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snoopyracing · 4 months ago

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birds of a feather // cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

word count: 30k (i know i've got issues)

warnings: google translate french and swearing

includes: friends to lovers, childhood bestfriends, soulmate au if you squint, heavy pining, and angst

summary: follows charles and the reader through childhood all the way to present day. based off of 'birds of a feather' by billie eilish.

masterlist

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five and eight

It's a hot summer day in Monaco the first time Charles meets you.

The evening sun cascaded through the windows, golden rays bouncing off the walls as the smell of his Mother's baking wafted through the house. Charles' legs soon carried him into the kitchen and to his delight he found her oven-mitt clad hand pulling out a tray from the oven. His eyes widen when he sees what it is, it's one of his favorite sweet treats; cookies. His Mother spots him as she turns to set them on the counter. "Bonjour chéri!"

Charles doesn't answer, he's too focused on the cookies. He knows she won't let him have one, it's too close to dinner time, but he could probably sneak one when she had her back turned. So when she goes to put something back in the fridge he knows this is his chance, but he's not fast enough. His little hand barely hovers over one of the cookies before his Mother is gently smacking it away.

"No Charles! They are for the Y/L/N's." She hands him a stack of plates, motioning towards the table. "Now go set the table, s'il te plaît." Charles whines about it not being fair before stomping towards the table.

All day the only topic of conversation in the Leclerc household was about how an old family friend was to be moving back to Monaco today. Charles and Arthur had no idea who the man their Father spoke so highly about was, but Lorenzo mentioned something about him being their "uncle", but not really their uncle. Something that at only eight years old, confused Charles.

Even during dinner it seems like his Father mentions their "uncle" somehow during every conversation. Between the constant talk of this mystery man and the cookies sitting feet away from him Charles thinks tonight's dinner is the longest dinner of his life. He can see them sitting there, the cookies taunting him the whole time he tries to eat the unpleasant brussel sprouts on his plate. He hears his Father mention their "uncle" again and his attention is brought back to the conversation. "Papa. Is he really our uncle?" Charles asks as he shoves around the food on his plate with his fork.

"Ah, no. I mean he practically is, but not by blood. He is a very old friend of mine. We grew up together, but he moved to America around nine years ago." He pauses for a moment, eyes flickering between Charles and Arthur. "I hate that Arthur and you don't know him, but he's back now, so hopefully you boys will see him as an uncle like Lorenzo does. Plus, their house is just down the street, so I'm sure we will be spending lots of time with each other."

All Charles can do is nod at him, he isn't sure that he can call this random man "uncle", but for his Father he will try to like him as much as he clearly does.

Dinner is over shortly after their conversation, with a little help from his Father's impatience to go see his old friend. And before Charles can try and sneak a cookie again they are out the door, the cookies held securely in his Mother's hands, heading to their "uncles" house.

Charles realizes his Father wasn't lying when he said their house was just down the street, in fact it's only a block away. He's surprised his Father wasn't dragging them here earlier today with how close it is.

His Father knocks on the door and after a moment a man answers."Hervé!”

"Y/D/N!"

The two men embrace each other, big smiles plastered on both of their faces. "If it was up to me we would have been over as soon as you guys arrived earlier today, but Pascale insisted we give you guys a little time to settle in."

"Oh nonsense. You're fine." The man steps aside, motioning for everyone to come in. "Come on in. Don't mind the million boxes scattered around."

"It's a beautiful home." Pascale states as she glances around.

"Merci."

The man's eyes wander to Charles and his brothers. His arms extend towards Lorenzo and the two of them hug, the man tousling Lorenzo's hair as they pull away. "Dieu te regarde! You're practically a man!"

Lorenzo can only laugh at the man, whose attention is now on the two youngest Leclerc boys. He crouches down so he's at eye level with them. "Bonjour. I don't think we have met yet. I'm Y/D/N, a very old friend of your Papa's." His hand reaches out for Charles to shake. "You must be Charles."

Charles gently takes Y/D/N's hand and shakes it, something he's seen his Father do hundreds of times. "I am. How did you know?"

A smirk plays at Y/D/N's lips. "When your Papa and I speak, he loves to talk about his boys. Even the ones I didn't get the pleasure of meeting until now." His attention now moved to the youngest Leclerc. "Like you little Arthur." Little giggles came from Arthur as the man pinched his cheek.

"Are we going to get to meet the other members of your family Y/D/N?" Pascale asks.

"Patience still isn't your strong suit, is it Pascale?" The man teases as he leads them towards the kitchen.

As they enter the kitchen they find a woman with an American accent putting away dishes into the cabinets. From what Charles can gather from the conversation the adults are having is that their "uncle" met his wife while on business in America. They fell in love and he ended up moving there to be with her. They got married and had a daughter. He wanted to raise her here so they decided to move back to Monaco.

"Guess you should all meet the reason we moved huh? Y/N! Ma chérie come here!" Y/D/N yells.

And here you came, barreling into the kitchen, not knowing that there were five strangers standing there until it was too late. Cheeks turning pink as you hid behind your Mom's legs. "This shy little thing is our daughter, Y/N."

Pascale's face lit up at the sight of you. "Oh tu n'es pas une poupée? She's beautiful you two!" She glances over at your parents then back to you. "You look to be around the age of my two youngest boys, no?" She squats down so the two of you are eye level as you peak around your Mom's legs. "How old are you?" As you lifted your hand, little fingers all stood up straight indicating that you were five, Pascale smiled.

"Oh, that's the same age as my Arthur." She points towards the smallest boy, who's dirty blonde hair almost covered his eyes. She then points to the slightly taller boy in the middle, his soft blue eyes watching his Mom intently. "That is Charles, he's a little older than Arthur and you. He's eight." Then she finally points to the obviously very older son. "And that is Lorenzo, he's a lot older. It makes me feel old to say this but he's eighteen!"

Your shyness somehow slowly got chipped away by Pascale and you were now standing beside your Mom, not behind her. "Go on baby. Say hi to them." You Mom encouraged as she brushed your hair out of your face.

Even if you had braved coming out from behind your Mom's legs, the idea of talking to these strangers still scared you. You looked over to your Dad who stared back at you, a smile on his face and a slight nod in your direction told you everything was going to be okay.

"Hi." You said meekly.

The two younger boys gave you a small wave in return.

The adults had started to converse, leaving the kids to stand there awkwardly. Not knowing each other well to be the one to initiate conversation or play.

Your Mom had noticed the quietness between you and the boys, and your constant presence by her legs. "Why don't you kids go play out back? The house luckily came with a playset that is begging to be played on." She pulled open the sliding door, motioning for the kids to go outside.

Arthur was the first to run outside, he was practically already at the door when he heard the word playset. His little legs were already running up the slide by the time Charles and you had exited the house.

You watched your feet drag across the grass as you swung back and forth on the swing. Your Dad's voice playing in your head as you heard Charles and Arthur's laughter echo through the hot summer air.

"I know this is a big change for you mon amour. But I promise, we wouldn't have made this big move if your Maman and I didn't think it wouldn't have been a good idea. It may take some time for you to adjust, but knowing you, in a couple weeks you'll probably be more of a Monégasque than me!"

"I'm only half though. How could I be more than you Papa?" Tiny giggles escaping you as you gave your Father a questioning look.

"Anything is possible chérie! Plus you remember me talking about your uncle Hervé? Well, he has two boys that are around the same age as you. And I'm positive you three will become the bestest of friends like we were at that age in no time. When your Uncle Hervé and I were younger people would always say "Wherever there is a Y/L/N there is a Leclerc" and I'm sure it will live on through you three."

As you watched the two Leclerc boys chase each other through the yard, you knew your Dad would want you to get up and go join them. He seemed so excited at the idea of you and the boys being friends and you didn't want to disappoint him, but at only five years old, your shyness overruled the majority of your decisions.

Charles, even though he was playing with his brother, had noticed how you hadn't left the swing since coming outside. He tried to put himself in your shoes, he couldn't even imagine what it would be like to move halfway across the world.

What it would be like to leave everything you've ever known behind and move to a country that is nothing like the one you'd spent your whole life in so far. Even if your Father was from here and technically Monaco is as much of your home as America ever was, he knows that at least right now, this place means nothing to you.

So, being the empath that he is, Charles decides that it's his mission to make you feel at home. To make you realize that Monaco has been your home all along. That if he was you right now, all he would want is for someone to befriend him, make him feel less alone. His first step; asking you to play.

His skinny frame soon occupies the empty swing next to you, hands gripping the chains as he barely moves back and forth. His feet mimicked yours, dirt and grass staining his white sneakers.

"Hi." Charles watched as your head perked up at his voice. Your doe eyes timidly looking over at him like you weren't sure if he was speaking to you.

"Hi."

"Do you wanna play with Arthur and me?" Charles hopes you don't run back inside after hearing his question, but when your face lights up, head nodding enthusiastically, his worries dissipate. You were just so glad that he had come over and asked you, because you would have sat there on that swing all evening if he hadn't.

In a matter of minutes your shyness and worries about upsetting your Father were replaced with bouts of laughter as Arthur and you ran from Charles. Gleeful screams and giggles filled the evening air as the three of you played and for the first time since getting told you were moving you felt carefree.

The loud laughter and yelling had gotten the attention of the adults and as they watched their children play through the sliding glass door they couldn't wipe the smiles off their faces.

"That didn't take long did it?" Your Mom felt a relief wash over her. At only five years old she knew this move was going to be hard on you, and she wished they could have just stayed in America. But who was she to deprive you of experiencing the life that was quite literally half of you. Deprive her husband of seeing his little girl experience the same things he did as a child.

And as she watched the way the three kids played together she knew it was the right decision. For you to come out of your shell so quickly meant that maybe things weren't going to be so bad here after all.

"Of course it didn't." Your Dad stood behind your Mom, his hand on her shoulder as he watched his little girl laugh and run around. "Because wherever there is a Y/L/N-"

"there is a Leclerc." Hervé finished, an equally big smile on his face.

The painting of orange and pink hues that filled the evening sky told everyone that the sun was making her farewell for the day. Though, that didn't stop you and the boys from still playing and eventually as the colorful painting turned to a star filled sky you all were called inside.

Rosy cheeks and sweaty foreheads adorned all three of your faces as you clambered into the kitchen. "Looks like you kids had fun." Pascale had grabbed the cookies off the counter, but as she opened the lid to offer the kids one, she had a better idea. "How about some ice cream?" Charles' eyes lit up at the mention of ice cream. He loved cookies, but his one true love was ice cream. "I think the place down the road is still open."

And with an unspoken agreement, they are all out the door and headed towards the ice cream shop. Charles and you walk side by side with Arthur trailing behind the two of you. His complaints about being left out falling on deaf ears as Charles tells you about how good the ice cream place is.

The walk isn't a long one and before you realize it, you've arrived. The sickeningly sweet smell hits you as soon as you walk through the door, and your short legs carry you towards the counter, not paying mind to any sort of line that was already formed. Your face was practically pressed against the glass as you looked at all the flavors to choose from. But even with flavors like triple chocolate or strawberry or peanut butter cup. You always go with your tried and true; vanilla.

Charles and Arthur had joined you, faces as equally as close to the glass as yours.

"You think Maman will let me try them all?" Arthur asks, mouth practically watering at the sight in front of him.

"I don't know about that." You recognize your Dad's voice behind you. "You guys tell me what you want and then go wait at the table outside with Lorenzo." The three of you reluctantly turn away from the ice cream and when Arthur tells your Dad he wants mint, Charles and you share a disgusted look. "Ok mint for Arthur, what about you two?"

"Vanilla!" Comes out of both Charles and your mouth. Big smiles spread across your faces as you realize you both said the same thing.

"No way that's my favorite flavor!" Charles exclaims.

"Mine too!"

By the time your Dad comes outside with the ice cream Charles and you had established that; vanilla was the best flavor of ice cream ever, blue was your favorite color, red was his, you both loved dogs, and that he wanted to be a Formula 1 driver when he grew up. You didn't really know what that was, you think you had heard your Dad talking about it or watching it before, but the way Charles talked about it, it seemed like it was something big.

After many brain freezes and Arthur trying to make Charles and you try his mint ice cream, the night was coming to an end. The walk back home was filled with talks of things that you guys had to do this summer, according to Charles, and about how tonight would not be the last trip to the ice cream shop.

As you arrived at your house the grownups said their farewells and goodnights, while you gave everyone a simple wave goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow!" Charles yelled as you entered the front door, and all you could do was yell back.

"Ok!"

And Charles wasn't lying, you did see him the next day, and the day after that. In fact, any free day that you or the youngest Leclerc boys had were spent in each other's company that summer. By the time school started back up the three of you were inseparable.

The idea of starting at a new school in a different country while knowing no one scared you, so you were glad to have Arthur with you in class and just knowing Charles was in the building made you feel more at ease. Any worries you had about moving to Monaco had dissipated and Charles had just somehow knew that he had accomplished his mission of making you feel at home. It may have taken him all summer, but you were practically family at this point to him.

So when he heard from Arthur about a couple boys in your class not being the friendliest towards you, something about you being an annoying American, he knew he had to defend you.

Charles fortunately had caught them in the act one day. Your cheeks slightly damp and eyes red told Charles it wasn't just them saying you were annoying. You wouldn't tell him what they said to you, but that didn't stop him from telling the boys off. It didn't take much for them to run off, heck Charles could have just stared at them and they probably would have darted, him somewhat forgetting they were probably only five or six, but still there was no reason for them to be mean to you.

Charles wiped away your tears before pulling you in for a hug. "They shouldn't bother you anymore, but if they ever do come tell me. You know you've always got me and Arthur and if it gets bad enough I guess we could tell Lorenzo." The mention of the oldest Leclerc boy made you giggle and Charles was so happy to see a smile on your face again. "You've always got me Y/N, we've got each other. I promise." He held out his pinky finger towards you and you hooked yours around his, officially sealing the promise

And from that moment on, you two always did have each other.

ten and thirteen

Five years had passed since you first met Charles, and in those five years your bond only grew stronger. Not only with each other, but with each other's families too. To Pascale you were the daughter she always wanted and your Dad treated the Leclerc boys like his sons. It was like you guys filled in the missing pieces in each other's families.

Multiple scrapbooks were filled over the years with memories that would last a lifetime. Pictures of the joint family vacations that were taken every year, first and last day of school pictures, birthdays, and major milestones all filled the pages.

Looking back now your Mom could have kicked herself for ever second guessing the decision to move. Clearly this was where you guys were supposed to be, where you were supposed to be. Everything just felt right. It felt like home.

A new thing that had become a part of your life in the past five years was karting. No, you didn't drive them, but Charles and Arthur did. So, that meant it was now a part of you. Multiple weekends were spent going to watch them race, the smell of exhaust and the sound of the engines were ingrained into your brain, but you had grown fond of it.

Although, in the last couple years Charles had started to take karting very seriously. You knew his dream was to be an F1 driver, and you knew (from him teaching you everything about it one day) how much dedication it took from a young age to get to the top. So, over the last year, when almost every weekend he was busy, you tried not to take it to heart.

Unfortunately for Arthur, this year his family had decided to focus solely on Charles' career for the time being, as karting was expensive, and having two boys doing it was just not something they could swing. But with Charles busy and Arthur now free it was almost like the boys had flip flopped positions in your life.

Between the two youngest Leclerc boys it was always very obvious that you gravitated more towards Charles, the two of you having a bond that many didn't understand, especially considering your age gap.

Three years isn't crazy per say, but at the age you two are right now it's a little different. Charles is thirteen, officially a teenager, while you're still only ten. Two very different stages in kids' lives, and sometimes recently it seemed like Charles was moving on, or growing up, and you worried that he wouldn't want to spend time with you anymore. Because really what thirteen year old wants to willingly hang out with a ten year old? You know you wouldn't want to hang out with a seven year old.

But the slight gap that Charles was currently leaving in your life, Arthur had no problem filling it in.

During the school year you spent basically all your time with Arthur, being in the same grade and him not dedicating all his time to karting at the moment was a big contributing factor. You still saw Charles, but nearly as much as you used to. He had moved up to secondary school a year or so ago and unfortunately Arthur and you were still in your last year of primary school. So your time to see Charles was limited to his rare free weekends and sometimes after school.

You had thought come summer time you would be able to see him more and were banking on your annual family vacation, but you were wrong. In fact, you barely even saw Arthur this summer. They were so busy with Charles karting it was like they didn't even live in their home. And when they were home your family was busy doing something.

The annual family vacation had to be canceled and you had basically gone the whole summer without seeing them. That was until today, two weeks before school started, when you came downstairs to see Charles and Arthur sitting on your couch talking to your Dad, who was sitting in a chair opposite of them.

"Ah, there she is." Your Dad had spotted you from the doorway. "They've come to steal you."

Rounding the side of the couch you were now stood in front of the two boys. Arthur was the first to jump up from the couch, his arms squeezing you into him, the two of you slightly swaying back and forth as giggles escaped past your lips. "Tu m'as manqué aussi Arthur."

As Arthur finally let you go your eyes fell on the middle Leclerc boy, who was still sat on the couch. "Charlie." The nickname you had given him that first summer had still stuck around five years later. It fell off your tongue with ease, basically second nature for you at this point. He never minded when you called him that, in fact sometimes he preferred it, but god forbid anyone else call him that.

You could see a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, dimples peaking out as he tried to resist it more. As he stood up from the couch he finally let it free, the corners of his eyes crinkled and dimples on full display as he wrapped his arms around you. You noticed you guys weren't almost the same height anymore, your head hit at about his shoulder now. Had he gotten taller since the last time you saw him? There was no way he had grown that much in almost two months, but yet the proof was standing right infront of you.

"Tu m'as manqué." Charles stated as he pulled away from the hug.

"I figured you'd have your kart seat stuck to you when I saw you again."

"Well when that seat becomes an F1 seat, I know who will be the last person I invite to a race."

You wedged yourself between the two brothers on the couch as you rolled your eyes at Charles. "Yeah I won't need an invite because I'll have a permanent paddock pass." You weren't even sure if such a thing as a permanent paddock pass existed, but when Charles makes it into Formula 1, you had better have one.

"No doubt about it." Charles states, which gets him a smile from you in return.

"So what was Papa talking about? You guys are stealing me?"

"We've got something fun planned." Charles had a small smile on his face as he made eye contact with you. And as you stared back at him you noticed something else that had changed in the past two months, his hair. It was shaggy and almost covered his eyes if he didn't have it pushed to the side. You were surprised Pascale hadn't made him cut it yet, or that she hadn't snuck into his room at night and at least trimmed the hair around his face. It was just another sign of how long it had been since you'd seen each other.

You glanced over at your Dad, unsure of what "fun" they had planned, but he was no help. "What is it?"

"It's a surprise." Charles had stood up from the couch, eyes staring back down at you. "Well come on. We don't have all day."

"Be careful! Je t'aime!" Your Dad hollered as the three of you walked out the door.

"Je t'aime aussi!" You hollered back.

The warm sun beat down on you as you walked the familiar streets of Monaco, following the two boys in front of you. Your insistent pleas of wanting to know where you were going were ignored. And it didn't take long for you to just start guessing random places, which were all met with groaned no's from the boys.

Thankfully you guys had arrived at your destination because you were running out of places to name, but the place you were standing in front of was not where you had expected to end up. Though truly you should have known better.

"Did you guys really just bring me here to watch you two drive go-karts?" Of course they brought you to the track. It wasn't like you didn't like watching them race or even just screw around on the karts, but as of recently it was the one thing that was keeping Charles away from you. It just would have been nice to do something that didn't involve karting.

"We aren't the ones who are going to be driving them." Arthur's devious little smile on his face tells you everything you need to know.

"I don't think that's safe, and don't we need an adult with us?" So perhaps you were slightly scared at the idea of driving – no you were actually more worried than scared. You didn't want to seem like an idiot because you didn't know what to do or wreck and make a fool of yourself. That little shy five year old girl was slowly creeping back in as Arthur and Charles practically dragged you inside.

"The adult is already here." Charles points at Lorenzo who's filling out paperwork at the front counter. "I think it's time for you to learn, no?" Your eyes focus on Lorenzo, praying as an adult he has enough sense to not let this happen. But it was no use, he had already handed the worker the paperwork and was walking towards you with a bunch of gear in his hands.

"No chickening out this time petite soeur. Today is the day." Lorenzo stated.

Before you can even protest anymore Lorenzo is handing you all this stuff to put on, arms overflowing as you stare at him wide-eyed. "Do I really need all of this for" you glance over at the track then back at Charles "an indoor track?"

"Safety first Y/N. Plus you need to have the full karting experience." His dimples on display as he gives you a reassuring smile, that somehow works wonders on you, because you're putting on all the gear without him even asking. "Oh wait you're gonna need this." He slides a hair tie off his wrist and hands it over to you. His action put a smile on your face as you quickly tied your hair back.

It was something Charles had done for a couple years now, always having a hair tie on him. You were always pushing your hair out of your face or complaining about it being hot and of course you never had a hair tie with you. So, he just started wearing one on his wrist, so when you eventually needed one, he was there to provide.

With your gear on you guys walked over towards one of the karts and you made sure to listen intently as Charles explained how to work everything.

You slipped the helmet on and sat down in the kart, praying that you could remember what Charles had told you. "You've got this. Just remember what I said and we will be right here if you need us. I’ll be right here. I promise." Charles holds out his pinky finger, the familiar gesture between the two of you meant much more than just a simple promise. And as you hook your finger around his, you know it's going to be okay. "Please be careful. I think your Papa will have my head if you come back with even just a scratch." Lorenzo says as he double checks that you're strapped in well enough.

"I'll be fine."

You gave Charles one last final glance, who stood there giving you a thumbs up, before pressing your foot down on the accelerator. At first you were going so slow, scared that if you went too fast you were gonna wreck. But as you completed a couple laps you started to feel more comfortable and the cheers from the boys helped you out too.

"Floor it!" Arthur yells as you pass by on another lap.

You were really starting to have fun, so you listened to Arthur and pressed the pedal all the way down on the next straightaway. You felt like you were flying, but what you didn't know was that they had put you in the slowest kart, so you really weren't going as fast as you thought you were.

After a couple more laps Charles stood by the starting line, waving the checkered flag, a cheesy grin on his face as you passed by him. As the kart came to a stop you understood why they loved karting so much, it wasn't just fun, it was exhilarating, addicting, you already wanted to go again.

The boys surrounded the kart as you undid the straps and climbed out. As you took off the helmet you couldn't wipe the grin off your face. "Looks like you might have some competition Charles." Lorenzo teases.

Charles ignored his big brother's teasing and shifted his focus back to you. He had felt bad about not seeing you all summer and in all honesty not that much over this past year. But things in his life were changing, karting was becoming a much bigger deal, and he was winning, like a lot. He knew things were only going to go up from here. And as much as he loved racing, and god did he love it, he breathed it he dreamt it, racing was in his blood. There just weren't many times anymore where he felt like a thirteen year old, like a kid. It sometimes felt like he was missing out on things.

But Charles knew that when he came home from a busy weekend or practically a whole summer filled with racing, that things would always be the same at home. His Mom would always make spaghetti on Tuesday nights, you had to jiggle the handle on the gate to the backyard to get it to open, if you went into the ice cream shop on a Thursday night when the owner wasn't there you'd get extra ice cream, the lady across the street will yell at your for playing in the street, and you will always be a couple houses down.

He knew that when he was around you that he could feel like a kid again. Sure, he had made plenty of friends through racing, but it seemed like all their conversations always somehow revolved or ended up referring to racing. Which wasn't a bad thing, because of course Charles loved racing. But sometimes he just wanted to talk about video games or other sports, or just something random. And he could do that with you.

Now granted, for someone who wanted to have a little break from racing before school started, you'd think he wouldn't be back at a track the first chance he got. But Charles had wanted to teach you how to kart for years, but each time he had mentioned it you chickened out. So he had finally gotten the nerve, with a little help from Lorenzo and Arthur, to just force you to learn.

He knew you'd do a good job, he never had a doubt. It was just your worries that prevented you from learning earlier. He knew you had grown to love the sport, from tagging along to some of his races, or how you can't wait for the Monaco grand prix every year, not to mention how glued you are to the TV when his free weekends and the F1 schedule line up. So, somehow in his own weird way, Charles knew you'd be a natural.

"You did do a good job, I'm proud of you." Charles flashes you a smile as you guys exit the track.

"Merci Charlie." You quickly shed all the gear and handed it back to Lorenzo. "I don't know why you guys didn't teach me earlier. That was so much fun. I see why you guys love it so much."

"Don't act like we haven't tried for years to get you to learn." Charles teases. "We basically just had to force you today."

Memories of all the past failed attempts at teaching you how to kart flooded your mind. The one time you hid in the bathroom claiming to be throwing up, the time you 'tripped' on your way into the building and said you sprained your ankle, or the many times you just flat out refused. So maybe them forcing you was for the better, because you wouldn't have taken the initiative on your own to learn.

"Whatever. At least I finally learned."

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The walk back to your house was filled with Charles filling you in on his exciting karting filled summer. From the new friends he had made to the races he had won, he didn't spare any detail. And you just walked beside him, listening to his every word, grateful to just have him back around. Arthur would pipe in occasionally to contradict something Charles had said, fulfilling his little brother duties. And as the three of you traveled through the principality, the summer sun high in the sky, you wished every day could be like this.

The fragrant jasmine shrubs that lined the sidewalk told you guys that you were close to home. "You guys wanna stay for dinner? It's Friday which means Mom's making something pasta related."

Charles would never turn down a Friday night dinner at your house and so he had no trouble in accepting your invitation. Arthur declined, stating that he was going to hang out with some of his other friends, and Lorenzo had split from you guys at the track. Which meant it was just Charles and you, which was fine with you.

The smell of your Mom's famous red sauce, that she swore had to cook for at least half the day, filled your nostrils as you walked through the door. "Mom! Papa! I’m home!"

"In the kitchen!" You heard your Mom shout.

You found your Mom furiously stirring something on the stove as Charles and you sat at the island counter directly in front of her. She tore her attention away from her cooking just long enough to notice Charles was with you. "Well look who's back! I hope you're staying for dinner?" A big smile accompanied her words as she spoke to Charles.

"Of course, you know I love Friday pasta nights."

"Well it's still gonna be a little bit until everything is ready, so if you kids are hungry grab a little snack or something." Her attention was already back to the bubbling pot in front of her before she had finished speaking.

Charles' stomach had been growling the whole walk home, and now sitting here smelling your Mom's cooking had it growling even more. So, he took up her offer and grabbed two tangerines from the bowl of fruit on the counter. Without even thinking about it, he peeled the first one and handed it over to you.

"You're spoiling her by peeling that for her Charles." Your Dad stated as he walked into the kitchen.

Charles shrugged at your Dad's comment as he continued to peel his own tangerine. "I don't mind it. I know she doesn't like to peel them and it's really not a big deal to me. So I guess as long as I'm around she won't have to."

You never gave a second thought about Charles peeling your fruit for you. He's done it ever since you expressed your dislike for peeling them years ago. To you it wasn't you being spoiled, it was just your best friend doing something nice for you. You gave Charles a smile as you popped another piece of the tangerine in your mouth. "Merci Charles." As you looked back towards your parents, you caught them staring at each other, eyebrows slightly raised, and smiles on their faces. "What?" You questioned.

"Oh nothing sweetie." Your Mom answered, attention turning back to the food. She knew you'd figure it out eventually.

The topic of conversation during dinner was all about karting. Your parents wanted to know all about Charles' wins and if anything exciting had happened during any of his races. Charles truly was like a son to them, granted all three of the Leclerc boys were, but you knew Charles was their favorite. They sat there listening intently as he told them everything and your Dad gave him nothing but praises back.

"You're gonna do great things Charles. I just know it."

And finally when Charles changed the conversation to how he finally taught you how to kart, your Dad though first worried at the idea of you getting hurt, was ecstatic to hear that you were quite good and that you enjoyed it. Your Mom didn't like the idea at all, the sour look on her face told you everything. "I can barely handle watching Charles, let alone my baby."

"I was the only one on the track, Mom. Plus it was just for fun, you don't have to worry about me doing the real thing. I really was not as good as Charles says I was." You tried to reassure her, but she still didn't seem pleased.

"Maybe it will help to know that we put her in the slowest kart." Charles chimed in.

Your head whipped to the right of you, where Charles was sat. "You put me in the slowest one?! You really thought I’d be that bad?"

"It was your first time! You were nervous as is, let alone putting you in a fast one."

A scoff came from you. "I feel cheated out of a real experience."

"Well, the slowest is fine with me. In fact, how do we find one slower than the slowest?" Your Mom inquired, nothing shy of a serious look on her face.

As dinner came to an end Charles and you helped clean up and then ventured out back. The sun had just set, allowing for dusk to settle in, the remnants of the sunset still lingering in the sky. The two of you found yourselves on familiar territory, the swings. The metal chains had slightly rusted over the years, but still held strong as the two of you swayed back and forth on them.

Silence fell between the two of you as you tried to figure out how to talk to Charles about the thing that had been subconsciously bothering you for a while.

Him forgetting about you.

He had his head down, staring at his feet as he slowly swung back and forth on the swing. "Charles?" He lifted his head at the sound of your voice, blue eyes slightly covered by his shaggy hair.

"Yeah?"

Your hands gripped the chains tighter as you stilled your movements, feet planted firmly in the worn patch of grass. "I need you to make me a promise."

He had copied your actions, even going as far as turning slightly to face you as he spoke. "For what?"

"I need you to promise that you won't forget about me. That when you make it into F1 and become super famous that you won't think I'm some loser. Or even when you move up to F3, just please promise me you won't forget about me."

Charles frowned at your words, never in a million years would he forget about you, or think you were a loser. He didn't want to get into F1 to become famous, yeah it was a perk of the job, but he wanted a seat in F1 because he loved racing, and it meant that he was one of the best in the world.

He held out his pinky finger towards you. "Do you remember what I said to you when those boys were teasing you during your first year here?" You shook your head, the memory replaying in your mind. "That you’ve always got me and I’ve always got you. So that means I don't think I could ever forget about you Y/N, whether I make it into F1 or not. And If I do, I'm gonna need my number one supporter there by my side aren't I? So I promise I won’t forget you."

A big smile spread across your face at his words and as you hooked your pinky finger around his, you knew the promise was true.

But what you didn't know was that sometimes promises are broken.

thirteen and sixteen

Thirteen is a very weird year for you.

It’s not puberty or the ever revolving drama that comes with being thirteen that is making it a weird year. It’s the embarrassingly painful crush you’ve got on Charles.

It’s a cliche really, having a crush on the cute older boy you’ve grown up with.

And one might ask why is it embarrassing? For starters, you can’t be around him for more than five minutes without turning into a blushing mess. He stares at you for longer than a second? Game over. He smiles at you? Done for. He laughs at something you said? You’re dead.

He doesn’t know he’s turning your thirteen year old brain into mush just by simply existing and it’s embarrassing to even think about him knowing that.

On the other hand, it’s painful. You’re thirteen and he’s sixteen, once again at very different stages in life. And you know that he doesn’t like you back, that he only sees you as a little sister, but it still hurts. It hurts because you’re thirteen and you think that you’re mature for your age and you honestly think why wouldn’t he like you back. It’s something almost every young girl goes through, and unfortunately it’s happening to you with someone you are very close with.

Yes, you had always thought he was cute, but that's because he was. That fluffy brown hair, long thick eyelashes that adorned his pretty eyes, his dimples, the little crinkles by his eyes when he smiled. Okay– so maybe that's how you would describe him now, but still, he was a cute kid also, there was no denying that.

But if you really had to figure out when you realized you had a crush on Charles it had to have been this past Christmas.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The holidays in Monaco were somewhat different than the few years you remembered back in America. You had stopped celebrating Thanksgiving after your Mom’s failed attempt at trying to make a Thanksgiving dinner your first year here. It wasn’t that your Mom was a bad cook, it was that it was somewhat hard to find everything needed for a Thanksgiving dinner in Monaco. And as hard as your Mom tried to make it work, it just wasn’t the same without that damn Ocean Spray cranberry sauce.

So to make up for not celebrating Thanksgiving your family truly went all out for Christmas. The couple Christmases that you could remember back in America were nothing shy of magical, but ever since moving to Monaco, your family took Christmas very seriously. There was no denying that part of your household was American, because every year your house looked like it came straight out of a cult classic Christmas movie. Like Kevin McCallister or Clark Griswold had taken up residence in Monaco for the holidays.

It wasn’t just the outside that was decorated, the inside was just as festive and of course the tree was the main focal point. It was a busy tree, your Mom never liked an aesthetically pleasing tree, it was sentimental or nothing to her. Ornaments that were passed down on her side of the family, ones you had made in school, and some you had gotten after moving all had a home on the tree.

And as if decorating wasn’t enough for your family, your traditions were even more of a big deal. The most important one to you though was making cookies on Christmas Eve. Mainly because Arthur and Charles had been doing it with you since your first Christmas in Monaco.

Christmas music played on the record player in the living room, the sound traveling into the kitchen as your Mom and you made sure you had everything ready to bake. You were in your own little world, picking out your favorite cookie cutters and humming along to Wham!’s Last Christmas when you heard your Mom speak up. “You’re just in time Charles.”

Your eyes moved away from the pile of cookie cutters up to the garland decorated doorway where Charles was standing. A smile slowly crept its way onto your face as the two of you made eye contact. He looked cozy, the sweater he had on was slightly oversized and his hair had a messy fluffy look to it.

You watched as he talked to your Mom, she was surely talking to him about racing, and he would always gladly answer her questions, as she was nothing shy of a second Mom to him. The longer you stared at him, you could feel your heartbeat quickening. And a feeling was arising in you that you had only ever experienced with a boy in your class a year or so ago. Though, the feeling didn’t last long, you had caught him picking his nose, and with that went away any feelings you had towards him.

You didn’t even want to think about the word that was happening right now, the idea of it only making your heart race even faster. You tore your eyes away from Charles and noticed that the youngest Leclerc brother was missing, so you blamed your rapid heart beat and surely pink cheeks on that.

You cleared your throat and tried to gather yourself before speaking. “Where’s Arthur?”

Charles' attention was torn away from your Mom over to you. He pursed his lips, he didn’t know how to say nicely that Arthur said that baking Christmas cookies was for little kids, and he wasn’t a little kid anymore. He let out a sigh before speaking. “He’s not coming, he said he’s too old to be baking cookies.”

“But its-”

“I know. I told him that it’s tradition and that you would be upset, but he wasn’t budging. So you’re stuck with just me.”

It annoyed you that Arthur had bailed on you. There was no such thing as being too old to bake cookies, he was just being a jerk. And as far as you were concerned, he’s not allowed any of the cookies when your families have Christmas together tomorrow evening.

On the bright side you get to have some one on one time with Charles, so maybe it was a blessing in disguise– Arthur bailing on you. You picked up the recipe card from the counter, waving it around in the air. “Well let’s get to work then.”

Charles is at your side in an instant, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater as he waits for further instruction.

“Do you think you kids can handle doing it by yourselves this year? I’ve got some last minute gifts that need to be wrapped.” Your Mom inquired, hopeful that you wouldn’t burn the house down on Christmas Eve.

You didn’t even look up at her, eyes focused on the recipe in front of you, this was clearly something you took seriously. “Yes Mom.”

Without a word she was gone, leaving Charles and you to your own devices.

You can feel Charles peering over your shoulder. He’s practically right up against your side and you can feel the soft material of his sweater on your arm. All you can smell is his cologne, something he had started to use within the last year or two, thankfully moving on from the Axe body spray phase. And you’re trying not to make this seem like a big deal, because it’s truly not, but something has shifted in your thirteen year old brain. The same brain being scrambled by him right now, and you think you’ve read the damn recipe card at least ten times now.

“Did you forget that the recipe is in American measuring terms?” Charles asks. The recipe was your Grandma’s and your Mom had never been bothered to convert it to the metric system.

“Nope, just double checking everything.” You force a smile as you set down the recipe card and grab a mixing bowl. You added all the ingredients and made Charles do all the labor, which meant he had to mix it and then roll out the dough.

You dug through the pile of cookie cutters looking for Charles favorite one. “Herree it isss.” You spoke in a sing songy voice as you held up the cookie cutter to Charles. His favorite in question? A penguin with a Santa hat on. Without fail, every Christmas, for the past eight years. Charles made an excessive amount of Santa hat penguin cookies.

A grin spread across his face as you placed it in his hand. “Wouldn’t be Christmas without this guy.” He wasted no time in pressing the cutter down into the dough and before you guys knew it the first batch was done and in the oven.

As you started on the next batch Charles kept a close eye on the baking cookies. The two of you allowed for Michael Buble to fill silence in the air and the mouthwatering smell of the cookies soon filled your nostrils. “You know you still call her Mom?”

Your eyebrows furrowed at Charles' random statement. “Huh?”

He walked away from the oven and back to his original spot next to you. “You still call your Maman Mom.”

“Yes?” You weren’t really sure where he was going with this, it was nothing new to either of you.

“I just figured by now you would have made the switch. You speak French with everyone else.”

