things up sometimes?”

Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest at your words. “Then we can do that too. As long as we’re both comfortable and on the same page.”

You nod, looking more relaxed now. “I think I can handle that.”

“Good,” Charles says, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Now, about that champagne ...”

As Charles moves to the kitchen to fetch the bottle, he can’t help but feel a sense of excitement bubbling up inside him. This thing between you is new and fragile, but it’s also full of potential. And he’s determined to nurture it, to give it the time and care it needs to grow into something beautiful.

He returns with two glasses and the champagne, finding you settled on the couch. As he pours, he can’t help but steal glances at you. There’s a glow about you that has nothing to do with the afternoon sun — it’s the light of new beginnings, of hope for the future.

“A toast,” Charles says, handing you a glass. “To new adventures in education and ... other areas.”

You laugh, clinking your glass against his. “To new adventures,” you agree.

As you sip the champagne, a comfortable silence falls between you. Charles finds himself marveling at how far you’ve come in the past few months. From the scared, broken woman he first met to this confident woman embarking on a new chapter of her life.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask, noticing his contemplative expression.

Charles smiles. “Just ... how proud I am of you. You’ve come so far, and now you’re starting this new journey. It’s inspiring.”

You blush slightly at his words. “I couldn’t have done it without you, you know. Your support has meant everything.”

“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Charles insists. “But I’m glad I could help. And I’ll be here to support you through your studies too. Although,” he adds with a grin, “I’m not sure how much help I’ll be with law textbooks.”

You laugh, leaning into him slightly. “I’m sure you’ll find ways to be helpful. Moral support is important too, you know.”

Charles wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Well, in that case, I’m your man. Moral support is my specialty.”

As the afternoon fades into evening, you and Charles talk about everything and nothing. You discuss your hopes for university, your fears, your dreams for the future. Charles shares stories from his racing career, anecdotes he’s never told anyone else.

And through it all, there’s a new undercurrent of electricity between you. A spark ignited by that spontaneous kiss, fueled by the promise of something more.

As the sky outside turns a deep indigo, Charles finds himself marveling at the unexpected turns life can take. A few months ago, he was just a driver focused on his next win. Now, he’s sitting here with you, on the cusp of something that feels bigger and more important than any championship.

“What are you smiling about?” You ask, noticing his expression.

Charles pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Just thinking about how sometimes the best things in life are the ones you never see coming.”

You snuggle into his side, a contented sigh escaping you. “I couldn’t agree more.”

***

Five Years Later

The sun shines brightly on the streets of Monaco as Charles stands before a modest but elegant building, his heart swelling with pride. He glances at you, standing beside him in a crisp power suit, your eyes sparkling with excitement and determination. It’s a look he’s come to know well over the past five years, but today it seems to shine even brighter.

“Are you ready for this?” Charles asks, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

You turn to him, a radiant smile spreading across your face. “I’ve been ready for this my whole life,” you reply, your voice steady and sure.

Charles feels a surge of love and admiration wash over him. He remembers the scared, broken woman he met all those years ago, and marvels at the strong, confident woman you’ve become. His wife. His partner in every sense of the word.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice calls out, drawing their attention to the small crowd gathered before them. “We are here today to celebrate the grand opening of the Leclerc Center for Domestic Violence Support and Legal Aid.”

A round of applause breaks out, and Charles feels you squeeze his hand tighter. He knows how much this moment means to you, how hard you’ve worked to make it a reality.

The speaker, a distinguished-looking woman in her fifties, continues. “This center represents a beacon of hope for those who have suffered in silence, a promise that they are not alone, and that help is available. And we have two very special people to thank for making this dream a reality.”

She gestures towards Charles and you. “Charles and Y/N, would you like to say a few words before we cut the ribbon?”

Charles looks at you, silently asking if you want to speak first. You nod, stepping forward with the confidence of someone who has found their true calling.

“Thank you all for being here today,” you begin, your voice clear and strong. “This center is more than just a building. It’s a promise. A promise to every person out there who’s suffering in an abusive relationship that there is hope, there is help, and there is a way out.”

Charles watches you speak, feeling a swell of pride. He remembers the countless late nights you spent poring over law books, the tears of frustration and determination as you fought your way through law school. And now here you are, a fully qualified attorney, using your hard-earned skills to help others who were once in your position.

“I stand here today not just as a lawyer, not just as the co-founder of this center, but as someone who has been where many of our future clients are right now,” you continue, your voice wavering slightly with emotion. “I know the fear, the doubt, the feeling of being trapped. But I also know the incredible strength that lies within each survivor. And it is my deepest hope that this center will help them find that strength, just as I did.”

As you step back, wiping a tear from your eye, Charles pulls you into a quick, supportive hug before stepping forward himself.

“When I met my wife five years ago,” he begins, his voice thick with emotion, “I was just a driver who thought he had it all figured out. But she opened my eyes to a world I knew little about, and showed me that sometimes the most important battles are the ones fought off the track.”

He pauses, looking out at the crowd. He sees familiar faces — fellow drivers who’ve supported this project, team members who’ve become like family, and new faces too — survivors, advocates, people who believe in the mission of this center.

“This center is a dream that we’ve shared for years,” Charles continues. “A dream of creating a safe space where survivors can find legal support, counseling, and most importantly, hope. And while I may not be the one providing legal advice,” he adds with a chuckle, earning a laugh from the crowd, “I promise to support this center and its mission in every way I can.”

He turns to you, his eyes shining with love and admiration. “And to my incredible wife, who has been the driving force behind all of this — thank you. For your strength, your determination, and for showing me what true courage looks like every single day.”

As Charles steps back, the crowd erupts in applause. You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his as the official hands you a large pair of scissors.

“Are you ready to do the honors?” The official asks.

You and Charles share a look, years of unspoken understanding passing between you in that moment. Together, you step forward, positioning the scissors at the purple ribbon stretched across the entrance.

“On the count of three,” the official announces. “One ... two ... three!”

With a satisfying snip, the ribbon falls away. The crowd cheers, and cameras flash as you and Charles stand before the open doors of the center, your shared dream finally a reality.

As the crowd begins to file inside for the reception, you turn to Charles, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “We did it,” you whisper. “We really did it.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, not caring about the cameras still flashing around them. “You did it,” he murmurs into your hair. “I just followed your lead.”

You pull back, shaking your head with a fond smile. “We’re a team, remember?”

Charles laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “How could I forget?”

As you make your way inside, greeting guests and answering questions, Charles finds himself reflecting on the journey that brought you both to this moment. The ups and downs, the challenges and triumphs, all leading to this day.

A familiar face approaches — Federica, the journalist who had interviewed Charles after that fateful race five years ago. “Charles, Y/N,” she greets you warmly. “Congratulations on this amazing achievement. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”

You nod, your professional demeanor sliding into place. “Of course. What would you like to know?”

“This center is quite different from the usual celebrity charity projects,” Federica begins. “Can you tell me what inspired you to take such a hands-on approach?”

You and Charles share a look, silently deciding who should answer. Charles gives a small nod, encouraging you to take the lead.

“For us, this isn’t about charity in the traditional sense,” you explain. “It’s about using our resources and platform to create real, tangible change. As a survivor myself, I know firsthand how crucial legal support can be in escaping an abusive situation. But I also know how intimidating and overwhelming the legal system can seem.”

Charles watches as you speak, marveling at your eloquence and passion. He remembers the early days of your relationship, when you would sometimes struggle to find your voice. Now, you command the room with ease.

“Our goal with this center,” you continue, “is to provide comprehensive support — legal aid, counseling, practical assistance — all under one roof. We want to remove as many barriers as possible for those seeking help.”

Federica nods, scribbling in her notepad. “And Charles,” she turns to him, “how do you see your role in all of this?”

Charles straightens, his expression serious. “My role is to support this center and its mission in every way I can. Whether that’s using my platform to raise awareness, helping to secure funding, or simply being here to show that everyone can and should be allies in this fight against domestic violence.”

You reach for his hand, giving it a squeeze. Charles feels a surge of gratitude for your unwavering support, both in this project and in his career.

“And how do you balance this work with racing?” Federica asks.

Charles smiles. “It’s all about priorities. Racing is my passion, but this center, and the work we do here, that’s my purpose. I’m fortunate to have a team and sponsors who understand and support that.”

As Federica thanks the two of you and moves on to speak with other guests, Charles turns to you. “You were amazing,” he says softly. “I’m so proud of you.”

You lean into him slightly, a soft smile playing at your lips. “We were amazing,” you correct him. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

Before Charles can respond, another guest approaches, asking for a tour of the facilities. As you lead the way, explaining the various services the center will offer, Charles hangs back slightly, simply observing.

He watches as you point out the private consultation rooms, the children’s play area designed to make the center welcoming for families, the state-of-the-art security systems put in place to ensure client safety. Your eyes light up as you describe the pro bono legal services, the partnerships with local shelters and support groups, the education and prevention programs you hope to implement.

In this moment, seeing you in your element, Charles is struck anew by how far you’ve both come. From that terrifying night in the paddock to this day of hope and new beginnings, it’s been a journey neither of you could have anticipated.

As the day winds down and the last of the guests depart, Charles finds you standing in the main reception area, looking around with a mix of awe and determination.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You lean into him, letting out a contented sigh. “I was just thinking about all the lives we’re going to change here. All the people we’re going to help.”

Charles presses a kiss to your temple. “You’ve already changed so many lives, you know. Including mine.”

You turn to face him, your eyes shining with love and gratitude. “We’ve changed each other’s lives. And now we get to pay it forward.”

As Charles looks at you, his partner in every sense of the word, he knows that whatever challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them together. Just as you always have.

“Ready to go home?” He asks softly.

You nod, taking one last look around the center. “Yes,” you say, your voice filled with quiet determination. “But we’ll be back bright and early tomorrow. We’ve got work to do.”

Charles smiles, taking your hand as you walk towards the exit. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[flowersforbucky]

sweetener

bucky barnes x reader

summary: when the vacation that you've been planning for months gets canceled due to a last minute mission, you can't help but feel bummed - the bright side is that you're being sent on a mission with bucky.

word count: 5.3k - my masterlist

warnings/tags: canon level violence, descriptions of injuries, mention of blood, almost drowning, hospital setting, bad guys getting killed (not descriptive), non-sexual nudity, hurt/comfort trope, avenger!reader, friends to lovers, fluff, language, reader pov, no use of y/n, fem reader, bucky being super soft, not explicit but mdni please

when life deals us cards

make everything taste like it is salt

then you come through like the sweetener you are

to bring the bitter taste to a halt

Hand warmers. Flashlight and extra batteries. Can opener. Matches. First aid kit –

You glance down the handwritten list for the dozenth time that morning, checking and rechecking that you aren't forgetting anything obvious.

Your eyes flicker between the ridiculous amount of supplies scattered across your bed and the three large duffle bags on your floor that you're determined to pack it all into. You know that you are most likely being excessive, but you'd much rather be too thorough than not thorough enough when you're about to be miles deep in the Appalachian wilderness.

Sure, you'd be staying at a relatively civilized campground with restrooms and showers, but this is the first time that you've been camping in years, and your first time ever going camping alone.

A two day road trip there, then six days in the Great Smoky Mountains, and then another two day road trip back to upstate New York.

A much needed ten days of time spent by yourself, seeing as how you haven't gone on anything resembling a vacation in over two years. The last couple years have been nonstop work with very little time for relaxation.

To say that you're excited would be an understatement. Although you find immense fulfillment in the work that you do with the Avengers and can't see yourself doing anything else, you're ready to sit by a warm fire and sleep under the stars without a care in the world.

Just as you've finished packing the second bag and are about to begin on the third, the Bluetooth speaker that your cell phone is paired to begins blasting your ringtone, cutting off the music that you'd been listening to while you pack.

When you grab the phone off of your nightstand and see the name Nick Fury displayed across the screen, a ball of unease immediately forms in the pit of your stomach.

Nick Fury isn't the type to call and chit chat about how your day is going or what shows you've been binge watching. He's the type to call when he wants something done, and wants it done now.

“Hey, Fury,” you greet in a neutral tone as you perch on the edge of your bed. With the phone still connected to your speaker, you place it back down on the nightstand so that you are free to wring your hands together.

“Agent,” Fury's voice booms throughout your room. “I hope I've caught you before you've left the state of New York.”

Godfuckingdammit.

“Uh - yep. I'm still here. Packing up for my trip right now,” you answer, trying your hardest to conceal the irritation in your voice. There's a small voice in the back of your head telling you that you should just lie and say you are already on the road, but you're not stupid enough to lie to Nick Fury.

There's a second, louder voice in the back of your mind screaming at you that you shouldn’t have even answered the phone.

“You know I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm going to suggest you pack a tactical suit and weapon of choice instead of hiking boots and a sleeping bag. We just got word that a vibranium weapons dealer we've been tracking will be receiving a large shipment at a port in Destin tomorrow night. Need you and Barnes on a flight to Florida this afternoon.”

“Florida?” you repeat, unable to hide the shock and disappointment in your tone. “I can't go to Florida right now. I've been planning this trip for months. I put in the notice for my leave–”

“I realize that this is unfortunate timing but I'm afraid that this is non-negotiable, Agent,” he interrupts you in a tone of finality. “If we don't intercept this shipment then these weapons fall into very dangerous hands. With Romanoff and Rogers still in San Antonio until next week, I have no choice but to ask you and Barnes to handle it.”

You exhale an audible, frustrated breath and massage the heels of your palms into your eye sockets. You don't know why you're surprised. It's not like illegal arms dealers take your vacation time into consideration when they plot their dealings.

“Is that understood, Agent?” he asks when you don't respond.

“Yes,” you say as you dig your nails into the flesh of your palm to hold back any further argument. “Yes, I understand.”

“Great. The jet leaves in three hours.”

The line cuts off before you can get another word out.

You groan out loud. Three hours. That doesn't even leave you enough time to feel sorry for yourself.

You look around at the chaotic state of your room before your gaze lands on the already packed duffle bags filled with camping supplies.

You're too annoyed and short on time to care right now, so you empty the contents of both bags back onto your bed and tell yourself that you'll deal with the mess when you get back home. For now, you need to focus on packing the appropriate items for taking down a vibranium arms dealer in hotass Florida.

Beneath all of the disappointment and frustration, there's a glimmer of relief that at the very least it's Bucky who you're being sent on this unexpected mission with. You may not be fond of hot weather, but you are quite fond of him.

••••••

Just as Fury said, the jet departs from the compound at exactly three o'clock. You sit in the aircraft's cabin, reading through a thick file containing all of the information that SHIELD has compiled on Dmitri Petrov's crime empire, ranging from drug smuggling to illegal arms deals.

You are only a few pages into the report and it's abundantly clear why this mission was non-negotiable. Petrov has been getting away unscatched for years - tomorrow night will be the first clear opportunity for a take down since getting on SHIELD's radar.

“Coffee?” A voice snaps you back to reality, making you realize that you're reading the same sentence for the dozenth time. “Three creams, two sugars.”

You look up to find a vibranium hand holding out a disposable cup to you. If the fact that he's committed the way you take your coffee to memory isn't enough to increase your heart rate, his smirk and the crinkles around his blue eyes do the trick.

“Thank you,” you tell him, snapping the folder shut on the table in front of you. “My eyes are on the verge of bleeding.” You take a sip of the coffee - indeed, three creams and two sugars.

He takes the seat directly across from you, spinning the folder around for him to flip through himself.

“We land in less than half an hour and you've been reading this the entire flight,” he says teasingly as he thumbs through the pages. “I think it's safe to say you're prepared.”

He places the file back down, returning his attention to you.

“Just trying to get myself in the right headspace. I didn't know anything about this operation until a few hours ago, you know.”

Not one to complain, you had yet to bring up the fact that your trip had been postponed in order for you to be here. You had talked about the trip on several occasions with Bucky, but you didn't expect him to remember the exact dates that you were supposed to be gone.

Sure - if he was going to be away for over a week, you'd be hyper aware of it until he returned - but you weren't naive enough to think that he would know the exact dates of your comings and goings.

“I know,” he sighs, a sympathetic look on his face. “I was on my way to tell you to have a good trip and to be safe when I got the call from Fury this morning.”

Oh. Your cheeks heat at the casual admission from him.

“I'm sorry about your trip. I know you were really looking forward to it,” he adds sincerely. “I'm going to find extra enjoyment in putting Dmitri Petrov behind bars for causing it to get canceled.”

“You and me both,” you chuckle. “Really though, it's okay. I was bummed, but it's not the end of the world. It can easily be rescheduled once this guy is locked up and we're back home.”

You don't add the fact that you find yourself caring less and less about the canceled trip the longer that you sit here with him.

“There is at least one silver lining to this, you know,” he chimes, leaning forward with his elbows on the table between you. You instinctively lean in closer too, causing the side of your leg to brush against his beneath the table. You wait to see if he'll pull away, and when he doesn't, you leave the side of your thigh resting against his.

“Oh, yeah? And what's that?”

“Petrov’s shipment isn't set to arrive until tomorrow night, and they've sent us down here the day prior. It's not like we have to stay holed up in our hotel room for the next twenty-four hours, right?”

••••••

Bucky's right - there's no sense in locking yourselves inside the hotel room until the time of the weapons deal tomorrow evening, but when you see the hotel room that you'll be spending the next couple nights in, you think you would also be okay with staying inside if you had to.

It's not a five star resort by any means, but in comparison to the dingy roadside motels that you're normally stuck in for missions? This place might as well be a Four Seasons.

It's relatively small, but there's more than enough space for the two of you. There's one full size bed, plus a couch that converts to a futon mattress - the latter of which Bucky insists on taking, giving you the bed. The bathroom is nearly as big as the main room, with a jacuzzi tub that's bigger than three standard bathtubs put together.

And the best part of it? When you open the curtains to the sliding glass door on the backside of the room, there's a clear view of turquoise water and white sand.

“I guess Fury felt a little bad about springing this on me at the last minute, after all,” you sigh as you pull the door open, letting the light breeze pull the smell of saltwater into the room. “Can't say that I’ve been given a beachfront room for a mission before.”

Bucky walks up to stand beside you, leaning against the doorframe and staring out to the ocean.

“It's definitely a step up from the rat and roach infested Motel 6 that Sam and I had to spend three nights in when we were sent to Atlanta for recon last month.”

You shake your head, both cringing and laughing at the memory of him ranting about the motel room as soon as he saw you after returning home.

“It was the size of a fucking capybara. Why are you laughing? I opened the bathroom door and it charged at me–”

A sudden deep rumbling noise snaps you out of the memory and you glance down at your stomach in surprise. You suppose it makes sense that your body is screaming at you to eat - you had such little time to pack for Destin before your flight left that you hadn't even bothered with lunch today.

“How does pizza sound?” Bucky asks with a knowing smirk. “I saw a pizza place just down the street on the way here.”

“Anything sounds good right now,” you sigh, both starving and exhausted from your day of packing, unpacking, re-packing and traveling.

“I'll go grab one for us,” he tells you, pulling the keys to the rental car out of his pocket. “Just stay here and get settled in.”

You don't object, itching to change into comfier, more weather appropriate clothes. When you left the state of New York just a few hours ago, it was chilly outside. Now that you are in eighty plus degree Destin, the sweater and boots that you're wearing have got to go.

You unpack your bag, thankful that you had brought a pair of casual drawstring shorts. You throw them on, along with a tank top. You decide to go ahead and convert the futon from a sofa into a bed, and then search through the hotel room's small linen closet for a set of sheets and a quilt. If Bucky insists on you taking the comfier sleeping option and going to get food for the two of you, you figure the least you can do is make his bed for him.

When he returns, he not only has a large cardboard box containing the pizza, but a plastic bag hanging from his vibranium arm as well.

“Grab a towel and follow me,” he tells you before he's even closed the door behind him.

“Follow you?” You laugh, taken aback by the instructions. “Where are we going?”

You hop up from where you'd been mindlessly scrolling on your phone on the bed, doing as he asked and grabbing one of the complementary beach towels from the bathroom closet.

“Not staying holed up in our hotel room. Remember?”

And with that he pulls the sliding glass door open with his empty hand and exits the room, heading towards the beach that sits directly in the backyard. You don't even take the time to throw on a pair of tennis shoes before practically running after him through the sand.

He comes to a stop when he's a few yards away from where the waves wash up against shore and turns back to look at you. You take it as your cue to spread the towel across the sand at your feet.

He sits down and you follow, the cardboard box nestled between you. He opens it, revealing a pizza that is split down the middle - half your favorite, half his favorite.

“I know it's not a campfire in the Great Smoky Mountains,” he smirks. He digs into the plastic bag and pulls out a drink for each of you, along with some napkins. “But it's the best I could do in our current situation.”

The sentiment leaves you momentarily speechless. You know it isn't a grand declaration of love, and it might not mean as much to some people as it does to you - but you can't remember the last time someone went out of their way just to improve your day in such a simple yet thoughtful way.

Between the pizza, the vibrant pink and purple sky as the sun sinks beyond the ocean's horizon, the sound of the waves and him beside you, you wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now.

“No,” you murmur. “It's not. But it's perfect.”

••••••

The next day, you manage to forget that you're actually on a super important mission taking down a dangerous illegal arms dealer.

The first half of the day feels like an actual vacation - the closest thing you've had to a vacation in a long time, anyway. You sleep in until nearly ten o'clock in the morning - which may not be considered sleeping in for some people, but in this line of work, you've overslept if you're still in bed at eight am.

After waking up thoroughly rested and refreshed, the two of you get brunch and then spend the early hours of the afternoon leisurely strolling at the boardwalk just a short drive from your hotel.

You and Bucky are sitting on a bench eating ice cream when you check your phone for the first time in hours and realize how quickly the day has gone. It's already four o'clock - you're due to be on lookout at the pier where Petrov's exchange will occur soon.

“What's wrong?” Bucky asks when you huff under your breath as you stick your phone back into your pocket. “Nervous about tonight?”

You're not nervous, truthfully. You're fully confident that you and Bucky will be able to handle the job. You've been on countless missions less straight forward than this before, and so has he.

“No,” you shake your head as you take another bite of your ice cream cone. “It's… silly,” you say, waving your hand in dismissal.

“I'm sure it's not silly,” he assures you gently.

You pause, staring at a couple holding hands in the distance as you contemplate your words.

Bucky seems to follow your gaze.

“Today has just been really nice,” you shrug with a small smile. “I almost don't want to go back home.”

From your peripheral vision, you see his face shift to look at you. You continue to eat your ice cream, pretending that his stare doesn't warm you more than the Florida sun.

“We're on the same page then, doll.”

••••••

A few hours later, a feeder ship pulls up to the pier just after dusk.

“We've got eyes on three men,” you say lowly into your communication device. “They're guarding the pier. No sign of Petrov yet.”

“He'll show,” Fury's voice echoes in your ear. “Keep watch until then. Backup is on standby to take him in.” The comm clicks off before you can respond.

“I know there's a lot riding on this going smoothly,” you grumble as you bring your binoculars back up to your eyes. “But sometimes I think he just really needs to get laid.”

You and Bucky are across the road from the pier, concealed by large shrubs and the darkness of the night sky. You've been sitting here as still and silently as possible for well over an hour, before Petrov's men had even arrived to stand guard at the dock.

You really fucking have to pee.

Headlights begin to approach from down the street, and as the vehicle gets closer you're able to see that it's a large, black van.

Totally not suspicious at all.

It comes to a stop close to the boat dock, and a second later Petrov hops out of the driver's seat. You recognize him right away by his shrimpy build and receding hairline.

“I should just take them all out from here and be done with this,” Bucky grumbles from beside you.

“I agree,” you sigh. “But Fury's adamant that Petrov be brought in alive if possible. He’s got an empire behind him that we need to find out as much as possible about. His men, however..” you trail off.

Bucky looks through the scope of his gun, zeroing in on one of the guards.

“Blow a tire on the van first,” you murmur. “So Petrov can't flee.”

“I'll take out these three guards, and then I'll get Petrov and call for back-up. You worry about getting to that ship and taking out anyone inside. Sound like a plan?”

“Easy peasy,” you agree.

Less than thirty seconds later, all three guards have dropped dead and Petrov is frantically running to his van, unaware that Bucky had shot the back tire after killing his guards. You and Bucky emerge from the shrubs, sprinting across the road. He dashes towards Petrov, who freezes and begins shouting curses in Russian when he sees what is running towards him.

Bucky lands a punch to Petrov's jaw as you're running past them, only slowing down enough to not trip over the guard’s dead bodies that are littered across the dock.

You're only a few yards away from the ship when you hear Bucky screech your name. You immediately come to a halt, turning back to see why he could be calling for you.

You see a tall, burly man - someone that you and Bucky hadn't noticed before - sprinting down the dock after you. He raises his arm above his head, his hand holding a rocklike object that he sends barreling in your direction.

It's the last thing you see before everything fades to black.

••••••

The shrill, repetitive beeping of a monitor pulls you out of limbo and back to earth.

You're met with painfully bright, fluorescent lighting that has you squinting your eyes shut before you can make sense of your surroundings.

“Bucky,” you attempt to call out but it sounds like the croak of a lifelong smoker. Your eyes begin to adjust to the harsh lighting, allowing you to see that you're alone in a hospital room. You raise your fingertips to where it feels as if your brain is pulsing through your skull. There's a thick, defined knot on the top of your head that's sensitive to the touch.

Panic starts to take over you. Bits and pieces of the mission start to flash through your mind. Bucky shooting the guards, you running towards the feeder ship when you heard Bucky yell your name and then turning to see –

“Bucky!” You call out louder, your voice still hoarse. You sit up, not hesitating to carelessly yank an IV out of your arm. You're vaguely aware of the fact that you're in only a hospital gown and that blood is now trickling down your left arm, but you don't care.

You throw your legs over the side of the bed, standing up far too quickly. Your vision fades to a fuzzy gray and you're overcome with an intense wave of vertigo as the room spins around you. You grab onto the metal side railing of the hospital bed to keep yourself upright, desperately trying to focus your eyes enough to find the nurse's call button.

“Hi! I'll be to your room in just a moment–” An overly cheerful, feminine voice pours from the speaker a moment after pressing the button.

“What happened? How long have I been here? Where is my–”

The door to your room opens, and you immediately breathe an audible sigh of relief as your last question is answered. He looks as though he could use a good night's sleep, but he is okay.

“What the fuck happened?” Bucky exclaims as he rushes over to where you're still clutching the hospital bed railing for support. You follow his gaze to your arm, seeing that there's now blood all over your gown as well as the white floor around your feet.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you mumble, embarrassed by your current state. He guides you back to the edge of the mattress before walking away to get a towel from the bathroom. “I was worried something happened to you,” you add weakly.

He wipes the blood trail on your skin before using the hand towel to apply pressure to the puncture in the bend of your arm.

“I'm okay,” he assures you delicately. “I had just gone to get some coffee.” He glances at the styrofoam to-go cup that you hadn't even noticed him place on the bedside table when he entered the room.

“How long was I asleep?” You ask, noticing that it's still pitch dark outside. You also notice that he's no longer in the clothes that he wore on the mission - now wearing a pair of loose fitting black sweatpants and a matching hoodie. “What happened?”

“There was another guy in the back of Petrov’s van,” Bucky tenses, still holding the towel to your arm for you. “We were both distracted and he snuck up on you. He hit you over the head with a piece of vibranium and threw you into the water.” His jaw clenches as he recounts what happened, meeting your gaze with a pained look.

“But you saved me,” you finish for him.

“Yes,” he gulps. “I did. But I was almost too late. By the time I knocked out Petrov and killed the man who hit you.. it felt like it took forever to find you in the water. You almost drown–”

He cuts himself off, unable to force the last word out. A nurse enters the room as you open your mouth to offer him reassurance. Bucky holds your gaze for a split-second longer before reluctantly dropping his hold on your arm and turning to take a seat in the room's singular guest chair.

The nurse informs you that they did a CT scan while you were unconscious, and that while you don't have any swelling or bleeding on your brain from the blow, the doctor believes you to have a concussion and tells you that she will need to do an exam now that you are awake before they feel comfortable discharging you.

Judging by the high-pitched ringing that you've heard in your ears since you woke up and the way that you feel dizzy when you even think about trying to stand up, you don't doubt that you're concussed.

An hour later, you've been thoroughly examined and it is confirmed that yes - you are indeed concussed. The doctor discharges you under the condition that you don't drive and that someone keeps a close eye on you for the next twenty-four hours.

“Don't worry,” you hear Bucky tell her when you step into the bathroom to throw on a pair of dry sweatpants, a t-shirt, and cheap shower slides that the hospital had given you to wear back to the hotel, seeing as how your tactical suit and boots are still sopping wet with ocean water. “I'm not letting her out of my sight.”

The nurse who helps you dress gives you a small smirk at his words.

“You're a lucky woman,” she tells you quietly. “He was worried sick until you woke up.”

You avoid her gaze, your cheeks heating. You busy yourself by tightening the drawstrings to the gray sweatpants.

“I am lucky,” you agree. “He's a great partner.”

She raises an eyebrow at the word partner, but doesn't make any further comment.

By the time that you and Bucky make it back to your hotel room, the sun has started to rise.

Bucky all but carries you inside, only letting go of you when you're perched on the edge of the mattress. Your head is still throbbing despite the extra strength ibuprofen that you'd taken before leaving the hospital, and you still can't walk without stumbling from dizziness, but at least the intense ringing in your ears has begun to subside.

You feel tired down to your very bones, but you have no doubt that Bucky is even more exhausted. You'd been unconscious for nearly eight hours during the night, whereas he had been awake the entire time sitting by your bedside.

“You get some rest,” you tell him. You brace your hands against the mattress, preparing to attempt to stand back up. “I smell like a mixture of sweat and fish from being in the ocean, so I'm going to shower off.”

You push yourself off of the bed, and as quickly as you stand, you're sitting back down. The room immediately begins spinning in circles around you, sending a wave of nausea through the pit of your stomach.

“Yeah, not likely,” Bucky huffs lightly. “You can't stand up, and the shower doesn't have a seat. How about we compromise on a bath?”