You shrugged your shoulders at him, you had never really considered it, the idea felt weird even just thinking about it now. “I’ve always spoken English with my Mom and French with Papa. It would feel weird to switch stuff around now.” You stirred in the flour as you continued the conversation. “You know I could give you some English lessons if you’d like. I think that might have been what you were hinting at.” You teased.

Charles' eyes widened at your words. “Are you saying my English is not good? I think I speak English very good!”

“Well.” You didn’t skip a beat.

“What?”

“You think you speak English very w-”

In an instant there is flour all over the upper part of your body, your movements stilled as you’re processing what Charles had just done. You’re mad at first, actually seething because your hair looked so good today and now it’s covered in flour. And you can’t see Charles because you haven’t moved an inch since he threw the flour at you, but he went from having a shit eating grin on his face to a oh shit expression. Your quietness has him worried that you’re actually really pissed at him, but when he hears his nickname come past your lips he knows you're not that mad at him.

“Charlie. You better run.”

He isn’t sure he’s heard you right, but when he sees you pick up the whole bag of flour his sock clad feet are sliding on the floor as he runs around the other side of the kitchen island. You're playing cat and mouse around the island for quite some time. The beeping from the oven time ignored multiple times as giggles from both of you filled the room.

As Charles rounds the corner again his foot catches on one of the barstool legs and you know you’ve finally got him. He doesn’t fall, but he slips just enough to allow you to fully catch up to him. And you may or may not have thrown the whole bag of flour at him, but him being covered head to toe in flour says it was the whole bag. You definitely got him 10x worse than he did you and from that gleam in his eye you know what he’s going to do, but you can’t get away fast enough and his arms are around you in an instant. He shakes his head trying to get as much of the flour off of him and onto you and by you trying to free yourself from his grip he’s transferred a good amount from his clothes onto yours. “Charles! Let me go!” Your pleas are pitiful, laughter dripping off every word.

“Oh my god!”

Both of your eyes widen, bodies frozen at the sound of your Mom’s less than pleased voice. The two of you sheepishly stood there as your Mom looks like she’s about ready to cry and cuss you out at the same time. “I can’t leave you two alone for an hour?!” Her eyes shift to behind the two of you, panic written across her face. She’s practically running towards the oven and that’s when you realize the burning smell. And when she not so softly sets the cookie sheet onto the counter you know she’s really not happy. The cookies were burnt to a crisp, the poor Santa hat penguin never stood a chance. “I’m sorry Y/M/N. It was my fault, I started it.” Charles rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed.

“I don’t care who started it because you’re both cleaning up this mess.” A deep sigh came from you Mom as she really took in just how big of a mess the two of you had made, her head shaking in disapproval as she left the two of you to clean up.

When you knew she was out of earshot you couldn’t but let out a little giggle, it was like in school when you weren’t supposed to be laughing, but everything is just so funny, and Charles follows your actions seconds later. The two of you fools, covered in flour, cookies burnt, and in trouble as you stood there laughing.

That night you couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning in your bed, your brain would not shut off. And it wasn’t because you were excited for Christmas morning, you only wished that was the reason. You couldn’t get how good it felt to have Charles arms wrapped around you out of your mind, or how that stupid sweater made him look even more attractive than he already was.

As you stared up at the ceiling, you knew you were screwed. You had a big fat crush on Charles and it was going to ruin your life. You knew he only saw you as a little sister and that made everything so much more worse to you. Why did you have to develop feelings for him of all people?

Christmas morning came and went and before you knew it evening had arrived, meaning the Leclerc’s would be arriving soon. You were in charge of setting the table, a task you didn’t mind, considering being in the kitchen with your Mom on any holiday was like asking to get yelled at. As you folded the last napkin neatly and placed it in its rightful spot you heard commotion coming from the front door, undoubtedly the Leclerc’s arriving. You spotted Pascale struggling to juggle all the presents and you hurried towards her, quick to offer a hand. “Merci chéri.” A grateful smile painted across her face.

The pile of presents grows as you place them under the tree and you’d think your family hadn’t already opened some this morning. Everyone settles into their usual spots in the living room, but your usual spot by Charles is left empty, as you’ve scurried into the kitchen. You’d rather face the unwarranted wrath from your Mom than be unable to compose yourself around Charles. But you don’t get to hide in the kitchen for very long because she’s practically done with everything, so you help her bring in all the food to the table, and admire your table setting skills as you do so.

Dinner is pretty uneventful and luckily your Dad has Charles preoccupied with racing talk for most of the time. But you can’t help but catch his eye from across the table every once in a while and every time you do your heart skips a beat. By the time presents start getting passed around you had successfully avoided Charles for most of the day, but that is ruined when he plops down next to you on the floor, shoulders brushing as he gets situated.

“Are you mad at me for yesterday?” Charles' voice is low, like he didn’t want anyone to hear, but he could have talked at full volume, no one would have heard him over how loud your Dads were being.

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

Your fingers toyed with the lifted corner of wrapping paper on the present in front of you, your brain trying to figure out what to say. Yes, you had been avoiding him, but it wasn’t because you were mad. It was actually the opposite, but you couldn’t tell him that. “I’m not mad at you. Just didn’t want there to be another flour fiasco today. You thought she was mad yesterday, now imagine that while she’s in her holiday cooking zone.” You give him a reassuring smile, hoping that he’s bought what you’ve told him. But he doesn’t get the chance to respond as your Mom’s voice fills the room.

“Ok does everyone have all their presents? Our Santa this year was less than enthusiastic about handing out the presents.” Your Mom shoots Arthur a look as he sits down on the floor across from Charles and you.

“There is nothing left under the tree. I promise.” Arthur states.

“Alright then everyone get after it!”

Piles of wrapping paper fill the empty spots on the floor in no time and excited gasps fill the room as everyone unwraps their gifts. You’re always so grateful for everything the Leclerc’s get you for Christmas, they treat you like one of their own, and sometimes you feel they spoil you a little too much.

With each present that you unwrapped that wasn’t from Charles, you start to get a little worried. You guys exchanged presents every year and if he didn’t get you something this year, you think you might die. So when you come to your last present and it says it’s from his parents, you try to hide your disappointment, especially because it’s an amazing gift. You hop up from your spot on the floor and make sure to go thank them personally, hugs and all. And you’re pretty sure you hear them say something about how you’re their daughter too and how you deserve it, but your brain is still thinking about how Charles didn’t get you anything.

When you go back to your spot a little perfectly wrapped box with a bow on it is sitting there. You know you weren’t sitting on that, so it had to be placed there after you got up. You think it’s one of Charles that he forgot about, but when you bend over to pick it up you see Charles sloppy handwriting on it. A smile spreads across your face as you look over at Charles who has an equally big one on his. You quickly sit down, eager to know what’s inside.

“Did you think I didn’t get you anything?” Charles questions, a smirk toying at his lips.

“Maybe.” Yes.

“I would never.” He bumps his shoulder into yours, motioning for you to open it. “Well, go on. What are you waiting for?”

You don’t want to seem like you're absolutely ripping into the present, but it probably looks like you are. It’s a tiny box, like one used for jewelry, and you really aren’t expecting Charles to have gotten you jewelry. But when you open the box, nestled in the velvet cushion, is a ring. You glance over at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, then back to the ring. It’s just a simple sterling silver ring and somewhat on the smaller side. To be honest Charles could have gotten you a bag of candy and you would have been happy to have just gotten something from him, let alone a ring.

But when you pick the ring up from the box you see exactly why it’s smaller, and it makes your heart swell. On the inside of the ring you see the words pinky promise engraved into it and as you look over at Charles, he’s holding out his pinky finger, a matching ring adorning it. Your cheeks are hurting from how hard you're smiling, but you don’t care. It’s the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever gotten you and as you slide it onto your pinky finger you feel yourself smiling even more, if that’s possible. Your arms are around Charles instantly, pulling him in towards you, thank you’s tumbling out of your mouth as he giggles in response.

“I’m glad you like it.” He pauses, trying to figure out the right words to say. “Things are changing. I’m moving up from karting and hopefully into Formula 3 within the next year. It’s just a reminder that we’ve always got each other, even if I’m gone racing or you’re off doing something, we can look at the rings and know we’ve got a piece of each other with us, always.”

You can’t stop smiling at him, and that crush you’ve got has tripled in size in a few short hours. Your teenage brain over exaggerates everything and you basically think this means you’re gonna be together forever, even though you aren’t even together.

While you’re in make believe land, your parents are observing the two of you. Whispers and knowing glances are exchanged, between them and your Moms can’t help but think it’s cute how close the two of you are. While your Dad in particular, no matter how he feels about Charles, thinks no boy is good enough for his little girl, let alone some sixteen year old boy.

Perhaps you may be a little dramatic when you say that this Christmas was the best one you’d had so far, but honestly it was the truth. Sure you realized you had a huge crush on Charles that will probably end in tears, but you also got the most thoughtful gift ever, that you will cherish forever. So yeah, this was a good Christmas, crush aside.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

And so you lived with admiring Charles from afar for months. Enjoying what time you got together and just holding out hope that maybe one day he wouldn’t see you as his little sister. But life had a funny way of hitting you in the face with reality, especially at thirteen.

When Charles shows up to a joint family dinner one night with a girl around his arm you feel like all the air has escaped your lungs. And when he introduces her to everyone as his girlfriend you plaster on a smile even though you feel like someone has pulled your heart out of your chest and ran it over multiple times.

It’s the longest dinner of your life and while everyone gushes over his girlfriend, asking her all about her life and interests, you poke your food around with your fork. It’s not like you have an appetite anyways, getting your heart broken will do that to you. And it sucks even more because she’s so nice, like insanely nice, you couldn’t even hate her if you wanted to. Not to mention how pretty she was, she was everything, and you were some pimple faced, awkward bodied thirteen year old.

You fidget with the ring on your finger and your heart races at the idea of Charles not wearing his anymore, your eyes glance over at him and when you spot the ring still on his finger it calms you a little. But that still means nothing, just that he clearly still sees you as a little sister. What you don’t see is how your Mom has been watching you the whole night. You’ve never told her about your feelings towards Charles, but she’s your Mom, she just knows things. And she knows you're hurting right now, so when she changes the topic of conversation at the table you’re eternally grateful.

It’s an early night for you that night, not bothering to join everyone for a game of UNO, claiming that you aren’t feeling well. When really you couldn’t wait to go upstairs and just cry it out. What did you do to deserve something like this? It hurt so bad, but you knew there was nothing you could do about it. And as you laid in bed that night all you could think about was how are you going to live without him liking you back?

sixteen and nineteen

Newsflash you do live without Charles liking you back. In fact your crush goes away by the end of that year, no thanks to the new boy in your grade, who eventually ends up being your boyfriend. But it was safe to say you were over Charles, at least you think you are.

Charles, on the other hand, stayed with the girl who made you go crazy at age thirteen for over a year, but they broke up over text. And to your disappointment, Charles never told you the reason why. Ever since then it’s been somewhat of a revolving door of girls in Charles' life. Okay – maybe not a revolving door, but at least three different girls in the past two years. None of them lasted for more than a couple months though, and it was getting to the point where no one in either of your families got to know the girls.

Everyone knew that they would be gone sooner than later. After his last “breakup” a couple months ago, he hadn’t brought around a new one, he claimed that he needed to focus on racing, that F1 seat was almost in his grasp and that was all that mattered to him right now, but you knew there was something else going on.

While Charles was having issues in the relationship department, you were actually flourishing. You had met your now boyfriend Lucas, when he was the new kid your eighth grade year. You thought he was cute from the moment he walked into your History class the first day back from winter break. And when the seat next to you was the only open desk you tried to hide your excitement as he sat down, but when he smiled at you first, it was hard to hide the blush creeping onto your cheeks. He was the first to speak, asking if you had a pencil. But his accent made your ears perk up – he was Spanish. The big brown doe eyes and dark hair fit him, now that you realized he was Spanish.

“Do all Spaniards come unprepared on their first day?” You teased as you handed him a pencil. It was his turn to be the one blushing as he stifled a smile.

“No, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

So he was a flirt – noted.

The two of you became good friends rather quickly, but per your parents rules, you couldn’t date until you were fifteen. So, you played the long game and prayed that no one else peaked his interest. Luckily for you, he was so infatuated with you that he was willing to wait, and on your fifteenth birthday you went on your first date. He was nothing shy of a gentleman, even going as far as asking your parents permission to take you out, something your Dad was very fond of. And as your parents watched their little girl walk out the door hand in hand with a boy, they couldn’t help but feel a little sad.

“Our little girl is growing up.”

Your Mom wrapped a comforting arm around your Dad. “I know. I’m glad though, I figured she would waste her teenage years waiting on Charles.”

A questioning look washed across your Dad’s face. “What?”

“Oh honey. Don’t act like you’ve been blind these past ten years. They’ve always been drawn to each other, her more than him. She was absolutely heartbroken when he brought his first girlfriend to dinner that one time.”

“Guess I do remember being less than thrilled at Charles getting her that ring for Christmas that one year.” Your Dad huffed.

“Hmm,” she rests her head on his shoulder, her hand rubbing soothing circles on his abdomen as they still stand there, staring at the door. “You know Pascale has always said that Y/N would end up with Charles.”

Your Dad scoffs at your Mom’s words. “And what do you think of that?”

“I think only time will tell.”

While your parents were discussing your love life back at home, you were having a grand time on your date. The pizza place Lucas had taken you to was cute, a fitting place for two fifteen year olds to be on a first date. Thankfully it wasn’t awkward or tense, and you had to thank the two of you for being friends for a year before your date for that. It was just like the two of you hanging out.

On the walk back to your house your hands never separate, even when they start to become sweaty. And when he pulls you closer to him, so you're basically hugging his arm, you realize you could get used to this.The way his brown eyes look like pools of honey when the sun hits them just right as he looks down at you, the feeling of his thumb gently rubbing circles on your hand, and the way your name rolls of his tongue when he talks to you, especially with that accent of his. All of it has that all too familiar warm fuzzy feeling appearing in your stomach.

When he stops in front of the ice cream shop near your house he doesn’t even have to ask you if you want any, you’re already dragging him towards the entrance. The little bell on the door rings as the two of you walk inside and the all too familiar sugary sweet smell hits your nostrils.

“Ah! Chérie!”

The owner Mr. Martin – a short older man, probably in his sixties, with what you would call haystacks for eyebrows was beaming at you from behind the counter. He had grown fond of you and the Leclerc boys over the years, claiming that he loved seeing the three of you grow up, as he never had any grandchildren of his own. Though, when his eyes shifted to the right and saw Lucas standing next to you his smile fell briefly, if you hadn’t been staring at him you wouldn’t have caught it.

“Who is this handsome young man?” He asks as the two of you walk towards him..

You introduce Lucas to Mr. Martin and it’s at that moment that you realize that this is the first time you’ve brought him here. Something that didn’t seem possible to you because you were here so often that you had to have brought Lucas here at least once, but you can’t recall a time.

Only when a vanilla cone is in front of your face are you brought out of your thoughts. Of course Mr. Martin didn’t need to ask you what you wanted, it’s been the same thing every time for the past ten years. Lucas had already sat down at one of the little tables, chocolate cone in hand, while he waited for you.

“I was surprised to see you with a boy other than Charles.” Mr. Martin states as he wipes down the counter. “He must be special because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here with anyone other than your family or Charles.”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks. Yes, this was your first time you had brought Lucas here, but you know you’ve brought other friends here. There was no way in your ten years here that you hadn’t, but once again your mind was drawing a blank. As you glance back over at Lucas a knot forms in your stomach, it suddenly feels wrong to have brought him here. Like in some way you were tainting this place with his presence. Ruining whatever special hold this place has on your relationship with your family– with Charles.

You completely ignore Mr. Martin’s statements and just give him a smile and thanks before making up an excuse as to why Lucas and you need to leave. He doesn’t take much convincing when you claim to want to see the sunset. His hand is back in yours as you hear the bell ring once more as the two of you leave. And it’s like as soon as you guys are back on the sidewalk walking towards your house, the gut wrenching feeling is gone. The only evidence of it is left in the ice cream and by the time you’re standing on your front porch step it’s all gone.

Lucas has a lopsided grin on his face, one you’ve grown to love, as the two of you stand facing each other. “You know we are missing the sunset you wanted to see.” His fingers lightly toy with yours, before finally intertwining them again.

“Mmh. It’s okay.” You were getting lost in those big brown eyes of his, the sunset the last thing on your mind.

“I’d rather stare at you anyways, you’re much prettier.”

His words make you practically putty in his hands and before you know it you’re having your first kiss. It’s sweet, metaphorically and literally, the taste of ice cream still on both of your lips. His hand cups your cheek and you have to wonder if he’s done this before. But when he pulls away he only has you craving more, so you lean up and steal on more from him. Giggles escaping past your lips as you see the light blush on his cheeks, you were sure yours were bright red. “Guess this is where I ask you to be my girlfriend huh? Not like I’ve been obsessed with you since my first day of school, been waiting all year or anything.”

You raise an eyebrow at him with a smirk on your face. “Are you going to properly ask me?”

By the end of the night when you’re laying in bed, you had officially gone on your first date, had your first kiss, and obtained a boyfriend all in a matter of hours that day. You were a giddy mess, excitement coursed through your veins, and you couldn’t help but repeatedly feel your lips, the feeling of Lucas’ still fresh in your mind the whole night. You couldn’t wait to feel them on yours again. And when he texts you that he wants to hang out tomorrow you think your heart just might leap out of your chest.

Being with Lucas was like living on cloud nine, you truly couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend. As the year progressed you really wondered how you had snagged someone like him– tall, dark, and handsome. You felt like the luckiest girl in the world, and he made you feel like it too, until he didn’t.

That’s the funny thing about first loves, you really think nothing could ever come between you, that it’s going to last forever. But the only thing that lasts forever is the damage they leave when they’re gone.

You aren’t really sure what switched in Lucas, but after a year of being together he turned into someone who was never happy with what you did, always picking fights over stupid little things. And you know you should have left him already, but you love him, and you think you guys can make it work. You’re only sixteen and your Mom tells you relationships shouldn’t be like this at this age, shouldn’t be mentally draining, but unfortunately this one is.

All your arguments as of lately had been about Charles. Lucas, though denying it every time you brought it up, had become jealous of him. You weren’t even sure where the jealousy had come from, you barely saw Charles like you used to. He was in F2 on the cusp of getting that F1 seat and you were busy with school and spending time with Lucas. You had even gone as far as rejecting invites to hang out with your other friends to spend time with Lucas, something now you regret very deeply.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It’s a chilly Friday night in February when everything comes crashing down. The argument started over Charles texting you asking if you wanted to hang out. You were already with Lucas, but you hadn’t seen Charles in a couple weeks and you knew once the season started seeing him would be even more scarce. So, you make the big mistake of asking Lucas if he wanted to hang out with Charles.

“Why would I want to hang out with him?” His back was turned to you, but you already knew from his tone that this was going to turn into an argument.

“Well I haven’t seen him in awhile and he texted me asking to hang out, I thought we all could hang out.” You thought maybe by including Lucas in the plans that it would make the situation better. Wrong.

He turns to face you, walking towards your bed where you’re currently sat. “Did he mention me in the text?”

“Well no but-”

“Exactly,” Lucas scoffs at you, his expression sour as he looms over you. “He doesn’t want me to come. I would get in his way.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics, Charles was not the guy Lucas made him out to be. “Don’t know what you mean by you getting in his way.”

“Oh don’t act cute about it Y/N.” Hearing your name roll off his tongue no longer sounded like music to your ears, it now more resembled nails on a chalkboard, like each time he spoke your name it was venom coming out his mouth. “Bet if I gave him the chance he’d try to get in your pants at the first opportunity.”

Your eyes widened, cheeks getting hot at his accusations. “What kind of girl do you think I am Lucas?”

“All I’m saying is your friendship with him isn’t normal, and it makes a guy wonder.”

You were up off of your bed now, the two of you standing in the middle of your room. “This is getting old. I’ve told you, you have nothing to be jealous of.” You had started to twist the ring on your pinky finger, a nervous habit you had developed over the past couple years.

“That is why your friendship isn’t normal.” Lucas grabs your hand, his fingers twisting at the ring trying to pull it off your finger. “What kind of girl wears a ring another guy got her while in a relationship? Huh? Even worse that you’ve got matching ones.”

Yanking your hand free from his grasp you can feel your blood starting to boil, and you’re thankful your parents aren’t home tonight because you can tell this is going to get ugly. “We fucking grew up together! He’s like a brother Lucas!” You were the first one to yell and you had unfortunately opened the floodgates because now Lucas is yelling.

“Who hasn’t heard that before?! He’s like a brother. Give me a fucking break. You’re telling me you’ve never had feelings for him? Not once in your life?”

The accusations and ideas he was throwing around tonight were beyond ridiculous.

“I’m not thirteen anymore Lucas. You know I only love you.” And you don’t realize what you’ve basically admitted until it leaves your mouth and you hear Lucas let out a dry laugh.

“Ah. There it is. I think that last part may have been a lie, because you still wouldn’t be wearing that ring if you didn’t still feel something for him.”

You shake your head at him, why couldn’t he get what you were saying though his thick skull. “I only have platonic love for Charles. It’s nothing like what you and I have.”

He clicks his tongue, and you can hear the gears turning in his head. “Prove it.” You furrow your eyebrows at him, confused as to how you are supposed to prove that you love only him. “Take the ring off and give it back to Charles.”

You tuck your hands behind your back, afraid he’ll try and rip it off your finger again. “No. It’s just a ring Lucas. You’re giving it more power than it has.”

“If it’s just a ring then take it off.” You shake your head no at him. “Take it off Y/N.” You shake your head no again and he stalks towards you, causing you to back up until the backs of your knees hit your bed. “Take off the fucking ring!” He’s yelling and you can feel the tears starting to pool in your eyes. He’s never gotten this crazy before and you can tell that this is the end of the two of you.

“Lucas just go.” You're trying to hold back your tears, but when he tries to reach around to grab your hand you let out a sob. “Lucas, leave! Now!”

He backs up, and for the first time that night you get a good look at his eyes. They are no longer the pools of honey you once found yourself getting lost in, their dark, like a black void, and he almost looks unrecognizable as he stands there. “You never truly loved me did you?.”

His words cut through you, because you really did love him, and you thought he loved you. But someone who loves you would never treat you like he has you. “I loved you more than you’ll ever know, but clearly you’ve got some shit mixed up in your head to think that I didn’t.”

“But you are always going to love Charles more Y/N. You can tell yourself it’s only platonic love, but we both know it’s not.”

You wipe away your tears as you sit back down on the side of your bed, this was getting old. “I can’t do this anymore. Truly. I’ve tried to tell you how much you mean to me, but Charles is a part of my life and if you can’t deal with that,” You take a deep breath, scared for what's about to come out of your mouth. “Then maybe we should break up.”

And for the first time that night Lucas doesn’t respond and you’re actually surprised that he doesn’t put up a fight. “Alright then I guess we are done.” When he doesn’t immediately leave and decides to squat down in front of you, you're confused. Especially when he wipes away your tears as his hand cups your cheek. “I never wanted us to end up like this, but I can’t share your heart with someone else.”

He should be screaming and instigating more arguing, not being gentle and loving. More tears fall down your cheeks as he presses a final kiss on your forehead before walking out your bedroom door. You can hear your parents greet him downstairs, what great timing for them to arrive home, and when the front door slams you’re surprised your Dad isn’t going after him.

You’re immediately calling Charles and you don’t even have to speak, your sniffles and ragged breathing lets him know that you need him. As you hang up the phone you hear a gentle knock on your door and you see your Mom peek her head in, her heart breaking when she sees the state you’re in. “Oh my sweet girl.”

“It’s over Mom.” You choke out between sobs.

She does the only thing that she knows you need right now and just holds you, lets you get it all out as she runs her fingers through your hair.

But seconds later you’re both greeted with an out of breath Charles standing in the middle of your room. Your tears subside for a moment, as you see him doubled over trying to catch his breath.

“Alright, I’m gonna leave you two be.” Your Mom gives you a reassuring kiss on the head before exiting your bedroom.

Charles takes her spot next to you on your bed, his arm immediately pulling you into him. “Did you run here?” You ask as you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Did you expect anything less when you called me crying?” He’s deadly serious when he says it, and you don’t know it, but he’d drop everything to come to your aid, no matter if you asked or not. You don’t answer him, but when you wrap your arms around his waist and basically tuck yourself into his side, he knows you appreciate him being here. “Am I wrong for thinking this has something to do with Lucas?”

The tears start to fall again as the fight replays in your head. “We broke up.” Your words barely above a whisper, but Charles has no trouble hearing them, even over your sniffles.

“Never liked that asshole anyways.”

You rolled your eyes at Charles' statement, lightly laughing because he was totally lying. “Don’t lie, you liked him, hell everyone liked him.”

“Ever thought I am just a very good actor? He made you happy, so I just pretended to like him, for your sake.”

“Wish you would have made your dislike of him known, maybe I wouldn’t be a hot mess on a Friday night right now.” A sigh escapes past your lips, the feeling of Charles gently rubbing circles on your side had started to soothe you. And you wished you could stay like this forever, wrapped up in his embrace.

Charles doesn’t mean to pry, he knows you’ll tell him when you're ready, but he’s curious as to why the two of you had broken up, as far as he was concerned the two of you seemed happier than ever. But he wasn’t going to lie and say he wasn’t happy about the two of you breaking up, for reasons unknown to him yet.

“You gonna tell me what happened?”

Your grip on him tightens and he thinks if he let you, you’d be under his skin if it was possible. “He was jealous of you.”

Charles feels his heartbeat quicken and he’s not sure why, but he does know he wants to hear the whole story. “And?”

You know you’re going to start crying again, but it's Charles, you can tell him anything. So you take a deep breath and spill the beans. “It started a couple months ago. He’d pick fights over stupid stuff at first and then it turned into stuff concerning you. I tried to just let it go and make sure he knew he was my number one priority. But tonight’s fight was the worst one yet and I just couldn’t handle it anymore. He was basically insulating that I loved you more than him and I tried to tell him it was only platonic love that I had for you, but he wasn’t convinced.”

There’s a strange feeling that blooms in Charles' chest as your words hit his ears and it clouds his mind because he’s never had a feeling like this when he’s been around you. It’s foreign and it scares the shit out of him.

You hold back some information from Charles, mainly because you were still processing how you really feel about him. Trying to sort through what Lucas had planted into your brain and what might have already been there, left over from thirteen year old you. But your ring clad finger searches for his and when you feel the cool contrast of his ring, you wrap your pinky fingers together. “Do you think our friendship is normal Charlie?”

He cocks an eyebrow at you, confused as to what you meant. “Where’s this coming from?”

Your eyes never break away from your intertwined fingers, matching rings staring back at you. “Lucas said our friendship isn’t normal and basically the fact that we have matching rings isn’t normal either.”

Now Charles' gaze is also on your rings and for a moment he thinks maybe it isn’t normal, but then he realizes this is your guys normal. So fuck what anyone else or Lucas thought about his friendship with you. “Think he might have been just pulling shit out of his ass at that point. Jealous that he doesn’t have anyone in his life like we do each other.”

Charles' words do make you feel a little better, because you know no matter what you’ll always have each other and tonight is proof of that, but that doesn’t stop your still broken heart from showing.

“Still kind of made me feel like shit though, like he made it seem like I didn’t love him at all, when I clearly did. I mean god Charles he was my first date, first kiss, first everything. Even with how badly he had treated me these last couple months, we’re always gonna have that connection. How am I supposed to find someone like that again? Fuck. I mean he literally has a part of me that I’ll never get back.”

And Charles can feel his heart tightening at your words, because you’re truly the most amazing girl he knows, and to know that Lucas treated you badly when all you deserve is the best awakens something in him.

“I wish you could see how you look to me, how amazing you are. Yes, you have those connections with Lucas, but believe me when I say you aren’t going to have a problem finding someone else.”

A small smile finds its way onto your face as you hear Charles speak. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I wouldn’t say anything that wasn’t true. You’re funny, kind, the best listener, and you’re so beautiful. Truly Y/N, anyone would be lucky to have you. And Lucas is clearly stupid for letting you go.”

The blush on your cheeks probably looked like a bad sunburn with how much you were blushing and as you made eye contact with Charles you suddenly felt like that thirteen year old girl again. His blue eyes burning into yours and when he tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear you can’t help the butterflies that erupt in your stomach. And for a brief moment Charles had pushed your thoughts about Lucas to the back of your mind.

He pulls you into a hug and if there is one place you feel the safest in the world, it’s in Charles arms. And when he whispers into your ear that everything is gonna be fine, you know it’s going to be, as long as you’ve got Charles in your life.

seventeen and twenty

He had done it.

Charles had finally gotten into Formula 1. The thing he had only dreamt of since childhood had finally come true. The long weekends away from home, the training, the tiredness, the stress, it was all worth it in the end. That seat was finally his and you couldn’t have been more proud. He had been in talks with a couple of the teams for a while and he always kept you updated on the possibilities, some weeks it sounded like he would sign with one team, and then the next another. The whole situation was beyond stressful to you, so you could only imagine how Charles felt about it all.

The day you found out that he signed with Suaber was one you’ll never forget.

Charles had tried to plan some elaborate thing to announce the big news to you, but that meant he would have to keep it a secret from you for at least a day or two. Something he found to be rather difficult once he got home, because the only thing he wanted to do was tell you.

It didn’t matter to him that it was almost midnight by the time he had gotten home from the airport, he was going to tell you tonight no matter what. He pulled his phone out of his pocket– thumbs moving rapidly as he texted you.

After dozing off multiple times in the last half hour you had decided to call it quits on your binge session of The Office for the night. You had switched the TV to something random to actually fall asleep to and it didn’t take long for you to be on the cusp of actual sleep until–

DING

A groan escaped past your lips and you contemplated ignoring it, but when the second alert went off you snatched your phone off the nightstand. It felt like you were staring directly into the sun as your eyes struggled to read the text notification.

Charlie: come out back

Your eyes glanced at the time – 12:15. What the hell could he possibly want this late? But you begrudgingly got out of bed, slipping on some shoes and a sweatshirt before quietly going downstairs.

The light on the back patio illuminated the backyard just enough for you to see Charles sitting on the swings waiting for you. And If you were even thinking about sneaking up on Charles that would have been impossible with the sliding door to the backyard. The thing screeched like nails on a chalkboard even with you opening it just enough to slide through it. His gaze now locked onto you as you scurried off the porch and towards the swings.

The smile that he greeted you with was one beyond measure. He was clearly happy about something and you could tell just by the crinkles around his eyes and those dimples that right now looked to be deeper than canyons.

“What’s got you so happy, Leclerc?”

Your eyes focused on Charles' frame as he swayed back and forth slowly on the swing. He was clearly too big for it – his legs were bent awkwardly and his swing creaked everytime he moved. You could feel the sides of the swing digging into your hips and you realized you probably looked as ridiculous as him.

“Just happy to see you. Missed you.” His smile still ever prominent.

You scoffed at his words, he had just seen you a couple days ago. “Yeah right. You wouldn’t have texted me at midnight if there wasn’t something going on. In fact, how did you know I was up or even home? It’s a Friday night you know.”

“Because I know you Y/N. Your Friday nights are usually spent at home watching some show until you can’t stay up any longer.”

A grimace finds its way onto your face, what an amazing life you live. “Okay when you say it outloud it makes me sound like a loser.”

His eyes had softened as the two of you made eye contact. “Nothing wrong with how you spend your Friday nights.”

You wanted to get off the topic of your nonexistent social life and onto the pressing matter at hand tonight – what had Charles so giddy? “So are you gonna tell me what is actually going on or what?”

He took a deep breath, he couldn’t believe he was finally getting to say these words out loud. “I’ve got a Formula 1 seat next year.”

A blank expression is all that is staring back at Charles and he’s worried that you’re somehow mad or upset, but that’s far from the truth. You aren’t sure if you’ve heard him right, because you think you heard him say he’s going to be racing in Formula 1 next year, but your brain has seemed to have short circuited– your heart beating a mile a minute.

You’re able to get out, “Sorry – what?!” and when you hear those words come from him once again you’re practically leaping out of the swing and into his arms. The fact that it’s nighttime and people are sleeping is the last thing on your mind as you're shouting excited nonsense at him.

His laughter filled your ears as he stood up from the swing with you still wrapped up in his arms. You just couldn’t believe it, something he had worked so hard for, dreamt about since childhood, had finally come true. If anyone was deserving of it – it was him.

“Putain de merde Charles! When did you sign and with who?” You asked once you had finally peeled yourself away from him and were able to form a coherent sentence.

“Sauber – I just signed yesterday. I know it’s not Ferrari like we had hoped-”

Your jaw dropped and you lightly smacked his arm. “Ferrari will always be there, I promise. And maybe after they see how good you do this upcoming season they’ll regret not signing you. But what I’m really wondering is why you told me you were going to do testing for one of the teams instead of telling me you were going to sign with them!”

He put his hands up in defense, but the cheesy grin on his face still remained. “I wanted to surprise you! But then as soon as I signed that contract all I wanted to do was tell you. I literally just got home from the airport when I texted you!”

The fact that Charles wanted you to be the first person he told had you melting and the butterflies in your stomach had you thinking about those unresolved feelings you had towards him. But you pushed it aside because tonight was not the night for that to be lingering in your mind.

You reached down to his hand and linked your pinky fingers together. The gesture no longer just meant for a promise, but also one of comfort and reassurance. “I do hope you know though how immensely proud I am of you. How proud your Papa would be of you. I knew from that first time you ever mentioned something about becoming a F1 driver when we were kids that you would accomplish it and now look at you.”

Charles' eyes soften at your words and when he looks into your eyes he feels that funny foreign feeling. The one that blooms in his chest and travels down to his stomach, the same feeling from last year when he held you after Lucas broke your heart. The feeling he chooses to ignore as he pulls you back into his arms, hugging you tightly, like someone might take you from him. He knows his life wouldn’t be the same without you and that he owes some of this success to you– for constantly believing in him even when he didn’t, for dreaming with him, and for being the light on even his darkest days.

“And I hope you know that I wouldn’t have made it without you. You’ve been my biggest supporter since we were kids, always believing in me, pushing me, coming to support me when you could, and I can’t imagine you not being at my first race.”

“Oh do you not remember what I said when we were younger? Think I said I’d have a permanent paddock pass, so you bet your ass I’m gonna be there.”

A small laugh escapes past his lips and his dimples are back out in full force for what seems like the millionth time tonight. “Truly Y/N. Merci, I couldn’t have done it without you. Je t'aime.”

“Je t'aime aussi Charlie.”

His pinky finger finds yours once again and when he curls his finger around yours a wave of deja vu washes over you. And that’s when you remembered the last time the two were out here together. You were still kids, but you had made him promise not to forget you once he got into Formula 1.

Now here the two of you stood, high on the exciting news of him achieving that goal. You can’t help that pit that starts to form in your stomach as you think of what you feared at age ten coming true. You try to hide it, not wanting to dampen the mood, and you know all you can do is pray that he keeps his promise.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

That following March you make the trip to Australia with the Leclerc’s and your family and it’s everything you could have ever dreamed of. Sure you had attended the Monaco Grand Prix every year, and some of Charles F2 races, but you had never been really in the thick of it like this. Maybe it was because it was Charles' first ever F1 race, but the feeling in the air was indescribable. The roar of the engines, the cheers from the crowd, it was something you could get used to experiencing.

It’s surreal to see him in the car, see him flying around the circuit like it’s nothing, because all you can imagine is eight year old Charles saying he wants to be an F1 driver when he grows up in that car. He ends up placing P13 and for his first ever F1 race you couldn't have been more proud. And you aren’t afraid to admit that you shed a few tears, honestly you think everyone shed a few tears seeing him finally accomplish that lifetime dream of his.

When you see him after the race he’s beaming like he’d won the thing and you could only imagine what he will be like when he actually wins his first race. You can practically feel the adrenaline radiating off of him when he wraps you up in his embrace.

“You did so good Charles. You did it, you made it.” Your words slightly mumbled against his shoulder, but he hears you just fine.

“I’m glad you were able to come. Wouldn’t have been as special if you didn’t.” You don’t think he’s wiped that smile off his face ever since he got out of the car and it only intensified as he spoke to you.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” And it’s true because there’s no other place you’d want to be right now.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The next time you see him is for the Monaco Grand Prix and he’s nearly shitting himself the whole week before. You would have thought this was his first ever time in a F1 car with how nervous he was. He knows these streets like the back of his hand, knows this circuit like the back of his hand, but he still spends an unnecessary amount of time on the sim, trying to perfect every little thing.

With what little amount of time you see him between practice sessions and qualifying before the actual race you try and reassure him, let him know that he’s still an amazing person and driver no matter the outcome on Sunday. And it seems to have worked because by Sunday his spirits seem to be much higher and he’s got a good feeling about the race, hoping to score some points, and maybe win his home race.

But when his brakes fail and he ends up crashing into the back of another car resulting in a DNF you’re heartbroken, but you know he’s even more upset. You know he’s going to be so hard on himself and overanalyze the whole situation, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t going to try and make things a little better.

When you find him he’s pacing back and forth in what little space he has in his drivers room. Helmet still strapped onto his head and his race suit still done up. You spot one of his gloves on the physio table and the other on the ground — evidence that he had thrown them. He’s so in his head that he doesn’t even see you standing in the doorway as he paces.