You give a weak nod, too tired to protest. A warm bath sounds incredible right now.

Bucky retreats to the bathroom, where he turns on the water to fill the tub before returning to help you get up from the bed without toppling over. He secures his flesh arm around your waist and guides you to the closed toilet, where you carefully sit down.

“Do you.. need help undressing? Or..?” He asks hesitantly.

“No,” you breathe with an awkward laugh. “I think I've got it.”

He gives you a quick nod, looking away to give you the privacy to shed your clothes. You carefully tug the oversized t-shirt the hospital had given you over your head, wincing when it brushes against the swollen knot on the side of your scalp. You rise off the lid of the toilet just enough to push your sweatpants down to your ankles.

“Okay,” you murmur, letting him know that you're ready to step into the tub.

He grabs one of your hands in his, and places his metal hand on the small of your back as you step over the side of the large jacuzzi tub and into the water.

Not that you don't trust your other teammates. But with Bucky, it doesn't feel vulnerable.

You're aware of the intimacy of the scenario, but you can't find it in yourself to feel insecure or embarrassed right now - you're sure that's largely due to the concussion, but you think it's also simply because of who you're with.

If it were Sam, or Steve, or anyone else, you know you'd be mortified to be utterly exposed as they help you take a bath. If it were anyone else you wouldn't be taking a bath right now - you would have just gone to sleep and waited until you could fully do it yourself instead of putting yourself in such a vulnerable position.

He lowers you into the water, your entire body instantly relaxing at the warmth. You glance to his face, noticing a faint purple bruise along his cheekbone.

“I'm going to leave the door cracked. I'll be right outside if you need anything. Just let me know when you're ready to get out, okay?”

You don't respond, instead reaching up to his face, where you run your finger along the outline of the bruise. He freezes beneath your touch, his eyes meeting yours.

“Don't worry,” he assures you softly. “It was a lot worse when it first happened. It's already almost gone.”

“I'm sorry,” you whisper. “It happened because of me. I wasn't paying attention as well as I should have been. Should have heard that guy coming.”

“Don't say that.” He places his flesh hand on top of where yours still rests against his cheek and then brings it in front of his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. “You're okay, and that's the only thing that matters now.”

“Mmm,” you hum, staring at his lips that are no more than an inch away from your hand.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, his voice patient and curious.

You hesitate for a brief moment before leaning forward and pressing your lips to the bruise in a featherlight kiss. You pull back, once more resting your back against the tub and giving him a small shrug.

“Just thinking that I wanted to do that. Have for a while.”

He grins, a faint blush taking over the apples of his cheeks.

“Yeah, I'd say you're definitely concussed.”

He then presses his lips to the side of your hand, causing goosebumps to form across your skin despite the warm water that you sit in.

You chuckle, your smile matching his. “I am,” you agree. “But the concussion will go away soon, and I'll still want to kiss you then, too.”

“I hope that you will do just that.”

••••••

One month later

You wake up to the smell of campfire smoke that creeps through the crack in the partially zipped tent.

Despite a thick sleeping bag, multiple blankets, and the plush sweater that you wear, you can't help but shiver.

Something is missing.

You look around the tent, your eyes adjusting to the early morning daylight that filters into the tent.

Someone is missing.

You reluctantly exit your cozy sleeping bag, shoving your wool sock covered feet into your boots and crawling out of the tent.

Bucky is facing away from you, cracking an egg into a pan that is positioned over the fire.

“Good morning,” you murmur as you creep up behind him, wrapping an arm around his midsection. He wraps his own arm around your shoulders, pulling you flush against him and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Morning, sleepy head,” he teases softly. “What's on the agenda today?”

“Maybe some hiking, maybe some biking,” you shrug into him. “Maybe a little bit of you keeping me warm in that tent.”

He laughs, more carefree than you've ever seen him before.

“See? It's a good thing that your trip got postponed. What if I wasn't here to keep you warm?”

You raise up to capture his lips in yours, the taste of fresh brewed French press coffee on his breath.

“Remind me to thank Fury for that when we get back.”

thank you so much for reading 💕🫶🏻 comments and reblogs are infinitely appreciated!!

[amirasainz]

So I read a lot of stories similar to my requests. But I just think you are the best author on tumblr, so I wanna ask you😅☺️

Secret marriage with Oscar. They married really young and the drivers reaction. She is always at the races, but just in the shadows. The only one that knows is Charles, because he is Oscars "dad" 😭😍

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 💕

Secret marriage

The F1 paddock buzzed with the usual energy and tension. The race weekend was in full swing, and every driver, mechanic, and team member was focused on the task ahead. It was Friday afternoon, and most of the drivers had just finished media sessions and were now lounging around in the driver's hospitality suite, swapping stories and strategies. Oscar was among them, scrolling through his phone with a relaxed expression.

Nearby, Lando noticed a familiar face in the crowd. A woman, sleek and stylish, with a British Vogue ID around her neck, had been lingering around Oscar’s side of the paddock all day, chatting with him occasionally before darting off to interview other drivers. Lando squinted, intrigued.

“Oi, Oscar,” Lando called out, leaning back in his seat. “Who's that Vogue chick? She’s been following you around like a shadow.”

Oscar glanced up from his phone, trying to keep his expression neutral. “Who, Y/N? She’s just here for work. We know each other pretty well.”

George, who overheard the conversation, raised an eyebrow. “Pretty well? Mate, you guys looked like you were practically whispering sweet nothings before she left the garage.”

Oscar shrugged, but his eyes glinted with mischief. “Maybe we were.”

Lando sat up, fully interested now. “Wait… what? Are you and Miss Vogue dating?”

Oscar chuckled, keeping his cool. “Not exactly.”

Pierre, catching onto the conversation, leaned forward. “Come on, spill the beans! There’s definitely something going on.”

Oscar finally sighed, looking up at his friends with an amused smirk. “Well… actually, Y/N and I… we’re married.”

The room fell silent.

George blinked. “You’re what?”

“Married,” Oscar repeated, his tone casual as ever. “Been married since we turned eighteen, actually.”

The explosion was immediate. Lando gasped, practically jumping out of his seat, while Pierre clapped a hand over his mouth in shock.

“No way!” Lando exclaimed. “You’ve been married this whole time?”

Oscar nodded, barely reacting to the chaos unfolding around him. “Yep. Just never made a big deal out of it.”

“You’re telling me,” George said, his voice high-pitched with disbelief, “that you’ve been secretly married for… what? Three years now?”

“Three and a half, actually,” Oscar replied calmly, clearly enjoying their reactions. “We wanted to keep it private. Just worked out that way.”

Pierre looked like he was about to faint. “Mate, do you realize we never even knew you had a girlfriend, let alone a wife?”

Oscar gave a little shrug. “Guess I’m good at keeping secrets.”

George put his hands on his head. “I thought I was the reserved one around here! But this? Oscar, this is next level. How did we never catch on?”

Oscar chuckled, glancing over at Y/N, who was currently chatting with a journalist a few feet away. “She’s at most of the races. Just… behind the scenes.”

“I don’t even know what to say,” Pierre muttered, shaking his head in amazement.

Just then, Charles strolled into the room, looking curious as he caught the tail end of the conversation. “What’s everyone freaking out about?”

Lando grinned, looking ready to explode with excitement. “Charles, you’re not gonna believe this. Oscar’s married! Secretly married, since he was eighteen.”

Charles’s reaction was far more subdued. He simply nodded, a knowing smile spreading across his face. “Ah, yes. I know about Y/N.”

The room went silent again as every driver turned to gape at Charles.

“You knew?” George demanded, wide-eyed.

Charles gave them a smug shrug. “Of course. I’ve known for ages. I’m Oscar’s ‘dad,’ remember?” He winked, referencing the Monaco joke that had become a running gag between them. “It’s my job to know these things.”

Oscar snorted, smirking over at Charles. “Guess you can’t keep secrets from your ‘Monaco dad.’”

Lando threw his hands up in the air. “You’re all insane! Charles knows, Oscar’s been married for years, and we’ve all been left out!”

Pierre shook his head, still processing. “Wait, how did you find out, Charles?”

Charles leaned back, crossing his arms with a grin. “Oscar told me after our Monaco podium. Said he needed someone to know in case he ever needed advice. Before we went partying, I met Y/N and let me tell you, she is a lovely girl. And, you know, as his ‘father’ in the paddock, it was only a matter of time.” He gestured grandly, making everyone laugh.

George narrowed his eyes playfully. “So all this time, we could’ve been calling him ‘married man Oscar’ instead of ‘little Oscar’?”

Oscar rolled his eyes, amused. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t exactly a talking point. We wanted to keep things between us. Y/N’s work with Vogue keeps her busy and traveling too, so it worked out.”

Oscar turned his head towards Y/N, calling out softly with his arm outstretched. " Love, came here for a second, please."

Y/N approached just then, noticing the group staring at her with a mix of shock and admiration. “Is everything okay?”

Pierre looked at her, still in awe. “So… you two are really married?”

She glanced at Oscar with a smile, nodding. “Surprise?”

Lando leaned in, grinning like a kid at Christmas. “How have you kept this a secret all this time? You must have some insane spy-level skills.”

Y/N laughed. “I wouldn’t say that. We just wanted to enjoy it without all the attention.”

“Respect,” George said, tipping an imaginary hat to her. “You two might be the most low-key power couple I’ve ever seen.”

Charles looked proud, wrapping an arm around Oscar’s shoulder. “That’s my boy.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, shoving Charles off. “Alright, alright, let’s not make a big thing out of it.”

Lando looked at Oscar, eyes still gleaming. “Mate, this is a big thing! You’ve been living like some kind of undercover superhero. ‘Married Piastri’ is a whole new level of cool.”

Pierre nodded eagerly. “Right? It’s like finding out Clark Kent was Superman all along.”

Oscar chuckled, clearly enjoying his friends’ reactions. “Well, maybe now that you guys know, I’ll bring her around a bit more.”

Lando lit up. “Please! And maybe you can finally get that double date with George and Carmen going!”

George chuckled. “Right, because that’s exactly what we need. A bunch of drivers swapping marriage advice.”

Pierre smirked, nudging Oscar. “You’re making the rest of us look bad, you know. Now everyone’s gonna ask why we’re not secretly married.”

Oscar smirked back. “Hey, don’t blame me. You all had just as much chance to find out as Charles.”

As the group laughed, Y/N leaned into Oscar’s side, whispering, “Well, I guess the secret’s out.”

Oscar grinned, wrapping an arm around her. “Guess so. But I don’t mind. Not if it means we don’t have to sneak around anymore.”

Charles rolled his eyes playfully. “Alright, alright. Now, can we get back to racing, or are you going to give us a honeymoon slideshow too?”

The group burst into laughter, and Oscar looked around, more comfortable than ever. His secret was out, but he couldn’t be happier to finally share it with his friends.

[userautumn]

Please. Tommys helicopter crashing while him and Buck are still broken up? That would be such great drama.

You know what I want? I want Buck to get mad. He has yet to actually get mad at a love interest. He's been hurt and confused, but I want him to get angry. I want him to go out and fuck like he's getting revenge on Tommy, even though he's the one who got left behind again, and I want him to convince himself he's absolutely fine. Eddie can see it, of course. Bobby and Maddie and all the people who love him can see that he's not fine, but I want Buck to pretend he is like he'll die if he doesn't. He deletes Tommy's name from his contacts and dumps all his stuff in the trash and erases his existence from his life like he's nothing more than yesterday's news.

I want this to continue through the rest of the season, long enough that both the characters and the audience start to think that maybe Buck is fine after all. Maybe this whole thing with Tommy was just a mistake, a hiccup. Maybe Tommy was right and saw writing on the wall that Buck didn't. Maybe he was smart by getting out when he did because Buck doesn't cry. He doesn't vent to Eddie, or show up on his doorstep like a kicked puppy. He lives fast and vibrant, and shows up to work covered in hickeys and lipstick and other people's cologne, and if Tommy really was as transformative of a love as he believed he was, shouldn't he be devastated?

Anyway.

Fast forward to the season finale. Athena has been following a case of corporate corruption where an auto and aeronautics manufacturer has been exposed for using faulty parts in their vehicles that have resulted in auto collisions and deaths across the country. None of this really concerns or interests Buck at all, if he's being honest. He fixes his own car for the most part (Tommy showed him how) and that which he can't do, he takes to his usual mom-and-pop mechanic for them to work on. Which is to say that, his life consists of sex and work, so news reports of [Same Company] being responsible for a Cessna crashing in Northern California don't really filter through.

Not until the 118 is called to a helicopter crash just outside of Los Angeles.

Even then, Buck doesn't think about Tommy. Why would he? Tommy Kinard is barely even a memory at this point, just an idea on the edge of his brain, an almost that was quickly buried. Helicopters crash all the time, so he has no reason to believe there's anything out of the ordinary about this one. But then when they're en route, Maddie's voice comes over the radio, tight with emotion and forcibly professional in a way that makes him immediately nauseous: Captain Nash, please be advised that the helicopter in question is one of our own. It's an LAFD chopper. Then, Hen and Eddie and Chimney and Bobby all turn to look at him, and Buck has nowhere to run from their gaze. Even if he did, he couldn't, because he feels paralyzed. Bobby's voice asking if there are any survivors, and Maddie's voice saying she's unsure get lost to the thrum of his heartbeat in his ears. Every repressed emotion, every memory, every bit of desperate longing and grief and love and anger comes rushing back in full force and all Buck can do is sit there while the engine weaves through Los Angeles traffic.

Tommy is fine, of course. He codes on the way to the hospital (Buck performing CPR on his boyfriend while begging him to stay alive is my drug), but once all is said and done, once he's come out of surgery with a little more metal in his body than he went in there with, he's okay. Buck isn't, not by a mile. He's full of too many emotions that he doesn't know how to sort through, chief among them being love, followed closely by anger, and then, guilt, of all things. But after Tommy opens his eyes, after Buck breaks down spectacularly, and after they finally confess that they love each other, Buck makes Tommy look him in the eyes:

"You don't get to run from this. Not again. I mean it. If you get scared, you talk to me. If you need to slow down, you talk to me. You don't make decisions for me, for us, and expect me to be okay with it. That's not how this works."

"Okay."

"I mean it, Tommy. I can't -"

"I mean it too. I promise. Okay?"

"Okay."

Anyways. Yeah. That's how I would do it.

[giuseppe-yuki]

Imagine Kimi going missing and everyone from Mercedes going to try and find him to eventually find him in the sun laying curled up with his tiger girlfriend laying on her and cuddling her tail wrapped around him

omg that is such a canon thing for kimi to do!

not-so-small blurb below:

picture credits from pinterest :)

kimi antonelli x tiger!shapeshifter reader + cameos of other drivers and their shapeshifter!gfs

w.c.: 2.9k

t-minus 60 minutes

”what do you mean you lost him? go find him!“ toto exclaims, with a dismissive wave to pedro, kimi‘s engineer. “the meeting is one hour, and i expect to see kimi to be sat in front of me at exactly when it starts so we can discuss some important plans.” 

toto turns his attention back to his “pet” wolf, who continues to curl in figure eights around toto’s legs protectively and blinks her sparkling eyes at pedro, as if she was amused at his evident distress.

with a gulp, pedro nervously leaves the room, leaving toto in his office, gently petting his purring wolf, and heads to the merc garage.