“Charlie.” Your voice is soft and you hope by using his nickname that it may calm him a little.

His movements stop when he hears your voice and when he finally sees you standing there in the doorway all he wants to do is crawl into a hole and die. What an embarrassment to have his first DNF at his first home race. It’s like the gods wanted to punish him for reasons unbestowed to him.

Your reflection stares back at you through his visor as you approach him, his shoulders relaxing slightly as your hands find their home on them. You finally work up the courage to flip up his visor so you can actually look at him and when you see red puffy eyes staring back at you your heart breaks a little more.

“Let’s get this helmet off, yeah?”

With a small nod given from him as permission you reach your hands up to undo the strap. You’re trying to be delicate with your actions, but when it comes to taking off his helmet there really isn’t a way to be nice about it. And Charles knows because he’s got his hands over yours, aiding you in taking it off.

You couldn’t help but stare at him as he practically tore off his balaclava and threw it haphazardly somewhere in the room. As silly as it seemed, the indentions that it left behind on his face somehow made him more attractive. Combine that with his hair being a tousled mess and his skin glistening from the sweat (and tears) and post race Charles may be your favorite Charles. You watched even more intently as he unzipped his race suit, letting the upper half fall at his hips, exposing the tight fireproofs that you loved more than you should.

Those unresolved feelings that you’ve tried to shove deep down for years had seemed to be crawling their way back up recently. But for today you pushed them back down because you were here to comfort Charles, not ogle at him, no matter how good he looked at the moment.

He sat down on his physio table with a defeated sigh, hand running through his already messy hair. “I’ve let everyone down – the team, my family, myself, you. Maybe if I wouldn’t have braked too hard at turn seven or didn’t push as hard in the tunnel-”

You moved to stand in between his legs, your hands resting on his shoulders. He was on the edge of spiraling and you knew if you didn’t take him back from that ledge he’d be in his head about it for weeks.

“Charles. There was nothing that you could have done differently, it was an issue with the car. Which means it had nothing to do with you as a person, as a driver, or your talent.” Your hand subconsciously searches for his, and like it’s muscle memory your pinkies link seconds later. “I promise.”

“A ‘once in a generation driver’ would have avoided crashing.”

Ugh. The phrases that the media used to describe Charles were – yes very flattering, but they came at a price. He took them personally and the idea of being anything less than what they claimed him to be took a serious mental toll on him.

“You had no brakes Charles. What were you supposed to do? Bust your feet through the floor and Fred Flintstone it?” You could see the corners of his mouth turn up slightly at your comment and you knew he was backing away from the edge. His hands find their way around your waist and he’s pulling you into him, your head finding a home on his shoulder.

“I’m still immensely proud of you. Hell, you could finish dead last in every race and I’d still be your number one fan.” This time there is an actual smile that washes across Charles face, but you don’t get to see it, your head is still resting on his shoulder. “ And I know it’s easier said than done, but please try not to be so hard on yourself, especially when it comes to things out of your control.”

“What would I do without you?” It’s a serious question that Charles asks himself often. You’ve been each other's rocks for twelve years now. Through the amazing times and the horrible times. No one knows either of you like you do each other.

You’ve pulled away from his embrace now, your eyes staring back at his. “Hmmm. I don’t know. You’d probably be absolutely miserable without me.”

And when you finally see that pretty smile of his, dimples and all, you know you’ve accomplished your mission.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Although after Monaco– things changed.

The first thing and probably the most inevitable was Charles moving out. Honestly, you were surprised he hadn’t done it sooner, but in between the Monaco GP and Canadian GP he moved into his own place. Which in theory wasn’t a big deal, but that meant he wasn’t just right down the street from you anymore. He had gotten an apartment further into the city, which in Monaco that’s not that far, but you knew it would make a difference.

The days of popping into his house and expecting him to be there were long gone. The whole thing really shouldn’t have been such a big deal to you, but you couldn’t help but think that him moving out was only going to aid in your worries of him forgetting about you to come true.

After Monaco your communication with Charles started to slowly lessen.Texts that once were answered in minutes now went hours without an answer or sometimes no response at all. You blamed it on his busy schedule, trying not to think too much about it. But much to your dismay, your worries do come true.

It’s inevitable to you that you are drifting apart when you realize it’s been three months since you’ve seen him, almost a month since you’ve talked to him. And when you see him make it official with some girl you hadn’t even heard mention of after the British GP you feel like it’s just another nail in the coffin.

You don’t even make the effort to reach out anymore, in fact you make sure not to after seeing that he’s got a new girlfriend. You’d just be wasting your time and energy. And it may seem like you're giving up on keeping Charles in your life, but really what else could you do? It truly hurts like hell to see the person you care about the most not seem to care about you, but you can’t force someone to talk to you or see you.

He’s living his dream, traveling the world, partying, surrounded by stunning women. You’re still in school, still only seventeen, and not sure what you want your life to look like. It was inevitable really, for the two of you to drift apart, but that little part of you that ten year old you still holds on to, hopes that Charles remembers that promise he made and eventually comes to his senses. Because you know and you know he knows that you two are always going to have that special bond, the ring on your finger a constant reminder of it. And you wonder if he still wears his, but you don’t hold on to much hope that he does.

Even though Charles and you aren’t exactly the closest at the moment you do want to try and attend another race before you start your final year of school and are forced to give that all of your attention. So when Arthur texts you asking if you want to go to Monza with Pascale and him you don’t pass up the opportunity.

Arthur filled you in on stuff regarding Charles during the flight, not that you asked, but he knew the two of you hadn’t really been talking. And you don’t mean to ask about his girlfriend, but you do, and you can see Arthur tip-toeing around his words. “She’s… nice. I’ve only met her once so I really couldn’t tell you much. You haven’t met her yet though, right?”

You shook your head at him. “I haven’t even seen Charles since the home race. So no, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her.”

“Merde. I didn’t think it had been that long.”

What Arthur doesn’t tell you is that Charles doesn’t know their Mom and him are coming, not to mention you. You only figure it out when Arthur says something about making sure Charles doesn’t know to the Sauber team member who gives him three VIP passes. Arthur claims you guys are here to surprise Charles, give him a little pick me up after his last two races were DNF’s.

The idea of seeing Charles again after so long already had your stomach in knots, but now knowing he doesn’t even know you’re coming makes it even worse. You were under the impression that he knew you were tagging along with Arthur. And everyone knows Charles is horrible at hiding his emotions, what if he sees you and can’t hide the fact that he doesn’t want you here? A million possibilities ran through your brain as Arthur dragged you towards the Sauber garage, while Pascale went to hospitality.

Qualifying had just started and you were thankful for the extra time to mentally prepare yourself to see Charles again. With the way you were acting you would have thought you hadn’t seen him in years, but truthfully these three months had felt like years.

The roar of engines were slightly muffled as you put on a headset, eyes focused on the monitor in front of you. Even with your nerves through the roof, it felt good to be back at a race. The atmosphere was intoxicating, you loved the hustle and bustle of it all, the adrenaline you got from just being here was crazy.

You were so engrossed in watching Charles that you didn’t even notice someone come up behind Arthur and you until you felt him tap your shoulder. When you turn around the person standing there is the last person you expected to be seeing.

Leah— Charles' girlfriend.

Her lips are moving, but you aren’t hearing a word, and that’s when you realize you’ve still got your headset on. You quickly pull them down around your neck just in time to hear her say. “You must be Y/N?” You're shocked she knows who you are and from the look on your face she knows exactly what you’re thinking. “Charles has mentioned you before. It’s nice to finally meet you!”

It’s sad to say that you had a hard time believing that Charles talked about you to her, but you put on a fake smile and accepted her invitation for a hug. “It’s nice to meet you too!” While Arthur and her spoke you tried to get a good read on her, but it was hard to tell if she was naturally this friendly or if it was all just an act.

Time slipped away as the three of you chatted and you hadn’t realized Q1 was over and that Charles hadn’t made it into Q2 until you saw Leah’s eyes widened at something behind you. That something turned out to be someone and that someone turned out to be Charles. Leah’s practically hanging off of him while she’s trying to take a million photos and videos. And that’s when you know why Arthur tiptoed around his words about her earlier. Yes she was ‘nice’, but she was clearly using Charles for her own benefit.

Charles on the other hand was oblivious to Leah shoving her phone in his face. His vision had zeroed in on you from the moment he entered the garage, even with your back turned to him he could spot you in a crowd of hundreds. When you finally turned around he felt like his feet had been cemented to the ground. His body felt hot, like a fever was running through his veins, and it wasn’t from being in the car moments ago.

Arthur wasn’t supposed to be here and you weren’t either– especially talking to his girlfriend. It throws him for a loop and he can’t seem to get his brain and mouth to work together to even greet you, so he stands there while Leah makes sure everyone knows she’s dating a Formula 1 driver.

The tight lipped smile you throw his direction doesn’t help how he’s feeling. You should be beaming at him, in his personal space (preferably in his arms), laughing at something dumb he said, anything other than how you were right now. And he knows it's no fault but his own, but it still hurts to see you stand there and act like you don’t like him, like you haven’t known each other for twelve years.

Charles could blame his absence in your life on his career, but that wasn’t the whole truth.

He had seen your texts and truthfully sometimes he was so busy that he would forget to text you back. But those times when he could give you his full attention over text or the occasional facetime were times he never took for granted. He loved hearing your laughter, seeing your smile, or even just having you send him a text about your day. But with those things he loved so dearly came that funny feeling in his chest.

The same feeling that he first felt last year when Lucas broke up with you, the night he told you he made it into F1, at his home race, and sprinkled in occasionally at other times. He had realized what it was not too long after the Monaco GP and at first he denied it, he thought there was no way it was possible. But then when that feeling would happen just from getting a text from you he knew he was fucked. He wasn’t even going to say the word out loud, not even think it, afraid of what might come if he even allowed the universe the satisfaction of him accepting what he was feeling. You were supposed to be his best friend and not someone he had feelings for.

So what did he do to combat this insane revelation he had found out about himself?

Distance himself.

If he wasn’t in contact with you or seeing you, then surely this silly little thing, that he once again would not acknowledge by its government name, would go away. Plus his ever so busy career was the perfect excuse for him to use in case his Mother or you questioned him.

And at first it wasn’t hard at all, he had gradually weaned himself off from facetiming you and then texting. And it wasn’t that bad because he had racing and training and media duties and parties– all the stuff that his life involved now to distract him. But then your texts became less and less and then on one off week he realized just how badly he missed having your stupid contact photo pop up on his phone and how he may have fucked everything up.

But then he met Leah through another driver’s girlfriend and he had her to distract him even more. He knew what kind of person she was from the get go, but he was basically using her too, so if she wanted to make her whole instagram about him then so be it as long as his brain was free of that thing that must not be named about you. And Leah worked for awhile, she was relatively nice and it helped that she was pretty, but she wasn’t you.

There was no real connection between them and sometimes Charles would rather watch paint dry than have a conversation with her. And most of the time he just let her sit there and talk while he scrolled on his phone, trying not to act like his heart didn’t skip a beat when a post of yours would pop up on Instagram.

He wanted to contact you so badly, but what was he supposed to say? Hey, I've been so busy that I haven't even picked up my phone to text you hi.

He knew he had caused some damage to your relationship when his Mom asked why he wasn’t coming home to see you anymore and that you weren’t yourself. He feels like shit about it, the idea of him making you upset is practically nightmare fuel for Charles and he doesn’t know why he thought distancing himself would make things better, they had just made things worse. Made him miss you even more without even realizing it.

Clearly Charles had never heard the saying distance makes the heart grow fonder because if he had then maybe he wouldn’t have been stood there like a fool in the Sauber garage right now. Heart racing faster than the car he just got out of at the sight of you standing here in front of him for the first time in three months.

What the hell was happening to him? What was this sudden effect you had on him? Had it always been there and he hadn’t realized it until now? He couldn’t think straight – it was clearly not a good idea to have tried to ignore these realizations (feelings) he had about you. A bad idea to not see you for months because now that you are here everything is rushing back up to the surface 10x worse than before.

“Long time no see stranger.” Your voice brings him back to reality, but your closer proximity has him searching for an out. His head glancing in every direction for someone– his race engineer, one of the mechanics, Leah, anybody to distract him from you.

When his search comes up short he resorts to making his stomach hurt even more by talking to you.

“Yeah. How have you been?” God. Did he not even know how to talk to you anymore? Small talk with someone you know better than yourself had to be a torture method used by government agencies.

“I’ve been good.” Lie, but he didn’t need to know that. “I see you’ve been living it up since I saw you last.”

You were expecting a little awkwardness between the two of you, but the way Charles was acting was insane, it was like it was your first time meeting or something. He couldn’t maintain eye contact to save his life and honestly looked like he’d rather be someplace else at the moment. Your fear of him not wanting you here was clearly not a silly worry, it was reality.

“Um yeah. Always busy doing something recently.”

You’ve been fidgeting with the ring on your pinky finger the whole time and your movements catch Charles' gaze. His eyes immediately locking in on the silver ring still shining on your finger. He’s surprised after the way he’s treated you these past couple months that you still have it on, but yet here you stood in front of him with it on, a sign to Charles that he did not deserve you one bit.

When he sees you realize that he’s staring at your ring and then sees your eyes shift to his naked finger his heart rate quickens once again. His stomach feels like it's about ready to drop out of his ass at the sight of hurt on your face that’s then quickly replaced by a blank stare. He can’t get his words out fast enough, he’s chewing on his words, mouth drier than the Sahara desert.

“I-um-It’s in my-”

“It’s fine Charles, really. We’re not little kids anymore. I shouldn’t be holding on to silly childhood promises.” It wasn’t fine, it was far from fine. You’re blinking back tears, your words referencing everything but the ring. But it’s a combination of everything that’s got you upset. The two of you drifting apart, the broken childhood promises, wanting to hate him right now but still being so proud to see him out there doing what he loves, and that damn ring.

You felt stupid for still having it on, for thinking that he would still have his on. You needed to start being more realistic, but you were still only seventeen. An age that held so much fun and whimsy, you should be out having fun with your friends, not getting upset over a guy who clearly didn’t feel the same about you. The two of you were always going to be at two different times in your lives, it was never going to work out, but fuck there is always going to be apart of you that still holds onto him. He’s got his fingers dug so deep into you that you think you'll be old and gray and still wonder what could have been.

Each word you spoke felt like a stab to Charles' heart. He wanted to tell you that he still wears his ring. That it’s sitting on its designated spot in his driver's room. But once again he can’t get his words out fast enough, his brain still hung up on your words for some reason. He’s hoping you would realize that the reason he doesn’t have it on was because he had just been in qualifying, but when he sees you slide your ring off and toss it in your bag those stabs to the heart intensify. He feels like he’s losing everything right in front of him, but he can’t seem to get his mind and body to work together to stop it.

He feels an arm wrap around his and he knows it's Leah. Where was she moments ago when he was looking for an out? Maybe this situation could have been avoided and Charles wouldn’t feel like he had just lost the one person in his life who truly cared about him.

“Good luck tomorrow Charles.”

You don’t feel like sticking around any longer, especially if you have to look at Charles and Leah. You let Arthur know you're gonna go find Pascale, but you don’t leave without taking one last glance at Charles.

It’s a long evening with Arthur’s prying questions about what's going on between his brother and you. All you can do is shrug your shoulders because really you don’t actually know what happened yourself, you assumed you drifted apart, but was there something else that happened that you didn’t know about?

The next day you decide to watch the race from Sauber’s hospitality with Pascale, hoping to get away from Arthur’s never ending questions and Leah’s presence in general. Pascale luckily hadn’t pressed you on the Charles matter, but she’s practically your second Mother and she knows too that there’s something going on between Charles and you, she’s known from the beginning.

Charles ended up placing eleventh, which is miles better than his last two races, which were DNFs. Though you don’t even bother to go to the garage with Pascale, opting to stay in hospitality until it’s time to leave. It may have been petty of you, but you really weren’t in the mood to see Charles again and from his behavior yesterday he clearly doesn’t care that you're not there.

But that was far from the truth. In fact Charles was praying that you would show up in the garage this morning, but when Arthur shows up solo he can’t hide the frown that forms on his face. The praying then moves onto seeing you post race, but that is quickly diminished when his Mother shows up without you in tow either.

Your words from yesterday hung heavy in Charles' mind all last night. I shouldn’t be holding onto silly childhood promises bothered him more than it should have. And he wracked his brain trying to figure out what you could have been referencing. It wasn’t until he was almost asleep that he remembered a certain promise that the two of you made at ten and thirteen. Sleep was the last thing on his mind as he laid there wide awake staring at the ceiling recalling the memory in his mind.

He was such a fucking asshole. He’d done the one thing you promised him not to do. Granted he never really forgot about you, you were still clearly on his mind these past three months, but to you it really did seem like he had forgotten about you. Like he had gone off and became this famous race car driver that couldn’t be bothered to text his childhood best friend.

God he had fucked up, like truly fucked up, and all he wanted to do was explain himself (without revealing you know what), apologize, and try and get back to the way things used to be. That though, was proving to be easier said than done when you wouldn’t even come around. And by the time he’s done with his post race duties you’re back at the hotel ready to head back home. Charles doesn’t think he’ll ever get the chance to redeem himself and you're left wondering why you even agreed to come in the first place.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

A week later you're at home sitting on your bed, face shoved into a math textbook trying to figure out some formula when your phone rings. Charles' contact photo pops up on your phone and you contemplate not answering it. You haven’t had any contact with him since Monza so you wonder why he’s decided to call you of all things on a random Monday. But against your better judgment you press answer and put it on speaker before tossing it back down on your bed.

“Bonjour?”

There’s muffled sounds in the background, but Charles hasn’t spoken a word, and you wonder if he accidentally butt dialed you.

“Y/N.” His voice finally echos through the speaker and you hate the way your heart flutters at the sound of your name rolling off his tongue.

Charles had been working himself up to call you for hours, his finger hovering over your contact too many times to count. He thinks he may have blacked out a little when he finally pressed his thumb down on the screen and then heard your sweet voice, hence his delayed response. Today was his last chance to tell you the big news he'd hoped to tell you last week in Monza, but that clearly didn’t work out.

The big news in question? Him finally signing with Ferrari.

The team that he had dreamt of driving for once he got into F1 had finally given him a chance. It was not only his dream, but his Father’s dream for Charles too. Many weekends with his Father spent at race tracks had all led up to him getting that initial seat this year and then finally getting that Ferrari seat for next year, he only wished his Father could be here to witness it. Charles couldn’t have been more happy to finally accomplish that dream not only for himself, but also his Father.

The other person who knew about how badly he wanted to be sporting that Ferrari red and supported him in finally reaching that goal was you. And to Charles it didn’t matter if you guys perhaps weren’t exactly on the best of terms right now, he wanted you to be the first person he told, just like last year when he got into F1. He sure as hell didn’t want you to find out from the press release, so here he was telling you over the phone.

“Oui?”

“I’ve done it. I’m driving for Ferrari next year.” It feels good to say it outloud, especially to you because you know just how much it means to him.

There’s silence from your end for some time and Charles checks to make sure you hadn’t hung up on him, but the call time is still going. He’s about ready to say your name when he hears sniffles echo through the speaker.

“Are you crying?” He’s worried he’s somehow done something once again to make you upset.

You are in fact crying, as much as you hate it. It’s a mixture of happy and sad tears that you're desperately trying to wipe away like he can see you. Happy tears for him finally signing with Ferrari, a goal that you knew he would accomplish with no issue. Sad tears because you wished he was here telling you in person, wished that things were like they used to be, wished that you never developed feelings for him, and wished that whatever that situation was in Monza last week had never happened.

“I’m just really happy for you Charlie.” His heart skipped a beat hearing you call him Charlie, it had been too long since you’d graced him with that nickname for his liking. “I told you Ferrari would see what they had missed out on and come running.”

A smile tugged at his lips as he recalled that night on the swings when he told you about him getting into F1. “I wanted you to be the first person to know.” You can’t ignore the butterflies that form in your stomach at the thought of him thinking about you, wanting you to be the first to know, but you’re still crying, your emotions all over the place.

When silence fills the line and he still hears your sniffles, he knows it’s not just happy tears you’re crying. It was time to face the elephant over the phone.

“Listen I know things have been weird between us these past couple months and,” He paused, trying to choose his words carefully. “I know it’s my fault. I broke that promise I made you and I hate myself for it everyday.” The idea of him distancing himself from you was the dumbest idea he’s ever had. He wasn’t better off without you, he was better with you. His feelings towards you aside, he’d rather die than not have you in his life.

“I got so caught up in this new lifestyle and I lost myself for a while.” Maybe he shouldn’t be lying to you, but he wasn’t about ready to admit you know what. He’d already fucked up enough, he didn’t need to go spilling his guts and fuck everything up even more.

“And then in Monza I was shocked to see you there and I felt like an ass for forgetting about you and I was trying to figure out what to say, but you were clearly upset and it was honestly just a mess.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “Basically what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry for being a dick and that I really miss you.”

His thumb toyed with the ring on his finger as he waited for your response and he remembered you still didn’t know he still wore his. “I also still wear my ring. I just hadn’t gotten the chance to put it back on after qualifying last week.” His gaze never broke from the ring as he spoke. “I don’t like that you think I would ever stop wearing it. Gonna wear it till the grave Y/N.”

His last sentence was mumbled, but you heard him loud and clear. Your gaze shifted towards your dresser where the silver ring had sat for the past week. Perhaps you had jumped the gun with your actions last week, you knew he had to take off his jewelry when he got into the car, but in the moment your emotions were telling you otherwise. “You made me feel like shit Charles. It’s a horrible feeling to see someone exiting your life in real time and knowing you really can’t do anything about it.”

“I know and I’m so sorry.” He runs his hand through his hair in frustration, and he thinks he’s done it so many times that he might have a bald spot by morning.

You feel like you’re forgiving him too easily, but you’ve missed him so much. And to hear him finally admit that he fucked up and say that he missed you too has you unfortunately very easily swayed. He’s been in your life for so long it’s felt like a piece of you was missing these past couple months without having contact with him. So, you forgive him, because you love him.

“I want things to go back to normal, like before.” You’re standing in front of your dresser now, ring rolling between your fingers.

“They will.” He glanced back down at his ring. “I promise.”

“You promise?” You asked as you slid the ring back on your finger, a missing part of now you back in its rightful place.

“I promise.”

twenty two and twenty five

Over the past four years Charles and you had matured significantly.

You had graduated and landed a job that you loved at home in Monaco. It required you to travel a lot, which you loved, but also came with amazing off time and flexible hours. A perk you were beyond grateful for because that meant you could attend the majority of Charles races. You had also gotten your own place, a cute little apartment, and was truly embracing adulthood.

When it came to the love department though– Charles was still there.

Over the four years you had your share of talking stages and two boyfriends who both only lasted a couple months. Your hectic work schedule didn’t help matters, but neither did your feelings towards Charles that you’ve been harboring for the past eight years. You really would have thought you’d have gotten over those, figured it was a thing of adolescents, but your twenties came and the feelings never went. It wasn’t as bad as when you were younger, you learned to handle yourself better and your job keeping you busy helped that. The two of you were at a good place in your relationship and you came to terms that unless you were a big girl and confessed your feelings to him, then you were just going to have to live with him at arms distance.

Like you when it came to romantic relationships– you were still Charles number one, as much as he tried to make it work with other girls, they just weren’t you. He had thought multiple times over the years that he was going to tell you how he felt, but you were either talking to someone or had a boyfriend, the timing never right. So he learned, like you, to live with his feelings towards you. A thing that was necessary if he didn’t want a repeat of what happened when he tried to distance himself from you.

So here the two of you were– adults who were completely oblivious to how either of you felt about each other for years, hopelessly pining over each other.

Charles' career on the other hand was more of a success story than his love life. In the past four years he had accomplished his Maiden win in Belgium during his first year with Ferrari and then his second the next week in Italy. Then went on to win three more races during this year's season.

A season with three wins may sound like a great accomplishment, but the thing was that he should have had more than three. To say that Charles' fourth season with Ferrari was stressful was an understatement for the ages. He had never been more happy for winter break to arrive than he was this year. He had started the season out on a high by winning the first race of the season, but life somehow had a way of humbling him.

Horrible strategy calls from the team, bad pit stops, and car troubles had cost Charles his chance at the championship. It seemed like for every high he had– five lows followed. So needless to say when he saw the checkered flag at Abu Dhabi he was somewhat relieved that the season was over and perhaps making the podium may have lifted his spirits a little too.

But that relief was short lived, because in true Charles fashion, he can’t get out of his head about the what ifs from the season. He had wanted to just let it go, leave it behind him and look forward to this time off and the new season ahead. But all his brain wanted to think about was maybe if we would have gone with softs instead of hards or pitted one lap earlier or managed his tires better then maybe he would have been still coming down from the high of winning the championship right now instead of sulking about.

He’d been a little distant since break started and you knew he was probably in his head about everything. So when a text pops up on your phone from him late one evening telling you to meet him at the harbor you don’t even think twice about telling him you’ll be there in ten. If you had to guess what he had planned, you’d bet all your money on taking his yacht out to look at the stars. It was something the two of you had done for a couple years now, but it was usually over summer break, not the week before Christmas. But for Charles you would do anything, even brave going out on the water, at night, during the winter.

When Charles see’s you walk up to his slip on the dock wearing what looks to be the coziest outfit and holding his favorite blanket from your apartment he thinks his heart is about ready to explode. “You’re lucky I love you Charles. It’s gonna be so cold out on the water.”

I love you. The words echo in his mind as he helps you into the boat. It’s nothing new for you two to say it to each other, and he’s under the impression you’re saying it platonically, but god does it sound so heavenly to hear those three little words come out of your mouth and be directed towards him.

“I’m the luckiest man alive.” He’s referring to you and that glimmer in his eye would tell anyone that he was, but you don’t see it, you’re too busy getting situated in your designated spot next to the captain's seat.

Once he’s got the boat a good enough distance out into the water he deploys the anchor and you make your way out to the loungers on the deck. You push two of them together, making a big enough space for both you and Charles to relax.

You’re already cozied up with the blanket by the time he makes his way over to you, but he doesn’t even have to ask, you’re already pulling back the blanket for him to slide under.

He lets out a sigh once he gets comfortable beside you. “I needed this.”

A hum in agreement comes from you as you scoot a little closer to Charles, a gust of cold wind blowing through the air.

“There’s the big dipper.” Charles points his finger up to the sky, your eyes following where he’s pointing to. The two of you take turns pointing out what you think are constellations, but are undoubtedly random stars in made up shapes, but it doesn’t matter to either of you.

The gentle lull of the waves crashing against the boat fills the silence that falls between the two of you once you’ve run out of things to point out. And you’ve somehow ended up cuddled into Charles' side, his arm wrapped around you, and your head on his chest. You couldn’t help it, he’s always been a walking furnace, and when the opportunity presents itself to be in his arms you were gonna take it.

It was something that was happening more and more with you two recently– pushing the envelope per say on what your friendship entailed. Cuddling, staying the night at each other's apartments, hands lingering a little too long after a hug were all normal things for friends to do– right? Friends who somehow while doing these things couldn’t tell that the other person felt the same as they did.

Love may be blind, but in Charles and your’s case, you were blind to love.

You don’t know how long you’ve been out here, but you think you could spend eternity out here with him. The feeling of comfort, safety, and the feeling of home that he brings you when he’s around is something you don’t think you can ever live without again. He’s your person and you hope you're his, no matter what the future for the two of you entails.

The feeling of his fingers ghosting across your arm and down towards your hand tells you he’s searching for one thing and when his pinky finger links with yours you know he’s got something on his pretty little mind.

“You wanna talk about it?” You whisper, your head still resting on his solid chest.

He doesn’t respond for a while and you think he perhaps didn’t hear you, but then he speaks and it sounds like blasphemy coming out of his mouth.

“What if I quit?”

Your body freezes at his words and you’re hoping he’s not meaning what you think, but when you lift your head to see nothing close to a joking manner on his face you know this is about to get serious.

“I’d think you’d be miserable. You love racing, you were born to do it, it’s in your blood Charles. All the hard work you’ve put in from a literal child to now–” You shake your head, not even wanting to think about him quitting racing. “Don’t be stupid and throw it all away. You’re just only getting started.”

A deep sigh comes from him, his eyes fixated on your now intertwined hands as he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. “I’m not going to, but there were so many times this past season that I thought about it. I know that’s crazy to say after I won three times, but god the lows of racing truly are lows. I’d have a good weekend and then have literally a weekend from hell the next race week. It’s just a lot– mentally. Trying to live up to everyone’s expectations, the teams, the fans, the media, and my own is like a mental prison sometimes.”

You had sat up at this point, and almost like a small child Charles had clung to you, his head in your lap as you gently ran your fingers through hair. You knew he had a rough season, but you didn’t think it had taken this much of a toll on him.

“And you’re right. I love racing and I’d be miserable without it, but sometimes I’m miserable with it.”

The frown that had formed on your face moments ago had deepened at his confession. “I didn’t know the season had affected you this much Charles. Wish you would have talked to me sooner about it.”

“Sorry.” He mumbles.

“You have nothing to be sorry for Charlie, you’re allowed to feel how you feel. And I know you probably get sick of hearing me say it, but I’m still so immensely proud of you. Like I’ve said before, you could finish dead last in every race and I’d still be proud. I know this season was a rough one at times, but you won three times and were on the podium eleven times. That’s still something to be proud of. So for every time you're miserable because of racing, think about me telling you repeatedly how proud I am of you and maybe you’ll just be miserable because of me instead.”

You see the corners of his mouth move up and you know you’ve gotten a little smile out of him. “That’s funny that you think me hearing you say that you’re proud of me would make me miserable. It actually has the opposite effect, so your plan may work, but it would result in me being happier instead of more miserable, which is what I think we want to accomplish right?”

“Yes, I love happy Charlie, but I still love miserable Charlie too.”

He’s sat up, the two of you sitting face to face now, and you aren’t sure if it's the cool breeze or him staring at you that makes a shiver run up your spine. “That’s good to know.”

He’s still staring at you and even with only the moon as your source of light, those pretty blue eyes of his are as bright as ever, and staring into your soul. And for a split second you think he’s leaning in and you think this might be the moment he’s gonna kiss you, the moment you’ve been waiting for since you were thirteen. But you’re completely wrong, he’s only reaching for the blanket as he leans back onto the lounger once more.

“Merci Y/N, truly. For always being here for me, especially for tonight. It was nice to finally get that off my chest. Je t’aime.’

You claim your spot back next to Charles and you don’t even second guess yourself when you lay your head back on his chest. “Je t’aime aussi Charlie.”

Charles, while he can’t complain about having you in his arms and your head on his chest. He can kick himself for that moment mere seconds ago. He was finally going to do it, it was the perfect time, but he chickened out and reached for the blanket instead of using that hand to cup your cheek. He could drive a race car at 230 mph, but couldn’t work up the courage to kiss the girl he was in love with. Maybe he’d find the courage sometime in the next four years. But for now he could live with having you cuddled up against him and knowing that even if it may be platonic, you love him too.

twenty three and twenty six

The Monaco Grand Prix.

An world renowned event. A pinnacle for motorsports. People from all around the world come to the tiny principality every year to watch twenty of the world's best drivers race around the streets of Monaco.

As a child you watched the grandstands go up every year and you dreamed of getting to watch Charles race those very same streets that you took to school. The two of you as kids watching from the crowd, not knowing that some of those drivers Charles would drive alongside one day, even being teammates with some of them. Charles could only hope that one day that would be him on that top step, hearing his own national anthem play at his home race.

That one day had yet to happen after six seasons in F1. After three DNF’s, horrible strategy, and two lost pole positions– Charles really didn’t think winning his home race was ever going to happen. He had started to believe the “Monaco curse” more and more year after year.

You on the other hand didn’t believe that the curse existed. You did believe that the idea of one had made Charles be more in his head when the race came around every year, and in a sense perhaps making him not perform the best at times. But no, you didn’t believe in the Monaco curse.

Every year you had hoped he would win and sadly when he didn’t you were there to pick up the pieces. You knew his time would come and granted you didn’t think it would take this long. But the universe works in mysterious ways, there’s a reason for everything, and you knew there was a reason Charles hadn’t won yet.

And as this year's grand prix rolled around you hoped that this time the universe was ready to give him what he deserved.

You did have a good feeling about the race this year, or at least a better feeling than prior years. It was mainly because Charles had been so– carefree these past couple days. He’s usually already thinking about Monaco at the race the week before and the nerves have set in come media day, but this year he’s different.

He’s excited of course, to be at home for the week and to see everyone for more than a couple days, but during the days leading up to media day he doesn’t show you any sign of nervousness or doubt. And you can’t help but think that this year is the year, he seems to finally be in the right headspace to win this thing.

Charles and you had spent basically every free moment the two of you had together this week. It was nice, the two of you together again like old times. You had gotten the week off from work, a perk from your job, and it wasn’t like Charles had to travel to another country. So, the two of you took full advantage of the week. Dinner with both families together, hanging out with friends, and just enjoying each other's company filled your Monday through Wednesday.

But come Wednesday evening you found yourself at Charles apartment after a long day on the water with all your mutual friends. You’re absolutely beat and ready to be back at your place when Charles asks you to come back to his, and you want to say no, but the way he looks in golden hour could be used as a hypnotization technique, so you say yes.

He claims he’s got something to show you, but the whole car ride and trek into his apartment he won’t budge on telling you what it is. It isn’t until he sits down at his piano with a blush creeping up his neck that you know what he’s got to show you.

“Have you been working on new music?” You ask with a hopeful smile on your face.

His fingers ghosted over the keys and his pinky lightly tapped one– the sound filling the room. “For a while now and I think it’s finally ready.” The blush had made its way onto his cheeks and he’s fidgeting with his bracelets as he makes eye contact with you. “So, I think it’s only right that the person that it’s for should get to hear it first.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and now you’ve both got crimson painted cheeks. “You wrote a song for me?!”

“Yeah.” He states sheepishly.

You’ve always loved hearing Charles play the piano. There were many late nights spent where you sat in his apartment and just listened to him mess around on the piano. Those nights were shamelessly some of your favorite moments with Charles, it was like the world didn’t exist and it was just you two and the piano. So to know that he thought and even cared enough about you to write you something had your heart about ready to leap out of your chest.

“Well, let's hear it then.” You sat down on your usual spot on the couch and eagerly waited for the music to hit your ears.

He hesitates at first, his fingers slightly slipping on the keys, but once he gets himself sorted the sound that comes from that piano nearly brings tears to your eyes. It’s beautiful and heartfelt and you can’t believe he wrote something like this while he was thinking of you. It’s tugging at those feelings you’ve still got for him after ten years and you try not to get your hopes up that this means he feels the same as you.

When the song is over his head immediately turns to you for reassurance, but all he sees is your body barreling towards him. You’ve got your arms around him before he can even process what’s happening, but from your excited words of nonsense he knows you loved it.

“Oh mon dieu!” Is the first coherent thing you’re able to get out.

“I take it you liked it?”

“Liked it? I loved it Charlie! It was beautiful and the fact that it was for me made me love it even more. Truly what did I ever do to deserve someone like you in my life? Merci a million times.”

“I’m glad you loved it. I’ve been working on it for months, wanted to get it perfect in time to show you now.”

You’re both beaming at each other and to anyone from the outside looking in, the two of you looked so in love it was crazy. Crazy that the both of you have been harboring feelings for each other for years and years and neither of you have made the first move.

“Will you play me some more?” You try to give him your best puppy dog eyes and of course he can’t say no to you, puppy dog eyes or not. You give him one last hug as a thank you before you sit back down on the couch and let the melodic sounds soothe you. In fact it soothes you so much that combined with the tiredness from being on the boat all day you end up eventually falling asleep.

You don’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep until you feel Charles gently shaking you awake telling you that is time for bed. It’s not uncommon for the two of you to spend the night at one another’s places. You’ve spent many nights in Charles' guest bedroom after drunken nights out or sometimes just for fun. You’re clinging to him, still basically asleep, as he helps you walk towards what you think is the guest bedroom, but it’s his.

Charles was only going to grab your pajamas that you had left here last time, they were just in the laundry basket on his dresser and it would just take a second. But you followed him into his room still thinking it was the guest room and Charles doesn’t even know you’ve come in behind him until he turns around to see you crawling into his bed.

That all too familiar feeling starts to bloom in his chest as he sees you curled up and comfortable in his bed. He’d want nothing more than to climb in next to you and hold you all night, but he knows the guest room is his room tonight. Charles doesn’t even make it two steps before you call out his name. When he turns around he’s not expecting to see you lying there staring at him with those sleepy eyes, comforter pulled back as you pat the empty spot next to you. He knows he shouldn’t, this is different than cuddling on the couch or sharing beds as kids, it feels different at least. But against his better judgment he climbs in next to you and like he’s your missing puzzle piece you instantly slide into Charles arms.

It’s like home, being in each other’s embrace.

The next morning when you wake up in Charles' room it takes you a minute to remember everything, but the blush that creeps onto your face at the memory of you and Charles cuddling in his bed is embarrassingly bad. And you thank god Charles isn’t next to you right now to see it.

You do wonder where he’s gone though. He’s not in the living room or kitchen, and it’s still too early for him to have left for media day, but then you hear complaining coming from the bathroom.

“Maman! No, that's going to be too short!”

As you peek around the door frame you find Pascale cutting Charles' hair, a tradition the two of them have had every year before the Monaco GP.

“Charles last time I checked you’re not a hair stylist, let your Maman do her job.” You teased as you finally entered the bathroom and you see him roll his eyes at you in the mirror.

Pascale lights up at the sight of you and leans over to give you a quick kiss on the cheek. “Mon amour, you’re here early.” The look on her face tells you she knows you spent the night, but it’s not like it’s something new or anything happened. Hell even if she didn’t know she could definitely tell you had just rolled out of bed.

“I spent the night. Fell asleep after we were out on the boat all day.” You shrugged your shoulders, it truly was no big deal (you sleeping in his bed and cuddling with him aside).

She doesn’t say anything, but she does nothing to hide the smile on her face and sly looks she gives you and Charles the whole time she’s cutting his hair. She’s been waiting for the prophecy to fulfill itself forever and that prophecy just so happens to be Charles and you ending up together. Call it Mother’s intuition, but she’s known you two were made for eachother since you were kids. If you didn’t end up together soon she was going to have to do her own plotting to get you two to fess up about your feelings.

Pascale can see how you two look at each other, how Charles’ eyes light up when you enter the room. How you’ve always been his soft spot since you were little kids. The way you speak about Charles like he’d hung the stars and the moon in the sky. She knew you fell first and Charles a couple years later. All these little things she’s noticed and stored away for that eventual wedding day.

You can see Charles staring at you through the mirror and it’s making you squirm, his eyes burning into you. “You gonna get rid of that facial hair too?” You try to get him to focus on anything other than you at the moment.

His mouth opens in fake shock and Pascale curses him for moving. “I’m actually thinking of growing a full beard.”

“Oh please don’t.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘’t.”

Charles and you don’t speak about you spending the night in his bed or in his arms. In fact you don’t see him again until qualifying on Saturday where he puts it on pole. You’re ecstatic and you can tell he is too even though he’s trying to remain calm and collected while he does his press duties. He’s gotten pole two times before in Monaco, he knows pole doesn’t mean you win, but he can’t help but think it’s a good sign.

That night you find yourself back at Charles' apartment by his request once again. Which was a surprise, you figured he’d want to be alone the night before the big race. But it’s quite the opposite, he wanted your company, he can’t get how good it felt to have you in his arms in his bed the other night and he selfishly hopes it happens again tonight.

“Feeling good about tomorrow?” You asked as the two of you sat down for an amazing pre race dinner of pizza. His trainer may not like it, but you two thought it was a good idea. He needed all the positive energy he could get and if that meant pizza for dinner, then so be it.

“Yeah. The car has been consistent the past two days and I’ve got pole.” He paused for a moment and you can tell he wants to say something, but he stuffs his mouth with pizza instead. You don’t press the matter anymore, figuring he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, didn’t want to possibly jinx anything. It’s a relatively quiet dinner the rest of the time, he asks about how your job is going and you two shamelessly gossip for a moment about two old friends who recently broke up.

It’s not until you’re putting the leftover pizza into the fridge that he brings up tomorrow again.

“It feels right this time.” He’s leaning against the counter, eyes trained on you as you turn back around to face him. “I mean tomorrow– it feels right. I think it’s gonna happen.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you move to lean against the counter next to him. “I think so too. You’ve been different too, more relaxed this week. Think it might be the universe telling us it’s finally gonna happen?”

A deep sigh comes from Charles. “Mon dieu I hope so.”

You glance over at the time on the microwave– 11:00 p.m. Shit. You didn’t think it was that late already.

“It’s getting late Charles. You should be in bed and I should be heading home. It’s a big day tomorrow.” You go to give him a hug goodbye, but he’s just staring at you, and it throws you for a loop. “What’s wrong?”

He swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Was he sure he wanted to ask you this? Would it make things weird? It never has before when he’s asked you, but this time felt different. Fuck his palms were drenched in sweat and he could feel his heart beat racing.

“Um– well you could just spend the night if you wanted to”

You try not to act like you weren’t silently hoping the whole night that he’d ask you to stay. You had figured he wouldn’t want you to again after you basically invaded his bed the other night, so hearing him tell you to stay made you a little giddy.

“Traffic is a nightmare this time of year…” You act like you're weighing your options while you fully know you’re going to say yes. “Probably take me twice as long to get home, even at this time of night.” You fake ponder some more, really putting on a show. “Yeah I guess I’ll spend the night.”

He tries to hide the smile on his face when he hears you finally accept his offer and as much as he would like to stay up and talk some more, he really did need to be getting to bed. “Well, I probably should be in bed by now. So I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”

“Yeah. I should go to bed too.”

So you follow him down the hall towards the bedrooms. When he reaches his room he opens the door, but lingers in the doorway. You being a couple paces behind him, figured he was just waiting to tell you goodnight. But when you reach the guest room, which is across from his room, he doesn’t say anything to you. Your hand lingers above the door knob and something inside of you tells you not to open it– to turn around instead.

You’re met with his piercing blue eyes staring at you as you turn around. His gaze sometimes could be so intense, but this time you matched him. There was an obvious tension in the air, but neither of you were brave enough to be the one to break it. Then suddenly you see Charles nod his head towards his room before finally going past the doorway. He’d left the door open behind him and you knew that was just another unspoken invitation. And like a moth to a flame you followed behind him, not even second guessing your actions. You hadn’t even opened the guest bedroom door, you were a goner as soon as he asked you to spend the night.

For the second time in a week the two of you shared the same bed, not sexually, but it definitely wasn’t friendly or at least how normal friends would share a bed. But tonight he’s in your arms, your fingers lightly combing through his hair as he rests his head on your stomach. He falls asleep rather quickly, his light snores filling the room, but sleep evades you that night. Your heads a mess, you can’t help but think that Charles has to feel the same way as you, there’s just no way that he doesn’t.

What man is this intimate with someone in a non sexual way and doesn’t have the slightest bit of feelings for them? But then your heart breaks at the idea of him just stringing you along and you know you’ve got to set up some boundaries to protect yourself. Unfortunately you were never going to be the one to admit how you felt first, so unless he spills his guts, then this was the last time you’d share a bed with Charles like this.

The next morning he’s already gone and at the track by the time you wake up and when you grab your phone from the nightstand you see he’d sent you a text.

Charlie: i left early this morning and you just looked too peaceful to wake up before i left. so i’ll see you before lights out.

A sigh escaped past your lips as you tossed your phone on the bed, today was going to be a long day.

You made the journey back to your apartment to get ready and then fought the traffic again to get down to the circuit. The hustle and bustle distracts your brain from continuing your spiral session from last night, something you were grateful for. You were here to cheer on and support Charles, not go into a frenzy once again about whether or not he likes you.

A good amount of your time is spent in Ferrari’s hospitality chatting with everyone and discussing potential outcomes for the race. You don’t end up seeing Charles until the time between the drivers parade and race time. He’s in his drivers room when you find him and he’s literally the calmest you’ve ever seen him before a race.

His face lights up when he sees you and he’s immediately pulling you in for a hug. “Didn’t think you were gonna come for a second. We’ve usually seen each other by now.”

“You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Just got caught up talking to everyone and you know how our Moms get in a large group. I had to wrangle them in before they invited everyone over for dinner tonight.”

“Well I don’t plan on being home for dinner tonight. I’m going to be out celebrating.” He’s got a cheeky grin on his face as speaks.

You laughed lightly at his new found confidence. “Oh someone is sure of themself.”

He only laughs along with you, as the two of you sit down on his physio table.

The two of you chat some more about random things, like if he’s planning on going to Jimmy’z or someplace else tonight. You don’t even realize how long you’ve been talking until he gets a knock on his door letting him know it’s twenty minutes till lights out. Before you leave you stand in front of him, holding out your ring clad pinky finger and like a natural reflex Charles wraps his around yours, pulling them close to his chest.

“You’re gonna do great and when you take that top step on the podium I’m gonna be there front and center cheering you on.”

“You better be.” He’s serious, he doesn’t want to win this thing if you aren't right there alongside him.

“I promise Charlie.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You think you might pass out or throw up when the lights go out and the race finally begins. It then turns into thinking you’re going to do both when there’s a red flag not even halfway through the first lap. Your mind automatically goes straight to Charles and your stomach churns at the idea of him being hurt, screw the win, all that mattered to you was that he was okay. Thankfully he’s not involved in the crash, but the red flag lasts for what seems forever. And eventually you have to endure the start of the race again.

You’re a nervous wreck the whole race, but you think with how hard Pascale has been gripping your hand that she might be more nervous than you. It’s the longest 78 laps of your life and you’re praying he can maintain the lead, put a big enough gap between Oscar that he can just ride this race out. Lap by lap he’s holding steady but that just makes you more nervous. The knot in your stomach grows more and more as that lap number gets closer to 78.

He’s driven so well the whole time you couldn’t have been more proud. You’d been holding back tears since lap 68, but when you hear him over the radio on lap 75 say that he’s just going to bring it home you can’t help but let a couple tears fall. And by now you know the win is his. He’s got almost a nine second lead and as long as he keeps his head clear he was going to be the first one to see the checkered flag.

The feeling of seeing Charles cross the finish line and knowing he had won was indescribable. The whole Ferrari unit was going crazy, already rushing down to be there when Charles got out of the car. You’re cheering as tears run down your face, your Mom and Pascale hugging you, the two of them also in tears. It’s surreal, him finally winning, you can only imagine what he’s feeling like right now. You waste no time in heading over to get the best spot to watch the podium ceremony. You’re front and center, the metal barrier pressed up against your abdomen as more people fill the crowd behind you.

The feeling you got seeing him come out, take that top step, and proudly hold that trophy was something you wished you could feel forever. To see him wrapped up in the Monaco flag as the anthem played, the visible weight taken off of his shoulders. You were so unbelievably proud of him and so utterly in love with him. The tears just wouldn’t stop coming as you watched him shine up there. The universe had finally decided that this was his time, he was destined to win this race today.

Charles feels on top of the world as he looks down at everyone in the crowd, he can’t believe he’d finally won his home race. He’d immediately spotted you as soon as he took that top step and he could see how happy you are for him, tears streaming down your face paired with that beaming smile. His heart has never felt as full as it does right now. And as he stands there hearing his national anthem play at his home race he knows that today was meant to be. The universe put him here, put you here, for a reason. He’s tired of pretending like his life wouldn’t be better without you being his. The two of you haven’t broken eye contact for awhile, both of you grinning like fools, and he decides that now is the time.

“Je suis amoureux de vous” He mouths to you.

It takes you a moment to realize what he was saying, but when you do you think you’re dreaming. There’s no way he just admitted to being in love with you right here, during his podium celebration. You pinch yourself just for good measure before mouthing it back to him. And if it was even possible his smile gets even bigger.

You’re the first person he wants to see after the celebratory champagne pop. He can’t wait a second longer to tell you how he actually feels out loud. He doesn’t care that he’s drenched in champagne or that there’s hundreds of people around. He’s waited too long to let a moment like this go by. He’s pushing his way through the crowd to find you, he’s basically getting manhandled, but he doesn’t care, you’re his priority. And when he finally finds you it’s like a scene straight out of a movie.

His adrenaline is pumping and he doesn’t even think about what he’s doing, he’s just running straight towards you, his heart fluttering when you smile at the sight of him. His hands cup your face and in an instant his lips are on yours. It takes you by surprise, but once your brain finally processes what’s happening, you grab him by his race suit, pulling him closer to you, deepening the kiss. He tastes like champagne and sweat, his lips soft, and his facial hair tickles your face. Kissing Charles is everything you could have ever dreamed of and more, you’d never thought the day would come.

When you finally pull back it feels like the world is spinning and Charles laughs at you being drunk off one kiss from him. His hands cup your face once more causing you to focus on him. “I’m in love with you. Have been for years, but I’ve just been too scared to say anything, but winning today let me know the universe was on my side. And I couldn’t pass up the opportunity once again to tell you how I feel.” Your eyes widen at hearing him say he’s been in love with you for years. “Don’t act so surprised. I made it painfully obvious sometimes.” His dimples peaking out as he smiles at you.

“I’ve been in love with you since I was thirteen Charlie.”

Now it’s his turn to look surprised. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Was too scared that you didn’t feel the same.”

“I could never not love you Y/N. It’s always been you, you’re my person. I wish I would have told you sooner so I could have been doing this more often.” He pulls you in for another kiss and you think if he didn’t have his arms around you your legs would have given out.

Never in a million years did you think that Charles would be confessing his love to you after he’d just won his home race. If thirteen year old you could see you right now she’d probably die. You can’t believe the man you love with every fiber of your being loves you back. The universe definitely wanted today to be a win not only for Charles, but for you.

He grabs your hand and presses your ring clad pinky finger to his lips. “Mon coeur.” Then he presses another kiss to your lips. “Je t’aime.”

“Je t’aime aussi.”

thirty three and thirty six

The summer sun had started to make her farewell to the principality of Monaco, pink and orange hues swirled in the sky. A little boy and girl play on a weathered playset, their giggles echoing through the open air. The sound of a screeching sliding door tells them that their Maman is coming to get them before they even hear her holler their names. “Come say goodbye to grand-mère and grand-père!”

Their tiny bodies run towards the house and are soon met with lots of hugs and kisses from their grandparents, who they see very often, but it wouldn’t seem like it by the way they were acting.

“Ok, who wants ice cream?” Their Papa asks after all the goodbyes are said and they are out the door.

“Me!” Is said in unison from the two children.

The little girl has her Papa wrapped around her finger, he just thinks the world of her as they walk hand in hand down the street, while the little boy is definitely a Maman’s boy.

“You know your Maman and I used to come to this place all the time when we were younger.”

“We know Papa, you’ve told us a hundred times, and we come here all the time.” The little girl sasses her Papa.

“I know but I just like to reminisce.” The man gives his wife a wink and she knows he’s about ready to go down memory lane.

The journey to the ice cream shop is filled with stories about their younger years and luckily for the children the ice cream shop isn’t that far away.

That all too familiar sweet smell soon fills the parents senses and it brings them back to when they were around their children’s age. That same bell on the door dings as they enter and that same old man who should have retired a decade ago is still working behind the counter.

“Ah the Leclercs! My favorite family. You know I’m gonna have to start making extra vanilla ice cream just to accommodate you guys.”

taglist: @rana030 @blueflorals @sltwins

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #mine #writing #god please don't flop

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moonsgemini · 2 months ago

Text

cherry wine - firefighter!rafe pt. 2

* ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ₊˚ ⋅

summary: Rafe’s job gets in the way of your first date, but you’re not mad about it.

warnings: teacher!reader x firefighter!rafe, fluff, mutual pining, flirting, sexy rafe, SMUT, fingering, fem rec oral, fem!reader, inaccurate descriptions of firefighter duties, alcohol, cursing

an: I have no idea how a fire fighters schedule works so I made it up bc it’s fiction. oh & do we like the long fics?? oh & it’s my birthday yay to 24

part one

* ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ₊˚ ⋅

The night at the bar Rafe made sure you were sober to drive. He had you drink lots of water and even ordered you a plate of fries. His mind wandering off when you would lick the salt off your fingers. He was gone for you from the start and he didn’t mind one bit.

After walking you to your car he asked for your number and promised to see you the next day. Leaving you with a kiss on the cheek and permanent butterflies. The whole drive home you belted out the lyrics to your favorite pop music, feeling like a high school girl with a crush.

Rafe drove him in silence with a grin on his face. When he got home and texted you that he had a great time and couldn’t wait to see you again that grin never vanished. It only widened when you replied reciprocating the same feelings.

The next day came and a couple hours before picking you up Rafe got called into the station. Instead of texting he called you wanting to make sure you knew he wasn’t flaking. You believed him of course. Yet you couldn’t help the natural feeling of disappointment that flowed through your bones.

That feeling was soothed when he texted you late that night that he had finally gotten back to the station. Along with that he sent a picture of the station dog Max on his lap. You couldn’t help the way your mouth watered at the sight of his veiny big hand that was resting in the golden retrievers fur. In return you sent back a picture of your steaming mug of tea and a horror movie playing on the tv in the back.

It sparked a conversation about movies which led to you and Rafe talking non stop the following week. Besides the times you were teaching and he was out training or helping people.

Rafe promised you a proper date that upcoming Friday. Making sure to let you know that he would do anything to make it work out this time. You reassured him it was okay if something came up again. That made his heart burst, it wasn’t often that someone was willing to work with his hectic schedule.

The outfit you had planned for the previous weekend still sat on your vanity chair waiting to be worn. And hopefully waiting to be taken off. You had finished your hair and makeup all done to perfection. As it neared closer to the time he was picking you up your anxiety spiked. He hadn’t called to reschedule so it was really happening.

Rafe had gotten worked up all week with the pictures you’d occasionally send of what you were doing. The one that really got him was when you had gotten out of the shower and sent him a picture of you in a fuzzy robe with wet hair and your skin glistening. Most likely due to a skincare routine you had mentioned to him.

Rafe thought you looked like a goddess, he wished he could have gotten down on his knees and untied that robe with his teeth before worshiping you. His kind had been in the gutter all week.

He was making sure this date was going to go perfect. He bought a bouquet of flowers from a street vendor and worn his best date outfit. As he rang the doorbell to your small cottage he started to get a bit nervous. He hadn’t put this much effort into a date since high school. Even then how much effort could a teenage boy put in. He didn’t actually remember the last time he went on a date.

Rafe’s runaway thoughts were interrupted as you opened the door. Standing in front of him in a short black skirt and black top. A jacket hanging over your arm and your glossy lips turning up into a smile. The boots you were accentuated your legs making them look even longer. Rafe wanted to lick every inch of you. Especially after the smell of your perfume hit him, he wanted to kiss your neck.

“Hi,” You said with a teasing tone.

He didn’t realize he hadn’t said anything, “You look beautiful.” He made it a point to look her up and down.

She laughed as heat creeped up her neck, “Thank you Rafe.”

He loved how you said his name, “These are for you.” He handed you the flowers.

“Come in while I put them in water,” You nodded towards the inside of the house, “They’re beautiful Rafe. You really do know how to treat me good.”

He closed the door behind him as you began filling a vase with water, “Oh this is nothing.”

“If there’s more than this I might start to like you a little too much,” You joked hoping the weight of those words don’t send him running. You didn’t mean to say something so forward so soon. Literally on the first date, but you decided to stick by your words. You didn’t want to hide that you liked him.

“Perfect, because I already like you a little too much.”

You froze with the kitchen towel in your hands as you dries them. As you looked at him his smile was sincere, no hint of teasing or lying. You finished drying your hands as you laughed softly. The crush you had on Rafe was growing by the minute.

“Ready?” You asked.

He nodded opening the front door for you. He even opened the passenger door of his truck for you. Of course you knew these were bare minimum things but you couldn’t help how giddy it made you feel. Especially when it was him doing it for you.

Everything couldn’t have been going more perfect. Rafe was almost grateful he had to postpone the date because in the week the two of you talked he learned a lot. With the knowledge of you he had he planned the perfect date.

He took you to a record shop that you hadn’t been to before. You had told him about your extensive collection you had started building in high school. He even remembered a few of the bands you liked when he came across them. Of course he insisted on buying you a couple which you repeatedly told him not to. Obviously he didn’t listen and bought you them.

Next door was the Italian restaurant Rafe had been raving about all week. Promising you it’d be the best pasta of your life.

But as you looked over the menu, a ghost of a grin hasn’t left your mouth all evening, his phone started ringing. Rafe took his phone out of his pocket beginning to apologize for not silencing it. He was going to ignore the call but the name across the screen had his brows furrowing in worry.

“Everything okay?”

He looked up briefly, “Uh yeah it’s my captain. I’m so sorry I need to answer this.” You nodded understanding as he gave you a regretful smile as he slid out the booth to take the call. You continued to look over the cocktail menu.

Rafe sighed as he sat down across from you again, “Everything okay?” You asked

He shook his head, “I hate to do this but I got called in. I wasn’t supposed to work today but there’s a hug pile up downtown where there’s a big concert and they need all the help they can get.”

You tried not to show the disappointment you felt because it was his job after all. Rafe could still see how your eyes lost a bit of their shine and your smile wasn’t as bright anymore. He really hated this. In his career so far he had never been called in so much. But now when he meets the hottest woman he’s ever seen work is taking over his life. He was not about to have you slip through his fingers.

“Oh yeah I understand. You can just drop m-“ You began saying before he interrupted.

“Come with me.”

“Huh?”

He shook his head with a laugh, “Not to the wreck to the station. Wait for me there.”

He didn’t even wait for you to reply because for one he needed to leave now or Captain Matthews would chew his head off. And two if you decided you didn’t want to and wanted nothing to do with him anymore he’s take you home, but the sound of your laugh as he pulled you through the restaurant was enough of an answer. Your hands stayed locked together until you got back into his truck.

The station wasn’t too far from where you already were so the drive was short. Rafe rushed out to open your door and grab your hand once again. As you trailed behind him you saw a few of the guys from career day and some new faces as they all stood by an engine in the garage. A couple were checking equipment and a few others were already getting on the truck.

“Sorry to interrupt your date but we need your help here Cameron,” An older guy said as the two of you approached. You assumed this was his captain.

You smiled, “Duty calls right?”

He laughed, “It sure does.”

“I’ll be right out,” Rafe said leading you into the station. He walked you into a room that was like a big living room with couches and a tv. Max was laying on the couch and when he saw Rafe he immediately got up and walked over to the pair.

“This is Max. Say hi Maxie bug,” He pet the dogs head who then sniffed your leg. You bent down petting his fluffy head.

“Hi Maxie.”

“Make yourself at home and feel free to anything in the kitchen. I’ll be back hopefully in a couple hours. If you get bored and uber home I won’t be offended I promise,” Rafe said placing a hand on your shoulder.

You nodded, “Got it. Be safe and good luck.”

He leaned in with a grin and kissed your cheek gingerly. Even that small touch had your head spinning. You and Max watched as he jogged back outside and only a couple minutes later you heard the truck leave.

It had been almost two hours now and Rafe was still out. You had watched a fe episodes of your favorite sitcom and played with Max a bit. You even explored the station finding the kitchen and a few of the rooms used for sleeping where you stole a blanket from to lay over yourself on the couch. The only issue you were having was that you were starving.

Since you two had to leave dinner you hadn’t eaten since lunch and that meesley turkey sandwich was not cutting it.

That’s when you wandered into the kitchen and that habit of wanting to take care of people kicked in. You looked through to see what the guys had almost expecting to find the bare minimum. You were so wrong. The fridge and pantry were filled with groceries. You thought these guys must really eat a lot.

You started brain storming and decided on making lasagna and garlic bread. You figured they’d all be hungry when they got back and you were also starving. As the garlic bread finished in the oven and the lasagna cooled down you heard the rumbling of the fire truck. Perfect timing. You hoped you didn’t overstep but he did say make yourself at home. You even baked some chocolate chip cookie dough they had in the fridge. Even also tossing a salad to have on the side.

As Rafe opened the door that led to the station the smell of garlic bread and fresh baked cookies hit him. He thought he must be hallucinating until he walked into the kitchen and saw you getting plates out from the cupboard. A few of the guys walked in behind Rafe.

“Hey we’re back,” Rafe said stepping towards you, “Did you make dinner?”

You nodded a bit of embarrassment creeping up your spine, “Yeah hope you guys don’t mind. I was hungry and I figured you were too so I made food for you all.”

Josh stepped forward looking at the pan of lasagna, “Rafe keep her please, this looks amazing.”

“Seriously thank you this looks so good,” Captiain Matthews said as he stepped in.

“No problem please help yourselves,” You motioned towards the counter of food.

Rafe couldn’t look away from you. The way you stood so comfortably in the station kitchen talking to his coworkers. He walked closer towards you as the guys served themselves.

“You are just too sweet huh?” He teased.

“Well we missed our italian dinner so I made it myself,” You shrugged with a grin.

“That just means next time I’m cooking for you,” He said. The thought of there being a next time brough butterflies to your stomach.

“I’ll hold you to it,” You nodded.

Rafe grabbed a plate and began to serve you food. Handing over the plate before serving himself. All the guys thanked you as Rafe led you to the living room area. He also grabbed a bottle from one of the tall cabinets along with two glasses.

“Now I know this isn’t what I promised you but next time will be better,” He promised as he opened the bottle of wine.

“There’s no complaints from me about this date,” You shrugged, “Since when are you allowed to have alcohol in here?”

He smirked, “Well miss I’m technically off the clock again and this is from the christmas party we had a few months ago. Cherry wine?”

Your eyes lit up, “It’s like you know me already, I love cherry wine.”

After your stomachs were full of good food and a bit of wine that made your head feel a bit floaty you both settled on the couch. This was the best date you’d ever been on. Rafe was sweet and flirty never hiding his desire for you. Not even in a sexual way but in a way where he constantly asked questions about everything wanting to know more about you. He talked about his life as well which only made you like him more. Hearing about his troubled privileged childhood that led him to where he is now. It was admirable to hear him talk about it with no shame since it made him who he is.

As it got later Rafe drove you home. You were disappointed the night was ending but it was nearing one in the morning and you still had lesson plans to create.

He walked you up to your door with an arm wrapped around your shoulders.

“I had a really great time with you tonight. I’m sorry again for the interruption.”

You shook your head, “Don’t worry about it Rafe. I still had a great time.”

“The guys are going to want you around all the time now,” He laughed.

“Oops,” You shrugged with a smirk.

He stepped closer, “Be careful now I might get jealous.”

“Maybe I’ll keep going then,” You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, “I know it’s late but uh do you want to come in?”

Rafe didn’t hesitate, “Yeah sure.”

You unlocked your door leading him in, “I can make you a cup of tea if you’d like or something else.” You asked as you set your things down on the entryway table.

“hmmm something else?” He asks as he steps closer to you.

You look through your cupboards, “I have tea, coffee, some random-“ your words caught in your throat as you turned around to look at him only to find Rafe behind you.

“That all sounds good but I think I want something sweet,” He said as he inched closer. Your hands rested behind you against the counter. Eyes wide with anticipation and curiosity as to what his next move would be.

“Like sweat tea?” You asked knowing exactly what he means but not wanting to jump to conclusions.

His smirk turned into a lopsided grin. He rubbed his hand over his mustache and shook his head stepping closer, “No that cherry wine was pretty sweet right?”

You nodded in agreement not taking your eyes off him.

“I think I want a bit more of that,” He was now practically caging you in against the counter. You felt like you were suffocating in him in the best way possible.

“Oh I don-“ He interrupted you by leaning forward and brushing his nose against yours. It shut you up immediately and then he broke the rest of the distance and pressed his lips to yours. You reciprocated moved your hands from the counter to pull at the blonde hair at the back of his head. His hands went to your hips pulling you closer to him then sliding up to your waist.

His thumbs going under your shirt the skin on skin contact made you shiver in the best way. Your mouths moved in sync as the kiss deepened.

Rafe could taste the sweetness but he wasn’t sure if it was the cherry wine or just you. He knew he was addicted to you now. He loved the way your hands felt in his hair and on his biceps and shoulders. He slotted his leg in between yours making you feel even closer to him. The small noises you were making made him sigh into the kiss.

He pulled away before kissing you a few more times and murmuring, “So sweet.”

You whined and tugged at his shirt to pull him back in. He smirked and gave you what you wanted. He’d give you anything you wanted.

This time you pulled away feeling a bit bold and the feeling of his thigh pressing against the place where you needed him the most helped you say, “You wanna see my room?”

He laughed softly kissing your nose, “You inviting me to your room?”

You scoffed a laugh, “Nooo I’m asking if you want to see my room. There’s a difference.”

“I’d love to see your room.” He said with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes playfully and shoved him. Grabbing his hand and leading him down the hallway to your room. You turned on the lamp on your nightstand which illuminated the room with a soft glow. Rafe had decidedly that he loved seeing you in that light. You looked like a real like angel.

“So this is it,” You said motioning to your surroundings.

He threw his head back with a hearty laugh, “Oh I really like you sweetheart. Come here,” He motioned with his fingers for you to come closer. A motion that had your mind in the gutter.

“Why do you say that?” You question as you walk forward to where he stood at the end of your bed.

“Because you’re all cute and sweet like you didn’t almost make me come just by making out.”

“Rafe!” You said with a surprised laugh.

He shrugged, “What? It’s the truth.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck still feeling bold. There was something about how unabashedly he admitted his feelings towards you that had you feeling confident. It felt good to be wanted. It felt good to be wanted by Rafe.

“You’re ridiculous,” You said as he wrapped his arms around your waist. His eyes moving down to your still swollen lips.

“Mhmm,” He hummed and nodded. He leaned in just like he did earlier in the kitchen. Kissing the air out of your lungs. His hands moved all over you gripping and holding anything he could.

His hand slipped down your back and over your butt, giving a squeeze as he past it, down to the end of your skirt, His fingers trailed up the back of your thigh and up your skirt. Hands gripping your ass under your skirt. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips which allowed him more access into your mouth.

There was a small part of your brain that hadn’t quite turned off yet. Rafe’s lips began to trail down to your neck leaving open mouthed kisses that had you arching into him. The feeling of his mustache against your smooth skin had you shivering.That’s when that part of your brain decided to speak up.

“Oh Rafe,” You said breathily eyes fluttering shut, “are you sure, it’s late and don’t you have work?” Rafe groaned as he kissed the spot behind your ear. He couldn’t help but get more turned on at the sound of her caring about him, but work and sleep were far from his mind. Right now he just wanted to bury his head between your thighs and have you moaning and withering underneath him.

“Baby I could care less about that right now,” He walked you back until you were sat on the bed. The bed wasn’t very tall so when he stood in between your legs you had to look up at him. The way he towered over you had your flimsy underwear feeling soaked. You had never been so turned on by a man.

Rafe reached forward to cup your jaw. Thumb stroking your cheek gently. Now that part of your brain was completely silent. All you could think about was him.

“You’re so beautiful,” He mumbled almost to himself.

A soft smile appeared on your face and he practically groaned again. Your doe eyes looking up at him with an innocent smile had his cock hardening even more if that’s possible. He bit his lip and watched as your eyes moved to his mouth. He knew you wanted him as bad as he wanted you and that made this all the more exciting.

He slowly trailed his thumb to his mouth, pulling at her bottom lip teasingly. Almost like a habit your mouth opened slightly. He took this as a sign to gently push it into your mouth. You wrapped your lips around it sucking and licking.

“Fuck,” He muttered as he felt your warm tongue. Where had you been all his life. He was never going to let you go. He pulled it out and leaned down kissing you again.

“You’re so hot,” He mumbled as he got on his knees in front of you. He removed your boots that you were still wearing and kissed up both legs. The intimacy of it all had your chest rising rapidly. The anticipation of just how good you know this man is going to treat you was enough to make your toes curl.

“I’ve been thinking about these thighs since I first picked you up,” He said as he kissed your inner thighs. He had placed your legs over his shoulders, hands gripping the outside of them. You sighed as your body ignited in pleasure.

You let out a small yelp as he pulled your center closer to his face causing you to fall back, “And fuuuck I’ve been thinking about pushing this little skirt up all night.” He hummed in appreciation as he pushed the black material up. Your feet now resting on the end of the bed. Your barely clothed pussy on display. Leaning back on your elbows you watched with hazy eyes as Rafe admired you.

He looked up at you through hooded eyes and a smirk, “Can I please taste you?” He knew you wouldn’t say no but he wanted to be a gentleman anyways.

“Please,” You whispered slightly bucking your hips up.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lace covered clit. The black lacy panties you had on barely doing anything to cover your slick cunt. He took a mental picture for the next time he was in the shower.

You moaned softly as he continued to kiss over panties, eventually pulling them to the side. He murmured curse words as he lifted his thumb to run through your folds. Gently slipping the tip of it inside you to gather your wetness. He trailed it up to your clot beginning to rub soft circles. The motion had your head falling back with a sigh.

Rafe turned his head and peppered kisses on your inner thigh. He pressed down a little harder as he watched you get wetter. After a few strokes he tentatively dipped his head down and licked your clit.

That was enough for him to know this is what he wanted to taste forever. He roughly pulled off the lacey matterial throwing it somewhere in the room.

He groaned as he fully dived in. Licking, sucking, and kissing just where you needed him to. He listened to your moans and soft whines to see what you liked the most. He was so painfully hard but he didn’t even care. Rafe just wanted you to come.

“Oh god Rafe,” You moaned as his tongue dipped into you. Your hands gripped his hair tugging when something felt extra good.

He moaned and the sound sent even more pleasure through you, “You taste so fucking good.”

“Rafe I’m close,” You panted, “you’re so good don’t stop please.”

He shook his head with his mouth still on you, “Never baby, you’re gonna have to pry me away from this pussy.”

The dirty words sending you even closer to the edge. You had never been talked to like this and you loved it. You liked how he ravaged you and actually paid attention to what you liked.

You felt his finger nudge your entrance before he slipped it in. Your walls tightening around his thick finger. You arched you back as he reached one hand up to press flat against your stomach to lay you down more. Then he added a second finger and you couldn’t help the cry that escaped your lips. It felt so good the way he moved them in and out. Fingers curled up hitting that spot you so desperately needed.

The lewd sounds of his fingers fucking you and his mouth on your clit filled the room. Along with your loud moans and his occasional groans. The roughness of his mustache felt so good on the sensitive bud.

“Rafey I’m-I’m gonna,”

“Mhmmm let go for me pretty girl,” He encouraged as his fingers moved faster and mouthed hungrily at your clit.

You became a shaking moaning mess as he continues his ministrations. Your orgasm taking over your body. His hand gripped your thigh roughly as he kept going until your high was over. Once your back was flar on the mattress he slowly pulled out and pressed one last kiss on your puffy clit.

He made his way up your body kissing your stomach over your shirt and then you exposed cleavage. He kissed you fully and you could feel his mustache damp with your arousal. You could also taste yourself on his tongue which had you moaning again. Rafe lifted you to be farther up the bed so he can comfortably lay on top.

“You taste so fucking good I already wanna do it again,” He said smirking as he pulled away.

You smiled in a daze, “You’re gonna be the death of me.” As you reached your hand down to the front of his pants. Your hand cupped him through the material and he groaned, eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“Fuck I really really want to do more but I actually do have work in a couple hours,” He groaned. He wishes he could just call off and spend the whole night rolling around in bed with you.

You looked at him with slight disappointment but understanding, “You sure?”

He leaned down and bit your neck playfully, “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll be easily convinced.”

You giggled, “I understand Rafe.”

“I’m seeing you again though. I never lied about that. Especially after you let me have a taste of you,” He groaned dramatically, “So fucking delicious I’m addicted.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron au

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tasteleeknow · 5 months ago

Text

RASPBERRY PIE

minors dni. minho x fem!reader. 4k words content warnings. pet names (sweetheart, angel). mutual pining. sweet/shy reader. perv!minho. corruption kink. food play. dirty talk. oral (m rec.). soft!dom minho.

you bake your quiet neighbour a warm raspberry pie.

He's pretty sure he's utterly fucked from the jump – he finds himself attached so early he almost convinces himself you're a witch in disguise; that maybe he'd moved in next door to a creature designed to trap men like him. A siren, maybe. The sweetness was an act; all the soft tones and doe eyed looks were just a trick to lure him down beneath the waves.

He was determined not to drown.

And then you show up with the pie, a little flushed from working around a hot oven. It'd been 6 months – 6 months since he'd moved in, and as he opens the door to find you in an apron with little pink stains, a feeling of approaching and inevitable doom settles in his chest. Finally, you'd come to take him.

"Hi," you greet with a shy smile. "My friend brought me over far too many berries yesterday so..." you look down at the golden pie, carefully decorated and clearly still warm, "...well I made this. For you."

If he was wise, he'd politely decline, close the door, and never be faced with the reality of the sweet little siren in his apartment, offerings of temptation and all.

"For me?"

You look up at him through long lashes. "Do you like pie?" you ask. It's the way you say it, like if he doesn't you might genuinely hurt inside – like with a simple rejection of your offering, he had the ability to snuff out some little candle alight inside you.

"I like pie," he says.

Then you smile. Like it's the best news you've heard in weeks. "Oh, good."

He steps aside, his body betraying him. The siren enters with her warm pie and soft smiles – and he knows, unequivocally, that he's fucked.

He keeps his distance as you comfortably navigate to the kitchen to find a place for your offering. The apartments were all pretty much identical as far as he knew. The two on this floor, his and yours, were mirrored. He imagines that just on the other side of your joining wall, you took the same steps he did he each morning, in parallel.

You fiddle a little with the delicately placed raspberries atop the pie as he approaches from the other side of the island. You wear a tiny silver ring on one finger, much like one he wears on his own. He'd spotted it before, during short interactions in the elevator. He suppresses the urge to comment on it now, to ask if it meant anything to you.

He doesn't need to know you. He couldn't afford to. He was finding himself attached enough without it.