“well, have you tried texting him?” an engineer suggests helpfully, watching pedro pace around the garage. 

pedro was basically cooked if kimi didn‘t show up for toto’s meeting, as he was put in charge of watching over the young mercedes driver after an incident that involved kimi crashing one of the mercedes golf carts when attempting to give his “pet” tiger a ride around the paddock. it wasn’t even pedro’s fault that he lost kimi- he had literally just stopped to talk to say hello to a fellow coworker, when kimi and his tiger just straight up disappeared!

”yes! of course i have,“ pedro exclaims, exasperated. “he‘s not responding!” 

the engineer gives him a look of pity while she neatly packs up her papers and laptop in preparation for the meeting. 

“well, i would probably check with the other teams, in case they saw kimi after he disappeared,” she says, hefting her mercedes-branded backpack onto her shoulder. “good luck!”

with a groan, pedro packs up his things and beelines his way towards the closest garage- redbull. 

“give that back!” kimi just about screams, causing a few engineers walking out from the redbull motorhome to look over in concern. 

grinning, you sprint away down the sparsely populated paddock, clutching the cookie that kimi stole from hospitality in your jaws. your tail flicks mischievously behind you, as if taunting your boyfriend. when you reach an acceptable distance away from him, you turn around towards kimi and purposely swallow the cookie whole.

kimi stops in his tracks, eyes wide. you just ate the cookie that he stole, fair and square. 

“how dare you!” he explodes, charging towards you. “i’m gonna catch you and then i’m gonna shave off all your fur- not even ollie can save you now!“

you laugh internally. you both knew full well kimi didn’t have the guts to do that, but you humor him. with a soft growl, you scamper away from him, claws scraping against the concrete because of how fast you turn on your heels. 

kimi bolts after you with surprising speed.

t-minus 50 minutes

when pedro scoots his way towards the redbull garage, white team kit clashing with the tell-tale navy blue of the redbull engineers, he tries his hardest to look inconspicuous. it doesn’t work, of course, the silver three-pointed star sewed on his t-shirt immediately giving him away.

“hey!” a redbull strategist shouts when she spots pedro, “you aren’t supposed to be here!” narrowing her eyes, she sends him a suspicious look. “i hope you haven't come here to steal our strategies-” she lifts up a shiny wrench that she seemed to have pulled out of nowhere- “i have a weapon and i’m not afraid to use it!”

pedro quickly hefts his hands up in surrender, signaling that he means no harm. 

“woahwoahwoah!” he exclaims, trying to disperse the situation. “no! not at all! i’m- i’m just trying to find kimi! have you seen him?” the woman’s face softens immediately.

“oh,” she remarks, placing down the wrench on a side table. “erm, not really.” 

she gestures further into the garage.

“you might want to ask max though- maybe he’s seen kimi?” pedro gives the strategist a light thank-you, one for not attempting to kill him, and two for the slightly helpful tip, before scooting further into redbull’s garage. 

after wedging himself through a group of rather shocked-looking redbull engineers playing cards on the floor of the garage, he comes to a stop in front of max. 

max doesn’t notice him at first, more focused on cutting up a piece of fish for a pampered-looking “pet” ragdoll cat next to him. it isn’t until the cat meows softly and paws at his arm does he look up to find pedro standing there awkwardly.

he raises an eyebrow and sends nods towards pedro to acknowledge his presence, but continues to focus his attention on cutting the raw fish into perfect squares with the precision of a surgeon while periodically stopping to feed the cat a piece. 

“hi max…” pedro says nervously, “er, so i was told you might know where kimi is? i need to find him in like, half an hour for something really important.”

max thinks for a bit, before shaking his head no. 

“i have no idea,” max says, at the same time one of the engineers playing cards notes, “i saw him with his tiger in the paddock like ten minutes ago!” pedro whips around, profusely thanking the engineer, before bolting out of the garage. 

your claws scrape roughly on the concrete ground of the paddock as you bolt towards garages. kimi yells behind you, shaking his fist in the air as if he was one of those old grandpas in the movies you watched so often together at home. luckily for you, the walkway leading to the garages had barely any people, like the paddock, so you didn’t have a chance to run into (and accidentally run over) any poor team employees like last time you ran around the paddock with kimi. 

as you sprint down the pit lane, you approach your final destination- the ferrari garage. an employee chats up charles near the front of the garages, who was clutching a hedgehog close to his fireproofs. the employee, on the other hand carried a giant bucket of water, most likely for polishing the front of the garage, judging by the squeegee that he animated swings around as he talks to the charles. 

an idea pops into your head.

the ferrari driver’s eyes grow wide when he sees you approaching, and he stumbles back a few steps, but you’re not here to hurt him. gingerly, you snatch the bucket with water from the employee and haul it straight at kimi, who was gaining on you with a speed like max in brazil 2024.

the bucket narrowly avoids his head, but the water splashes on him dead center. he immediately starts screeching, and you feel just a little bit bad, but then, you remember that he threatened to shave off all your fur, so you were basically even.

the ferrari employees and charles gape at you in shock. next to you, you hear a honking laugh that could only belong to daniel ricciardo, who points to a soaking wet kimi as he walks past the scene with his girlfriend in tow. 

t-minus 40 minutes

pedro is exhausted by the time he arrives at the paddock all the way from the red bull motorhomes. everyone seemed to forget that he wasn’t a built f1 driver or an energetic 18 year old who could run back and forth without passing out from exhaustion. even if the walk from the garages was brisk, perhaps five minutes, pedro was huffing and puffing, especially with his backpack chalk full with kimi’s racing data. 

where the hell was kimi??? 

honestly, thinking about it, it was amazing how he managed to lose a well-known star and a giant tiger in the paddock. 

pedro snoops around the hospitalities along the paddock for around 10 minutes (almost getting security called on him by aston martin and stake kick sauber for looking suspicious) before collapsing onto a bench by vcarb’s hospitality. he had half a mind to give up right this moment. a slight yelling session by toto for “losing kimi” wouldn’t be so bad right? 

just then, a dampened bang sounds from behind a mysterious closed door behind him. the door creaks the slightest, but stays closed.

pedro’s mind immediately shoots back to kimi. maybe he was behind that door! yes, it was a vcarb building but kimi always seemed to get himself in weird situations, so it wasn’t a far cry. 

kimi’s engineer yanks the door open.

what he sees is definitely not kimi. instead, he sees none other than daniel ricciardo making out with his girlfriend in what looks to be a janitor’s closet on the side of the vcarb motorhome. 

hurriedly, pedro tries to shut the door to preserve whatever shred of dignity he has left from witnessing this rather scandalizing moment, but before he can, the driver seems to take notice.

he pulls away from his girlfriend, who turns quite red, and flashes his signature grin at pedro. 

“hiya, mate! how can i help you?” he asks, as if pedro did not just interrupt his makeout session in a damp closet. 

“s-s-sorry!!” pedro manages to utter out, face as red as daniel’s girlfriend. “i thought- you were.. um, kimi…? er, yeah, i think i’ll go, yeah, sorry again!”

daniel, still concerningly unbothered, nods understandingly. 

“no problem, really. i saw him around the ferrari motorhome with his ‘tiger,’ so if you’re looking for him, you can check there!”

pedro nods quickly, wanting to get out of the situation as fast as possible, but grateful for the help. 

he thanks daniel profusely, but before he can leave, daniel points to the wide-open janitor’s door, a mischievous grin splitting his face. 

“i’d appreciate it if you’d shut that for us again, thanks!” 

“i’m sure she’s sorry- look at her sad cat eyes!” ollie says to your boyfriend, patting his shoulder.

you manage a sad whine towards your boyfriend that you surely do not mean. 

kimi now sits, a little less sopping wet, wrapped a ferrari blanket that a kind engineer provided, on a stack of tyres in the ferrari motorhome. his usually fluffy brown curls stick slightly flat to his forehead. 

he still pouts, back towards your imposing figure sat on the floor of the ferrari garage. 

“yeah, right,” he snorts, “she started the whole thing by stealing my cookie first!”

ollie adjusts his “bear cub” in his arms before sitting down next to kimi on the tyres. 

“oh, come on, don’t be like that, kimi! go to the shops and like, share an ice cream or something- that always helps when i’m feeling a little bit disgruntled with my girlfriend!”

ollie’s bear cub nibbles softly on kimi’s pant leg in agreement. 

kimi spares you a glance, to which you respond by giving him a lick with your rough tongue as a ‘sorry-for-taking-a-water-bucket-and-almost-killing-you-and-soaking-your-entire-body-with-freezing-water’ type of apology. 

he seems to take it, because he gives you a soft kiss on your head and points out to the exit of the garage. 

“lead the way, then, baby,” he says.

the walk there is pretty light- it’s only past the garages, through the paddock, and to the shops. you spot the ice cream parlor, that display the words, ‘pit stop ice cream parlor’ lights in shiny letters with a big fat scoop of ice cream next to it. now, you were getting a little hungry. you take off into towards the half-crowded shop. unfortunately, you have to skid to a stop because carlos sainz walks by with his “meerkat” on his shoulder, holding a board that is suspiciously in the shape of fred vasseur, but you continue bounding towards the shop after they pass. what flavor should you get?

t-minus 20 minutes

from mercedes, to redbull, to the paddock, and now all the way back to ferrari garages? kimi was going to be the death of him, pedro swears. how has this boy even managed to travel this quickly, he would never understand. 

once again, he finds himself awkwardly standing in front of a garage that certainly did not belong to his team. pedro slowly shuffles forward towards the entrance, accidentally soaking half of his shoe in a rather random puddle of water on the floor in the process.

to his relief, he sees ollie peep his head from the side of the garage with his “bear cub” clinging to the side of his pant leg. since he was part of prema, ollie was well-versed in kimi’s wild acts of mischief on the grid, which meant he ought to be helpful in his quest to find kimi.

ollie smiles at pedro, giving him a friendly wave. 

“hi pedro!” he chirps. “what are you doing here?”

“hello to you too, ollie,” pedro says, nodding in acknowledgement, “and to your girlfriend as well!” he exhales one big breath before continuing. “i was just looking for kimi- we have a meeting in like, less than 20 minutes!”

ollie’s bear cub blinks her little brown eyes at pedro and waves one her stubby arms back towards the paddock. 

“yeah,” ollie says, scratching his head. “like she said- i might have told ollie to go all the way back towards the paddock, to the shops, to get some ice cream…?” 

he gives pedro a sympathetic look, seeing how kimi’s engineer just deflates after hearing he has to walk all the way back towards the paddock to find kimi. 

“thanks, ollie- i guess,” pedro says, hefting his heavy backpack closer to him, and getting ready to trek back towards the paddock. 

however, when he turns around, he just about screams. pedro comes face to face with none other than fred vasseur himself. he almost instinctively swings a punch straight at fred’s face, but he realizes it is made out of…cardboard?

carlos sainz’s amused face peeks out from behind the cutout of the ferrari team principal, along with a chittering meerkat. 

“ha! got you!” he cackles, his “meerkat” mirroring him. 

pedro groans. when he found kimi, he was going to force kimi pay him for all the emotional turmoil he experienced during this absolutely ridiculous timed hunt. 

you purr in content as kimi sets down a giant bowl of strawberry ice cream that you take a giant lick of right away. he himself take a bite of his own stracciatella ice cream. you both eat in comfortable silence. ollie was right, you suppose, cause the love of ice cream really did bring you both together. 

kimi even lets you take a nibble of his stracciatella ice cream, (a tiny nibble, as large doses of chocolate are lethal to tigers) which he never does, usually. 

the sun shines brightly above you both, allowing kimi’s curls to fluff back up into its regular state as you both bathe in the warm light, full from the ice cream. 

“i’m kind of sleepy,” kimi says, and you can’t help but feel the same. 

you're not quite sure how you end up on the open top floor of the merc motorhome, laying on one of the sun chairs with kimi. you faintly remember dragging kimi sleepily back towards the paddock by his shirt…up the stairs…? you do know, however, how content you feel right now. with full bellies and the warm sun wrapping like a soft blanket around the two of you, it feel so nice. kimi is already knocked out, curled in your warm fur. he clutches to your tail in his arms as if it’s a stuffed animal. you stretch your paws, and your eyes slowly flutter shut.

t-minus 10 minutes

with ten minutes left until the meeting, pedro can’t help but frantically run around the shops and paddock area to look for kimi. he checks just about everywhere- gift shops, food stalls, ice cream shops, but they all seem devoid of a certain mercedes driver. 

he almost gives up, like he did half and hour ago at nearly the same spot by the vcarb building. but, that’s when he sees it, on the glittering roof of the mercedes building. the giant form of a tiger and-bingo- andrea kimi antonelli. you can call him the flash the way he sprints up the two flights of stair onto the top floor of the mercedes building. 

“tell kimi to get up right now!” kimi’s engineer shouts, nearly deafening your sensitive ears. kimi still naps on through pedro’s shouting, his entire body still layed on top of your fur. unamused, you gingerly untuck one of your paws from underneath kimi to try and bat pedro away. couldn’t he see your boyfriend was sleeping so peacefully?

he has the audacity to brush your paw away. “no!” he yells angrily. “you do not know what i just went through! i ran in legitimate circles around the entirety of the property, got caught in a weird situation with daniel ricciardo, soaked my entire shoe in this stupid ass puddle, and then got jumpscared by carlos sainz and his stupid poster! i am not about to be yelled at by toto!” without another word, he takes his water bottle out of his merc backpack and uncaps it. and, for the second time in the span of half an hour, your boyfriend is soaked in freezing water. 

t-minus 1 minute

with one minute left to spare, pedro leds a disgruntled half-wet kimi into toto’s full meeting room. you scamper in next to kimi as inconspicuous as you can, which is kind of hard considering you were a tiger, after all. toto clears his throat, looking at your boyfriend’s appearance weirdly.

“can someone please tell me why my driver is sopping wet, please?” 

a/n: i hope the concept and the way i worded it isn't too confusing 😥

[zvdvdlvr]

Eyes of a Stranger + Aaron Hotchner

synopsis //The man who you loved had been the one to withhold information to hurt you the most

warnings // Emily’s death. Betrayal. Allusions to sex. Possible vulgar language.

author’s notes //Are we wanting a part two? I’m lowkey wanting a part two. Could do with some more angst if I do say so myself.

When Emily died, you were… shellshocked. To say the least, your heart was shattered.

     You had just made it to Derek’s side when the paramedics started rushing Prentiss onto a stretcher. His hands were stained crimson and his eyebrows were knitted impossibly tight. His eyes darted to you and you could see it in his eyes. Pure fear.

     Aaron reached your side. His hand shook as he wrapped an arm around your waist. His warm eyes had the same terror inthem that everyone else’s had. Aaron’s ghostly faint touch faded as he ordered everyone to the hospital. You let Aaron lace your fingers together as he pulled you to the SUV.

     “Y/n.” Your eyes found Aaron’s as he started the car. “Are you okay?”

     You said yes without even giving yourself a once-over. The pain in your chest was just from your anxiety. Probably. “I’m fine, Hotch. We need to go.”