Then you pluck one little berry up in your fingers and bring it to your lips. He watches you. He watches you and he knows that he's walked willingly into a trap.

"Sweet?"

You look up. "Hm? Oh." You nod. "They're lovely. My friend gets them from this farm near his parent's place."

Friend. His. He sits in the feeling that stirs in his chest for a quiet moment. It's a rotten feeling. He doesn't like it at all.

"He brings them often?" he finds himself asking.

"Not at all. He just happened to come by after being there for a weekend. He doesn't go there often, I don't think." Your accompanying smile is almost enough to snuff out the rotten feeling before he has time to digest it. Almost.

Then he considers that this might not be the only pie. You may have made this other guy a pie just like it... maybe it was bigger, maybe you'd used the sweetest berries in his pie.

He kicks a cat toy across the floor as he stuffs his hands in his pockets, a little embarrassed by his own internal monologue. Witchcraft, turning his brain into mush.

"You have a pretty view."

He looks up to find you brushing your hands down your apron and rounding the kitchen island. You seem drawn to his floor to ceiling windows, a little moth to the light.

He follows.

"Mine isn't nearly this nice," you continue once he's standing beside you. "All I get is the construction site and a concrete wall." Then you close your eyes, head tilting back a little to let the sun's afternoon rays bathe your face. "Don't get the sun like this, either," you add, a little dreaminess leaking into your already sweet voice.

Oh, he's fucked.

"You like it?"

You blink up at him, eyes adjusting to the light again. "Hm?"

"I mean if you really like it, you're welcome over anytime, whenever." He wonders if this is part of your spell work, making him say stupid shit. Maybe he'd be better off if you were casting spells on him, if he had a reasonable excuse for being so fucking braindead. "For the sun," he adds, like it makes it better.

A small breath of laughter slips from your pretty lips. "It does get a little gloomy over there, on my side of the wall."

It was hard to imagine anywhere you were being gloomy.

"I should go," you continue after a short moment of comfortable silence, each of you basking in the sunlight. He really should appreciate that more, he notes. Then he considers the fact he'll associate this little patch of warmth with you each time he attempts such a thing.

"Sure," he says, following you from a safe distance to the door. "Thank you. For the pie."

"You're welcome."

Everything is fine. He's alone and he survived the encounter. Then he's faced with the pie. He stares down at it, warm and made with careful hands.

He plucks a berry off the top. He thinks of the berry you'd eaten in the same way.

Everything is fine.

He hesitates as he goes to pluck a second berry. Instead of lifting one from the crust, he presses the tip of his finger a little against the surface. Warm. He breaks through. His finger is coated in syrupy, red filling when he pulls it free. It's sugary sweet when he sucks it clean.

Shame. That's what he feels next. Because sweet gestures of neighbourly kindness should not trigger the kind of thoughts creeping their way into his head.

He wonders if the little siren's cunt is as warm and sweet as the little offering she brought him. He considers doing the right thing, having a cold shower and sitting in the morning sun with a slice of pie.

But apparently, today, and the day before, and every day for the past 6 months, Minho was not wise and he wasn't very good. Because he let the thoughts of his sweet little neighbour stew for months, and this is where it'd led him.

He stands there, one palm pressed flat on the kitchen counter, the other buried in his sweatpants, and he thinks of the sweet little siren with her sweet offerings, and he imagines sinking his hard cock into her warm, sweet cunt.

—

It's hard not to deflate entirely as you close your apartment door behind you. You'd expected too much from a single pie, you suppose. It would entirely out of character for him to ask you to stay for a slice, to take the opportunity to finally have a conversation longer than an elevator ride.

You sigh, dropping your forehead against the cool surface of the door. It helps a little. You're overheated, both from the cooking, the warm sun, and the heat that had bubbled up from the inside as the pretty - yet frustratingly reserved - man next door had watched you move about his space.

You hadn't lied, his apartment was far nicer than yours. You could imagine basking in that patch of sun any chance you had. You wonder if he does the same, if he sits there after a shower, chest bare and hair still a little damp - letting the sun warm his skin.

You leap back as a knock on the door jolts you out of your daydream. Sighing, you press your palm to your forehead - head thoroughly rattled - as you pull the door open.

Oh.

"Hi," Minho says casually. He's a little flushed compared to when you'd left him minutes earlier. He shouldn't be. There were no stairs between your apartments.

"Hello, again."

He glances over your shoulder, getting a clear view of your empty living room. "It is darker in here," he says, still casual.

"Oh. Mm, yeah. I miss your sun already."

His eyes fix back on you. Then he pulls his lip between his teeth slightly. He has something to say... something he won't say.

"Why'd you make me the pie?" he asks.

You blink. "I... had a lot of berries from-"

"Your friend. I know."

You're officially confused. His eyes drop down your dirty apron before returning to your face. "You only made one?"

"Is it bad?" you question.

He pushes some hair away from his eyes. "No," he says quickly. "No, it's... nice." His eyes sweep down your body again. "Sweet," he adds.

"I only made one."

His eyes jump to yours before a brief look of confusion flashes across his pretty face. He seems to remember his own question soon enough. "You didn't want to give it to," he gestures vaguely behind you, "your friend?"

"No," you answer simply. This entire interaction was drifting into territory you weren't sure you were ready for. If his questions got any more interrogative, you might find yourself wondering how to answer them in any other way than 'Oh, the pie? I baked it for you because I have a huge, embarrassing crush on you, even if you've seemed intent on not knowing me.'

"He doesn't like pies?" he asks.

You can't help following the path of his fingers as he fiddles with the chain hanging around his neck. They brush his skin as he strokes the metal back and forth.

"I... don't understand what you're asking me," you say as you pull your eyes from his neck. "Is something wrong?"

He readjusts his position in the doorway, pressing his hand to the frame and freeing you from the constant distraction at his neck. He leans over you a little like this.

God, he's pretty.

"You a witch?" he asks.

"I'm sorry?"

"Did you put something in it?" he continues, still leaning well and truly into your space. "Something to make me-" he cuts himself off, brows furrowing.

"Are you asking me if I poisoned the pie?"

His voice drops, like someone might overhear, despite you both being entirely alone on this floor of the building. "I'm trying to figure out why all I can fucking think about is how you might taste on my tongue."

Your head rushes, all the heat returning. Then your eyes drop to the floor.

"Look at me, sweetheart."

You don't. His shoes are safer. He was flirting. More than flirting. He wanted you.

His fingers guide your chin up, it doesn't take much, a nudge. "I'll leave if you want," he says. "Never mention it again. Just tell me what you want."

"Did you like it?" you find yourself whispering. "The pie."

His lips crack into a lopsided smile. It's tiny, but it's a smile. "Loved it, sweetheart. Sent me to heaven."

"Would you... would you like to come in?"

He nods.

You go to turn, to let him follow you. But then, instead, you take his hand and lead him in. He's warm. You imagine all the sun he gets over there must've absorbed deep inside him over time. Maybe he could leave some of it behind here for you - that heat might leak from him if your kept him here long enough.

He follows where you lead, his hand still grasped firmly in your own. You're not sure why you lead him to the sofa. You aren't sure what you're expecting next. It's why you find yourself simply standing beside the piece of furniture waiting for him to say something – to let go of your hand maybe.

Instead, his thumb begins brushing over your skin. He's quiet, seemingly unhurried to break the tension building.

"I asked my friend to bring the berries," you confess quietly, eyes focused on your interwined hands. Confessions were always so much easier with your eyes downwards. "I wanted to make something for you... specifically."

"Why's that?"

His thumb continues against your skin. He doesn't make you look at him like he had before.

"Because I... wanted you to - I wanted your attention."

You can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks, "So you baked me a pie?"

"I'm good at baking."

"You are," he agrees. Then his other hand reaches for the hem of your apron. He rubs it between his fingers a little. "Messy though."

You look down at the patterned splotches, pink on white. Then he releases your hand, taking that warmth with him. He only allows you a few seconds to miss it though. That same hand snakes around the back of your neck, skin on skin.

Your eyes are drawn to his without thought.

"Are you always messy?" he asks.

You nod, chewing on your lip a little.

He seems pleased with your answer, a small hum escaping his throat. "I like messy," he says, sounding a little far away. "Do you like messy, sweetheart?"

Your eyes drop to his lips, a little stained from your pie filling. "Yeah," you breathe.

He tugs you towards him before your have time to suck in another breath, attaching himself to you like he's starved. You can't help gasping a little into his mouth as he presses you into him with a hand to your back.

Holy fuck. Surely you'd wake up slumped against the door any second. Maybe someone hadn't just knocked on the door. Someone had opened it and knocked you out and you were dreaming about your pretty, brown eyed neighbour.

He groans a little before taking your lip between his teeth. No. No you were definitely awake. "So sweet," he mumbles as he releases you, his breath ghosting over your wet lips. "Can I have you?"

–

It's hard to keep his head on straight as you look up at him with those big sweet eyes. Can I have you? His stomach rolls as he waits for you to say yes. Please say yes. 6 months of denial and he was desperate.

You'd made that sweet little gift for him. Just for him. His little siren.

Then you're pressing against his chest, forcing him down onto the sofa. He looks up at you, at the stained apron and the hair sticking a little to your temples from the time spent making his pie.

Then you lower yourself to your knees.

Oh, fuck.

Your hands only have to brush his legs for him to get the hint. He spreads them, allowing you to shuffle closer to him – settling between his thighs.

Then you look up at him. "Can I taste you?"

He's keeping you. His head drops back as he collects himself. Then, "You want my cock in your pretty little mouth?"

You nod, fingers pressing lightly into his thighs.

Minutes ago he was fucking himself into his own hand imagining how warm you'd feel around him. Now you're between his legs, lips wet, asking to taste him.

He's careful to keep his eyes on you as he frees himself, intent on catching each and every reaction you make – he's keeping it all.

You're a little hesitant as you reach for him. "You're good, sweetheart," he encourages. "Touch me however you like."

It seems to be all you need. In the next second your soft little hand is wrapping around his length. His head drops back again as his eyes close.

It's a mistake, closing his eyes. He's not prepared when your wet lips press to the tip of him, soft and warm. He groans, hand automatically making a home in your hair. He needs grounding. He needs –

Your lips wrap around him. His little siren was sucking his dick into her sweet little mouth. His hips jump a little. "Oh fuck, that's right. You're all warm for me."

You hum a little around him. Then, you take him deeper. Hot little tongue dancing over his sensitive skin.

"Good girl," he groans. "Take it for me, sweetheart." He resists the urge to spill himself right here, right against your tongue. "Hm? You taking it for me?"

His hips jump again as he fucks himself into your hot mouth, wet and sweet and just for him. You'd wanted his attention. You'd come for him. Just him.

"You mine?" he gasps as he forces his head up to look at you. "You gonna let me fuck you?"

Your lips pull off him slowly, a little suction at his tip sending his head spinning. "Do you want to?" you ask, lips swollen.

He leans forward enough to begin lifting you, encouraging you to climb into his lap. Each hand rests at your hips as you settle yourself there, his leaking cock pressed between you.

"So bad," he answers.

You shift a little in his lap. He imagines you squirming on his cock.

"Me too," you confess. It's quiet, like it's bad.

Sweet siren.

"Sit on me," he instructs. "Want you to bounce on me, sweetheart."

You eyelashes flutter as you blink a few times, processing, deciding. Then you shift, reaching up under your dress and tugging your underwear down.

Something in his stomach stirs when he realises you were leaving the rest on, apron and all.

You grasp him in a soft hand, guiding him beneath your clothes – then you sink down. He's transfixed by the little sound that escapes your lips as you take him in. That, and the way your cunt feels squeezing around him. He might have to keep you for fucking ever.

Hot and sweet and wet and better than he'd imagined as he'd fucked himself against his counter minutes earlier. Better than any of the scenarios he'd dreamed up over the months he'd spent thinking of his sweet little neighbour.

You fall into him with a sigh once you're full seated, cock buried deep.

"Doing so well," he says, hand squeezing a little at the back of your neck.

You mumble something into his neck in response. He can't quite make it out, but he swears, it almost sounds like a tiny 'thank you'. He has to keep himself from filling you at the thought of it.

His hands return to your hips. You must take it as a prompt because you lean back from him enough to begin lifting yourself off him and dropping again.

It's slow at first, a little swivel in your hips, grinding yourself down into him.

The apron prevents him from seeing how his cock looks slipping in and out of your little cunt. He hasn't even seen it, that sweet little hole between your legs.

Instead, he feels.

–

It makes sense that a man as pretty as him would have the prettiest cock. One you wanted to taste. One that would have you slippery and ready to take him.

There's this vein that throbs in his neck each time he drops his head back with a groan. His neck. God you want to lean forward and bite into it. But he might not be into that. Next time, you think. Or the time after that.

God you hope there's a next time.

His fingers dig into your hip as you sink all the way down again. It feels a little like he's resisting, holding back.

"Minho?"

His head lifts, eyes a little glassy as he blinks at you. "Hm?"

"You can fuck me," you tell him. "However you want. I want you to fuck me."

He blinks again. His fingers dig into your skin harder.

"Tell me when you wanna stop. Just tell me," he says.

You nod. Then he's leaning forward and tugging you against him. His lips press to your skin just at the crook of your neck.

Then you're falling. He falls over you. Then he lets go. He presses you into the couch cushions as he drives into you, hair falling over his face. He's even pretty like this, with parted lips and brows slightly furrowed.

Your skin slaps together as he fucks himself into you. Messy, he'd said. He liked messy.

That's what he gets as he continutes to drive into you, as you begin to drip around him, as he fucks that wetness into you and over your thighs and then the sounds it all makes.... messy.

"Wanna fill you," he mutters. "God, I wanna fill you so bad. Wanna fuck my cum into your sweet cunt."

You squeeze your eyes shut as he continues, overwhelmed.

"You can take it for me, angel. I know you can. Sweet little thing made just for me. I knew it." He's muttering so much you're hardly sure he even knows what he's saying. His fingers are almost painful as they dig into your skin, like he can't hold onto you hard enough.

"Fill me," you gasp.

He eyes lift from where you join together to lock on your face. "Yeah?" he asks, a slight croakiness breaking his words up a little. "I'll make you all warm and sticky inside, hm? Just like your pretty little pie? That sound nice?"

Oh god. There was something inside you, something made for this – for him. You knew this was going to ruin you forever.

"Please."

He falls over you, then he bites. He bites into you as he floods you full.

#lee know smut #lee know fluff #lee know x reader #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff

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astraystayyh · 7 months ago

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Breathe

hyunjin x photographer!reader. friends to lovers with so so much tension and pining. hyunjin is too pretty (yet again). suggestive in the end and reader is wearing a dress. inspired by Bathtub hyunjin.

thank you hyunjin yet again for being my eternal muse and inspiring this brainrot. wrote this while listening to All mine by plaza so.. please enjoy <333 feedback is highly appreciated 🫶🏻

Is it possible to drown in the depths of your emotions, until breathing becomes a forgotten process, one that eludes each one of your senses?

Yes, you believe, if standing before a vision of ethereal beauty, as you are now, all encapsulated within Hwang Hyunjin’s being.

The camera slightly shakes in your grasp as you linger by the threshold of the bathroom, eyeing Hyunjin’s silhouette submerged in the waters. He’s sitting inside the bathtub, fingers running through his raven locks, awaiting your return.

He doesn’t seem to notice your presence, nor do you wish him to. Instead, you remain silent by the door, allowing yourself a few seconds to savor the intoxicating aura he exudes.

See, he isn’t doing anything particular, nor is he adorned in anything enticing— a simple white shirt and matching linen pants. And yet, his presence fills the air, compelling oxygen particles to flee from your being, leaving you transfixed, unable to do anything but gaze at him.

“I can feel you staring,” he remarks casually, his eyes still drawn before him as he leans back, tapping the edge of the tub with his ring-clad fingers.

Your heart pulses against your ribs, a dance that the organ knows intimately by now, one that Hyunjin alone can orchestrate. It isn’t the first time he’s had this effect on you, it is a familiar territory you first breached when Minho introduced you to him.

Hyunjin is a friend, but his hands find your waist more times than deemed platonic, and you like his touch much more than you’d like to admit.

“I'm assessing my subject, you know?” A faint grin dances upon your lips as you approach the bathtub. Hyunjin is doing you a favor— you just booked your first photography gig, and your client only has one condition: to shoot it in a bathtub. You wanted to translate your vision to life beforehand, and Hyunjin volunteered to help you.

“And how do I look?” he inquires, his smile a sugary dream that coaxes forth his left dimple. You place your camera gently on the countertop, bending down to inspect him up close.

His eyelids glisten with the golden glitter you delicately applied earlier. His skin is dewy, glistening underneath the warm lightning, and his lips drip crimson, courtesy of the cherry chapstick you carefully tapped into place.

There is always a myriad of visions that come to your mind when you think of Hyunjin— a blazing fire where each flame surges higher towards the heavens, a burning dance of passion and confidence; or a delicate red rose standing resilient in an empty field, vulnerable yet unwavering in its strength.

And now, you see a siren, beckoning mortals with a voice of beauty, ensnaring them with its hypnotic allure, much like he captivates you in this moment.

“You look nice,” you settle on saying, and he playfully pouts, his thumb grazing against your wrist lightly, akin to the delicate flutter of a butterfly's wing. “That's it? You never compliment me properly.”

“Someone’s gotta keep your ego in check,” you shrug, grabbing a dozen of roses and scattering them all around his body. You nod, satisfied with the outcome, finally retrieving your camera.

“Let's start with a simple shot, look at the camera, as you would when seducing someone.”

Instead of looking at the lens, Hyunjin's gaze finds yours first. With a deliberate slowness, his eyes trace the contours of your form, sending delicious shivers down your spine. His pupils dilate, his gaze darkens, before he reluctantly tears his eyes away, finally shifting his focus to the camera.

it takes you a few beats longer to find your voice once again.

“Hold still, one… two… three,” you murmur, capturing a few shots, pausing for a few seconds to admire the warmth of the light bouncing off his honeyed skin. “Perfect.”

“Me or the picture?” he teases, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and you roll yours in response.

“The photographer.”

“You’re right, you're perfect,” he replies simply, and you're momentarily taken aback, your eyes widening slightly. He notices, a small smile playing on his lips as you grab his hand to adjust his pose.

“You aren't allowed to speak anymore,” you declare, guiding his index finger to his lips while his head rests on his other curled fist. He grins, before his expression morphs into a smoldering gaze, one that blankets your skin in hues of red from its sheer intensity.

“Look at me this time,” you instruct, and he nods obediently, directing his gaze towards you. Though your eyes remain fixed on the lens, you can sense the intensity of his gaze piercing through you—suddenly, the white dress you're wearing feels too sheer to contain the flames ignited by his stare.

“Mm,” you hum in approval as you look at the result. A sweet realization washes over you as you notice the subtle shift in his gaze— does he know his eyes unconsciously soften when they land on you?

With each click of the camera, your nerves dissipate, replaced by a growing confidence as each shot turns out exquisitely. They look worthy of gracing billboards worldwide, a privilege of working with a model as beautiful as him, one who portrays emotions as if they were crafted solely for him to feel.

“Good, let's try an overhead shot now,” you instruct, slinging the camera strap around your neck before climbing into the bathtub, legs on either side of his body. You’re hovering over him as he gazes up at you, his fluttering eyelashes echoing the erratic beat of your heart.

Your eyes briefly trace the contours of his now-translucent white shirt, a veil that delicately clings to his form, accentuating the sculpted lines of his physique—the arc of his v-line melding seamlessly into the fabric of his trousers. He possesses the body of a masterful dancer, a muse Michelangelo himself would have revered.

“Take off your shirt,” you suddenly request, and though your words are met with a quirked eyebrow, he obliges effortlessly. With a fluid motion, he peels the garment from his frame, sending it sailing across the bathroom's expanse.

“Good?” he questions but you remain silent because words have suddenly become beyond your grasp. Your client's request for a portrait suddenly feels inadequate and you almost itch to cancel it, because you know it won't exude the same beauty as Hyunjin’s. For each fiber of his being flusters you, makes you hyper aware of your every pulse point and how they all come together to chant Hyunjin’s name.

“Look up at me as you lean back,” you finally say, positioning the camera directly above his head. With each click, your heartbeat speeds up even more at the sight— collarbones and arms bathed in the play of light and shadow, his long, wet hair cascading over broad shoulders, and worse of all, a faint smirk that graces his placid face, as if he's aware of how breathtaking he looks in this moment.

“Should I do this?” he asks, picking up a rose and brushing its dewy petals against his lips. You swallow hard, nodding meekly before swiftly capturing a few more frames.

Emotions twist you into a peculiar being, yearning for your very soul to liquefy, transforming into the water droplets adorning the rose's petals, longing to caress Hyunjin’s lips too.

Hyunjin suddenly straightens his posture, hands coming to rest gently on your calves, fingers dancing along the hems of your dress with a delicate touch.

“How’d I do? Do I look good for you?” he asks and your knees weaken beneath you, his words rendering you a merciless leaf, swayed by the fiery winds he commands, with his words, with his touch, with his eyes, all solely on you.

“For me?” you echo, and he nods, his hand moving languidly up and down your leg, pausing delicately at your knee.

“Mm. You're the only one I want to impress.”

Your response escapes your being breathlessly. “And why is that?”

“Didn't you ask me not to speak?” he grins, running a hand through his hair. Swiftly, you place your camera on the counter before kneeling down, your thighs now brushing against his own.

“Speak,” you command, and in an instant, he seizes your waist, drawing your body close until you're straddling him, legs enveloping his middle.

“Say it again,” he whispers, and you thread your fingers through the strands of his hair, gently tugging at the edges until his head tilts back, exposing the expanse of his neck.

“I said…” you trail off, leaning in until your nose grazes the warmth of his skin.

Being this close to Hyunjin isn't unfamiliar to you; your interactions have always teetered on the brink of almost-kisses, your bodies drawn together like magnets, two halves of an orange yearning to reunite.

Yet, this moment feels different, much more fateful, as if the universe has granted you one final opportunity—to finally ignite in passion or perish into ash.

“Tell me. I want to know,” you urge, your voice a whisper against his skin, laden with unspoken desires.

“Because... I like you a lot. So much that you're the only one I think of all day. And I want you to like me too. I feel like I need it to breathe.”

His response catches you off guard with its vulnerability, the intimacy it drapes on this moment. The water envelops your intertwined bodies as your hands find solace atop his chest, his rapid heartbeat seeping into your palm.

“I always forget how to breathe around you,” you confess, a sheepish smile gracing your lips. The grin that blooms on his face is radiant, casting a glow on the room that cannot be replicated by artificial lighting.

“If you forget how to breathe, I'll give you all my oxygen,” he promises, his thumb tracing gently across your cheekbones. You see the sun in his smile, feel its warmth in his words that burn you. “I think it always belonged to you anyway,” he murmurs, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to yours. “I think... I wanna give you back what's yours. Would you let me, pretty?” he asks, his voice a tender plea.

And amidst all the planets you know and the countless universes that may exist, you cannot fathom a single one where your answer would be anything but yes.

“Please,” you whisper, and his lips crash against yours in a fervent dance.

Your lips part before swiftly meeting again, and you close your eyes, surrendering to a world where all your senses converge to breathe Hyunjin in—your hands exploring the contours of his chest, your mouth savoring the sweetness of his lips infused with your cherry chapstick, your nose inhaling his scent, a delicate blend of vanilla and tobacco pulling you into a dizzying dance, your ears catching the gentle rhythm of his breaths and the faint thud of his heartbeat, all resonating within you.

And you don't need your eyes to see Hyunjin; he's indelibly etched behind your eyelids from all the time you've spent admiring him before.

“Fuck,” he whispers as he draws back, “I should have kissed you much sooner.”

“Mm?” you grin, intertwining your hands behind his neck, “Was it that good?”

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

“Then show me,” you grin, a playful glint in your eyes.

His gaze sparkles with mischief, his lips curling into a self-assured smirk, his hands finding your waist once more. Breathing is not necessary if it gives you Hyunjin in the end.

“Oh, I will.”

#stray kids x reader #skz x reader #hyunjin x reader #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #hyunjin fluff #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz reactions #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin fanfic #(also just realized last time i posted was exactly one month ago for hyunjin’s birthday KADJJD this was fated.)

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blushweddinggowns · 1 year ago

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I'm all for the angsty overhearing a conversation trope where it's all sad because of a misunderstanding. But I also love the opposite. Overhearing a conversation where the other person is just singing their praises. Especially with Steve and Eddie.

Like Steve being very aware that he likes Eddie, but way too afraid of rejection to actually do anything about it. So he just pines away, and gets closer and closer to him with the full expectation of it never going anywhere. Until one day, he comes to pick Dustin up from Hellfire too early, and he can hear everyone talking through the door. About him. But mostly it's Eddie, his loud voice carrying across the room. And he's just raving about him, and somehow managing to bring him up in conversations that have nothing to do with him.

Do you remember that time Steve saved my life by shoving my guts back into my body? Yeah, that's the level of skill and luck you're going to need to survive this.

Did you guys know that Steve actually gave me this background music? He's weirdly knowledgeable about classical stuff. Isn't that cool? He's so smart and-oh, yeah, the merchant agrees to the deal.

So uh, is Steve maybe seeing anyone? He isn't right? Like he would tell me if he was, wouldn't he?

And he doesn't give a single fuck at the collective groaning of the group whenever he gets going, never failing to pull out the I almost Died saving the world with you card to get them to shut up. And by the time it actually ends, Steve is a glowing, blushing mess who can't stop smiling.

Or the other way around. With Eddie full on assuming he has 0 shot because Steve's, Steve.

The golden boy who could obviously never be into him like that, or any other guy for that matter. So he doesn't do anything about his feelings, he just hangs out with him more and more and falls for him more and more, waiting for the inevitable day when he gets a girlfriend and his fantasies could finally die. Except one day, he spends the night at Steve's, but he isn't in bed when he wakes up. He goes to find him, just to hear him downstairs loudly talking to Robin. Because neither of them know the concept of inside voices when they're together. And he waits at the top, listening in just for the fuck of it, but mostly because he doesn't want to interrupt.

"I just feel like bed sharing the way you guys do is gay as hell," Robin sighed, "Especially at your age. Also, should we even be talking about this with him in the house?"

And before Eddie has time to freak out over that and the possibility he's gotten caught with his feelings, Steve is already answering, "I know right? And don't worry about it, he sleeps like the dead. But I don't know what to do about it. He still hasn't done anything. Am I just reading this whole thing wrong?"

"Well you could try making the first move instead of trying to trick him into doing it," Robin tried.

"And ruin our friendship incase I'm wrong? Yeah, no. Besides, I go like, full dumbass around him when I'm nervous. He's too hot. I'd probably walk into a wall in the middle of professing my undying love."

"Yeah," Robin sighed, "You probably would."

And Eddie is just having a moment upstairs. A full on I think I may have to jump for joy moment. Or even, I think I'm five seconds away from squealing like a teenage girl moment.

Yeah, I like that shit.

#steddie #steddie fic #stranger things #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #cutsy bullshit because im struggling so hard with my fic #i do actually love the misunderstandings trope #but i also love accidently confessing within ear shot

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bbydoll18xx · 1 month ago

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She's an Angel (Part 2)

You and Paige get locked inside a bathroom, the team likes to cockblock, and you finally get the girl.

Paige Bueckers x reader

Part 1 - Pretty much everyone but Paige has noticed your pining, and the team decide to do something about it.

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.7k

Themes: ummm smut??

A/N: hiiii cuties. Here is part 2. I hope you enjoy!!!

Your chest heaves as you and Paige pull apart from each other. You look towards your reflection in the mirror, eyes trained on your swollen lips and the dark hickey standing prominent on your neck.

“Fuck,” you whisper, dancing your fingers across the bruise with a dazed expression on your face. “You know how long I’ve wanted to do that?”

“You know long I’ve wanted to fuck you?” Paige whispers, her voice rich with a sultry tone.

You press another kiss to her lips, humming as her taste floods your senses again.

Her large hands trail down your sides, landing on your ass. Her touch sends sparks shooting through your body, and she lifts you up, putting you on the counter. You were now eye to eye, the vast blueness of hers shining stark against the dark pupils that engorged in the view of you.

She smirks, reconnecting your lips, as your moans fill the small bathroom.

“God, Paige,” you whine, as you push your body against hers, your hands roaming freely.

“Such a needy, little thing, aren’t you, Bambi?” She mumbles, her breath hot against your throat, warmth spreading down your spine to settle in the pit of your belly. She had lit a fire inside you, and now it was fully raging, consuming you until you would ultimately be left in a pile of ash.

Your head spins as her words register in your love drunk brain. Another breathy moan falls from your lips, back arching to get as close to Paige as possible as she sucks marks onto your sensitive skin.

The noises grow louder before they’re cut off by a clamor outside the bathroom, followed by three quick raps on the door.

Paige groans, throwing her head back in annoyance. “What the fuck do you guys want?” She calls out.

“We didn’t think you two would actually hook up in there,” Jana yells with a tone of disgust.

You giggle as Paige leans back into you, her face buried in your neck as she thinks for a moment.

“Gonna kill those cock-blocking idiots,” she grumbles under her breath. She helps you down off of the bathroom counter before stepping over to the door and ripping it open.

The whole team is standing in the doorway with varying expressions on their faces, ranging from smug to utter excitement.

“Nice hickey,” Aubrey says pointedly, causing the other girls to erupt in laughter. Your face grows warm as you move to hide behind Paige’s taller figure.

“It is, isn’t it,” Paige boasts, turning around to look at it. Her eyes flicker to yours, as the rest of the team fades out from your periphery.

“Ugh, cool it with the lovey-dovey shit,” KK groans, pretending to gag.

“I thought you wanted us to be happy,” Paige deadpans, glaring at the team with a little less heat than before.

“Go be happy someplace I don’t get ready,” Jana shoots back, still looking thoroughly traumatized, as she glances past you and Paige to look at the defiled counter with a subtle shudder.

Paige shrugs, grabbing your hand and waving to the team. “Gonna go fuck my girl. See ya.”

Her nonchalant brashness makes you giggle, and as you follow her out of the apartment, you can’t help but feel giddy as the thought settles into your mind.

Paige was finally going to fuck you. And she was finally going to be yours.

Your bedroom was illuminated by the soft, golden hue emitting from your desk lamp, showering you and Paige in a comforting aureate of warmth.

Paige had settled herself between your open thighs, as she worshiped the soft skin under her, leaving you dripping and feeling very, very needy. Your chest rises and falls as you watch the blonde girl, wondering how the hell you had gotten here.

“Please, Paige,” you whimper. “Need more.” Your hips stutter as her mouth travels closer to your soaked core. You reach down to play with your own clit before Paige smacks your hand away with a dominant finality.

“Gonna take care of my baby. Trust,” she hums against your thigh, pressing one more hot, open-mouthed kiss before suddenly licking a wide stripe up your pussy.

Your hips fly off of the bed as the pleasure shoots through you, and Paige holds them down with a muscled forearm, anchoring you.

Your head falls back against the mountain of pillows on your bed, quiet moans and tiny ‘pleases’ pouring out of your mouth as Paige eats you out with a fervous hunger.

“God, you taste good,” she claims, and as you look back down, you see the unmistakable sheen of your dripping sex coating her chin as she meets your eye with a grin.

Her voice, rich with arousal and husky, sent the butterflies in your stomach soaring to new, great heights.

Her tongue circles your clit again, sucking it into her mouth as if it belonged to her. She teases your entrance with a long finger, your slick warmth practically inviting her in.

She slips a finger in, your arousal evident as the usual, initial sting is absent. She wastes no time adding a second finger, pumping them in and out skillfully.

“So good, P,” you cry, eyes closing as the pressure in your lower abdomen builds to a perfect crescendo.

Paige releases your swollen clit from her hot, wet mouth to grin cheekily up at you, clearly enjoying the sounds of your own pleasure.

“Told you I’d take care of you, baby,” she boasts.

A third finger slips in as she gently teases you, brushing up against your g-spot with a delightful precision.

Your body is on fire, your entire being consumed by the wanton desire shooting through you.

You were going to cum on that same mouth you had spent years fantasizing about. It was almost poetic.

Your walls clench, and Paige knows that you’re getting close. She continues to eat you out, alternating pressure and speed.

“Fuck, Paige. Gonna-gonna cum. Please let me cum,” you whimper, all thoughts of trying to remain somewhat quiet erased from your mind.

“Be a good girl. Let go f’me,” she mumbles against your pussy, and it’s all you need to fall apart under her.

Your moans ricochet off the walls, alerting your neighbors of your activities, and Paige’s name leaves your lips like a sacred prayer.

She gives you a moment to catch your breath as she gazes upon your naked body. When you finally meet her eyes, a blush covers your face as you take notice of her adoring smile.

“You’re such a fuckin’ softy, P,” you giggle.

It was Paige’s turn to blush, and you pull her into a heated kiss, licking into her half-open mouth with a newfound confidence as you revel in the afterglow of your orgasm.

Flipping Paige over so she was laying underneath your body, you continue kissing her. You reach to roll a nipple between your fingers, experimenting with pinching and pulling at the pink, peaked flesh.

Your kisses travel down, marking her at the base of her throat with deep purple hues that would show everyone that she belongs to you and only you.

Paige groans under you, whimpering out breathy curse words and your name on a continuous loop.

You sit back on your knees, resting your butt on your heels, watching Paige, who looks up at you with a confused expression.

“Why’d you stop, Bambi?” She pouts, clearly frustrated at the sudden halt.

“Wanna try something with you,” you whisper, grabbing her open legs and slotting them in between yours.

Loud moans leave your mouths concurrently, as your slick centers connect, a feeling that is completely indescribable. It was erotic, the warmth spreading between the two of you.

You roll your hips experimentally, grinding your swollen clit against Paige’s, and her head falls to rest in the crook of your neck. Puffs of hot air tickle the sensitive skin right under your ear, and you extend your neck, wanting her to get even closer to you.

You find a rhythm, both of you taking turns guiding and following. The slick builds, running down your pussies and coating your inner thighs with a layer of sheen.

Leaning your head down, you attach your mouth to one of Paige’s nipples, biting lightly and then soothing it with a teasing sweep of your tongue. It was almost too much, and you pull away to focus on your centers sliding in unison.

“Fuck, ma. You feel so fuckin’ good,” Paige grunts out. “Can’t believe I’ve never done this shit before.” Her breath shudders as you pump your hips from a new angle, effectively silencing her.

“What can I say? I’m full of surprises,” you manage to get out, your voice raising a full octave as another wave of pleasure rolls through you.

The first orgasm Paige had awarded you had left you incredibly sensitive, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before you were falling over the edge once more.

You trail a hand across Paige’s toned stomach, feeling the ripples of pleasure shooting through her.

“I’m close,” you moan, and Paige nods, eyes squeezed shut in concentration, grinding up against your pelvis with a raging urgency.

Two more pumps of your own hips and you both were falling into each other, lost in the throes of your orgasms.

You collapse into each other's arms, limbs tangled up, two becoming one. At the moment, it feels like a lot more than just sex.

Laying down next to you, Paige cuddles you into her warmth, humming in appreciation. “The perks of dating a cheerleader, am I right?” She jokes, looking over to you with another ridiculous grin on her face.

“We’re dating now?” You question, your heart nearly faltering.

“I gotta take you out first. But yeah, duh,” she deadpans, and you lightly shove her, the giddiness in your chest threatening to give away your perfectly planned nonchalance.

As you lay next to her, listening to your breathing evening out, a smile ghosts your lips.

Gone were the days of pining. Because you had finally secured the girl. And that was certainly something to cheer about.

Whoo clearly I've been on a smut kick and i need to write something more wholesome. That being said, someone did request another part of I've Got a Wand and a Rabbit and i am very very tempted....

Thanks so much for reading. Let me know what you think!!

xoxo katy

Taglist:

@fullladypanda-blog, @omg-imtumbling, @tenaciousglitternerd, @oldcrdigan, @paigebuxkets, @the-other-half, @patscorner, @sophswbb, @dietcokesmom, @tndaqlifwy, @ch12334, @double22, @inthedeathofherreptuation, @authentic-girl03, @blueredg52 , @kmoneymartini , @mrsarnold, @ittiwdwysylm @sillylittlefakeacc

Want to be added to my taglist? Comment or send me a message :)

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x you #paige x reader #uconn wbb #friends to lovers #shes an angel #paige bueckers smut

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munsster · 5 months ago

Text

red wine supernova

A/N: guys... i know this is a sapphic song but hear me out on this one.... the lyrics go too well with eddie to ignore 😖 (gif creds: @keery)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Bimbo!Reader

Summary: “Baby, why don't you come over? / Red wine supernova, falling into me” 2.9k words

Warnings: fluff, dumbass pining x2, best friends to lovers, a few kisses, broody & high eddie, cursing, pet names (teddy, bug), teenage boys, underage drinking/smoking

"Hi, teddy!"

It rings in his ears like church bells. Then Eddie sees you and you're drenched in golden sunlight even though it's afternoon and the school halls provide no source of natural light. So maybe you're just beautiful. A vision in go-go boots.

Totally not his type, though.

"Hey," Eddie sighs, exhuasted from the hour and a half English lecture he just suffered. Not to mention, he was already exhuasted from the fact that he barely slept the night before. Which was maybe, possibly, perhaps caused by his overthinking about that nice shade of lipstick you always wear.

"How was Lit?"

"Shit."

You giggle, "that rhymed!" His heart skips a beat.

You're side by side down the halls—you always walk to lunch together—and, like clockwork, you tease him about trying to hold your hand when his ringed fingers brush your wrist. Of course, he would. In a heartbeat, he'd have his fingers clasped with yours like that's what they are molded for. But people would stare, and that's more of a hassle than he’d prefer.

Don't get him wrong, he doesn't actually give a shit about people staring at him, he just doesn't want to give anyone anymore reasons to stare at you. In disgust. Or loathing. With whatever judgements they'd make. Names they'd call you. He's been through the ringer, he'd never drag you along with him.

You're chattering about the state of your new, pink jellies when Eddie catches someone throwing you an off glance. He tries not to think too much of it, and he's not like jealous or anything, but every snicker and whisper sets him off. You're bubbly and kind and it's not fair people look at you different when you're with him.

"You ever notice how people look at us?"

You tilt your head at him as you round the corner of the cafeteria doors.

"You mean like how Dustin makes funny faces when I compliment your hair?"

"No, I mean like that," he huffs, pointing right at the judgemental stares of Melissa and Nicole, who promptly turn away with a gasp. He shakes his head. "And I like when you compliment my hair."

"Well, I like your hair." You smile at him as he pulls out a chair for you. You're the first ones to the table.

"Thank you, bug." Eddie ducks into his own seat, tapping his heavy fingers against the tabletop. "Off topic. I'm saying, you never notice people look at us... funny?"

The metal clasps of your limited edition Disco Fever lunchbox clack against the side as you unfold the lid. Your face contorts, considering the scenarios you've devised in your head if anyone was ever rude to Eddie in front of you. Let's just say your self-defense knowledge would come in handy.

"I guess I notice sometimes, but I just don't care. I like you lots more than I like them," you say, shrugging it off, "And I know how to fight."

His heart swells, face rosy, ears hot as an oven. Of course, you'd say that. You always know what to say.

Too bad you're not his type.

Dustin plops down in the seat across from you, nearly gagging at the way Eddie ogles at you.

"Would you get a fuckin' room already—!"

"Language," you both holler.

"Jinx!" you chirp. "You owe me a soda."

"I'll get you a soda, bug," Eddie hums. Dustin considers stocking his backpack with those little bags they give you on airplanes just in case.

...

"Weird Science or The Woman in Red?"

You're perched on the floor of his living room, wearing silk shorts and a cami. You weigh both tapes in your manicured hands like it'll tell you anything about the quality of the films inside.

"Somethin' to say about Kelly LeBrock, bug?"

"Steve suggested them! And he gave me a discount, so I couldn't just say no," you say with such a dazzling smile on your face, he thinks you're the nicest girl he's ever met. Or, at least, the nicest he's ever seen, no contest.

Just, not his type.

"Go figure," he says, "Weird Science."

"'Cause of the mutant bikers?" You beam up at him where he sits on the couch.

"'Cause of the mutant bikers."

It makes you giggle, which makes him smile like an idiot.

Then Hellfire pours onto Eddie's front porch bearing gifts of humongous chip bags and a six pack of cheap beer. He jumps a little at the doorbell, and you spring up to open the floodgates for the rowdy group of boys. They greet you excitedly and spread themselves across the rest of the couch, an armchair, and the floor.

Dustin tosses you a bag of pop rocks, and you blow a kiss in thanks, promising to bring him by the arcade next week. Eddie feels so far from you, even though your shoulders are pressed between his knees. But he can't see you or talk to you, your attention is divided, and he can't help but feel a little needy. You smack Dustin's hand when he reaches for a beer, and he whines about Mike sneaking one.

"What movie did the love birds choose?" Gareth asks. Eddie takes out a baggie of weed.

"Weird Science!" you coo, slotting the tape into the VCR. Gareth celebrates, sloshing his beer can against the coffee table as the rest of the boys high five and howl. You roll your eyes affectionately.

You laugh, smacking Jeff on the arm. “Oh, you’re all horny perverts.”

Gareth salutes, “At your service!” Which earns him a playful flick upside the head. The opening credits roll, and you stand triumphantly.

“I have to pee, but you guys can let it roll while I’m gone!” you chirp, skipping off down the hall of the mobile home.

As soon as you’re out of ear shot, Dustin whips around to scowl at Eddie who exhales a slow puff from the neon pink bong you gifted him last year. He passes it to Gareth and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I can’t tell what’s worse,” Dustin huffs, “The fact that you’re so oblivious or the fact that she is, too.”

Eddie squints. “What?”

Dustin deadpans.

“Dude, even I can tell you two like each other,” Mike chimes in, “Will thought you were dating from two thousand miles away. Over the phone.”

“You guys are fucking high. We are not dating,” Eddie says.

Mike shrugs. “You should be.”

“Okay, twerp, I’m not taking romantic advice from someone in a long distance relationship.”

“He’s right,” Dustin barks.

“That means you, too, twerp. Besides. Not my type.” Eddie sighs and slumps into the cushions, reaching his arms above his head.

“Yeah, right,” Lucas says, “If she’s not your type, then who is?”

“I don’t know, but she’s not.”

Gareth rolls his eyes. “Sounds like a lame excuse for your cowardice.” Eddie’s jaw drops, and he grabs for his bong.

“You did not just say that to me.”

“I meant it.”

You bumble back into the room, and the conversation screeches to a halt, Gareth whipping back towards the screen with Eddie’s eyes still burning holes in the back of his head.

“What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” they grumble.

Eddie smiles when you plop down next to him on the creaky couch. He can’t focus on the movie with the stray glances he’s catching from the younger boys and the soft looks you offer every so often. Maybe he is gutless. Because when he thinks about you, he’s floored. Then—knee jerk—he has to justify his racing heart with the fact that he could never be into you. But he is. You’re beautiful and funny and sweet to him. You are his type.

Not halfway into the film, Dustin whines, “I’m bored. Can we play a game? Like spin the bottle or kiss marry kill or something?”

“First of all,” Eddie says, “there’s only one chick here, we’re not playing spin the bottle. Second, are you five years old?”

You scoff and pat Eddie on the thigh. “Hey! I’m with Dustin. Truth or dare?”

“Works for me,” Jeff interjects. Eddie glares at him, grabbing his bong from the table. “Truth or dare, Eddie.”

He exhales a puff of smoke, shaking his head.

“Truth”—The boys’ heads turn, wicked smiles on their faces like predators eyeing him up—“Fuck, dare.”

Jeff cocks a brow.

“I don’t like this game,” Eddie says.

“Do you have a crush on anyone?”

“I said dare.”

Jeff grins. “I dare you to tell me if you have a crush on anyone.”

Dustin, Lucas, and Mike chuckle.

“Fuck you all. Yeah, fine, I do. Next,” Eddie grumbles.

“It’s your turn, teddy,” you coo.

“Right. Dustin, truth or dare.”

“Easy. Truth,” he says.

“Is it fun being a little shit?”

You shove his side. “Eddie!”

“Why, yes. Yes, it is.”

“Great,” Eddie huffs.

“Awesome.” Dustin glares at him.

The game continues just like that, a vicious cycle of sarcasm and glares. It’s a little more lighthearted when Lucas asks you if you have a special skill. Without responding, you ask for a deck of cards and stand in front of the screen.

“You boys like magic?”

A few nod, the rest too stunned to speak as you show them a card, the queen of diamonds, and shuffle the deck a few times. You pull a card from the deck, and the boys lean in, anticipating the red queen. You spin the card, and they groan when you reveal the eight of clubs.

“That’s not our card, bug,” Eddie says. He expects you to be disappointed, but you grin and set the deck on the table.

“I know.” Their eyes widen when you reach into the top of your shorts, a card pinched between your fingers. The queen of diamonds. “This is.”

You toss the card, and the boys grab for it. Eddie gulps and shifts in his seat, couch squealing beneath him. Lucas pelts the hard-won card at Eddie, and you curtsy before heading back to your seat.

…

Just as the game gets a little tired, Dustin shoots his hand into the air. “My turn!”

“Okay, but this is the last one—”

Dustin shouts your name.

“Yes?”

“Truth or dare?”

You pretend to contemplate before chirping, “Dare!”

Eddie leans his head back, lulling to the side to watch you smile at Dustin. You catch Eddie staring and stick your tongue out at him. He winks.

“I dare you… to kiss the person on your right.”

“Geez, how long did it take you to come up with that one,” Eddie mumbles. But you look to your right, and Eddie looks kind of uninterested, glazed over and staring at the ceiling.

“That doesn’t seem very consensual,” you say, brows knitted just as Eddie lifts his head. Dustin glares expectantly at Eddie who slowly sits up and turns his head, smirking at you.

“You can kiss me, bug. So long as you promise not to bite.”

Eddie’s relieved when you giggle and set your hand on his knee.

“If you say so!” You lean closer, and he blushes at the new proximity. Despite his nerves, he just can’t look away, eyes locked with yours. You huff when it feels like he’s staring straight into your soul. But you’re smiling so sweetly, even with all the rascals chanting ‘do it!’.

You shift your weight and hold onto his shoulder as he slips his arm around your waist so you don’t teeter off the couch. He nods, tip of his nose just brushing yours. You press your lips to his quickly, and he can sense your nerves when you pull away and look down.

Everyone cheers.

You look into his eyes again, and your face relaxes, the heat not so unbearable when you see his smile. You duck to kiss him again, his arm tighter on your waist. He tries not to smile, but you hum softly and, suddenly, he’s a puddle in your fingers.

You pull away when someone whistles, your ears rushing with blood as you drop your feet to the floor and look away, face burning.

Eddie clears his throat. “Alright, you pervs got what you wanted. Can we finish this damn movie already?”

“It’s kinda late,” you hum, “I don’t wanna be driving too close to the witching hour.”

“Wait, what?” Gareth says, watching you stand and shuffle into your slippers by the door.

“Sorry, guys. Just… superstititous.” They wouldn’t have believe you if you hadn’t said it with a genuine smile on your face. Eddie hops up from his seat and follows you.

“I’ll walk you out, bug.”

“Ooh,” Dustin teases. Jeff slaps a hand over his mouth, and Dustin mumbles an expletive against it.

Your little, red coupe is sidled right up next to his van. He always keeps the spot closer to the door open for you. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his jacket, your arms crossed over your chest to keep out the cold. He winces.

“You sure you don’t wanna stay? I can take the floor,” Eddie says, shucking his jacket and wrapping it over your shoulders. You smile.

“Such a gentleman.”

He rolls his eyes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, teddy,” you whisper, craning your neck to kiss his cheek. Your heart-shaped keychain jangles against the car door as you slot the silver key into the lock. When you get the door open and glance at him, he’s stone faced where he leans against the back window.

“Wait,” he huffs.

“Yeah?”

Eddie can feel himself flailing, hands shaky at his sides when you look at him. He can’t tell if it’s because of the cold or his nerves or how worried you look or the fact that this could be his only chance. Don’t be a coward. He expects you to get tired of it. Eventually, you’ll have to let go, but right now, you stand there and wait for him. Oh.

“Sorry, bug. I’m pretty high right now.”

“I don’t mind.” You shrug when he rubs the back of his neck and chuckles softly. “You okay?”

He shakes his head. “You’re so sweet. And you’re so nice to me. God, you’re so pretty.”

“Thank you, Eddie,” you coo, standing close enough to feel the warmth radiate from his chest. He nods slowly, glancing down at your lips.

“Yeah.”

You thumb over the leftover slip of paper in the pocket of his jacket. And you smile, remembering when you passed him that note in chem last thursday.

Eddie sucks in a breath, sighing, “You make me so nervous.” You blink hard, and he’s seering hot under the warm light filtering through the trailer windows. “And you’re so fascinating.”

“Fascinating?!”

“Yeah,” he whispers.

“That’s a new one. ‘S that a good thing?” you say, head tilted watching him push his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing. Fascinating is good. To me.” You swear his eyes twinkle a little when he looks at you.

“Well,” you nod, “Thank you.”

“Yeah.” And he can’t stop himself from taking selfish glimpses at your mouth. He feels so stupid for how long he denied his genuine attraction to you. His crush on you. You’d laugh if you knew what went on in his head. “I liked kissing you.”

You take a deep breath, and he steels himself for rejection. He thinks, why should you want anything to do with him after he’s acted so indifferent towards you all this time.

“I liked kissing you, too, teddy.” Holy fuck.

He grins. “You’re my type.” At first, you think he’s joking, but even a blind man could tell Eddie was dead serious. “Textbook description of it, bug. You’re my type.”

You look into his eyes again, trying to gauge if he’s fucking with you. He has to know that you’ve liked him for years. He has to. It’s not like the boys have been subtle about it.

“I… am flattered,” you coo, “Where’s all this coming from?”

“Just. From me. You know? It’s always been there. Had a crush on you forever, just had to tell you now.”

You nod, biting back a grin and shuffling a little closer. He’s absolutely buzzing when you curl your fingers into his bicep.

“Can I kiss you?” His head is spinning when you nod and press up against him. He’s sure you can feel his heart pounding. Especially when you press your delicate palm right to it. His hand fits gently against your hip.

Now, it’s his turn to kiss you. His lips are so soft against yours, tender like he’s nervous you’ll shatter. You giggle and reach for the back of his neck, your mouths falling open against each other in a fit of excitement and heat. He tugs you closer when your tongue slips into his mouth; he doesn’t mean to, but he feels himself smile and spread his hand across your lower back.

Eddie pulls away, eyes flicking wildly across your face just before he pecks your mouth again.

“Bug?”

You nod, eyes refusing to open as he kisses your cheek.

“Be my girlfriend?”

“Yes, teddy, I will!”

You tug him down by the collar to kiss him ferocious, his cheeks instinctively hot with your baby pink fingernails gentle on his neck. You can hear the cheers and high-fives from inside the house, exclamations of ‘finally!’ and ‘i knew it’.

Then Dustin hollers, “Fuck yeah!”

And you both shout, “Language!” just before falling into each other in a fit of giggles.

stranger things masterlist

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x bimbo!reader #eddie x bimbo!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #x reader #fluff #mutual pining #best friends to lovers #Spotify

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f1fnatic · 6 months ago

Text

DON'T LEAVE ME BEHIND! ⤿ m. verstappen 1

→ ( in which. . . ) you're at a dreaded sponsor event for redbull and find someone that resents them just as much as you do, if not more.

→ ( fanfic genre. . . ) written

→ ( pairing. . . ) max verstappen x fem!reader

→ ( content warnings/disclaimers. . . ) mutual pining, fluff, cursing, mentions of alcohol consumption, chr*stian ho*ner

→ ( authors note. . . ) woohoo! another fic done :p this is just one of the 17 (😀) drafts i have... anyways... hope you enjoy! see end for more

→ ( masterlist )

you wanted to leave. but you couldn't. you had always hated these types of stuck-up sponsor events. luckily, you noticed some body who hated them just as much as you.

you caught a glimpse of him before he was whisked away by one of the redbull higher-ups. his dirty blonde hair was easy to spot among the brunettes surrounding him.

you, unfortunately, were in the same boat. someone who you forgot the name of was talking your ear off, slurring something along the lines of it being beneficial for their brand if you were to join with them.

being a redbull athlete meant high expectations and a multitude of events. sometimes you were given a heads-up, but tonight you weren't. no, instead, this sponsorship party was sprung upon you by your manager 3 hours before it started. they blamed it on the fact that you were 'unbelievably busy' and 'it slipped their mind.' that put you in a sour mood. you were home, meaning that you had made plans with your family and friends that you had to regrettably cancel.

this man was getting on your last nerve. you could not handle another second of his borderline incoherent mumbling. so, you kindly excused yourself for a drink. you turned on your skinny heel and began to walk away. the corset of your dress digging into your ribs with every step. breathing was becoming a task with the tightening ties. instead of stopping at the bar, you continue walking towards the balcony.

rays of moonlight flood through the dauntingly tall glass doors. you step through the threshold and onto the unusually small balcony. the crisp air feels like a shot of espresso as you breathe in. it rejuvenates you. a light breeze sends shivers down your spine, goosebumps appearing in its wake. there isn't much decor on the platform. string lights are threaded through the railing, potted plants are set in each corner of the rectangular area, and a gas fireplace is placed to the left surrounded by cushioned chairs.

a figure is standing in front of you, body slumped over the rail. you walk over. once you get closer, you are met with the familiar face of max verstappen.

max knew who it was before you reached him. the clicking of your expensive heels on the concrete of the balcony gave you away. as did the cherry-vanilla perfume you adored so much as it wafted in the wind. he was infatuated by you. he very rarely got to see you in person, but when he did, he drank you in like a man starved. the pure beauty you held made him shrink within himself.

"i thought i saw you earlier." you comment. that was a partial lie. you didn't see him directly, but you felt him. you knew that he was there when his burning gaze was digging into the back of your head.

he only smiles. he knew you would be here, much to your dismay. he was almost considering telling christian that he fell ill and wouldn't be able to make it, but he couldn't risk not seeing you. max looked to you and you looked back, a sickeningly sweet smile on your pink tinted lips.

a comfortable silence blanketed the both of you. you had one arm laying atop the balcony rail while the right was propped on your cheek. the golden bracelets fell down your wrist and twinkled in the soft light. your gaze fastened on the breathtaking sight in front of you.

max stood beside you in a trance. everything about you had him head over heels in love (but he wouldn't admit that.) the way your hair softly blew in the breeze, the way your rich blue dress complimented every curve of your built body, and the way your eyes twinkled in the moonlight made butterflies flutter everywhere in his body. they started in his stomach then migrated to his toes and fingertips. he knew he was blushing and was bright red. but the small buzz he had going could be to blame.

you weren't sure when, but at some point your bodies grew closer. maybe it was just max, or maybe the both of you. but the added body heat began to slowly warm you up.

just like before, you could feel his intense, icy gaze burning into the side of your skull. "you're staring."

"i know. just enjoying the view." he replies simply. you turn to look at him, a shocked expression on your face. a light blush began to dust your cheeks.

"is that so?" you ask. he nods simply, closing his eyes and smiling. you playfully scoff before somberly adding, "you know you may grow tired."

"with you in front of me? never." he expresses. "truthfully y/n, if i could paint, you would be my muse. no doubt about it. i would never grow tired of looking at you. your beauty is simply awe inducing."

you were speechless. words escaped you and you were positive your blush got even darker. you shyly went to turn back to face the view but max's hand quickly found yours and tugged your body back to face him. he kept hold of your hand and interlaced your fingers with his.

"don't look away." he states. a heat began to bundle in your core. he had never talked to you this way, nor acted this way. you wish he would. there was something unreadable in his eyes, the bright blue darkening.

you silently stared at each other. neither of you daring to break eye contact. that is, until, the sound of someone clearing their throat made the two of you, unfortunately, separate. the lack of heat made the bitter cold even colder.

you turn your attention to the sound and are met with none other than christian horner. "i hope i'm not interrupting anything." he says smugly.

"nope, nothing at all." max responds, sheepishly sliding his hands into his pants pockets. christian stood in the door way, arms crossed like a doting father.

he acknowledges you with a simple "y/n." you respond with a nod. he then turns his attention back to max. "there's a sponsor wanting to talk to you. something about sunglasses. i told him i'd come and get you."

you look up to max and see him deflate a little. you gave him a sympathetic pout and patted him on the shoulder. "so then, let's go." christian pushes, annoyance laced into his tone. he turns to leave, returning inside just out of view of the glass doors.

max goes to follow, but now it was your turn to grab his hand and make him turn around. he does so enthusiastically. "don't leave me behind, yeah maxie?" you say moving your hands to his shoulders, locking your fingers behind his neck.

"i won't, i promise schatje." his hands went to rest on your hips. warmth radiated from his palms enveloping you in heat. the both of you started at one another, eyes locked and cheeks flushed, red like a sunburn.

max slowly moves in and you follow. the two of you always seemed to gravitate towards one another; like two galaxies yearning to twirl with each other.

you knew what he wanted, and he knew you wanted the same. blue eyes locked on your pink lips. instead of you connecting with his, you swerve and plant a kiss on his cheek; just at the intersection of skin and lip. your lipstick left a visible imprint almost like a stamp. his blue eyes twinkle and you smile. "you should go before horner grounds you."

max laughs before dropping his hands from your waist and you do the same. that same bitter cold returns but you knew it wouldn't last long, he would be back in no time.

"you'll still be out here, yeah?" he questions.

"i should, unless stephen hunts me down to talk to a sponsor."

"i'll find you before that." he winks. he bowed in front of you playfully. a laugh fell from your lips. god, he loved your laugh. he smiled at himself. turning on his heel he began retreating back inside. he turned to look over your shoulder, bidding you adieu.

there you stood, on the balcony, cheeks red, butterflies flying around restlessly throughout your body, yearning for the man that owned your heart.

first max fic! really happy with how this one turned out. AND OFF TOPIC BUT CHARLES FIRST GRAND PRIX WIN OF THE SEASON?? AND IT WAS MONACO?? OMG?? also, if you would like to be on the taglist, comment!!! requests and feedback are welcome! make sure to leave a comment and kudos as well (only if you want :P)

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dwindlinghaze · 1 year ago

Note

helloo can i request a fic for introvert!reader with extrovert!remus lupin whos head over heels for her <3

yes u can darlin <3 🫧🫧 i sort of wrote this into a whole new story but i hope you like this one ☁️🌸🩷🤍

everytime

(remus lupin x reader)

contents : fem reader, toxic friendships, kissing, fluff !! not proofread

　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

the door slammed open, revealing three young witches with their hands full of shopping bags. you knew they were going to hogsmeade together, but a part of you wished they had invited you.

they're your roomates and friends.

you couldn't go as far as calling them your true friends because they don't involve you much in their group activities.

they go on picnics together, shopping for pretty dresses in hogsmeade, having brunch dates, going to the movies.

a part of you wished you're there, being together with them and just fitting in. but the other part of you were thankful as for they're not inviting you because you would feel left out anyways.

it was better to be left out, and only you know it, rather than being left out with other people knowing.

maybe it wasn't their fault. elina is pretty, smart, bright and outgoing. adrienne is cheerful, energetic, and sociable. cassie is ambitious, intelligent, and talkative. you laughed bitterly to yourself, realising that they all have similar traits- all really easy to talk to and would always have an on going conversation.

you couldn't even hold a conversation for more than four minutes. it feels like your fault now.

you sit alone the morning after. you usually sit with your 'friends' for breakfast, but you were hurt from yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. it was tiring, you needed break.

which caught the attention of a young gryffindor boy, sitting at the opposite end of the table.

remus lupin always thought you're the most beautiful person he ever saw. you two never talked, there's no reason to.

only his longing stares are the closest thing to interaction.

he thought you're beautiful. not the kind of beauty in magazines or billboards, but the kind of beauty that spreads through a field of mystical flowers. a kind that shines golden in daylight and a night fairy at late.

he saw the way you chew on your breakfast gloomily. he wondered why. you weren't spotted with your usual friends. you were just there. alone.

you would think of yourself as pathetic, but remus doesn't. he would never. he saw an angel-like soul that nobody's good enough to know. nobody's smart enough to notice.

he frowned when he saw you wiping away a tear before you got up, exiting the packed hall.

"frowning moony is not a safe moony," james said, quirking his eyebrows up.

"it's y/n, isn't it?" sirius questioned. the handsome man noticed how remus has been distracted from reality lately. he noticed how remus basically looks at you with heart eyes everytime.

"she looks sad today," remus noted, feeling an overwhelming sense of worry flooding him. it was funny to think about actually, you two never spoke a word to each other yet remus is worrying as if you're his.

"talk to her," james urged. "it's been- what was it? years of pining, you should make a move first because we all know she won't."

"i can't- y'know, my condition," remus huffed.

"she won't mind."

"how'd you know?"

"because- she is her...?" sirius said. "give it a try moony, if she doesn't love you with your condition then she doesn't deserve you, but if she does, it's worth it."

"right..."

that evening you sat down staring at an open window, catching your breath. you had been crying. you don't know why you're being so sensitive lately especially since your friends are always like this. why are you taking it so personal now?

you let the wind hit your face, drying your tears up with the cold breeze.

remus was on his nightly patrol around the castle. he's a prefect. that's how he heard a sniffle down the hall, his vision met with the most enchanting sight.

he walked slowly towards you, not wanting to scare. "hey... you alright?"

you turned around abruptly, wiping away the tears on your eyelashes. "i'm sorry for being out late."

"i'm not going to report you to professor mcgonagal, are you alright?" he asked once more.

"yeah, i'll be heading back to my dorm now," you collected yourself. the quiet footsteps didn't go unheard by you. remus was following you to the dorms.

"don't want filch to get you, i'll walk you there," he smiled a generous smile.

then silence fell between the two of you, only for remus to break it. "i know we're not friends but you can talk to me about it if you want, you can trust me," remus took hold of your upper arm, caressing it gently.

"thanks," was the only reply. you cringed at how short it sounded and he probably thinks you're rude and cold which is the opposite of who you are. your words aren't the best representation of yourself.

remus knew you were an introvert, hiding away from crowded rooms whenever you can. you never go to the parties his friends held. he knew you prefer reading to revelling.

he understands, he was once just like you. but with the help and support of his friends, he feels more comfortable in expressing himself now.

"will i see you tomorrow?" remus asked once you were inside the gryffindor common room.

"yeah, thank you- for not turning me in," you sent him an awkward smile.

the next day, you weren't in a better state either. you found out that cassie was talking horrible things about you with some slytherins. you weren't surprised. it was just your nature to constantly be disrespected by them.

remus saw you again that very day. your eyes were watery and your fingers were shaking.

he quickly ran up to you, his heart breaking into a million pieces. how dare someone did this to you?

"honey, you okay?" remus said, looking at you with the fondest eyes.

you almost cried again, hearing how someone actually asked you if you were okay. you shook your head in response.

"talk to me, we're friends," remus said softly. in reality, you two aren't technically friends. you only met face to face twice.

"we're friends?" you asked, feeling unsure.

"we are. from now on. now tell me who did this to you?"

"oh remus i can't," you shook your head.

"okay... but you can talk to me about anything okay? it doesn't have to be important. that's what friends are for," he smiled.

and oh when you smiled back, was like heaven to him. you looked like an ethereal angel with that divine smile and that archangelic face. he might as well fall in love right then and there.

the sparkles in your eyes that hold such loneliness and hope is what he calls beauty. the way you smiles even when you're sad just to assure him that you will be okay is heart warming. to him you weren't just beautiful for something as temporary as your face. you're beauty hides beneath that broken heart of yours, that delicate soul you have.

you opened up after a while, you feel you can trust remus. he is a calm and caring person. the way he asks 'how are you' every morning since. he wrapped his arm around your shoulder because he doesn't want to lose you in the sea of students. he cuts your breakfast so you can eat them easier. he reads to you softly when you cried again because of your friends.

he didn't know how much this has helped you to be okay again. how much you adored him for everything he does, even the questionable ones. you didn't care.

"rem, want to talk to you," you spoke, breaking his gaze from his book.

"i'm all ears, darling," he replied.

"you wanna know why i keep on crying?," you sniffed, ready to open up for the first time. "it's because- cause cassie, elina, and adrienne. they keep saying bad things about me- that you probably heard already. i used to always think we're friends, maybe not the kind like- you and me. but just friends... i guess. they keep leaving me out. it's like they don't even want me there." you were wiping tears away now, feeling unsure of yourself.

you never spoke of your feelings like this. never to anyone. how can remus made it so easy for you to be transparent to him?

"oh angel, they don't deserve you. they're too full of themselves to see how worthy you are. i think- i think you're the perfect just how you are. forget about them yeah? we will start a new beginning. you can come and sit with me from now on. no need to care about them. i will never make you sad, promise."

he pulled you to his chest, embracing you in a warm hug.

he made a promise to himself that every week, he will give you gifts and such to remind you how important you are. how much he loves and cares about you.

he couldn't let you waste your tears for your past friendship. remus treats you like a princess. he wants to make you smile. seeing you happy is what matters most because a dream girl should live in a dreamworld. and he made it a mission to make a perfect world for you.

he remembered you saying how those girls never invited you to picnics so here he is, inviting you to join the picnic he has set just for you and him.

"oh rem, this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done!" you sighed, sitting yourself down on the carpet.

"it's nothing! you deserve it," he smiled proudly, pouring you and himself a cup of chamomile tea. your favourite.

there's something sparkling in your wrist. the shine of it glimmering under the perfect weather. you were wearing a bracelet remus gave to you a few days ago. a pretty silver chain with a moon and angel wings intertwined together.

when he first saw the jewelery on the display, it immediately reminded him of you so he just had to buy two of them. a matching bracelet.

god, nobody has ever even given you a friendship bracelet before.

he saw you, picking up the fresh strawberries with your delicate hands. 'what a dreamy girl' he thought 'and to have an angel like her to call my own'

he wanted to kiss you right there. everything was perfect at the moment. the soft honey rays of the sunshine warms the air surrounding the two of you, there's no reason for remus to scoot over closer to your figure. but he did anyways.

"i like a girl, no i actually love her," he started.

your heart sank, you thought maybe-just maybe remus is the one. he pulled you right out of misery in the best way.

remus saw your crestfallen expression, though he continued, "she makes my heart jump. she's the girl i've been in love with for a long time, i wanna go wherever she goes."

you forced a smile at him, munching on your strawberry that suddenly turned sour.

"she gets sad often, but that doesn't stop her from taking care of the people around her, and herself. she's smart and wise. she inspires me actually. everytime we say goodnight, i go to bed and sleep happily. dreaming of happy thoughts because when she's around, there's no negativity."

"i love her- y/n," he said, hinting at the way he emphasised your name.

"can i know who she is?" you asked shyly.

"can you guess?"

"i don't know..."

"well, i see her everytime," remus said, a smile playing on his lips.

"you see a lot of people everyday," you replied.

"i said everytime not everyday," he chuckled.

"that's not possible!"

"it is actually. i could never get tired of her. anyone is crazy if they do," he shook his head. "okay.. she smells like the most cosiest bakery in town."

"i don't think i know anyone that smells like a bakery."

"of course you don't, darling," remus said, cupping your cheeks. "'cause it's you. i'm in love with you,"

"wha- me?" you knitted your brows. he caressed them away.

"yes you, it's obvious actually. i thought you knew," remus chucked. "i don't have matching bracelets with anyone else, i never go on picnics, i never crochet someone a sweater before, i could go on but i want to hear what you have to say."

"i love you too, it's inevitable," you said, rubbing your cheeks further on his palms.

"can i kiss you?" he asked. he always considered himself a gentleman and he will be the most gentlemanly when it comes to you.

you responded with a soft nod, then he pressed his lips against yours. slowly but surely, he felt you melting in the kiss and god does that feel way more magical than the daydreams he had about this. his tongue manoeuvred its way inside your mouth, meeting yours in a soft touch that sent shivers down your spine. he loves the way you taste, licking the remnants of strawberry juice in your mouth.

he placed his hand on the back of your head while the other wrapped itself around waist, making you impossibly closer to him.

you didn't know how long that lasted but when you pulled away, the both of your cheeks were bright red and the smiles couldn't be wiped away.

#remus lupin x reader #character x you #x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin x reader fluff

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heirofnight · 3 months ago

Text

pendulum

an azriel x reader thought dump that may or may not become a series but is really just me needing to unload a bunch of thoughts and feelings that i have

ok enjoy <3

the late afternoon light cascaded through the chiffon curtains that billowed gently against the large windows.

your rooms at the house of wind had become a sanctuary - your safe place, secluded from the hustle and bustle of the main two floors below you.

you'd spent months curating your chambers, collecting pretty trinkets and beautiful art that were all now dutifully placed around the room. you'd made sure that each item had elicited emotions from deep within your chest each time your eyes happened to fall upon them - sadness, joy, longing, adoration - you'd been infatuated with simply allowing yourself to feel.

you'd acquired bookshelves lined with novels including the widest range of genres you could get your hands on. you loved to learn - aspired to fill your mind with as much knowledge as possible. your eyes snagged onto the spine of one of your favorite classics - a romance, of course. you were always drawn to romance. your heart was consistently perched right on your sleeve, dreaming of the day that a lover may pluck the beating organ right into their own hands - cradling it and worrying over it as if it were their own.

you sighed at the thought, gently sprawling your current read across your chest. layers of cloud-like bedding encompassed your frame - you were already curled into your mattress for the evening, body adorned in a silk pajama set comprised of a camisole and shorts. the smooth fabric boasted dainty embroidered roses - it was your favorite ensemble to wear to bed, airy and light.

you peered around your space, the fire lit in the hearth providing the coziest blanket of warmth. the bursting sunset allowed pools of golden, pink light to pool across your hardwood floor. you felt, just for a moment, like you were solely existing in a dream.

and, like in most of the dreams that nestled their way into your mind's eye while you were asleep, azriel's face made an appearance right at the forefront of your thoughts - uninvited, but never unwelcome.

your eyes fluttered shut as you allowed every part of you to succumb to every bit of him.

you adored being a romantic to your core, and often found a lovesick, drowsy feeling always trailing right behind any thought of the shadowsinger that resided right down the hall.

you'd pined for him, which came as no surprise to you at all. he was so kind, so gentle with you. and you longed to give every ounce of love that you'd been collecting, saving, nurturing, growing for the right moment - the right lover - over to him.

you knew he deserved it. and deep down, you knew he'd been longing to be loved just as much as you'd longed to love.

you curled your legs in tighter to yourself, opening your eyes to cast them to the tall ceiling above your head, but only momentarily.

you never allowed yourself to give into these lovelorn feelings for too long, lest you actually make yourself feel ill. your body would begin to itch with the urge to bound northward through the halls, until your bare feet found themselves right at the threshold of azriel's wooden door.

and then what?

then things - feelings - would become too real, and azriel struck you as the kind of male likely to bolt as opposed to stare down the barrel of that gun.

so, you clutched onto the book that was still spread across your chest, stretched your bare legs out before you, and continued to read. about love, and happy endings, and a male that loved the main character just as much as she loved him. if only.

azriel, on the other hand, decided that he loved you about fifteen minutes later. and by decided, it moreso felt like he had been hit in the chest by one of cassian's training shields at full-speed.

his shadows had been skittering about his large frame, following him up, up, up the stairs, and down the hallway towards his rooms.

he was lost in thought, momentarily attempting to work out the details of a mission he was set to embark on later in the week, and also contemplating if he should ask the house for a plate of chocolate cake to indulge in before sharpening truth teller.

he watched as a tendril of shadow darted ahead to unlock his door, and all it took was one absentminded craning of his neck to the left to stop him dead in his tracks, literally - his heavy boots almost making an audible screeching sound at the abruptness of it all.

the door to your rooms was ajar, just slightly. he wasn't even sure if you were aware of it.

but right in his line of sight, was you. laying atop soft bedding, bare legs in silk shorts, long hair undone and cascading around your shoulders like a halo. the evening glow through your windows mixed with the flames from the hearth and surrounded you in a haze that made you look like an angel - like you were a figment of his imagination that had conjured itself when he was in need of it the most.

you were so peaceful, reading a book with a dreamy-looking expression painted across your features. he couldn't have asked the most skilled artist in prythian to create a more beautiful piece of art.

now, of course azriel knew you. he'd conversed with you plenty of times. you were often around the rest of his family, present at most meals and gatherings. and he'd always thought you were beautiful - achingly so, at times.

however, he'd forced himself to place a mental barrier where you were concerned. you were too precious, too kind, too bright. so bright, in fact, that he'd always made sure to hide his shadows away from you.

but seeing you this way, right now - he felt those mental walls crumbling under the weight of your exquisite existence.

should he knock?

should he inquire about what you were reading?

should he honestly just skip all of that, and instead rip his heart from the confines of his chest and offer it over to you on the spot?

no, surely not. his shadows were lazily orbiting around him now, and his wings had relaxed to the point of lightly trailing along the stone floor. he was mesmerized, and you hadn't even noticed - hadn't even seen him.

which, he thought, was probably how it was always going to be.

his hand twitched, his fist clenched, and his shoulders drooped - all for only a moment. and then he continued forward, dejected and craving isolation.

back to the shadows, where he belonged. not worthy of your warm, bright light.

a/n: sad girl + sad hours = sad writing

lmk what u think PLS, this one feels a little pointless but i wanted to share it anyway <3

#azriel #azriel acotar #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fic #azriel imagine #azriel fanfic #azriel drabble #azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel angst

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harmonicakai · 7 months ago

Text

Mr. Know It All

Pairing: Taehyun x Reader

Summary: When you finally find yourself sleeping over at Taehyun’s dorm, you start to wonder if you and him could ever be something more serious.

Tropes: friends with benefits, mutual pining, angst, fluff, college AU, tutor!taehyun

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: mentions of sex (mdni), LOTS of overthinking

A/N: This is unedited and I wrote it all in one go lol <3

"And the songbirds are singing Like they know the score And I love you, I love you, I love you Like never before" —Songbird, Fleetwood Mac

Taehyun doesn’t know how to tell you that things aren't and never have been casual between the two of you.