     Your fiancé nodded. He didn’t comment on the harshness of your voice. Instead, he put the car in gear and beelined to the hospital.

     Just as you had started to pick harshly at your cuticles, Aaron’s large hand clasped yours wordlessly. You let out a ragged sigh and watched cars as Aaron drove.

     It was as much of a blur at the hospital as it was when you heard “Prentiss is down” over your headpiece. Penelope had swarmed you with a stifling hug when you pushed open the doors to the hospital. You didn’t even think to ask how she had gotten there before you. In fact, you hadn’t said anything.

     Aaron kept a hold of your hand. Rossi flagged the two of you down and immediately pulled you in for a hug. You found yourself falling apart with each embrace.

     Derek hadn’t looked up. His heel tapped anxiously on the waxy white floor. His hands were now blood-free and pressing harshly to his face.

    Aaron sat beside you in a torturous hospital chair, grasping your hand as tightly as before. He rested his head against the wall and you copied his actions.

     You didn’t know how long you sat there: silently replaying the sight over and over again. The gunshot, the ‘agent down’, the sprinting, the disbelief. Over and over again. Over. And over. And over. Again and again. And you couldn’t do anything. Again and-

     “I need water,” Aaron all but croaked. Those beautiful brown eyes that had taken your breath away peered into your face as he gauged your face for any tell that you didn’t hear him. “I love you, y/n,” he whispered into your ear after pressing a chaste kiss to your temple.

     You shuddered out a sigh and fell back into silence. Thoughts of Emily filled your mind again. This time, happier ones. Like the time you, JJ, Emily, and Penelope went to the bar and encountered a man that claimed to be in the FBI. A feeble smile pulled at the corner of your lip at the sight of a red-faced Brad as you all whipped out your badges. And then the time you surprised Emily, JJ, and Penelope with your engagement. JJ’s mouth had dropped open comically wide, Penny started screaming so loudly that you worried your neighbors would call the cops, and Emily had jumped out of her seat and started doing laps in your living room before practically pulling your hand from your body to see the rock on your finger.

     You had no doubt that Emily would pull through. She had worked so hard with the girls to plan the wedding that you’d be pissed if she missed it. But you knew she wouldn’t miss it. You knew she’d make it.

    Aaron appeared again and handed you your own water bottle and a protein bar. You cracked open the water bottle and took a sip. You pocketed the food for later. While twisting the lid closed, you watched JJ step forward.

     “How is she?” Spencer asks first. You hear the tremble in his voice.

     You see it on JJ’s face before she says anything. And for a moment, you don’t want her to say anything. But of course she answers. “She… The doctors say she didn’t even make it off the table.”

     JJ keeps talking. Words keep spilling out of her mouth. Her hands keep moving and her eyes move from Derek’s to Penelope’s to Rossi’s to Spencer’s to yours and then to Aaron’s. But you hear nothing.

     Your mouth parts but nothing comes out. All the words are gone. Your mind blanks. The world seems to darken as you falter. You sink into your chair and feel tears prick in your eyes. There’s no way. No way that the girl you used to go get coffee with on the weekends was dead. The girl that asked you to pick out a cat with her. The girl that you had movie nights with every month (including Jack) because she was your family. And now… that girl is gone.

     You buried her in March. It was a beautiful service. You held most of your tears, though, because Jack wanted you to hold him for the entire thing. Aaron’s presence never left you and you were lucky he was there for everything. You knew he was grieving in his own way, and you realized that he was doing it by busying himself with taking care of you and Jack.

     It was one month later when you were at your lowest. You weren’t mean, you didn’t lash out, and you were just numb to everything. You focused on three things: Jack, Aaron, and work. You knew that if you took too much time to think about everything that had been taken from you, you may not be able to function.

     Two months later and Aaron was a godsend. He hadn’t questioned you about your methods at work (although you could feel his concern radiating off of him) or at home. Aaron had involved you in everything he could, even offering to wake up a little later in the morning so you could sleep in a little bit and go for a run with him (Jack was at Jessica’s for the week). You didn’t go running, but you did get your cardio done.

     Five months after the funeral, you started to feel like yourself again. Cases had been pretty smooth sailing, not taking more than a week to catch murdering bastards. Strauss had miraculously given you a Thursday and Friday off so you and Aaron spent two days at home with Jack watching movies, going to the park, and making blanket forts. The other two days were spent doing adult activities while Jack had a sleepover with some his school friends.

     Six months later and you feel good. The gap in your heart hasn’t healed, but you’re starting to live with the fact that your not quite blood sister is dead. Aaron had planned a date night for you near the end of the month consisting of your favorite Italian, a movie, and a late night drive with you on the AUX.  Aaron had kept a hand on you the whole night: holding your hand in the car, keeping a hand in the small of your back as he led you to the restaurant, a hand on your thigh through the movie, and holding your hand during the entire drive. It was the moments like this that made you treasure your love the most.

     It was the seventh month after Emily’s funeral did your entire world halt on it’s axis.

     “We’re going into work early, babe,” Aaron says after gently waking you up. “We have a lead on Doyle.”

     You were sat at the round table talking with Spencer about random bits of information- you were keen on listening to what he had to say, despite his tendency to ramble. He was just telling you statistics about the moon that started with you saying ‘Did you know Australia is wider than the moon?’ when your fiancé walked in with a grim expression.

     Conversation halted. Rossi straightened at his seat, and Penelope’s happy expression sobered. “What’s going on?” Derek asked skeptically, eyes narrowed.

     Hotch’s eyes flitted over everyone in the room before starting. “Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected the team.” He paised before continuing, “As you all know, Emily lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle… But the Doctors were able to stabilize her. She was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda.”

     Your heart dropped. The room was so quiet, you could hear your heart pounding in your ears. The oxygen was completely sucked out of the room as the gravity of Aaron’s statement finally sank in.

     His lips were stretched thing over his face as his eyes finally fell on you. Instead of seeing love in his eyes, you saw a stranger. 

     He had lied- kept you in the dark for seven months. Aaron held you in his arms as you wept for your best friend. He had carried you back to your bed when you wandered out to the couch to fall asleep where Emily used to crash when you had sleepovers. Aaron had known she was alive and watched you mourn. Your fiancé had watched you mourn when he knew she was alive.

     The betrayal you felt had rubbed salt in the wound you had been healing from. But you tore your eyes away from Aar- Hotch’s to see that everyone’s attention was at the door. You looked and your heart dropped impossibly further in your chest when you saw… Emily.

[nicholaschavezobsessed]

I Need a Doctor

dr. charlie mayhew x plus size f! reader

18+ MDNI

warnings: cursing, suggestive language, patient in coma, not proofread.

word count: 1,219

should i write a part 2??????

————————————————————————

As soon as you received the call, you hurried to the hospital, pushing past the nurses who were trying to stop you from storming into the patient's room. Your hand immediately catches hers as you fall beside her bed, tears streaming down your cheeks. All eyes were on you, a mess on the floor beside your sister's bed, the room falling silent except the beeping of the monitor.

After a few seconds past, seconds really feeling like minutes, you glance up at the curious eyes focused on you. You stand up, clearing your throat, wiping the mess of tears off your face. “How is my sister doing?” you mumble quietly as you look at the doctor.

He sighs softly to himself as he runs his hands through his hair and looks down at the ground to avoid your focused stare. "Since someone dumped her off here last night, she hasn't progressed. The bright side is that we were fortunate to reach her at that time, or otherwise." You glance at your sister's condition again, your body churning with rage as she lies there, unconscious.

You move from her side to stand in front of the doctor, your finger accusingly piercing his chest, glaring at him as his words reverberate in your mind. "What are you not doing more of? Is there nothing else you can do? Your tone a mixture of sadness and anger.

You are brought back down a level by his powerful hands gripping your shoulders. "Y/n, we are doing everything we can, I promise.” You were shaken out of your thoughts by his gentle yet firm tone. Your finger slides off his chest as you let out a sigh. “I'm sorry, but she's all I have. I can’t lose her too.” You shake your head as your hands rub against your face, pushing your glasses slightly up.

————————————————————————

An hour later

After gathering your composure, you find yourself sitting in the cafeteria, eyes bloodshot red as you sip the coffee you don’t even remember fixing. Ever since the hospital called you, everything has been a blur, you’re not even entirely sure how you managed to drive here. Your eyes flutter shut, thoughts erratically running through your head, wondering how this even happened. There’s no way your sister just fell and hit her head.

You're startled out of your thoughts by the sound coming from the chair opposite from you. The physician who was responsible for your sister's treatment ended up across from you. You eventually glance him over, no longer consumed by rage. His eyes are piercing brown, and his hair is unkempt and deep brown. He clasps his hands together in front of you, a smile spreading across his lips.

“How are you feeling y/n?” a solemn tone to his voice as his eyes never once leave yours. You look into the now-cold coffee in your hands and shrug your shoulders. “I don't know if my sister will ever come out of her coma. So, tell me, Dr. Mayhew, how do you think I’m feeling." You scowl at him, the sarcasm leaking from your lips.

He throws up his hands, a laugh escaping his lips. “Sorry, I was just checking on you…” he utters softly, causing you to slightly crack a smile. “My apologies, Dr. Mayhew” you mumble the last part as you inspect his name badge. “It’s just…. hard to know that the only person you have left is in that state.” You take a deep breath and run your unsteady fingers over your hair. With a comforting hand on your shoulder, he pulls his chair closer. His eyes are fixed on you as he fades off, "I understand, I wish there was more I could do for you." You swiftly shuffle in your chair, turning your body to his.

"Not to burden you with all of this." Holding a hand between you, he interrupts you. "Go ahead; this is just a part of the job." His tone of voice has a tinge of sincerity mixed with sternness. "Well, my brother, sister, and I were the only ones growing up. It's terrible that my brother no longer speaks with us, but that isn't the point. Despite our age difference, my sister and I have always been close. The idea of her leaving my life is unbearable; we've been through everything together, so I never really envisioned it. Was she perfect? God no. But she’s all I have, and I’ll be damned if she leaves me.” You finally glance up, his eyes locked on you, causing your cheeks to flush.

His hand squeezes your shoulder, a soft smile placed on his lips. “I promise you; she’ll be okay. I will do everything I can.”

————————————————————————

Days turn into weeks, your sister still not showing any sign of getting better, but no sign of getting worse either. Each day without fail, Dr. Mayhew was there to comfort you in the cafeteria, always turning your sad days into bearable ones.

"So, Dr. Mayhew, tell me." He swiftly cuts you off. "Please, call me Charlie." You clear your throat, your voice slightly wavering. "So Charlie, tell me, do you do this with all your patients loved ones?" He leans back in the chair, glancing you over carefully, paying extra attention to the way your pants cling to your thick thighs. "Only the ones I think deserve the consoling."

"Oh? So, you think I'm worthy, Charlie?" As you see him observing you, you draw closer to him, your breath catching in your throat. His gaze gently moves up your body, taking in your voluptuous, thick waist. "Yeah, I think your worthy." You stand up and tug at the cloth that is stuck to your thighs as the room seems suddenly heated. "Excuse me." Without even glancing back at him, you dash to the closest restroom. You try to cool yourself by splashing water on your face while resting your glasses on the sink's edge. Wondering what the fuck is wrong with you, your hands resting on your plump cheeks. "He's your sister's doctor; you can't think like this." You place your glasses back on, images of him hovering over you, white shirt unbuttoned, that gold cross necklace dangling from him. You push those thoughts in the back of your mind as your swing the door open and step out, the cool air hitting you suddenly blocked as you connect with someone's body.

"Fuck, I am so sorry." You scramble over your apologetic words before a hand comes to rest under your chin, lifting your head to look at them. "If you wanted to be against me, all you had to do was ask." Charlie, smirked down at you, watching the color rise to your cheeks.

You stammer, over your words before backing up, gently pressing yourself against the bathroom door. "Charlie...." With cautious approach, he places his hands on either side of your head to stop you from moving. He leans down, lips grazing against your cheeks, causing everything else to fade away leaving only him and you in this moment. "Say the word and I'll leave right now, because I won't be able to control myself around you if you keep looking at me like that." His words send shivers down your spine, your breathing quickening as you consider his words. Fuck it.

[specialagentlokitty]

Aizawa x reader - rumours

Hi! I was thinking about how the reader is a werewolf and i a teacher at UA and Eri loves seeing them every time for their patient, logical, and nurturing personality (and ears and tail). Her face brights when she sees the reader visit her in the hospital or her room and Aizawa begins to grow feelings for the reader. Eri teases him about it and the reader and Aizawa flirt and end up falling in love! That would be a very cute fic. Can you make it? 😋 - Anon 💜

When you had been tasked with looking after Eri in the hospital you were a little confused at first, but when Aizawa explained her situation and you say her for the first time it all made sense.

At first she was wary off you, but over time she started warming up to you, she was curious about your quirk, but she loved it.

Whenever your ears flickered a little bit due to certain words or sounds she would smile, and the moment she figured out you had a tail she was immediately straight over to you.

She was still pretty shy, but she found it calming to just stand there and pet your ears or tail, and you were more than happy to let her.

You were patient with her and kind, sometimes sitting there for hours on end in silence with her while she just pet the fur of your tail.

Often Aizawa would use his quirk to cancel out hers, and he would bring you in sit with her while she calmed down.

When Eri came to UA you’d try spend as much time with the her as you could, or she would wait in the common room for you.

Usually you would see Aizawa there, and the pair of you would talk, and slowly you got closer.

Today was no different, you were sitting on the floor, tail wagging slightly as Eri tried to style your hair for you while Aizawa was sitting in the couch looking through his students homework.

Eri gave a happy clap of her hands and stood in front of you.

“So pretty!” She beamed.

You smiled at her, tail wagging a little more.

“You think? You did a great job!”

She gasps happily and spins around to look at Aizawa.

“Is she pretty!?” Eri asks excitedly.

Aizawa glanced up from his work, studying your very messily tied up hair, and he gave a small nod.

“Yes.”

Eri grinned brightly, running back to her room and you smirked slightly at Aizawa as he went back to going through his work.

“You think I’m petty?” You teased slightly.

“About as pretty as somebody with the hair of a birds nest can be.” He replied stoically.

This made you laugh a little bit and you shook your head at him, leaning back on your hands.

“I’m much prettier than you, you should really let Eri do your hair.”

“No.”

Aizawa flicked his gaze up at you briefly before looking back at the papers in his lap.

At this point you were convinced that he wasn’t really looking through them he was just trying to make himself look busy so nobody would bother him.

Getting up, you stretch a little bit, tail still wagging slightly as you walked to the kitchen area to make yourself a hot drink.

“You’re like a dog with that tail constantly wagging, it’s tiring seeing you so happy all the time.”

You laugh a little, rolling your eyes at him.

He always made some sort of comment about your tail or happiness, but you knew he enjoyed your tail since he would often just mindlessly pet it when he could.

Making yourself a tea and Aizawa a coffee, you padded back over and set the two drinks on the table.

“Thanks…” he mumbled.

“You aren’t really reading those papers are you?”

“No, I’m just hoping if I pretend to be busy long enough you’ll go away.”

“Aw you don’t mean that.” You teased lightly.

“I do.”

Laughing a little, you shake your head.

“Well it’s either me or Hizashi.”

Aizawa paused for a moment thinking about his options here.

While you were hyperactive and happy, Hizashi was twice as bad, and he didn’t have the energy to deal with either of you.

“Fine, stay.”

You grinned, taking the papers from him to look through them and he didn’t protest, he simply just drank his coffee before slumping back on the couch, and unsurprisingly within seconds he was out.

Grabbing your hoodie from the end of the couch you drape it over him, not saying a word as his head hits your shoulders, you just go through his students work for him and mark it.

Of course Eri was in and out of the common room, and thankfully none of the other teachers were back yet, but Eri grinned brightly every time she saw the pair of you.

Eventually it was time for you to go, so you carefully lifted Aizawa’s head, moving him so he was laying down and you said by to Eri before leaving the teachers dorms to go do what you had to do.

The moment you moved him Aizawa had woken up and Eri ran over to him.

“Do you like (Y/N)?” She asks, tilting her head.

Aizawa looked at Eri.

“No, she’s annoying.”

Eri tilted her head a little bit.

“But you’re always around her.”

Aizawa didn’t say anything he just sat up and ran a hand down his face.

“People keep saying if you stay around somebody even if they annoy you it means you like them.”

“Eri.” He warned.

Eri have him a curious look.

“You like her!” She declared happily.

Before Aizawa could protest she was gone, and he groaned a little bit.

As the weeks went on Eri kept telling Aizawa he liked you, and she told everybody she could about that fact too much to Aizawa’s dismay.

He was almost surprised at how long it took to get back to you though, because you were stood in the staff room looking over at him confused.

He locked eyes with you and you quickly scurried away.

“Crap….” He grumbled.

Aizawa quickly left after you and wasted now time in tracking you down to an empty classroom.

“Stop running and turn around.” He said bluntly.

With a heavy sigh you complied but you avoided his gaze.

Aizawa studied you for a moment.

“You heard?”

“I uh… yeah…”

“So?”

You looked up at him confused, furrowing your brows a little bit.

“So?”

“So tell me if you feel the same or not.”

“Oh wow thanks for making it romantic.” You sassed back a little.”

Aizawa rolled his eyes and walked over, placing his finger under your chin to lift your head a little bit.

“Do you?”

With a soft sigh you nod your head.

“Yeah…” you whispered.

Aizawa leant down, pressing his lips to yours quickly before pulling away.

“Be ready for 7.”

With that he just left and you grinned a little, tail wagging wildly.

“Stop wagging your tail!” Aizawa called through the hallways

[unluckycryptid]

Popcorn Shrimp

Read on Ao3

Summary: Chloe didn’t know Red had a shrimp allergy. Neither did Red.

AKA My attempt at Glassheart Crackfic

—

“Hmm, that’s an interesting taste.”

Chloe looked over at Red with a confused face.

She had just grabbed the two of them some food from the dining hall in the midst of their studying session and brought it back to their shared dorm. Red hadn’t told her what to grab, just telling the blue haired girl to ‘surprise her’ and had gone back to looking over a chemistry question that had been causing Chloe some trouble. The red haired girl was still at it when Chloe had come back with a variety of different foods they had been serving in the dining hall. Red had taken one of the takeout containers—the one filled with popcorn shrimp—and immediately started snacking on it while Chloe was busy laying out the rest of the food between them.

“What do you mean?” asked Chloe.

“Is it supposed to be—I dunno—spicy?” Red shrugged as she grabbed for another popcorn shrimp.

“Huh?”

‘Was Red talking about the marinara sauce?’ Chloe wondered, but it wasn’t laid out anywhere in front of them. Looking around, she spotted the little container still in the bag she had brought all of their food in.

“It’s an itchy sort of spicy, like I can feel it in the back of my throat. Can’t say I’ve ever had food like that before. Is that unique to Auradon?”

Oh no.

In less than a heartbeat, Chloe crossed whatever distance there was between her and Red and smacked the fried shrimp appetizer out of her hand.

“Wha- Hey! Mmmhf!!” Red exclaimed mid-bite when her blue haired roommate turned and stuck her hand in Red’s mouth. Chloe retracted her hand and hurled the shrimp that she had just been eating across the room.

Red felt two hands grab her face as Chloe looked her up and down with an urgency.

“Did you swallow?”

“Excuse me?”

“Red, did you swallow the shrimp? Yes or no?”

“Yea—”

Red couldn’t even get the full word out before she found herself being thrown over the shoulder of one Chloe Charming.

“Chloe! What the actual fuck is going o—owww!”

The blue haired girl had started running and accidentally smacked Red’s head into the door frame on the way out of their dorm.

But Chloe seemed to ignore her, instead opting to scream at other people in the hallway to move out of the way.

Everyone did. It’s not everyday you’d see the usually polite and demure Princess of Cinderellasburg cussing out anyone in her way while full-sprinting down the hallway with the Crown Princess of Wonderland yelling every sort of explicative known to man on her shoulder.

Principal Uma’s office was much closer than the infirmary on the other side of campus, so Chloe opted for there instead. Chloe practically kicked the door down while shouting, “Principal Uma!! We need medical help!”

“Chloe Cordelia Grace Charming, you put me down right now!”

“Girls!” exclaimed Uma who had been enjoying a peaceful night behind her desk up until now.

Chloe basically threw Red down on one of the couches as she rushed to explain, “Shrimp! Red— s-she ate shrimp!”

“What the hell, Chloe!”

“Charming, I may be from the sea, but that does not mean you get to waste my time—”

“She’s allergic! Red’s allergic!” Chloe cried in defense as she pointed to the girl on the couch, “She said the shrimp felt itchy.”

All eyes turned on Red.

Now that she mentioned it, Red did feel like she was having some trouble breathing.

“Stick her.” The Principal grabbed an Epipen from a desk drawer and threw it at Chloe.

“Wha—”

The next thing Red knew, there was a sharp needle stuck in her thigh. Red looked up slowly at Chloe, both of their mouths open in shock.

“I’m so sorry!”

“Oh you little—!”

“No time for that. Ms. Charming, grab Ms. Hearts and follow me. We’re taking the magic carpet to Auradon hospital.”

“Chloe, don’t you dare pick me up again!”

“Sorry Red, Principal Uma’s orders!”

“Nonono—ghhhuuhh!”

——

“Oh my sweet darling rose! I’m so so sorry that I never thought of getting you checked for seafood allergies. Are you alright?” Bridget, the Queen of Wonderland, asked as she ran to her daughter’s side.

Red sat under the covers of the hospital bed, clearly not wanting to be there. The doctors were strongly encouraging her to stay and be monitored overnight. Of course, that meant she was going to stay the night at the hospital in this itchy gown.

“Yeah, mom, I’m fine,” Red grumbled before she was pulled into a bone crushing hug by Bridget. It was still so weird to Red that she had such an affectionate mother now.

“Moooommm, you’re embarrassing me.”

In the corner of the hospital room, sat her roommate and Principal Uma. The two stood up at Bridget’s arrival.

“Thank you again, Principal Uma, for bringing my daughter here as urgently as you could.”

“No need to thank me, Queen Bridget, just doing my job,” the Principal said as the two started walking towards the entrance.

Bridget turned towards the blue haired princess, “And, Chloe, thank you for calling and telling me everything.”

“Just let me choke next time.”

All three pairs of eyes rolled at the same time.

“Tell your mother I said hi for me, alright?” Bridget continued, giving Chloe a quick hug.

“Of course, Aunt Bridget,” said Chloe as she stepped away to join Uma at the doorway. She waved at Red.

“Bye, Red, and get back soon. Wouldn’t want this incident to shrimpede your studies.”

“You’ve been working on that one for a while now, haven’t you?”

“Why yes, yes I was.”

“Get out.”

“Alright.”

[ceasarslegion]

Please tell me about the guy in your college dorm who got scurvy, I love a good modern day scurvy story. Like bro, have a delightful lemon-parm chicken

So in uni I lived in a co-ed dorm building where we had single-person rooms and shared a common room, washrooms/showers, laundry, and a kitchen. We also had a dining hall that we could purchase meal plans from (which i also had all 4 years, because i juggled full time school and 2 jobs at the same time. I did NOT have the time to cook for myself and I would not have done so in that kitchen to be frank). The building was split up into a bunch of different houses which we took personality quizzes to get assigned to in order to limit the amount of conflicts that would happen in this living situation. I was put in the smallest house (there were only 20 of us) and it was full of real chill like-minded people who liked to watch movies with me. This guy was the next door away from me, but wasn't my immediate next door neighbour because the stairwell broke up our house down the middle.

He was the house shut-in. He didn't really join any of the hang outs in the common room, or go out clubbing with us, he just kinda shut himself in his dorm room and never came out. Eventually we stopped slipping invitations to things under his door like we did with everyone else because there was no point. But I saw him in the dining hall and I saw him swiping a meal card a few times so I knew he was on the meal plan, meaning i KNEW he had access to fruit and veggies and even just like, juice. The food wasn't good but you had all the opportunities in the world to make it good FOR you, if that makes sense.

One of my jobs at this point was as an overnight security guard for an apartment building. I would come back around 4am and then crash out until 11 or 12 and then go to my afternoon and night classes. This is relevant because I was coming back into the building after a shift once in full uniform while he was sitting on the front steps and looking like he was hungover to the point of near-unconsciousness. I ask if he's feeling okay, if he needs anything, he waves me off and says he just needs some air. I'm like okay well, you know which doors mine if you change your mind bud.

He was an enigma who never spoke to us so I waved the situation off as too much college partying or something.

Over the next few days this becomes a common sight among everyone, who says they would also come back from their part time jobs or outings to him nearly passed out on a courtyard bench or something, a few people said they heard someone throwing up in our floor's shared bathroom.

About a week later I come back from my shift as usual and crash in bed until noon, expecting to wake up and go to my classes as usual. I grab my school bag and throw my regular coat and boots on and walk to class. I liked to sit in the back of that lecture hall because that prof had a rule that you were allowed to eat in his class as long as you sat in the last 3 rows, so I'd bring my breakfast and coffee in one of the dining hall to go boxes. I did not end up eating my breakfast or drinking my coffee.

In fact I did not make any notes on my laptop.

In fact, the house discord server blew up while I was asleep.

This guy, this fucking guy, had gone to our don (RA, basically) and told her he needed to go to the ER and then passed out on her couch. She doesn't have a car because none of us did, so everyone who was there and awake ended up dragging him to the closest hospital that was a few blocks away from campus on foot. Why they did not call an ambulance or at least an Uber is beyond me, but panic does weird things to people.

Reading through this in the corner of my eye before class starts, I have forgotten about class entirely. I have forgotten about my breakfast and my coffee. A few people were asking if they should ask for the don's master key and wake me up, thinking that i might have training in these things from what my job was (i did), and then others shut them down saying "no, let him sleep. He gets home at 4:30 in the morning" (WHY DIDNT YOU WAKE ME UP I WOULDNT HAVE CARED IF YOU SAID SOMEONE WAS HAVING A MEDICAL EMERGENCY. I COULDVE AT LEAST KEPT YOU ALL CALM AND DELEGATED TASKS)

I send a message in just saying "guys I'm up now what is going on" with an @everyone attached.

Instantly get "several people are typing." That's never a good sign.

So this guy was in the ER for hours getting IV-fed. Because he had scurvy. And they had to vitamin C infuse him. Because he hadn't eaten a single fruit or vegetable or anything derived from a plant the entire school year. He got SCURVY. IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 2019.

Bro eat a fruit. EVER?? But he just didn't. He just never did. He had fucking scurvy. He passed out and had bleeding gums and his teeth almost fell out. Because he had scurvy.

He did not come back the next school year because his parents pulled him out of the dorms on the basis that he couldn't be trusted to take care of himself after that incident. And I do not blame them at all. Ma'am your kid can't be trusted to eat one (1) orange all year.

[sickfictropes]

Hospital whump where everyone is really injured, including the character with healing magic, but they still pull out their IVs and sneak out of their room to pay everyone a visit and heal them, one by one.

Do they get caught? If they do, how long does it take? How far do they get? Do they get caught right before being able to visit the last person, the one they're the most worried about?

While they're searching the hospital for everyone's rooms, do they get sidetracked? Do they stumble into rooms of people they don't know? Sick or hurt strangers they can't help but heal too? Do they end up spending every drop of energy they have because they can't stand seeing so many people suffering? Or do they turn away, apologetic but knowing they need to stay focused, there are only so many people they can help and they know where their priorities lie?

I don't know I just think there's some potential here

there is totally potential, this is a great scenario!!

maybe they get to the last room and heal their friend, but collapse immediately after. friend wakes up startled, then terrified when they see healer on the ground collapsed, then anger at them for putting themselves last when they realize that their wounds are gone.

i love what you're doing here. unfocused, nonspecific healing that they can't control is a great trope, especially when it means that they exhaust themselves by accidentally healing something or someone that shouldn't be healed. their teammate is angry that the healer heals them all the way back to normal rather than just getting them out of the woods. like was it worth all your energy to make sure you healed every last bruise or scrape??

if they don't heal the team to conserve their magic, maybe their friends don't know that healing takes energy and don't understand why they're just not helping. and/or maybe they're up all night with guilt, so when their teammate gets up for a sip of water because they got that Night Thirst(TM), they're very concerned and upset that the healer isn't sleeping. maybe they're conserving magic energy, but they're certainly not preserving regular energy.

this prompt watered my crops!!

[lassie719]

Belated VVW24 Contribution #1: Prompt- Surprise

You hum to yourself as you finish preparing your dinner. You’re looking forward to a relaxing night in, vegging out on the couch in front of the television.

You turn towards the living room and nearly jump out of your skin.

“Vincent! My god, you scared me.”

He inclines his head. Whether in greeting or apology, you can’t tell.

You take a steadying breath, adrenaline still coursing through you. It’s a wonder you didn’t drop your plate. “What brings about this surprise visit? You’re not exactly known for social calls.”

“I was hoping to sleep here tonight.” He doesn’t meet your eyes. “If it isn’t too much trouble.”

“Of course- wait, how did you get in here?” Your mind suddenly catches up to the fact that Vincent is standing in your living room, having somehow bypassed the normal custom of being greeted at the door.

He casts his eyes briefly to an open window before answering, “I let myself in. I didn’t want to disturb you if you were resting.”

“Did you come in through the window? I live on the third floor… you know what? Nevermind.” You set your plate on a nearby counter. “Let me set up the guest room for you.”

“Don’t trouble yourself with that.” He glances to the television and then your plate. “Carry on with your plans. Besides… I was… rather hoping for some company.” With that he sinks onto your couch, seeming to melt into a reclining position.

“Oh… um… sure.” You’re pleased at this side of Vincent he’s trusting to show you, but it’s certainly unusual. You felt that the two of you grew relatively close on the journey together to stop Meteorfall, but he still maintained a mostly aloof demeanor and was clearly still a lone wolf type. You’re mildly worried at this sudden change in behavior. “Is everything alright? Can I get you anything?”

His eyes stare blankly at the television. “I just… need some time away.”