It started one rainy afternoon after a study session in the library. The two of you had run through the deluge into the safety of his dorm room, and when he peeled off his wet clothes to change, you didn’t look away.

So, one semester later, right after you’ve finished moaning his name, he struggles to find the words to ask you to stay the night.

He hates watching you gather up your things and leave, refusing to be held by him for even a moment after both of you have finished what you came here for.

“Y/N,” he manages to get out, his voice barely above a whisper. You turn away from the door, your hair still messy, eyeliner smudged. “It’s raining.”

It’s code for “I love you. Please don’t leave.”

“Right,” you say, glancing out the window. Lightning flashes throughout the small dorm, with the crash of thunder following shortly after. Only a fool would leave in this weather. “I don’t have an umbrella.”

“You can stay,” Taehyun says, patting the bed beside him. You nod, crossing over and settling under the warm blanket. Despite how often you’re here in this position, it’s never under these circumstances.

“It seems like the rain is always bringing us together,” you laugh. You’re careful not to say anything loud enough for his roommate to hear through the walls, although in retrospect, you’ve never considered your volume when in bed with Taehyun before.

It’s awkward. Before any of this started, he was just the guy who helped you out with your math problem sets. Add in the perfect distraction from actually sitting down and having a conversation with each other, and you barely knew anything about him.

“I can sleep on the floor,” he offers, already sliding off of the twin sized mattress with a pillow in his arms. “I don’t want to bother you.”

You note how between sleeping next to you and on the floor, he’s decided that the latter is more bearable.

Usually, the two of you are in perfect sync. He knows how to please you better than any other guy you’ve been with, making sure to do things the exact way that you like. Sometimes, you worry that he doesn’t think the same of you.

Are there other girls? You don’t see him as often as you’d like to, but maybe he’s just busy with other things. Kang Taehyun, the chronic overachiever and golden boy of SNU. What would he even want with a girl like you?

Surely, he spends all of his free time studying and going to band practice, you tell yourself.

At this point, your racing thoughts are never going to let you fall asleep.

“Taehyun,” you say, hoping you aren’t waking him up. You haven’t taken your eyes off the ceiling since he moved to the floor, half out of guilt that he’s even down there, and half worried you’ll catch yourself staring at him while he sleeps.

“Yeah?” he answers, his voice low. You wonder what it sounds like when he sings with his band. Maybe, if he asks you to, you’ll go to one of his concerts soon.

You hesitate, wondering whether or not he’ll say yes. “Can you come back up here?”

When you hear him gather his things and stand up, you finally let out the breath that you've been holding. Within seconds, he’s climbing in next to you, his body warm and strong.

“Are you cold?” he asks, pulling the covers up over your collarbone. “Sorry. I think the heater is broken and I haven’t had time to call maintenance.”

“Yeah, it’s a little chilly,” you confirm, although the temperature is fine. In fact, it might even be a little too hot.

“I can, uh,” Taehyun starts. You’ve never heard him stutter before. “I can hold you, if you want. That might help.”

“That would be nice,” you say, mentally cringing at how formal the exchange is. He positions himself behind you, snaking his arm around your waist and pressing his chest against your back.

“Is this better?” he asks, his voice still shaky. You worry that this level of intimacy is making him uncomfortable, but he nestles his head over your shoulder in a way that makes you finally stop overthinking. Maybe, just maybe, he feels the same way you do.

“Yes,” is all you manage to squeak out. He lets out a quiet laugh in relief before pressing a kiss into your shoulder blade. The small gesture sends a shockwave through your body.

“You’re cute,” he says, snuggling into you further. Is this really what things would be like if you didn’t run away after every hook up? It seems like second nature to him, making you question whether it actually means anything.

Still, he doesn’t bother to touch you now like he’s always dying to after you show up to class in a short skirt or send him a risky text when you know he’s running office hours.

“I can hear you thinking,” he mutters, startling you. You break away from his grasp to turn and face him, his piercing eyes already fixed on you. “Is something wrong, Y/N?”

“No,” you attempt to lie, although your face says otherwise. Taehyun feels you stiffen in his arms, your gaze locked on his.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he concedes, his voice icy and monotone. “But I know something is wrong.”

How could he know that? What could Taehyun possibly know about you besides what you look like with your clothes off?

When he first got assigned to tutor you, he had scolded you for being late, and again for being unorganized. If you don’t open up to him now, he might actually revert to the same cold demeanor as before.

Even worse, he might stop meeting up with you. With the school year ending next month, you’ll have no excuse to see each other anymore. The thought of being alone again brings you to tears.

Taehyun’s expression softens at the sight of you breaking down. “I’m sorry,” you cry, burying your face into his chest. His hand reaches up to stroke your hair, the other gently rubbing your back. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me tonight.”

“I do,” he sighs. You pull back just enough to look up at him through teary eyes. “I pushed things between us too far. I should’ve known that you wanted to keep things casual. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You stare at him, awestruck at how wrong he is. You want nothing more than to know anything and everything about him.

Still, when you search for the right words to explain this, your brain draws a blank. The only thing you can do is cup his face and kiss him, your nerves finally settling when he melts into you.

You’ve kissed him hundreds of times by now, but this one feels like the first time.

It feels like forever before he pulls away from you, a wide grin on his face. “Please, please, please let me take you out to dinner.”

“Okay,” you smile back, unable to contain your giddiness. “I’d like that very much.”

“Tomorrow night?” he proposes. His eagerness makes you giggle. He might be the busiest person on campus, but he’ll clear his entire schedule if it means he gets to spend time with you.

“Sure,” you agree. “It’s a date. If we ever manage to get out of bed, that is.”

Taehyun laughs a little before pulling you into another kiss. By now, the rain has stopped, but you aren’t going anywhere.

—————-

Taglist: @orangesodafoam @deezbutz28 @ur-mother-realnotclickbait @iyeeeverydee @internet-folks @darlingz99 @foxyjun @stardustmooncakes @giaalorine @beomgyubabybear @niningtori @goquokka @csbenthusiast @moarmyjkhk @lizdevorak @sooberryworld @lonelybutterflytae @midnight-mochii @theresawtf @nowadays56 @jjklvr9 @baekberrie

P.S.: Please shoot me an ask or a reply if you’d like to be added to (or removed from) the taglist! Also, I struggle to keep up with different lists for individual members, but if you really don't want to be tagged on all of my works, just let me know and I will do my best to make a note <3

#txt #tomorrow x together #txt imagines #txt fic #txt x reader #taehyun x reader #taehyun #kang taehyun #txt taehyun #taehyun fluff #taehyun smut #taehyun angst #txt fluff #txt angst #txt smut #taehyun imagines

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staytheword · 2 years ago

Text

on my mind

on my mind — one shot request by anon [ masterlist ]

• han jisung x female reader.

• non idol au. roommates to lovers. mutual pining. drinking, mention of weed consumption, explicit language, explicit smut.

• smut warnings (spoilers ahead) — porn watching. handjob. oral sex (m receiving). thigh riding. fingering. use of "baby" pet name. protected sex.

• word count: 8.6k

You and Jisung are stressed over your upcoming exams. You need to clear your heads, but you can't find anything that works. That is, until Jisung suggests watching porn together.

• the prompt was friends "using" each other to take the stress out... I hope this will fill your expectations!! ♡

You slam your book closed, an annoyed sigh escaping your lips.

You can’t do this anymore.

You’ve been studying for hours. In fact, you’ve been studying for weeks preparing for those exams. Your eyes are about to melt, your body aching to move from your chair, your brain desperately seeking distraction. You’re sick of this. Sick of stressing yourself out, sick of only allowing yourself to think about what is in these books. The exams are still several days away and you’ll have time to fall back into your anxiety - for now, you deserve a break and you are going to take it.

Or you’re going to try.

It’s not the first time you tell yourself that - take a break, you deserve it. You close your books and computer, full of resolve, and escape the confines of your room. Each time you end up just pacing the apartment, unable to focus on the movie you’ve put on or the game you’ve started. Once you made it outside for a walk, but you had no idea where to go and ended up walking in circles. Your brain is so preoccupied with your exams you can’t do much else. You wake up and it’s all you think about - and before you know it you collapse on the bed, exhausted.

As you hear someone knock on your door, you blink and realize you’ve been phasing out. You shake your head, slide a hand through your hair - it has gotten too long in the past few weeks - and clear your throat.

“Come in,” you say, your voice a little rusty.

Jisung pokes his head in from behind the door. “Hey. You hungry?”

At least you are not alone. Jisung is going through the same thing as you, so you promised each other to do what is necessary to stay sane. Remind the other to eat, for instance, and then eat the meals together, even if it is in complete silence. You’re also very open about your stress, and you force each other to go out or clear your head. If he wasn’t here, you have no idea how you would get through this.

You hadn’t been sure about becoming Jisung’s roommate at the beginning of the year, but you didn’t regret your decision at all. Some of your friends had raised an eyebrow at you rooming up with a guy, but you trusted Jisung. You resembled each other in a few ways, but were different enough to keep the other on their toes. He was honest, hardworking, but also funny and open-minded. He bought your favorite snacks at the grocery store. He listened to you talk about your difficulties with building your thesis statements. He read your essay drafts and made useful feedback. He made fantastic homemade pizza. He was the best at impressions. He liked to braid your hair. Once he even restacked the pads when you were running low - that day you almost fell in love with him.

Almost.

You just had a stupid crush. Who wouldn’t? Jisung was not only kind and attentive, he was also incredibly handsome. Wavy dark hair that shone in the sun. A heart shaped smile that grew so big it swallowed your entire soul. Golden skin that was soft to the touch - you knew from applying a mask on him once. Wide shoulders, a lean and athletic body. You saw him do push ups in his room sometimes, or using the stationary bike you had in the living room. He wiped the sweat off his brow and gave you a smile, nodding his head to the beat of whatever song played in his headphones.

But Jisung was your friend, first and foremost. Right now, and up until your exams, he was also your ally, your lifeline. You remember, a few weeks back, when you both sat down in front of a bowl of soup and intertwined your pinkies.

We get through this together, you said.

Together, he repeated, his eyes deeply set in yours.

Now he smiled gently at you, his mouth a thin line, his eyes wide open but red and glassy from exhaustion.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I can cook something, if you want.”

“That’s ok, I got you,” he smiles. “Why don’t you rest? I’ll get you when it’s ready.”

You feel something tug at your heartstrings. “Thanks, Ji.”

With the sweetest smile, he gives you a little nod and disappears, carefully closing the door behind him. You breathe out in the silence, glancing back at your books. You could study a little while Jisung gets the food ready, but you are tempted to listen to him and lie down. A few minutes with your eyes closed couldn’t hurt.

You drag your feet to your bed, which is luckily not very far, and make the mistake of going under the covers. Your sheets are soft, your comforter heavy. The dim light in your room and the muffled noises of Jisung getting busy in the kitchen are so soothing you slip away quickly.

You wake up to a hand gently stirring you - you sit up in a jolt, blinking confusingly.

“Shit, what time is it?”

It feels like it’s been seconds and years. It’s definitely darker now, and your eyes are puffy with sleep, your skin a little tingly. You recognize Jisung’s silhouette in the darkness as he chuckles.

“I’m sorry to wake you up,” he whispers. “But you need to eat. Then you can go back to sleep, yeah?”

“R-right. Yeah. Okay.”

You throw open the covers and get out of bed, not even thinking about the fact that your hair must be a complete mess and your cheeks puffy with sleep. Jisung has seen you in worse states, anyway. You grab a hoodie as you follow him out of your room, one of your socks half slipped out from your foot.

“It smells really good, Ji,” you comment as you head to the kitchen.

He turns his head back to you with a smile. He’s wearing a red crewneck, gray sweatpants, and his slippers. You haven’t seen him out of such outfits recently, except for a few nights when he got dressed to go somewhere, but even then his style is always baggy. It’s for this reason you will never forget the one time he got dressed up for a date and wore a tighter shirt. That and the number of times you’ve seen him shirtless, of course. But that’s a whole other issue.

“It’s nothing fancy,” he says, gesturing to you to sit down at the kitchen island.

There is an actual table in the dining area, more than large enough for the both of you, but you rarely sit down there to eat. It usually serves as a storage area for random things like folded laundry, groceries, board games or books. Both of you prefer the kitchen island, perching atop the stools that you can twirl to your liking. Half the time you eat there, the other in the living room in front of the television.

Catching the sight of your hair in the kitchen window, you pull your hoodie on the top of your head and look down at the plate Jisung places in front of you. It is nothing fancy - pasta with creamy sauce, with chopped green onions sitting on top of it, but it smells absolutely delicious and makes your stomach growl.

“I think I’m drooling,” you state, glancing up at him. “I am so hungry, fuck.”

Jisung laughs, sitting down next to you with his own plate. “Parmesan?”

“Yes, please.”

He sprinkles some on your plate, and then on his, before you both start to eat in silence. There’s music playing on the speaker, a song you don’t recognize, and you ask Jisung about it. He tells you about this new band he’s discovered, and you quietly talk as you devour your plates. The sauce, smooth and peppery, is making your taste buds dance, and the food gives you a lot of energy. As you eat, the conversation gets more lively, and you suggest making coffee for dessert. Jisung agrees, and after you insist on doing the dishes first, he says he’ll wait for you in the living room. You hear the familiar song of a game he likes to play and get started on the dishes. As you put down the clean dishes in the drying rack, you sigh.

A nap. Homemade food. Jisung’s smile. All of these things reassure you, and make you feel peaceful - so why is there such a tight knot at the bottom of your stomach? Why can’t it go away, even for just a few hours?

You should study again after this.

Drink your coffee with your nose in your books.

You’re wasting valuable time.

You shut your eyes tight, taking a deep breath as you dry your hands.

When you sit down on the couch next to Jisung, near the edge of the cushion, not getting too comfortable, you put down his mug of coffee on the table and keep yours in your hands. He shoots you a quick glance.

“Thanks.”

You just smile back, a feeble attempt for one, but Jisung catches it. He glances back one more time, frowns. You wish you weren’t that easy to read. You wish you could take a deep breath and smile and he would believe it when you said you were fine. But you’ve never been very good at that.

Still, Jisung says nothing. He pauses his game, turns the spoon in his coffee mug to mix in the milk. You just stare at yours, the black coffee almost staring back.

“I should…” You hesitate for a second, then shake your head. “Yeah, I should get back to it.”

You stand up quickly, hoping to be able to run away before Jisung says anything, but you feel his fingers close around your hand. You look down at him in surprise. He looks at you with wide eyes, looking confused and maybe even slightly annoyed.

“Right now?” he says. “I thought you’d get some rest.”

“I did,” you shrug, nibbling on your lower lip. “There’s too much to do, and…”

“Y/N,” he stops you, shaking his head. “You need to take a break. We need to take a break.”

You part your lips to retaliate, but Jisung removes his hand from yours and pats the couch.

“Sit down, please.”

His voice is low, a little rusty. You swallow, your mouth dry. If only your chest didn’t feel so empty, your heart would be pounding in your chest.

“I know you’re anxious,” he tells you softly, playing nervously with his fingers. “I am, too. But aren’t you getting tired of, like… just stressing out?”

You chuckle a little bitterly, looking at Jisung. The light of the television reflects on his skin, mixed with the orange glow of the lamp. The circles under his eyes are dark. His lips are chapped. His nose is still a little red from the cold he had last week. You feel a pang of longing.

“Of course I am,” you sigh. “But we just have to get through it, right? We just need to make it there.”

He nods. “I know, but I’m scared of what we’re losing in the process. It can’t be healthy to just study all the time like we do.”

“What do you suggest, then?”

He shrugs, leaning back into the couch. His hoodie skirts up his stomach a little as he stretches his arms. You catch a glimpse of skin, of an abdominal muscle. It almost makes your brain glitch.

“I don’t know,” he breathes. “A distraction? Just for one night.”

When he sees your hesitation, Jisung quickly continues.

“I don’t mean dressing up and going outside and being social. Just the two of us, I mean. We can watch a movie, play games… get high.”

That makes you smile. “We don’t have any more weed since the cookie disaster.”

“Fuck, that’s right,” he laughs. “But it doesn’t matter. We just need to clear our heads, y’know? Think about something else. Be in denial about the exams. Like they’re not even going to happen.”

You take a deep breath, still hesitant. Your heart desperately wants to say yes, but your brain is holding back. The voice in your head, telling you you shouldn’t. You don’t want it to whisper your guilt back to you all night.

“Please, Y/N,” Jisung suddenly adds. There’s something in his voice that catches your attention. Sadness. Despair. “I don’t want to do it without you. We said we’d go through this together, right?”

You shake your head, staring down at the pinkie finger he is now holding up between you. He’s playing with your heartstrings and he knows it, but you don’t blame him. It’s working too well. There’s not much you would refuse him, anyway - but you don’t tell him that. Instead you smile and wrap your pinkie around his.

“Okay,” you say softly. “Let’s be in denial together.”

Jisung grins and you laugh, hitting his arm.

“It’s not fair that you used the wounded puppy eyes, by the way.”

“I would never,” Jisung says, shaking his head.

You take a careful sip of coffee, which is still a little too hot, but the warmth feels nice in your throat. Jisung grabs the second controller and presents it to you.

“You want to join?”

Although you are not very good at this game you agree, because you figure it will be a good way to start off the evening. As you pound on the buttons and try not to get Jisung killed in the game, you feel your shoulders relax. It doesn’t make the knot go away, but you do get a little giddy at the idea of not returning to your books tonight. That - and the perspective of spending the next hours with Jisung makes you a little more happy than it should. You already spend a lot of time together, so why would this evening be different? But it still feels like it.

Once the coffees are empty and the campaign is over, you and Jisung settle on a movie you both wanted to see for a while. You settle on opposite sides of the couch as you usually do, but you end up stretching your legs so much your feet rest against Jisung’s legs, and he doesn’t complain. He even puts a warm hand on your ankle at some point, distracting you a little from the movie.

The movie ends too quickly, and you end up in the kitchen cleaning the mugs and staring at each other.

“What now?” you chuckle. “It’s still early. Unless you want to go to bed…”

“No way,” he replies. “I want to make this last as much as possible.”

He is looking at you as he says that, his hair sticking out behind his head because of the way he was slumped on the couch for the duration of the movie, and your heartbeat accelerates. You feel a hotness on the back of your neck and you rub it with your hand.

“Then maybe we can… Take a walk? It’s not raining or anything.”

“Snack run? Then we can find something else to watch.”

“Sounds good.”

You don’t bother getting changed because it’s dark outside and the grocery store is just around the corner. Besides, you live in a neighborhood that is mostly composed of other students, so two people in sweatpants and hoodies isn’t uncommon at all. After getting plenty of snacks, you head back towards your shared apartment, talking in calm voices. The streets are not too busy, and it’s only slightly chilly. You glance up at the sky, walking slowly, your hand brushing Jisung’s.

At one point, you realize you are only talking about school and your exams, so Jisung shakes his head.

“We are so bad at this whole ‘think about something else’ thing,” he laughs.

You sigh. “We really are. God, this is hard.”

“We need to find a really good distraction. Something that would really, really disconnect our brains, like…”

He stops and you look at him with a frown. “Like what?”

“I dunno,” he answers a little too quickly. “We have to find something, is what I’m saying.”

“Yeah,” you agree in a whisper, glancing back at him curiously.

You could swear he is blushing.

“How about drinking?” he offers. “Not too much so we don’t get headaches, but a little. Being tipsy can maybe help us get inspiration.”

“I like the idea,” you smile.

Once you are back inside your apartment, your sneakers exchanged for slippers, you grab a bottle of soju from the fridge and fill two glasses. You and Jisung sit on the floor, backs leaning against the couch, and clink your glasses together. Jisung chooses a random movie on Netflix, and you watch it for a few minutes, unable to concentrate on it. After you’ve taken a few sips, you let out a sigh.

“You know what would be easier? If we weren’t single.”

Jisung arches an eyebrow.

“I mean, we could just call them,” you explain. “Get laid. Get a massage. Make out for hours. That would be really good distraction.”

“It would,” Jisung laughs. “Don’t you have someone you could call?”

“Like a fuck buddy?” you say. “Jisung, you seem to forget how excruciatingly single and bad at flirting I am.”

“You can’t be worse than me,” he smiles, taking another sip from his glass. “Last time I tried to get laid I got stood up.”

“She was a bitch,” you point out.

Jisung shakes his head. “I thought personality doesn’t matter when it comes to hooking up.”

“That’s not exactly true.”

“Like you’re such a pro at this, huh?”

You gasp at Jisung’s jab, shoving him with your elbow. “That was so mean!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughs, holding his palms up. “I mean, if a massage would do it for you, I can try.”

You scrunch your nose. “Nah, thank you. I’m actually not much of a massage person.”

“How can you not be a massage person?!”

You keep talking and laughing, watching the movie sometimes, and for a while, you think that you’ve actually succeeded at clearing your heads. You feel lighter, distracted. The alcohol and Jisung’s laugh help a lot. But eventually you breathe out and realize that the knot is still there. Insistent. It almost feels like it’s getting bigger. Beside you, you can feel that Jisung is the same. His shoulders are tense, and his eyes, while fixated on the screen, are not seeing anything. You’re a little tipsy so you grab the controller and press pause.

“Ji, this isn’t working.”

He turns towards you, looking sheepish. “I know. I’m sorry…”

“We need something more drastic.”

He gives you a little nod, and you squint.

“What was the idea you had earlier?”

His head shoots up and you can see panic in his eyes. “What? What idea?”

“Don’t lie to me,” you tell him. “I know your idea face. You thought of something back there, when we were walking back.”

And there it is - Jisung blushes again, shaking his head vehemently. “Oh. Oh, no. It wasn’t… It’s stupid. It’s not - I just mean it’s… No.”

You turn your body completely towards his, drawing your knees against your chest. “Ji, come on. Tell me. I’m not going to judge.”

He gives you a timid look, and empties his soju glass before he clears his throat. You do not know why, but your heart is pounding in your chest.

Jisung breathes deeply.

“I was just thinking, that when I need a distraction, like… When I really want to think about something else, I…”

“Yes?” you encourage him.

“I jerk off.”

You stare back at him in shock. You should’ve expected this. You were an idiot not to catch it earlier on. It was a logical answer - and something you’ve tried yourself numerous times in the past couple of days. Slipping your fingers in your underwear, stimulating yourself. Watching porn. But when you did succeed at your orgasms, they always felt underwhelming. They never left you feeling appeased, just even more tense.

“Oh,” you breathe out.

“I told you it was stupid! I shouldn’t have -”

“It’s not stupid,” you shrug, and it’s your turn to empty your glass.

You’re not drunk. You’re just a little tipsy. It’s not barely enough to have this kind of conversation with your roommate - one you have a huge crush on - but it will have to do. You want Jisung to feel comfortable with you. And it’s nothing to be embarrassed of, right? That’s what people always say. So why is talking about it so hard, why is your heart pounding, why is the thought of Jisung jerking off turning you on so goddamn much?

Jisung blinks at you. “It’s not?”

“Of course not,” you smile a little nervously. “I… I do it too, when I want to relax.”

He visibly gulps, but you take it as embarrassment.

“Don’t we all?” you add, a little nervously.

He nods quickly, maybe a little too enthusiastically. Your cheeks are hot, horribly hot. You need some air. You need another drink. Ten, even.

“I mean, if you want some time alone…”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Jisung says. “I just, I mean, you know my friend Minho?”

You nod. “Yeah, why?”

“He told me about one time, he and his friend, I mean they were dating so it’s not the same, but they - hm, they… They watched porn together.”

It feels like you can barely breathe. Did it suddenly get very warm in your living room? Because your skin feels like it’s on fire and neither you or Jisung can look at each other directly.

“People really do that?” you say in a weak voice.

“Apparently,” Jisung chuckles nervously. “He said it was really fun, so… Yeah, I don’t know why I thought about that.”

There’s a short silence as you try to make sense of what Jisung is telling you. Is he just telling an anecdote, or is he asking for something? If you agree, will he think you’re crazy or weird? Maybe he’s just sharing. You decide there’s not much to lose. If you are misunderstanding, you can just laugh and pretend you’re joking.

Your voice is gentle, not very assumed. “You… you want us to watch porn together?”

Jisung shoots you a very panicked look and for a second you think you’ve just made a huge fool of yourself. But he opens his mouth and stammers out a yes.

“C-could be fun, I guess?” he adds.

You breathe out, your heart beating so fast you are sure Jisung can hear it. Surely, he can hear it. How terrified you are terrified at the prospect of watching porn with him. How much you never would’ve thought this could happen. How much you want to do it now.

“We really don’t have to, it’s just a stupid idea, and -”

“Okay,” you whisper.

Jisung looks at you. “R-really?”

“Sure, why not,” you say more decisively, giving him a tight nod. “We can comment on it and everything. Could be fun. I mean, it’s just porn, right? We watch it all the time.”

You realize your mistake too late, your smile faltering on your lips.

“I - I mean, I do, not all the time, but sometimes, like all people do, and…”

“You heard me that time, didn't you?” Jisung sighs, slamming his palm against his forehead.

You can’t hold back a smile this time - a genuine one. Jisung groans as you bite your lip, trying to hold back your laughter.

“Just say it,” he sighs.

“I heard you that time.”

Jisung’s head drops forward in his hands and you chuckle, your shoulders shaking.

“It’s okay, Ji, it’s not -”

“The ONE time!” he cries out, looking up at you. You love the smile on his face, both embarrassed and amused, horrified and shy. “The one time I forget to plug in my headphones… I realized too late…”

“It’s fine,” you repeat, not thinking, and place a hand on his thigh to squeeze it briefly. “It’s just porn, Ji. And I know you’re into hentai, so don’t be ashamed, please. I like it too.”

Jisung looks at you like his brain is short-circuiting. “You - what - how do you know that?”

“I was in the room with you and Minho that time you talked about it, remember?” You smile. “Also, it’s the second time his name comes up in our conversation about porn, this is getting weird.”

Jisung shrugs. “Eh, the man is shameless. But you’re right, I remember now. God, that is embarrassing.”

“It isn’t,” you smile, twirling your empty glass in your hand. You don’t want to drink anymore - this is already too much adrenaline for you. “I just confessed I’m into it, too. Do you think that’s weird?”

“Not at all. I think that’s… hot.”

You smile, feeling your cheeks burn, but you do not know what to answer. Instead, you fill your lungs with air and gather your courage.

Jisung is observing his nails very carefully.

“So, shall we?” you say, trying to sound confident.

Jisung glances up at you, searching your eyes for an instant. You guess he must be looking for hesitation, or trying to figure out if you really want this or are doing it just to please him, so you just smile calmly, although you’re unable to hold back your nervousness.

“Let’s do it,” he answers with a sharp nod.

For good measure, you each pour yourself another drink, and Jisung gets his laptop to plug it so the browser is projected on the television. You wrap your arms around your legs, looking up nervously at the screen. Jisung’s fingers hover over the keyboard.

“S-so, is there a website you like?” he asks.

“Hm,” you answer, letting out a shaky breath. “Not really. You can go to the one you usually go to. If you’re okay with that.”

“Sure,” Jisung breathes.

It takes him a few more seconds but he eventually types in a website and you let out a giggle as the welcome page pops up on the screen.

“What?”

“It’s just - it’s also the one I use,” you admit, and Jisung grins.

“Really? I like this one because of the categories. They’re a little unusual but so much fun for discovering new stuff.”

“And the mobile site is so well made,” you add with enthusiasm. “Not like other websites which are impossible to navigate on your phone…”

“Ugh, tell me about it.”

You laugh, relieved that this is already easier than you thought it would be. Of course, you haven’t actually put on any porn yet, but at least you are learning to speak of it more or less comfortably.

A short silence follows as Jisung scrolls up and down the page, and you glance at the thumbnails. Schoolgirls. Medieval fantasy. Monsters. After a minute, Jisung lets out a sigh.

“I guess we just have to choose one,” he says.

You bite your lip. “Type in Labyrinth in the search bar.”

Jisung looks at you, but he still does it. You point out the thumbnail you recognize, feeling almost dizzy.

“I like this one,” you say in a very soft voice. “The story’s actually really good.”

“O-okay.”

Taking a sharp breath, Jisung clicks on the link and the video opens up. He puts it on full screen, and it feels different to watch it on the television. You roll your arms around yourself, feeling terribly shy, and Jisung sits on the couch next to you - at a reasonable distance, of course. You clink your glasses together and take a sip of soju.

It’s not so bad at first. There’s an actual story to this video that you enjoy, but you know it doesn’t last that long. You are terrified of what Jisung might say, that he might laugh at you, but you try your best not to overthink everything. As the sex scenes are coming closer, you realize you have not yet exchanged a word and there is still the embarrassing issue of actually getting turned on. You really haven’t thought this through, you think to yourself as the characters start to undress each other.

Oh, God.

Kisses. Fondling. The wet sounds of the guy’s fingers slipping into the girl’s dripping folds. You breathe in slowly - but there’s a reason you love this video. It really pushes your buttons, so you can’t help but feel your walls clench around nothing. You should think about something else. You can’t focus too much on this. But you’re already getting wet and your eyes can’t leave the screen because if they do, they’ll inevitably fall on Jisung.

Your friend. Your roommate. Your crush. Who is sitting next to you, watching your favorite porn video with you. Oh, God.

On the screen, the guy buries his head in between her legs. Licks her wetness as she moans his name. The images are one thing - the sounds are another.

You’re burning up, pushing your thighs together, trying to stay discreet.

As the girl’s pleasure builds, the subtitles translate her moans for you. Wanted this for so long, your tongue feels so good buried in me. That’s when you feel Jisung move beside you. Your eyes are instinctively drawn to him, and you catch a glimpse of his parted mouth, his red cheeks, his hazy eyes.

He has his legs propped up against him. You wonder if he’s as turned on as you. Maybe not. Maybe this isn’t doing it for him.

You focus back on the screen as the girl comes, squirting around the guy’s face. He chuckles, and asks her to suck his cock. She bends down to do it, and Jisung breathes out sharply.

“The- the animation’s really good,” he says weakly, and you are quick to nod.

“Yeah, right? The movements are really smooth,” you comment.

Jisung smiles nervously. “Yeah. I - I like it.”

You want to keep talking, but you don’t know what to say. The questions that burn the tip of your tongue cannot be asked, not really, not right now. You and Jisung are friends who watch porn together. You are not involved. You are not dating. This is just a distraction.

But now you are horny as fuck and getting tense. You need to relieve the pressure between your legs or you will go crazy. You can already feel your mind buzzing.

The girl is giving the guy a sloppy blowjob. He is groaning loudly, which is something you like about this video, and she hums in pleasure.

“The voice acting isn’t that bad, right?” you say. “I like it when we can hear the guy, too.”

“You do?” Jisung asks. “I thought girls didn’t like hearing us.”

“Oh my God, it’s literally the opposite,” you chuckle. “Hearing the guys groan and moan is the hottest thing ever.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Ji. Be as vocal as possible, I promise it’s going to make them come quicker.” You shrug. “I mean, I can’t speak for everyone. But it would do it for me.”

Jisung nods, and you both turn back to the screen just in time for the guy plunging his cock deep inside his partner, making her gasp in pleasure. The squelching noises are turned up, and she is visibly dripping all around him, precum and juices staining the sheets of the bed.

Yes, fuck me deep, your cock is so big, oh my god!

You close your eyes, shifting your hips in a desperate attempt to rub yourself against something, but there’s nothing to do - your cunt is just throbbing, and you can feel your slick drenching your underwear. You’re so hot, you want to remove your hoodie, but you also can’t move.

You lose track of time a little when Jisung’s voice reaches your ears.

“S-sorry,” he says in a breathy voice. “I can’t help it.”

You glance at him and notice he has stretched his legs. His gray sweatpants hide absolutely nothing of his erection and you stare at the outline of his cock, hard and thick. You could moan out loud at the mere sight, but by miracle you are able to hold it in. You had noticed Jisung was, let’s say, well equipped, but you did not expect this.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbles.

“It’s fine,” you whisper, shaking your head, finally looking up at him. “I’m really wet, too.”

Jisung’s cock twitches under his pants and he closes his eyes sharply. “Fuck, don’t tell me that.”

“S-sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the porn on the television, your own arousal, your repressed crush for Jisung or the sight of his stiff cock, but you’re unable to think straight and the words come out of your mouth unprovoked.

“Ji, do you… do you want some help?”

The thought that you could actually touch him makes your mouth water. You’ve thought about it before, wrapping your hands around him. Closing your lips around his length. Licking him clean. Maybe it’s not as impossible as you thought. Maybe you aren’t that foolish to think it could happen.

Jisung stammers for a few seconds because he gulps. “A-are you really asking?”

You nod faintly. “I can jerk you off.”

He stares at you, mouth open. “I mean - If - if- if you’d like it.” He seems to catch himself, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “You don’t have to, Y/N, it’s…”

“I don’t mind,” you answer. “I - I’d like it, but only if you want to.”

“R-right. Hm, okay. But only if you’re sure…”

You just shuffle closer to him, kneeling beside his body. His smell overwhelms you, so him, his cologne and his soap, soju and candy, and your hands are shaking as you reach for his pants. You hesitate, though, realizing what you are about to do. You’re scared he doesn’t really want this, you’re scared of what it will change, but before you can start to doubt too much, Jisung slides down his sweatpants and takes his cock out himself.

“H-here.”

He holds it up for you although he wouldn’t have to. He is so hard it looks painful, veins bulging, slightly curved, pre-cum glistening at the tip. You bite your lip, pressing your legs together, and you’re sitting so close to Jisung you feel his breath in your hair.

You reach out and wrap your fingers around his cock. It’s warm and pulsating, and Jisung lets out a whimper. You move your hand upwards and downwards, getting used to him, barely seeing the porn that is still ongoing on the screen. All you hear are moans and the wet sounds of fucking and kissing, and it helps you not think too much about what is happening, like it’s not real, like it’s part of the porn. Your fingers slide up to his tip, smearing the pre-cum over Jisung’s cock, and you jerk your hand a little faster.

Jisung lets out a choked moan and his forehead falls against the side of your head. His arm slides around your body, holding you close, the other resting on the couch, gripping the fabric.

“F-fuck, ah, ah, fuck,” he whispers in your ear, and the sound is like the sweetest music.

Is Jisung enjoying this? You giving him a handjob while watching porn? This can’t be real. This is the hottest thing you've ever done.

“Is that okay?” you ask him softly.

“F-feels p-perfect,” he grunts, bucking his hips against your hand. “Y/N…”

The sound of your name draws a shaky breath from your lips, and your other hand grabs his thigh, squeezing it a little. You try to remain steady, intoxicated by the sounds coming from the television, Jisung’s noises, his cock around your hand, him fucking your palm.

“I’m n-not going to last,” Jisung whimpers, and you slide up your other hand to cup his balls. That draws a loud grunt from his lips. “Fuck, Y/N!”

“Hold on,” you whisper, feeling drunker than if you had emptied a bottle of soju by yourself. “I want to suck you off.”

It might be your only chance. You want to make this moment last - so you have something to think about, the next time your roommate comes into your mind. The next time you dream about Jisung being yours. The next time you tell yourself there is no way he can like you back. You can at least let him go knowing he’s come once around your hands, around your lips.

“Y-you sure?”

You nod, shuffling back on the couch a little, bending forward so your lips come into contact with his cock. Jisung buries his fingers in your hair, pulling them together to keep them away from your face. You kiss his tip, your right hand still moving, your left holding his balls.

“Holy fuck, Y/N… This feels incredible… I’m not…”

“Just let go, Ji,” you whisper, perhaps a little too tenderly.

You wrap your mouth around his cock, taking him in. You glance up to see his eyes roll back. You’re pretty sure the sex scene is over on the screen, because people are talking, but neither of you are paying any attention. You bob your head, licking every inch of him, and Jisung thrusts his hips slowly, fucking your mouth gently.

“I’m gonna blow, fuck, please, ah - ah, FUCK -”

He comes quickly and suddenly, his cum filling your mouth, salty and warm. His cock keeps throbbing between your lips, and Jisung is breathing heavily, his fingers still resting in your hair, all tangled. You take the time to lick him clean, gently, carefully.

When you sit up, his hand slides down your arm to your leg, and you look at him. He’s not moving, head thrown back, his hair over his slightly sweaty face, his clothes in disarray.

This is a sight you’ll never forget.

A taste you’ll never forget.

You feel something tighten in your chest.

You’ve fallen so hard for him.

“Y/N…” he breathes after a few seconds, raising his head to look at you.

His hands reach for you, and you let him. His hand grazes your cheek, the other gripping your own. You slide your fingers in between his, feeling a little shy.

“That was unreal,” he breathes, leaning in towards you.

He doesn’t kiss you, neither does he hug you - he just presses his body against yours, pressing his lips against your hair. It’s such a tender gesture you feel your heart swell in your chest and you ache for touch. You don’t expect anything. You want to run away to touch yourself, to fuck yourself thinking of him, but you don’t want to leave his warmth.

“Come here,” he whispers. “It’s your turn.”

Your heart skips a beat. You want to tell him he doesn’t have to, but he’s already wrapping his arms around you, bringing you closer. You end up on his lap, and instinctively you guide your legs so you straddle one of his legs, your core flush on his thigh.