Away from what? You wonder but decide not to press. His eyes have already slid shut.

You eat your dinner, watch your shows, and occasionally glance over at your unexpected house guest. You get the feeling he’s not really asleep, but he’s lying there with his eyes closed, so you’re not sure what company he was exactly looking for.

Vincent wearily comes to consciousness on your couch, morning light streaming in through the windows.

He sighs as his mind immediately returns to chewing over the latest distressing turn of events in his tragedy of an existence.

He hears rustling above his head and he pushes himself onto one elbow to look at the other side of the sectional, perpendicular to his section.

There you are, bundled in blankets with your normally tied back hair unkempt, though no one’s hair could be as wild as his locks, neglected for decades. Whenever he was unfortunate enough to glimpse his reflection, he thought he looked decidedly bestial, but you looked endearing this way.

You stir and startle for a moment, he presumes in momentary shock of waking up somewhere besides your own bed.

“Good morning, Vincent,” you greet him warmly. “Did you get that sleep you were looking for?”

“Yes,” he answered. “Did you… sleep out here on my behalf?”

“Yep,” you chirp.

He can’t help a small smile. You had always doted on him from the moment he joined the party. He never understood why, and for a while had resisted the undeserved kindness, but nowadays he found himself craving at least occasional companionship. Your patience with him defied any logic, but he was grateful.

“Gil for your thoughts?” you ask cheerfully.

“Hm… I’m… thankful.”

You blink in surprise. “Oh?”

“For… you.”

You half-cover your face in a gesture of flattered embarrassment. “Oh, wow, that’s sweet. I’m thankful for you, too.”

He snorts. That was the sort of nonsensical tenderness you seemed to have in endless supply, enough to waste on him.

You sit up. “You want anything to eat? Or drink?”

He sighs, debating on whether to take you up on further hospitality or to get out of your way.

“Vincent… is something going on?” He looks to see you studying him, brow furrowed in concern.

He hesitates. He doesn’t want to burden you with more of his problems. You often had a way of getting him to open up, and he always felt guilty afterwards. But would you worry more if he left it up to your imagination? “No,” he eventually answers. “Nothing in particular.”

You look unconvinced. “Well, let me at least get you some tea.”

He internally curses himself. Once you started insisting on caretaking, it meant you were very worried about him.

“It’s about Lucrecia,” he blurts. Maybe you would find the truth less worrying than the unknown.

You tilt your head. “What about her?”

“I’ve been investigating her research for the WRO. And… I found out that…” His mouth grows dry. “My condition is not only the result of experiments performed by Hojo.”

You are still and attentive, silently urging him to go on.

“Lucrecia… used me to prove her thesis. On Chaos.” He knows you would know he meant his most monstrous form.

“So… she tested on you, too?”

Vincent nods, words failing him.

“Do you feel betrayed?” you ask slowly.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Though I don’t know why. She was willing to use herself and her own son for experiments. Why would I be any different? I’m hardly special.”

“You’re special to me,” you say solemnly.

He sighs. “Against all odds, yes, that seems to be the case.”

You stand up. “Let me get that tea. Black or ginger?”

He gives in to your care. “Black, please.”

You start to walk away but he stops you with your name.

“You’re special to me as well,” he says, hardly above a whisper.

You give him a dazzling smile before whisking away to grab a kettle.

[brotherwtf]

Having thoughts about age gap au Gale hiding an injury/illness from John because his dad always made him feel like a burden and that hurt was deserved 💔 and John losing his mind but trying not to show it as he takes care of Gale, or maybe he doesn't get to because Gale has to go to the hospital and John gets the call while he's at work </3 these boys can fit so much whump and trauma and comfort

ughhhh yes putting Gale into the whump blender again :(( I want to traumatize this boy forever that is my lot in life

----

Gale knew to never show weakness. It's what he was taught from an incredibly young age, weakness meant you could be picked from the crowd, weakness meant that you weren't good enough.

There was a lot of things Gale's father viewed as a weakness. Being sick, scraping your knees, getting hurt and you better not think about crying because at that point you'd be better off dead anyway. Gale learned to hide it whenever he got sick, to lick his wounds in solitude, and to never, ever, ask for help or pity.

So Gale didn't even flinch when he woke up with a 102 degree fever. He's lived through worse, no need to be a baby about it. He got ready for his classes like normal, kissed John goodbye, and waved off his looks of concern when John pressed his cheek to Gales forehead, fretted about him running hot. Gale was fine, he didn't need John's help.

He was able to get through his first class without many problems, he felt waves of nausea periodically and some bouts of lightheadedness, but Gale wasn't going to let that take him down. His second class was a little worse, his hands quivered when he tried to write and the nausea stayed, no longer ebbing in and out in waves.

Gale passes out around lunchtime, Marge by his side and all he can really hear is her anxious fretting, calls of his name and yelling at someone to phone the hospital. He remembers weakly trying to push her off, says he's fine, but Marge tells him to shut the fuck up, he's going to the damn hospital. He doesn't remember much after that.

He wakes up to the soft beeping of a heart monitor, the bright fluorescent lights of a hospital room and he groans. Gale shouldn't be here. He's taking up the space that someone else needs more, he doesn't deserve the time or energy that people are wasting on him. He doesn't get to dwell too much before John is quickly at his side, taking his hand and pushing his hair back. His lips press into a thin line, palm pressing against the sure heat that Gale gives off.

"Baby? Are you okay? God Marge told me you collapsed and I left work immediately. Fuck Gale you should have told me you weren't feeling good," John frets and Gale just shakes his head weakly.

"I'm fine, John. I'm good, you didn't need to leave work just for me. When are they gonna let me out?" Gale asks and his voice is hoarse.

John's brow furrows and his expression grows stern.

"Gale, no, you're not fine. You have a 103 degree fever and you're shaking like a damn leaf. I'm not gonna stay at work when I know you're sick," John says and Gale can feel another wave of nausea that isn't caused by the sickness.

Gale turns his head against the pillow, avoiding John's gaze and he can feel his eyes well up. No, no, he can't cry. Crying is the worst thing he could do right now. But the tears come anyway, streaming down his face steadily and John rushes down to wipe them away, fretting all over again.

"Hey, hey, baby, Gale, come on don't cry. It's okay, I'm not mad I swear. You should have just told me you weren't feeling well, I could have helped, then maybe you wouldn't have fainted," John says, a firm thumb brushing away the tears that stream down his face and Gale shakes his head.

"Don't... don't wanna be a burden," Gale manages to choke and John shushes him and forces Gale's head to turn towards him.

John's face is both soft and firm, his eyes filled with emotion that's both frustration and affection. Gale hates how worried he looks, just because Gale's a little bit sick.

"Gale, you will never be a burden to me. I promised your mama I would protect you, and I promised you the same. I love you, Gale, and if it takes me dropping everything for you to understand how much you mean to me, I'll do it in a heartbeat," John says, cupping Gale's face with both of his hands.

Gale squeezes his eyes shut because he knows if he looks at John anymore he'll just ugly sob, grabs John's wrist and nuzzles his soaked face into it, gasps and chokes as he continues to sob, John shushing him and bringing him in closer until their foreheads are pressed together, breathing heavily against his face.

"I swear, Gale, you are not a burden. You are my everything, doll, my everything," John whispers, and Gale can only nod, finally allowing himself to melt into the sheets, letting himself feel fatigued and exhausted and sick because John is letting him, allowing him to let go.

[babygirlwritessmut]

♡︎ part7. hospitals and police reports

・❥・pairing: vi (arcane) x fem!reader

・❥・ summary: while Vi is in the hospital your dad reveals an unpleasant news

・❥・ genre: smut + kinda friends to lovers

・❥・ word count: 1.5k

✎ warnings: hospital, blood, swearing, mention of violence

WHEN I NEEDED YOU masterlist

the following hours were a blur. you remember your screams, the headlights of your dad's car, your mom holding you, the ambulance speeding, Vi's hand, which you held tightly all the way to the hospital, and so many doctors. you spent that night at the hospital, barely getting any sleep or having any strength left.

when the doctor finally came out to see you, the world stood still; you wanted to know what would happen to Vi, but at the same time, the news could be anything, which was terrifying.

“she's a fighter; that's something I can tell you for sure,” the doctor said, holding Vi's medical folder. “she’ll be staying here for a few days - I want to ensure there are no further risks to her health.”

“but she's okay, right?” you couldn’t hold back your worry.

“she’s already doing better; she's weak, but as I said, she’s a fighter,” the doctor said with steady calmness.

“could I see her, please?” you asked, looking her straight in the eye. the doctor hesitated a little, but seeing your concern, she gave a slight smile and nodded. you started thanking her and, for the first time in a while, you smiled.

“sweetie, we’ll wait for you here,” your mom said softly as you entered the room.

you promised yourself you wouldn’t cry. you needed to be strong for her - everything would be fine, and your composure would reassure her. worry and tears wouldn’t do her any good, so you gathered your courage and approached her bed. her body looked weak, and all the monitors around her seemed intimidating. her clothes, too, were unsettling to see, but you kept your reaction in check. the worst part was her face - you had thought it couldn’t be worse than when it was covered in blood, but no. the bruises, the stitched lip, and all the scrapes made it look like a waking nightmare.

“hi, Vi,” you said softly, taking her hand and sitting beside her. “how are you feeling?”

her head turned towards you, and a warm smile appeared on her face. “you look so beautiful, cupcake”

her words caught you off guard; Vi had just gone through one of the most traumatic nights of her life, and the first thing she did was compliment you. “thank you,” you murmured, a bit uncertainly. “but seriously, how are you?”

“like I've been beaten up,” she replied with a small grin, but she stopped immediately to avoid reopening her stitches.

after a pause, you both laughed again. “are you always this funny?” you squeezed her hand tighter. “no matter how bad the joke, I’m glad you still have the energy for it”

you talked for about fifteen minutes until the doctor returned to let you know it was time to go. you didn’t want to let go of her hand, but you had to, so with all the gentleness and care, you kissed her softly on the lips and said goodbye, promising to be back in the morning.

your parents were already waiting for you, and you walked to the car together. the ride was silent; your thoughts were still with Vi in the hospital. all you wanted was to sleep and make the morning come faster so you could see her again.

as the car approached home, your dad spoke up. “I know it’s been a hard night, but I’d like to talk to you”

“alright, daddy, I’ll change and come down to you.”

you quickly took a shower and put on your pajamas, carefully folding your jacket and giving it a kiss, as if Vi could somehow feel it. you felt partly responsible for what had happened today, but you brushed those thoughts aside and headed downstairs.

your dad was already waiting for you on the couch, and your mom stood by the window - she always did when she was anxious, so you knew something was wrong.

“please, take a seat, sweetheart,” your dad gestured to the spot beside him.

“what’s going on? did the doctors say something?” your heart was pounding. “please tell me Vi is okay”

“Vi’s fine; this isn’t about her health right now,” your dad reassured you, glancing at your mom as if he wanted her to continue, but she only nodded.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through this, sweetie. I still can’t believe Troy could do something like that,” your dad said, and you cringed at the mention of his name. you realized you hadn’t even thought about him until now; the last thing you remembered was him lying somewhere on the ground, whining in pain.

“I know what I’m about to tell you won’t be easy to take in, but I need you to stay calm” your dad took your hand, and your face must have shown utter confusion.

“so, Troy’s father has filed a police report,” your eyebrows shot up. “he claims that Vi lured him to the parking lot and assaulted him. I won’t go into details, but the gist is that you cheated on him with Vi, and when Troy wanted to confront you, he got beaten up instead” your dad explained, but there was a ringing in your ears.

“what the hell is that? that’s a complete load of shit!” you shouted, barely registering the words coming out of your mouth.

“sweetheart, that’s not exactly what I meant by ‘stay calm,’” your dad said, clearly displeased with your choice of words, but you didn’t care.

finally, your mom joined the conversation. “your father and I won’t let Troy slander your name, so I want you to tell us everything from the beginning. start with Troy’s party,” she said. when it came to family, your mom never joked. it was one of the reasons you trusted them so much; you knew you were safe.

you talked for another hour, recounting every detail, even the small ones. your dad never took his eyes off you and listened intently. you noticed his jaw clench when you described how Troy had shoved you. when you finished, the room was completely silent, and sadness crept over you, like reliving it all over again.

“daddy, thank you for getting there so quickly. I know I didn’t get a chance to say this earlier, but…” you started crying. “but I was so scared. I’ve never seen anything like that in my life. I’m so lucky to have you” you threw yourself into your father’s arms and felt like a little girl again. no matter how old you get, you always feel like a child with them.

“my precious daughter, you’re the most important thing we have, and I’ll never let anyone hurt you. I promise you, Troy and his father will regret this,” he said, hugging you tighter, and you exhaled deeply.

the next three days passed in the same routine: mornings at the hospital with Vi, then college, and back to the hospital. you spent a lot of time with her, and the doctors said she was recovering well and might go home tomorrow, which had you over the moon with happiness.

in the morning, you woke up, and your dad insisted you pick Vi up together. you hadn’t planned on introducing them under these circumstances, but it was how things turned out. when you arrived, Vi had already packed her things, and the doctor was giving her final instructions. after the doctor left, wishing Vi a speedy recovery, you hugged her, causing Vi to yelp in pain, and you quickly pulled back.

“sorry, I’m just so happy to see you… well...” you hesitated over the words.

“alive?” she laughed, and you rolled your eyes.

finally, your dad approached Vi and said, “glad to see you’re doing better”

“yes, thank you for helping me. I wish we could’ve met under different circumstances,” Vi smiled warmly at him.

“I couldn’t agree more,” your dad nodded. “I’m grateful to you, too, Vi. thank you for protecting my girl when I couldn’t be there. thank you for being there when she needed you." he said this sincerely, and they shook hands.

“I’m sure you’re aware that Troy’s father has pressed charges,” your dad continued, and Vi simply nodded. “I want to assure you that I’m handling this situation personally. I can see how much you mean to my daughter, and this is my way of thanking you, Vi” he smiled, and you felt tears of joy welling up. seeing the most important people in your life stand up for the one you fell in love with was an incredible feeling.

[sissylittlefeather]

Let's Forget About the Stars: Chapter 11

A/N: I'm back! Maybe. But I wrote this and I really love it, so I hope you will too. Here's another chapter of our lovely Dovey and Jumbee. We pick up with Gladys in the hospital and Dove sitting on a big secret. Enjoy!

Need to catch up? Masterlist

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, but also pregnancy, morning sickness, illness and death

Word count: ~2.6k

"It'll be okay, Jumbee. Whatever happens, I'm here. It'll be okay."

But she's not sure she believes it either.

******

Elvis sends Dove to Memphis immediately to be with his mama and promises to follow her as soon as he can. In an unfortunate twist of events, her morning sickness begins on the train to Memphis and she's ill the whole time. When she finally arrives and Vernon picks her up at the train station, she's pale and weak and sweaty. He does his best not to notice as he drives her to the hospital to see Gladys. She manages to compose herself enough to make it into her room, but the second Vernon leaves the two women alone, she rushes to the bathroom and vomits.

“You sick, baby?” Gladys calls from her bed. Even ill, she's caring for everyone around her.

“It's nothing catching, Mama. I promise.” She comes out of the bathroom and sits down, pulling a mint from her purse. Gladys looks her up and down and suppresses a smile.

“How far along are you?” Dove’s eyes flick up to meet the older woman’s quickly and she shakes her head.

“I-I-I-no-I’m just… food poisoning…”

“Right. And I've got allergies.” Gladys purses her lips and gives Dove the look.

“Almost 12 weeks.”

“Does Elvis know?” Dove shakes her head and tries not to cry.

“He said he didn't want this yet.”

“Oh, baby, c’mere.” Gladys pats the bed next to her and Dove perches on it gently, letting her take her hand. “He will be happy as a clam. Once he gets over his initial shock, that is.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” Gladys pats her hand softly and then grins broadly. “I'm gonna have a grandbaby!”

Dove laughs. The older woman’s joy is contagious.

“Yes ma'am, I suppose you are.” The two women spend the next half hour or so discussing plans for a nursery, baby names, and the merits of breastfeeding. When Vernon returns, Gladys puts her finger to her lips and Dove smiles, enjoying their secret.

******

Elvis arrives a couple of days later and immediately meets his family at the hospital. He spends the next day and a half by his mother’s side. That night, she encourages him to take Dove out and then sleep at Graceland. She's hoping that the next time she sees him, he'll know about the baby and they can share in the joy together. But there's something else, too. Something dark and looming and she doesn't want him there for it, just in case.

Everything about the night feels off, though. For some reason, Dove never seems to find the right moment to tell him. She's filled with a kind of nervous energy that doesn't fade no matter what she does. Elvis tries to settle her, completely unaware of anything at all. He kisses her neck gently and tries to slide his hand up under her skirt, but she pulls away.

“Not tonight.”

“Aw Dovey, why not?” He looks at her with his blue eyes pleading.

“It just doesn't feel right. I can't say why.” She sighs, flustered by what she's feeling and he caresses her cheek gently.

“Whatever it is baby, it's okay. I'm here. Let's just get in bed and I'll hold you. Okay?” She nods and they both put on pajamas to settle into the bed. Dove is filled with thoughts about the future and she has a hard time relaxing. Something is wrong, but she can't figure out what it is. Praying it's not the baby, she tries to go to sleep. Elvis is wrapped around her, breathing quietly in her ear and she focuses on matching her inhales and exhales to his. Before too long, she drifts off too.

They're not asleep for very long before the phone rings. Elvis groggily curses and drags himself out of bed, ready to berate whoever is on the line. Dove rolls over and closes her eyes, but she freezes when she hears him.

“Oh God, no.” His knees hit the floor and the phone receiver hangs by the cord as he immediately weeps. Dove is out of bed in a second, pulling Elvis to her chest with one hand and picking up the phone with the other.

“Hello?” She hears someone crying on the other end and her stomach churns.

“Dove?”

“Yeah, Vernon, it's me.” Her blood runs cold when he sobs again.

“She's gone.” That's all he can choke out, but it's all he needs to say for Dove to understand that Gladys is dead. Elvis wails even louder, hearing it again and Dove hangs up the phone without even saying goodbye.

“Oh, Jumbee…”

“I should've been there! I'll never forgive myself for leaving.” He soaks her chest with tears and cries uncontrollably like a child. Dove’s body is wracked with sobs as well, but she tries to focus on Elvis's grief.

“No, Jumbee, there was no way of knowing this would happen.”

“Why did she tell us to leave?! Oh God!” As Elvis clings to her, weeping, she starts to wonder how he will react when he finds out the baby is the reason she wanted them to have a night alone. All of a sudden, she's crying for two reasons as she holds the shaking frame of her shattered husband.

This becomes a familiar position in the days that follow. He spends most of his time crying, either next to Gladys’s casket or, after the service, in Dove’s arms. She does everything she can to be what he needs, but what he needs is his mother and she can't be that.

Elvis is broken and Dove is broken watching him. Her helplessness overwhelms her and she hangs on by a thread. The thread is Elvis's need for someone to stay strong. The only thing that carries her through is the knowledge that he needs her.

People try various things to cheer him up, but Dove doesn't. She simply is for him: a safe place for him to fall apart as often as he needs. And he does, frequently. It takes every ounce of her strength to keep herself together for him.

In what feels to Dove like not nearly enough time, Elvis is called to go back to Fort Hood. She follows him to the house in Killeen, but nothing feels the same without Mama. Somehow, her morning sickness subsides as quickly as it came on and she's fine, albeit a little more tired than usual. She mopes around the house when Elvis is gone, carrying his pain deep in her chest.

And then one particularly bad night, the night before he's set to take the train north to sail to Germany, Elvis is wrapped around Dove crying as she strokes his hair.

“I jus’ don't see the point without Mama. I don't wanna be here no more. It hurts too bad.” Elvis groans into her chest. Dove tries to hide the sob that comes out of her, but she can't. The thought of being without him is too much. And the baby in her belly has her on the edge of a total and complete breakdown. He sits up when he realizes she's damn-near hysterical. “Dovey…”

“No. Ignore me. I'm sorry.” She tries to contain her sobs, but it's like the past few weeks are all hitting her at once and everything she's suppressed is pouring out of her like a broken tap.

“Dove. I'm not going to ignore you. Talk to me.” He reaches up to stroke her cheek from his place between her legs on the bed. If he was paying any attention, he would notice the changes in her body from this position, but Dove is thankful that he hasn't.

“It's fine. I'm fine. I'm sorry.” He sits up and pulls her into his lap and takes her face in both hands.

“Eleanor Morningstar Presley. I'm your husband. Tell me what's going on.” She looks into his eyes and it comes tumbling out of her before she can stop it.

“I'm pregnant.” He blinks a few times and she wants to scream and die and throw up all at once. “I'm s-”

“Don't you dare apologize. Dovey, how long have you known?” He tries to do the math back to the last time they had sex.

“Since July. I'm about 17 weeks.” His eyes widen in shock.

“Seventeen weeks?!” She nods slowly, bracing herself for some kind of negative response from him.

“I know, I'm s-”

“This is amazing.” She freezes with her mouth hanging open.

“A-amazing?” She looks at him as a smile, the first smile she's seen from him in weeks, crawls across his face.

“Yes. Amazing. Dovey, why didn't you tell me?!”

“Well, I was going to and then… Mama…” He darkens a bit.

“Did she know?” Dove nods.

“Yes. She did. That's why she sent us home that night, so I could tell you.” Understanding washes over him.

“Why didn't you?”

“I don't know. It just didn't feel right. I couldn't, knowing she was sick. Are you mad?”

“No. I'm glad she knew.”

“Oh yeah. We talked about all kinds of things, the nursery, names-”

“Names? Dovey…?” He looks at her with his eyes wide and pleading.

“Yeah, Jumbee?”

“Can we name her after Mama?” Elvis whispers. Dove sniffles as the tears fill her eyes.

“Her?” She looks at him lovingly. He nods vehemently.

“She's a girl. I can feel it.” She watches as he lifts her shirt to reveal her small baby bump. “God, how did I not notice?”

“You've been a little… distracted. It's okay.”

“No. You're my wife. This is our family. Mama would want me focused on this.” He puts his hand on her belly gently. “Our baby is in there.”

Dove giggles despite herself.

“Yeah, she is.” He leans forward and kisses her stomach gently and then whispers against her skin.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For giving me a reason to go on. I wouldn't be me without you. And now we have this to look forward to. Mama would be so mad if she thought I wanted to leave you both for her.” Dove breathes a deep sigh, releasing all of the stress and grief she's been holding on to.

“I love you, Jumbee.” He smiles up at her and kisses her belly again.

“I love you too, my Dovey.”

“We'll get through this.”

“Yeah, we will. All three of us.” He rubs his hand over the baby and nuzzles into her neck. “I'm so glad I married you.”

“Me too, Jumbee. Me too.”

******

The next morning, Elvis and Dove wake up early and lay in bed together dreading the time that they'll have to get up for him to leave for Germany. She's nestled into his side like she always is and he has his arms wrapped around her with his lips on her forehead.

“You'll be over there with me in less than two weeks. We've been apart before. We'll be fine.” Elvis sounds like he's reassuring himself more than her as he mumbles against her skin. Dove looks up at him and nods and he leans down to press his lips to each of her cheeks and then her lips. He pulls back a bit, blue eyes sparkling with affection and something else. She knows that look and it surprises her to see it, but she's not going to argue as he leans forward again, this time hungrily capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. It doesn't take long for the kiss to move into more, their tongues dancing wildly as hands slide over skin and up under pajamas.

He rolls over on top of her, sensually pressing his hips into hers as he drops a trail of kisses along her jawline and down her neck. She moans softly as he quickly unbuttons her shirt, but as soon as his hand touches her belly, he stops suddenly.

“Can I- can we- is it gonna hurt the baby?” He asks breathlessly. Dove giggles and kisses him gently.

“It won't hurt her. She's safe.” He nods and looks down at her tiny bump between them.

“That's good because I'm not sure I could stop now even if I wanted to.” He dives back into kissing her deeply, rolling his hips against her and letting his hard cock press into her center. “I need ya, baby. It's been too damn long.”

Dove whimpers as he finishes undressing her and strips off his own pajamas. He lays on his side and pulls her in close to him, throwing her leg over his hip. She sighs as he runs his fingertips over her body, stopping to squeeze her breast and her ass. He teases her entrance with the tip of his dick, slipping it around in her arousal.

“So good and wet for me, baby. You want this cock?” He murmurs against her lips. Dove whimpers and nods.

“God, yes. I need it.”

She moans loudly as he slowly starts to push into her, inch by tantalizing inch, his hand on her hip to steady her.

“Fuck, baby, you're so tight. I love this little pussy.” He groans as he bottoms out, his dick fully buried inside her. Dove’s eyes cross with the sensation of being filled as he slides out and rolls his hips forward to meet hers again.

“It's so good, Jumbee.” He kisses her softly as he picks up a steady rhythm of fucking into her slow and gentle. Maybe it's the pregnancy, or the fact that it's been so long, but when Elvis slips his hand in between them to rub circles on her clit, Dove cums almost immediately, moaning and grasping at his shoulders as her orgasm screams through her veins, lighting her on fire from the inside out.

The feeling of her pussy pulsing and squeezing his cock is almost too much for Elvis to take. He grunts and buries his face in her neck as his hips snap against her over and over again.

“Gonna… oh god, fuck!” He groans into her hair as his hips stutter against hers and he cums deep inside her. His body relaxes and he whispers. “I missed you.”

He lifts his head up and looks into her eyes, cupping her cheek with his hand. She smiles softly and kisses the end of his nose.

“I missed you too.”

******

At the train station, Dove stands on the platform watching as Elvis waves to fans. The Colonel has demanded that she stay back and let him be Elvis Presley. He even has his hand on her arm to keep her next to him. Neither she nor Elvis told him about the baby.

Just before the doors close, Dove yanks her arm away and takes off for the train. When he notices, Elvis's smile switches from the one he gives for pictures into his natural smile and he leans down, grabbing the back of her head and pulling her into a deep kiss. The cameras go wild, but they don't care.

The Colonel curses and Vernon just shakes his head laughing.

“Colonel, you lost. Elvis and Dove are gonna be Elvis and Dove. You might as well embrace it. He'll get rid of you long before he gets rid of her.”

The Colonel shoves his cigar in his mouth and turns around, huffing. He's beaten and he knows it.

As the train pulls away, Elvis is left with the image of Dove on the platform. He watches as she gasps and grabs her stomach, laughing with delight. That's the first time she's felt the baby move. She's lit up with joy and Elvis can't help but smile widely, knowing he'll never forget this picture of her with her eyes bright and her dark hair blowing in the wind. Dove looks down at her baby bump and runs her hand over it.

“Steady, little girl. We'll see daddy soon enough.”

******

Until next time...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

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[kikidoesfanfic]

Eddie waking up mid mild argument between Steve and Wayne.

Wayne who has never heard anything but complaints about Steve Harrington from Eddie- even if they've shifted to be less passionately anti rich boy asshole jock, to more complaining about his hair being perfect or him wearing a sailor outfit??? Or him looking after the kids like a worn down exasperated father of five?- had been gently trying to shoo the kid out his own kid's hospital room.

'Thanks for keeping him company until I could get here' type dismissals that are not going anywhere in the face of Steve's pretend oblivious stubbornness until he finally caves and tells him Eddie needs to rest and not be bothered.

Eddie hears this and is about to speak up and say Steve can bother him any time he likes, but then Steve says he's allowed to bother his fiance, and that as future in-laws they can spend the time getting to know each other better until Eddie wakes up.

Eddie just bluescreens for a minute

Wayne asks when that happened, because he didn't even know they were dating?

Steve saying oh we weren't but he gave me his pelt see, showing off Eddie's 'pelt' he's still wearing, so we're getting married. It was unexpected but he's quite pleased you see, Eddie is beautiful and brave and good with their kids and they're a very good match.

Eddie still laying there staring at the ceiling blurts out 'wait a second I proposed and I didn't even get a kiss???' Because that sticks out as distinctly unfair, all things considered, if they're gonna be husbands there should have been kissing by now.

Eddie carefully asking questions because while he's not complaining about having a hot selkie husband he also doesn't understand how or when this happened at all.

Steve's big sad eyes when he asks if Eddie didn't know what he was asking by giving Steve his 'pelt'

Eddie immediately backtracking because he looks so devastated, hes starting to take Eddie's 'pelt' off, stop that! of course he knew what he was asking! Steve just uh... didn't say yes out loud! Or kiss him! So he didn't know if he accepted yet, you see, just a little misunderstanding put the hurt sad puppy eyes away and the 'pelt' back on please

Wayne big sigh because oh, he's whipped already, okay, we're gonna need a bigger trailer.

And other shenanigans, including telling the horde of children, which Steve actually has seven of?? And Robin looking at Eddie way too closely, like she knows he's bumbling his way through accidental husband aquisition, but she's sure as hell not saying anything to Steve, look at his happy little face.

Selkie Eddie/Steve

Have we considered that with selkie Steve or Eddie that the battle vest being given gets extra juicy? Either we have Selkie Eddie and his battle vest is his pelt right, and he absolutely wops Steve with it when he's talking to Nancy like 'NO MINE' like some sort of claim/immediate marriage proposal, he's locking that shit DOWN Nancy Wheeler WHO. And Steve puts it on and wanders around the upside down with it, excellent, no notes. OR We have selkie Steve, who Eddie chucks that battle vest at, not knowing the significance it would hold to Steve who watched him wear that thing every day. It's a pelt equivalent, Eddie knows Steve is a selkie because of the boat situation (an added reason it was Steve going into the water) so, Steve's thought process going: Eddie knows I'm a selkie He knows my pelt is important He gave me his pelt Marriage??? Just rocking up to the ICU where Eddie is being kept and Wayne isn't there yet so nobody is in there with him and the hospital staff said family only and tried to lock them all out. Steve like well actually, that is my fiance, so I'm Allowed thank you very much. Eddie waking up when they're trying to pester Steve from the room like no thank you I'm staying with my future husband and just laying there like Am I dead Did I die Is this a dream? What's happening right now? Idk, I just think selkies