The pressure, despite the layers of clothing, draws a moan from between your lips and you dig your fingers in his skin.

“Jisung…”

“Does that feel good?” he asks in a whisper.

When you nod, Jisung raises his thigh a little, applying more pressure on your cunt, and the wave of pleasure makes you arch your back and grind against him.

“Don’t hold back,” he breathes as you start to roll your hips. “Like you told me. Just let go.”

He places a hand on the small of your back, accompanying you in your movements. He breathes in your neck, warming up and tickling your skin, your cunt clenching tighter and tighter. His thigh is tense, pressing against all the right places, and you can’t stop moaning.

You push yourself up a little, pressing a hand against his chest, and you want to get rid of all those clothes, and feel him under your skin, but you can’t stop moving, and you are so close to coming.

Jisung is breathing hard against you, pushing his leg upwards, his hands massaging your waist, helping you move as you ride his thigh. “That’s it, baby…”

The nickname alone almost ends you.

He kisses your collarbone and you think you might explode. “You sound so good. I’m so fucking obsessed with you,” he says.

The words take your breath away. You shudder, your fingers squeezing his as you roll your hips a little slower. “You - what?”

It’s like he doesn’t hear you. “Baby, please, can I make you cum?”

You just nod, his words echoing in your mind, unable to be truly grasped as your orgasm builds up. His hand slides down your pants and he pushes his fingers under your panties, pressing them against your wetness. You let out a moan at the direct contact, feeling your body jolt.

“You’re so wet,” Jisung groans in your ear.

You can’t bring yourself to speak. You’re already so close to your climax that when Jisung starts to circle your clit, pushing his fingers in between your folds, it only takes a few seconds for you to come undone, breathing out his name. It feels like a tidal wave, like a power surge, like everything you have dreamed of. You feel him smile, his fingers teasing you until you have to grab his wrist and pull them away.

“S-sensitive,” you chuckle, unable to open your eyes, feeling drained.

He nods with a soft laugh. You can feel against your leg that he’s hard again, but he doesn’t do anything. He just looks at you as you try to steady your breathing, your legs trembling. You don’t want to move - he is so warm next to you. But eventually, you realize the position you are in, and so you slide off him. Jisung helps you, his hands guiding you back on the couch beside him.

You feel breathless, like you’ve just ran a marathon. Once your eyes are able to focus, you stare at the screen without really seeing it. You try to grasp what has just happened. You wonder what’s next. You are afraid.

“Y/N…”

Jisung’s voice reaches your ears but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. What now? Can you stay roommates? Can you even stay friends? Your heartbeat accelerates and you sit up on the couch, suddenly feeling antsy.

“I - I should… I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Y/N, wait -”

You know it’s unfair, but you ignore him and quickly walk away. You close the bathroom door, breathing out. And then the oddest thing happens.

You smile.

You giggle in surprise, putting your fingers to your lips. Fuck, you can’t stop smiling. You should be nervous, you should be terrified. But none of those feelings are lasting - you are only smiling like an idiot. Jisung’s words resonate in your head. I’m so fucking obsessed with you.

Sometimes things need to change. Sometimes they should. Sometimes they are meant to.

When you open the bathroom door again, Jisung is waiting for you on the other side. His big eyes are filled with worry, pleading, and fear.

“Y/N, please, listen -”

You don’t think. You just kiss him.

Jisung does not move at first, and when you take a step back, your cheeks burning up, he stares at you with shock.

“What are you -”

“I like you,” you blutter out. “I like you a lot.”

It takes another second, but Jisung’s lips curve into a smile. His eyes do not leave yours, but the light in them changes. Soon his heart-shaped grin makes your heart swell in your chest, and he’s picking you up in his arms and kissing you again.

You push him gently against the wall. “Please touch me again.”

You guide his hands on your waist, and he breathes hard in your mouth.

“I like you so much,” Jisung says, and his lips brush against your ear, making you breathe out. “I have such a massive crush on you. Never let myself act on it… I was too scared, you know.”

“I know,” you whisper back. “Me too.”

“I like everything about you,” he whispers. “Your laugh. Your passion. Your smell. Your skin… Fuck, you’re so gorgeous. You don’t have any idea how beautiful you are. How fucking sexy.”

You part your mouth wider, and he pushes his tongue against yours, playing with it, his teeth teasing your lips. His hard cock is pressing against you, making you crave him again, and you want to feel him inside of you, so deep you can never be separated again.

“Can I take you back to my room?” he asks in between two kisses. “I want to fuck you in my bed.”

You feel yourself throbbing and you can’t hold back a moan as you nod.

It happens fast - Jisung takes your hand and guides you to his room. You’re pretty sure the porn is still playing on the television back in the living room, but who cares? You only have eyes for Jisung.

You know his room so well. The smells, the colors. The desk, the blankets, the clothes. The stickers on the window. Yet it all looks different as you step inside holding Jisung’s hand. He draws you close, bringing you back into a kiss. You collapse against him, letting him guide you to his bed.

He lifts you like you’re a feather, laying you down, his body above yours. Jisung is quick to cover your neck with kisses, his wet lips smearing saliva on your skin. He removes your hoodie, palms your breasts, who are only covered by a tank top.

“Fuck, those tits…”

You can hardly breathe, loving each of his caresses. The sheets smell so much like him it’s almost overwhelming. After removing the rest of your clothes, he spends a long time kissing and licking your breasts, playing with your nipples, drawing hisses and moans from your lips. After a while you whimper in protest, because your walls are begging for him.

“Ji, please…”

His mouth breaks into a grin, and he comes back to push his lips against yours. He kisses you surprisingly tenderly, and you moan against his mouth, because this feels so right, so true. His fingers stroke your hair, your cheek, and your hands travel down his back and then upwards, lifting his crewneck. He removes it, and you arch your back against him, your nipples pressed against his chest, his lips ardently seeking yours.

Soon he is naked too, and as he keeps kissing you, his cock teases your wetness. From his shuddered breathing, you know he can’t wait much longer, and you squeeze his arm, hoping he understands your signal. It seems like he does, because he sits up a little, leaning towards his bedside table to open a drawer. He fumbles inside of it, muttering nonsense, until he finally pulls out a condom. You giggle and Jisung laughs with you, and you feel warmer than you ever have.

Once Jisung has safely put on the condom, he guides his cock against your entrance and glances at you.

“Can I - I mean - You sure?”

“Yes,” you nod.

You wish you could look at his length disappearing inside of you, just because you’ve desired it so much, but once Jisung enters you, your head falls back on the pillow. He goes slow, leaving you time to adjust, stopping when you breathe a little more sharply. It takes a minute, but eventually he fills you up, and you wrap your arms around him, breathing out.

“Are you okay?”

You nod. “Sorry. It’s just been a while.”

“There’s no rush,” he tells you softly. “We can go slow.”

You smile, pulling him into a kiss.

“Just tell me if it’s too much,” he breathes in your ear.

He starts to move, thrusting his hips carefully. Your body recovers quickly, though, and soon you can shift your hips alongside his, easing his movements. He fucks you gently and deeply, sending shivers up your spine, and you’ve certain you’ve never had sex like this. You breathe together, move together, moan together.

You take your time, your orgasm rising slowly and surely. You dig your fingers in his skin, shudder when you hear him grunt. You shift positions after some time, so that your legs can be wrapped more easily around his waist, and he’s so deep inside of you that you feel your walls throb with pleasure.

“J-just like that,” you whisper to him. “Fuck, I’m coming…”

“I can feel you,” he whimpers. “Come, baby, I’m so close too…”

You cry out in his neck, the sound slightly muffled, and Jisung follows you seconds afterwards. You feel every throb of his release. You’re still shivering as he looks down in panic.

“Fuck, I’m - I’m sorry, I didn’t pull out…”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “There’s the condom, and I take the pill…”

He still looks worried so you kiss him, feeling at peace. You are safe, you feel safe. Jisung eventually relaxes, and after throwing away the condom, he slumps on the bed beside you, snuggling his head in the crook of your neck. His fingers brush your cheek to put a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I want to make you cum every day,” he says gently. “With my fingers, my mouth, my cock.”

“Hmm,” you smile. “I like that idea.”

“Yeah?” he grins. “I want to sleep next to you. See your face in the morning, the sunshine against your cheeks… Your arms wrapped around me.”

With every sentence he places a kiss, making you sleepy and perfectly awake at the same time, your mind consumed by the images he draws.

“I want to keep cooking for you. Make you smile. Drive you to the dentist…”

“Jisung, you don’t have a car,” you laugh.

“I’ll get one. And I want to get rid of those fucking doors between us.”

“Jisung.”

You open your eyes, grab his face so he looks at you in the eyes.

“Will you kiss me?”

Jisung pushes your hair away from your face and does exactly that.

Some time later, you smile.

You have not drawn the curtain yet, so the moonlight penetrates the window, illuminating the room in soft blues. You graze your nose against Jisung’s chest, listening to him breathe. He’s slowly falling asleep beside you, the covers drawn over your naked bodies.

“Hey, you know what? It worked. I haven’t thought about studying all night,” you whisper to him.

You hear him chuckle. “Hm. I don’t even know what you’re referring to. My head is completely empty.”

“So is mine,” you say with a laugh, planting a kiss on his warm skin. “I can’t even remember what day of the week this is.”

“I can only think about you,” Jisung replies, stroking your hair. “I like you a lot.”

“Me too, Ji. Me too.”

I'm so sorry for not updating as much as I used to. I hurt my shoulder pretty bad and couldn't write for a while, and now my head won't let me.

Let me know if you enjoyed this! Thank you for all of your support and love. ♡

taglist: @ughbehavior ; @upallnight-s ; @changbinluvr ; @rosexjimin ; @nasiaisan ; @lotus-dly ; @cb97percent ; @j-0ne25 ; @hwan-g ; @jhopesucker ; @leedunno ; @septicrebel ; @imtoooyoungforthisshit ; @sikebishes ; @sai-kida134 ; @sstarryoong ; @alexis-reads-fics ; @luvsskz ; @beautifulcolorgarden ; @sensitiveandhungry

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godmadeaterribleerror · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 20 - Forget to Fall Down

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: I love you guys <3

Chapter Title from Northern Downpour by Panic! At The Disco

Word Count: 25.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You're home. Usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, fluff, angst, pining

Read on A03!

Chapter 19 - Chapter 21

There’s a soft blanket across your body and a hand in yours that you’d recognize as Ben’s if you were in a grave, and you know you’re home. You can’t really remember how you got home—there’s a blur of screams and pavement under your feet, and a ghost of something in your ear telling you where to go—but you know you're safe. You can hear Ben’s snores and feel a comfortable weight pressing near your stomach, and it tells you that you’re safe. You’re exhausted, you feel like something is numb in your blood, but you’re warm. Ben’s heat is radiating across your body, and the blanket is trapping it in your chest. And, most importantly, you’re not alone. Ben was here, you were home, and you’d never have to be cold and lonely again.

You open your eyes slowly, because everything in you is still foggy and trudging through mud but you have to see Ben. Just look at him. Make sure he’s real.

The room is dark, all the lamps off with the door closed. You blink a few times and try to raise your free hand to wipe away sleep from your eyes, but there’s an IV in it that’s sore to pull on. And you can’t move your other hand, wrapped up in Ben’s, so you just keep blinking and squinting until nothing is blurry. You have time. You have all the time in the world to wake up, because you’re home.

Dawn is breaking, and everything is cast in a golden glow. You’re in a cot, just a little more comfortable than a hospital bed, and there’s no blood on your body. Everything is clean, and there’s a half-empty paper cup of coffee on a table next to you, the rim of it wrinkled and a little torn. The blanket—green and fluffy—seems to be moving in a wind from under the door, and Ben’s head is resting against it. Resting against you.

Ben.

He’s passed out, breathing steady and face peaceful, but he’s here. He’s pulled up a chair up to the side of your bed, one hand holding yours near his face, and the other one splaying out and up to your head with fingers tangled in your hair. His lips keep brushing against your knuckles when he lets out another grunting snore that rolls through your bones, and the way his face is half squished against your body makes your heart flutter slightly. He’s slumped over in a position that shouldn’t be comfortable—his back is hunched and he’s half out of the chair beneath him—but he’s knocked out. Those are his deep sleep snores, and he’s dead weight on your body. When you squeeze his hand once, just because you can, all he does is make a low noise and slump further into you. The room smells like him—pine and coffee and salt drifting around the air and soothing your head—and his thumb drifting across your hand in his sleep in small, mindless circles. His hair is falling across his eyes—if your arm wasn’t still trapped by the IV you’d brush it away—and his face is cast in the shadows of the morning, and he’s everything. You smile, even as a small lump forms in your throat, because he’s warm, and safe, and pretty.

He’d grumble and bitch if he could hear you, but he’s so pretty. With his face smushed into your stomach, his eyelashes fluttering when he shifts, and his jaw twitching when you squeeze his hands again, Ben’s beautiful. You love him, so fucking much.

You feel your breathing start to grow unsteady, and suddenly the most important thing in the world is that Ben looks at you. You almost let yourself sit in it and let him sleep—he looks so peaceful and you can see the gray-purple bags under his eyes—but you’ve missed him. You’ve missed his touch and smell, you’ve longed for it, but they’re not enough. You need him to look at you, to see his smile or frown or the furrow of his brow on his face. You need to hear him. He needs to say your name, or call you Sunshine or beautiful or brat, or just anything as long as he says it like him. Deep and faking annoyance, meaning every single word he says. He needs to say you’ll be okay. The longer you’re awake the more you can feel those cracks on your body and mind, the more you’re overwhelmed by where they’d broken open at the end. Ben needs to say you’ll be okay, because he wouldn’t lie about that. If Ben says you’ll be okay, if he tells you you’re home and safe, you’ll really believe it. If he wakes up you’ll feel him again, and you have to feel him. You need to feel all his concern and care and adoration in your body, to make sure it’s still there. You can’t feel his Thing anymore, but he’s asleep. You can’t feel Ben because he’s asleep, and when he wakes up everything will be good again.

It takes effort to open your mouth and speak, your throat dry and not moving fast enough. But you need Ben to wake up.

“Ben.” You’re whispering. He looks so calm, and you’re so tired, so you can’t do more than whisper. “Benjamin.”

A low grunt escapes him, and you shift under him just enough to jostle his head. You’ll have time to apologize—and hear Ben tell you to shut the fuck up and never apologize to him—for is later. Right now you need him to wake up.

“Ben,” your voice is a little steadier, but still quieter than you want. “Please, Ben, please wake up.”

His face twitches, eyes fluttering slightly, and you still can’t feel him. You need to feel him.

Your voice is growing louder, getting higher and more panicked as your heart picks up. “Ben, please,” you sound almost hysterical, trying to tug at him but you’re so tired. “Benjamin. Ben, please, please wake up-”

His eyes shoot open, finding yours immediately, and your words die in a choked sob.

You’ve never seen Ben move so fast. In a second he’s up from your body, up from his chair, and sitting on the cot at your side. His hand in yours never lets go, the other moving behind your head and gently pulling you up to his chest. He’s so warm, and you can feel his every breath as he whispers your name. His voice is low and hoarse, just barely audible over your crying and the sound of his heart, but it’s Ben. That’s how he says your name, that’s how you always want him to say your name. Like it’s the most important word in the world. He’s surrounding your every sense, his body firm under your hands and his smell soothing your head. He’s big and warm and Ben. He’s everywhere.

You can’t feel him. The part of him that belonged to you is gone, and he’s touching you but you can’t feel him.

Some feral instinct of no takes over your body. That’s not your Ben. You can always feel your Ben. He’s the only one that’s supposed to touch you and hold you and say your name, and this fucking imposter is doing it all right—your stupid heart that’s only for Ben even thinks it’s him—but you can’t feel him.

He’s still holding you, carefully and reverently like your Ben would, but you can’t fucking feel him. You can’t feel anything but no. Something is trying to trick you, trying to make you feel so safe and warm and no. Not real.

It’s not a dream. You try and push the imposter away, but he’s strong like Ben is and all that happens is you shriek in pain as the IV pulls at your arm. The fake is trying to talk to you and ease your fear, but you just want Ben. You want the real one to appear and pull the liar away and pick you up. You can’t fight anymore, you’re so fucking exhausted and this is so cruel. This painful and fucked and you don’t know why Sage is doing this to you—making you think you were home—but it’s not real and you’re going to break because this is torture-

Ben’s voice is saying your name. The imposter is trying to calm you down as you make strangled sounds of protests and try to escape his hold. He’s pulled you away from his body, his hands are cupping your face, and he’s holding you right. His hands on your face are calloused and his tracing the same patterns your Ben does, and it’s not real.

He says your name again, and you can barely hear him through panic clouding your head. You have to go, this is so cruel because your heart is trying to make you just fall forwards into the imposter but your brain knows it’s a lie. It doesn’t matter how he smells like pine and how he’s touching you like you’re holy, or how his voice has all the right inflections and his body molds perfectly against yours. You can’t feel Ben.

This time, his voice is louder. Almost desperate as he repeats your name, and your evil body responds to it. Makes you listen to him as he speaks.

“You’re from Boston, and you lived in New York, and now you live with me in fucking Jersey.” He’s just saying facts about you. Facts Sage knows. “We lived in a safe house, because you’re too smart for your own fucking good and decided to wake me up. You’re the most powerful supe in the world, and you got the idea that you could fucking control me.”

These are all just facts, Sage could’ve just fed the liar a script-

“You were right. You’re right about most things, and good at a lot of shit, but you can’t fucking cook. Nobody taught you how.” His voice is urgent, and you stop screaming. These are more specific, things Sage could guess but doesn’t know. This maybe Ben must pick up on why you’ve stopped trying to claw his hands off your face, because he stops naming facts and begins to list off things about you. About who you are. His voice grows louder, clearer, but you still can’t feel him.

“You call coke cocaine, say shit like braggart and macabre and unbecoming, and you swear like a fucking sailor. You love music, you have the voice of a goddamn siren, and you tap Moon River when you’re getting emotional. I’m not allowed to call you emotional, because it’s tasteless. You hate your mother, because she’s a bitch, and you hate advertisements because they prey on people’s insecurities. You fucking love people. You got a PhD because you’re fucking brilliant and love people.”

You’re breathing a little steadier. You want this to be real, you’ve never wanted anything more. But Sage still could’ve just figured you out-

“You think everything is amusing, and you help everyone, even when they’re fucking pussies who don’t deserve it. You taught me how to use a phone, and the first photo in my library is one you took of my shield. You made it my lockscreen, and taught me how to change it if I wanted to. I made it a photo of you watching a movie, because you looked hot in it. You’re hot all the time, but when you’re doing something you love you’re brighter than the goddamn sun. And you loved watching that stupid fucking movie. And I loved watching you.”

Your brain is still hazy, and all his words sound right. But you still can’t feel Ben, and you’re so tired-

“You call me Benjamin, and old, and grumpy, and I let you because you’re fucking everything to me. You think your three best qualities are your dumb as fuck plans, your tits, and your ability to put up with my shit. You’re wrong, because your plans always hurt you,” his voice is almost strained, and you want to make it happy. “Your tits are perfect but all of you is perfect so they don’t fucking count, and you love putting up with my shit. You think it’s funny.” I love you, your traitorous heart is siding with maybe Ben. I love you. Ben, I love you. “Your real best qualities are that you’re smart, and kind, and you have the best fucking pussy of all time.”

Your body is leaning into him. You’re not strong enough to stop it, not when you need this to be real. This has to be your Ben, or you’ll shatter.

“When you’re ready, I’m going to fuck that pussy wherever I want. You said I could, as long as we’re together, because my dick is yours and you chose me. When this shit is over, we’re going to go to Rome, together. We’re going to go to Rome and open an escort business and you’ll be the pimp and I’ll be your muscle and fuck you everywhere. You burn, I burn, Sunshine. You’re never going to burn without me again. I won’t fucking let you.” He chuckles, and it’s dry. “But I don’t let you do anything.”

The world clears in your head. You can see Ben watching you, and it’s Ben. You still can’t feel him, but nobody else would know those things but your Ben. Your hands are still fisted in his chest, smoke rising from your knuckles and nails, but this is Ben so there’s no fire. He’d let you beat at his chest and kick up into his gut because he’s Ben, and you couldn’t hurt him if you tried.

“Ben,” you whisper, falling forward until your brow is pressed to him. “Something’s wrong. I can’t feel you.”

“I know,” His voice is gruff, deep. Ben’s. He’s real. “They gave you some sort of drug to stop it. The French Prick said it would help you. He’s clearly a fucking idiot.”

You huff a dry laugh, shaking your head in his hands. “That’s rude, Benjamin.”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“I know.” You smile at him, and his mouth twitches slightly. He’s here. “Hi.”

He sighs, eyes fixed on yours. “Hi, beautiful.”

“I missed you.”

“I know,” he mutters. “I missed you, too.” He falls silent after that, just watching you. You’re just holding each other, your body having moved itself into his lap and one of his arms long dropped to circle your hips and keep you there. And this is your Ben. Nobody else is capable of looking at you like that, nobody can fake the way that Ben’s eyes on yours always pull you apart, and how it’s so strangely comforting. They could look like him and say all the right words and hold you the right way, but only your Ben sees you. And they couldn’t fake that.

“I’m sorry-“

“Shut up.” He grunts, and you can’t help your small smile. “Never fucking apologize to me.”

“I tried to scratch out your eyes, Ben.” You mumble. “That feels like it warrants an apology.”

“Well you didn’t fucking manage to, so shut up.” He pauses, scanning your face. When he speaks again, his voice is hoarse. “You’re okay.”

Not a question. You giggle, and probably look insane—his scowl tells you that you do—but you missed him. You missed Ben so fucking much. “I’m okay,” you whisper. “I’m really okay. I just,” you sigh. “I’m tired. I’m-“

“If you say you’re sorry again, I’ll kill you.”

“I’d like to see you fucking try-“

Ben kisses you. It’s slow, soft, and careful. Like you might turn into ash or smoke if he makes the wrong move, and you still can’t feel him but he tastes like coffee and salt and Ben. This is him, his tongue tracing your lips lightly and his hand running through your hair. His arm around you holding you tight against him, his hand on your waist kneading at your skin.

When he pulls back, you’re smiling. This is real, you’re home and Ben is here, so you’re smiling. There will be time for shadows and pain later, right now Ben is here.

He looks like he wants to say something. His eyes are narrowed, his mouth slightly open, and his hand has moved down to trace the line of your cheekbone. You need to tell him you love him. Ben’s looking at you like you’re the most amazing thing he’s ever seen, and you’re sharing his breath, and he’s so warm and strong and Ben. He hums your name, and you’re going to tell him. Even when you can’t feel him, he's everything, and in the haze of sleep and Ben’s presence it really feels like a good idea because he has to know you love him.

The door bursts open, and Ben’s whole body wraps around you. Pull you into his chest and his arms steadily, gently cage you there. His shoulders hunch down, like he’s trying to push you into his body, and his roar rolls through your ribcage.

“What the goddamn fucking hell is wrong with you pussies?! You can’t just fucking barge in without a goddamn warning-“

“Our apologies, sir. We heard a disturbance, and wanted to check on the patient.” You don’t recognize that voice, but Ben’s grip on you has loosened slightly, enough for you to know that Ben knows them. That he’s decided you’re not in danger.

“She’s fine,” Ben snaps, and you start to try and wriggle out of his grip. “Get the fuck out.”

You poke at his chest, because the stupid bear of a man won’t budge. He’s looking over his shoulder, not even flinching when you pinch his arm. “Ben, let me go.”

Ben’s glare turns down to you, and he’s so close and handsome and Ben and you need to get a fucking grip. Love is making you an idiot.

“No,” he grunts, and hauls you slightly further up his chest. “Shut up.”

“Fuck you. Let me go.”

“I said-“

“Please, Ben. My arm hurts.”

It’s not technically a lie, the way he’s moved your body puts the IV at a weird angle that’s sore and stinging, but you say it because you know he’ll listen. His eyes dart down to where the IV is stuck in the crook of your elbow, and he’s scowling as he lets out a long sigh.

“Fine.”

His arms grow just slack enough for you to move your head back and peek around him, seeing a skinny man in scrubs standing at the door.

“Hi.”

The man blinks, gaping at you. “You’re awake.”

“Fucking obviously,” Ben mutters. “I could’ve told you that, I should be the goddamn doctor-“

“You’d be a terrible doctor, Ben.” You pull back to grin at him, and you see something soften in his glare when your eyes meet. “You have no bedside manner.”

“Bedside manner is for pussies-“

“I should, uh,” the man is still in the door, staring at you with wide eyes. “I should go get Director Mallory. She said to tell us when you were awake-“

“Do not get Mallory,” Ben snaps, twisting around to meet the man’s eyes. “Get a fucking doctor, you dickless ass, so we can go the fuck home.”

You punch his chest, and he looks back down with a scowl as the man scrambles away with a frantic nod.

“I’m fine, Ben. You don’t need to bully the nurse.”

“I wasn’t fucking bullying the nurse-“

“You’re a big guy, Benjamin.” You sigh, leaning back into him and letting his body muffle your words. “You’re scary. That guy looked like he was going to piss his pants.”

He grunts. “You’re not scared of me.”

Not a question. You’ll always answer.

“No,” you smile up at him. “But I could kick your ass if I wanted to. And you wouldn’t hurt me, so there’s nothing to be scared of. But most people don’t know how much of a big softie you are-“

“I am not a fucking softie-“

You kiss him this time. You move your hands up to his jaw and tug lightly, and he lets you move him down. Back against you. You hate not feeling him—really feeling Ben in your body—but this is still everything. Even without the stone resolve wrapping over your muscles and head, or pound of him against your ribcage, he’s still Ben. And that’s more than enough. Him touching you and meaning it will always clear your head, and he’ll always fit perfectly against you, and he’ll let out low grunts and groans that make everything easy. Ben will always be warm, always keep you safe, and when he pulls away from your mouth his eyes will always watch you. His forehead will keep pressing to yours, and his hands will keep making you feel good, and his voice will keep rolling through you when he speaks.

“Brat.”

“Cunt.”

Ben kisses you again, and he’s still being so gentle. Even when he deepens it, pressing his tongue against your lower lip in a silent request, he’s going slow. Holding you lightly against him, groaning in a way that’s driving you a little insane but not growling. Not hauling you up against him and biting at your neck until you start to grind against him. You wish you could feel him. If he’s worried or angry. If he’s not just laying you down on the bed and fucking you because you’ve only just returned and something is still snapped and flailing weakly in the muscle of your chest, or because he doesn’t want you anymore. Because he’s waiting for you to move, so he knows you won’t freak out again if he tries anything, or if he’s seen how you’d broken and decided you were weak. Not good enough for him, too human for him to waste time on.

But Ben wouldn’t do that. He would always want you. He might not love you, but he wants you. And he doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do, doesn’t give people things out of obligation. Ben likes that you’re kind, that you’ll always be a little more human that the V should allow.

Still, a mocking, sadistic voice echoes in your head. Too human. Too weak.

Ben’s hand drifts up your body, brushing against your ribs, and your head goes clear. He can still do that. You can’t feel how solid and immovable he is, how his touch is filled with adoration, but you can know it. It’s not in your blood, but it’s in how he’s sucking on your upper lip and his teeth are brushing against your skin. It’s in how—even with touches that are a little too soft—he’s holding you in a way that you can feel every movement of his body, and it’s all firm. Assured in his place against you, never hesitating to move you a little closer, never pulling back for air because this is more vital.

Someone coughs, and Ben still doesn’t let you go. His hand on the back of your head holds you steady where he wants you, dropping his mouth to leave a wet, sloppy kiss at the base of your neck before rising up your jaw, your cheek, your brow. Leaving a trail along your face before finally pressing one, heartbreakingly light kiss on the top of your head.

“Excuse me,” someone with a tight, croaking voice is speaking from behind Ben. “If the patient has woken up, I need to speak to her.”

Ben pulls back, rolling his eyes at you as he responds. “Fucking talk.”

“May I see-“

You wiggle yourself upwards, using your free arm to pull on Ben’s neck and peek over his shoulder. The doctor—standing hesitantly in the doorway—cuts himself off, staring at you in surprise before shaking his head and entering the room.

The doctor stops at the side of your bed, and Ben still doesn’t let you go. You try to twist around in his arms, to face the doctor while remaining pressed into Ben’s chest, but the IV tugs at your arm and a small sound of pain escapes your throat. That makes Ben move, picking you up carefully so he can adjust his own position to be at the head of the cot, lowering you between his legs and keeping one arm wrapped around your torso. The doctor watches with a wide-eyed, nervous expression before coughing again and grabbing a clipboard that’s been hanging on the wall.

He says your name—your full, real name—confirms your birthday, and begins to read off the clipboard. “Super-abled female. Primary residence, redacted. Powers, regenerative healing factor, empathy, pyrokinesis, and redacted. Occupation, redacted. Emergency contact, William Butcher-“

“What?” You frown, feeling Ben tense around you. “Why is Butcher my emergency contact?”

The doctor shrugs. “I’m just reading what I was given, ma’am. If you would like to change it, we can do that when you’re discharged. Speaking of which,” his eyes narrow at the clipboard before looking up to you. “We will need to run some tests before allowing you to leave, and Director Mallory will have to approve the removal of your IV.”

You sigh. “What kind of tests?”

“While you’re here I like to get your vitals, and I’ll have to ask you some questions about the events leading up to, uh,” the doctor shoots a quick, anxious glance above you, where Ben’s chin is resting on your head. “Your admittance.”

“I, um, I don’t really remember much-“

“That’s common for events of emotional distress such as yours.” The doctor scratches at his ear, looking between you, Ben, and the clipboard. “We just need to gather as much information as possible. While there’s been no sign of physically inflicted harm, given your situation and history we’ll still need to ensure mental stability-“

“Okay.” You try and curl further into Ben and he gets the silent message, squeezing his hand on your thigh and rubbing circles against your skin. Your whole body relaxes into it, and you nod at the doctor. “What do you need to know?”

“Um,” the doctor’s eyes fall to where Ben’s touching you, and you’re too tired to be embarrassed. Ben’s touching you, and he’s big and warm and safe, and it’s making breathing and speaking easier. The doctor can deal with it. “Just, try and recall anything you can.”

“Anything?” You repeat, and the doctor nods. “Anything about…?”

“What got you here.”

You nod slowly, but when you try to think about what happened after Homelander had left all you see is blood and all you feel is cold. “I, um. I really don’t know. I figured out that my empathy power could reverse, so people could feel me, and I tested it to make sure. I was just, I was exhausted and alone, and whenever I touched people they’d fall over.” Your nails are digging into Ben’s arm, and he doesn’t flinch. Only pulls you closer. “I, um, I was looking for something in the tower, a weapon against Homelander, and I found it.” The part of you that had broken when Homelander kissed you grows painful, and your voice becomes strained. “I figured out a way to get Homelander away from the tower, and I just ran. I don’t, I can’t really remember what happened after, but I think I just kept running until I got here.”

The doctor frowns. “When you arrived, you were covered in blood. Do you remember if anyone tried to hurt you-“

“No,” you whisper. You remember that. All the blood on your hands and under your feet and dried against your face, even when nothing was burning anymore. Blood in your hair and metal on your tongue and red splattered across your clothes-

Your clothes. The stained pants and shirt you’d left the tower in, the pockets you’d been keeping the V in.

Where are your clothes.

You turn around, grabbing the collar of Ben’s shirt and ignoring the pain shooting through your arm. Your clothes.

“What-“

“Ben,” you cut him off with a frantic shake of your head and a high voice. “Ben, my clothes. Where the fuck are my clothes. I need my clothes-“

Ben says your name with a frown. “I changed you out of them, you were covered in fucking blood and dirt-“

“Where did you put them,” you pull yourself up to his eyes level, holding his face between your hands. “Ben, where are my clothes-“

“Annie took them up to our apartment,” his hand moves off your thigh, circling around your wrist. Holding you still. “They’re just up in the fucking apartment. We can clean them, or burn them, or whatever the fuck you want. It’s okay.”

It’s okay. Your clothes are up in the apartment, the V in is your clothes, and Ben says it’s okay. You fall forwards, pressing your head into the crook of his neck, and you’re okay.

The doctor’s pencil is scratching against paper, and you don’t bother to look at him. You don’t think you could pull away from Ben if you tried, because it’s safe here. Ben’s hand is running through your hair, and you can feel every rise and fall of his chest with his breath, and you’re safe here. He won’t leave. You love him, and he won’t leave.

“I’d like to order a psychological evaluation,” the doctor is saying, and you just nod into Ben’s body. “And I’m going to recommend to Director Mallory that you remain out of the field until it’s completed and you’ve been approved.”

You hum and acknowledge, and when Ben speaks you can feel every word in your bones and gut, soothing any lingering fear.

“She doesn’t need a fucking shrink.” He snaps. “She needs to go home and rest.”

“It will just be a brief session, to make sure there’s nothing to worry about. Given the, um, nature of her time away, we’re required to ensure there was no deeper trauma inflicted. She may as well be fine, but it’s just precautionary-“

Ben’s going to shout at the doctor. You can hear his heart picking up where your ear is pressed to his body, his body has gone rigid, and when you look up his jaw is clenched.

You almost reach up to pull his face down to yours, but his gaze drops down to yours with a frown before you even move.

There’s not a chance in fucking hell we’re staying here another night-

It’ll be an appointment, Ben. We’ll go home, and come back for an appointment. Or they’ll come to us, we do live here. You offer him a small smile. And the longer you yell at the medical professionals, the longer we have to stay here.

He rolls his eyes. I’m not fucking yelling.

You were about to.

Shut the fuck up.

Not until you promise to calm your ass down.

I am fucking calm.

You give him a flat look, vaguely aware that the doctor had long fallen silent. Really.

I’m calm as shit. I just want to take you fucking home-

I am home. You lean forwards, resting your chin on his chest. You’re here.

Ben’s glower vanishes in a second, and he’s watching you with an expression you can’t understand. It’s familiar, but if you’re supposed to be able to read it, you can’t.

He doesn’t look away when he speaks. “Fine.”

“Um, sir,” you can see the doctor in your periphery, frowning at Ben. “I’m afraid you’re not allowed to speak on her behalf, considering you’re not family or given power of attorney. Technically you shouldn’t even be here-“

Ben’s head shoots up, his scowl returned in full force, and you have to speak before the doctor gets his head bashed in.

“It’s fine, he’s okay.” Please don’t make him leave. “It’s um, he’s right. I’m fine with a psych eval. I just, can I ask how long I have to be here?”

When you lean back to watch the doctor’s reaction, he’s staring at Ben with a frozen expression. “We, um,” the doctor swallows. “Director Mallory needs to speak to you first, then you’ll be discharged. Vitals can wait, I think.”

“Can you please go get her?”

The doctor nods, retreating backwards. “Yeah. I can.”

“Thank you-“

The doctor slams the door closed as he leaves, and you glare up at Ben.

“Benjamin.”

He’s still glaring at where the doctor had disappeared into the hall. “What.”

“I told you to stop bullying.”

“I didn’t even goddamn say anything-“

You snort. “You were looking at that guy like you were going to rip his head off.”

“He was going to try to make me fucking leave you-“

You wrinkle your nose at him. “He couldn’t make you do anything. And he was technically right, you’re not my relative or emergency contact, so you probably shouldn’t be here. That’s policy at most hospitals.”

“This isn’t a real hospital,” Ben mutters. “All their policies are made up dogshit.”

“Well, all policies are made up dogshit. They’re all just fake, hyper-specific corporate law.” You grin at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“What, so I’m not allowed but fucking Butcher would be-”

“I’m going to make you my emergency contact, Ben.” You tilt your head at him. “But not until you stop being a fucking man-child.”

“I am not a man-child-“

“Then stop throwing a temper tantrum.”

He’s still glaring at you, but it’s for show. You know that glare, where his brow is furrowed and his mouth is in a frown, but his eyes have nothing but content affection in them. “Brat.”

You smile at him, and it’s a real smile. There’s teeth and joy and comfort and your cheeks hurt a little bit, but it’s the only pain you’re feeling because you’re happy. Ben’s here and you’re happy. “Cunt. I can still keep Butcher as my contact, so don’t test me.“

Ben’s eyes narrow. “That’s not fucking funny.”

“It’s a little funny-“

This kiss is harsher. Still not rough, but desperate. Full of want, Ben groaning your name down your throat and his tongue pushing a litter further than before. His nose bumps yours, and when you don’t pull away he goes deeper. Nipping at your lips until they swell, pulling your tongue into his mouth with a low sound from his chest that makes you whine at start to climb up to get closer. He grins against you, and his voice is in you.

“Fucking like that, Sunshine?” You nod against him, and he does it again. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” you’re breathless. He’s barely touching you, but all your air has been pushed into his body and you have no desire to take it back. “I like that.” I love you.

“More?”

You nod, and Ben moves to your ear, kissing right below it before growling against your skin.

“Fucking words-“

“More,” you mumble, lowering your head into his shoulder. “More, please.”

Ben hums, and your whole body shivers. “Try again.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole-“

“You’re into it.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it from only thinking Ben. Ben, I love you. Please, Ben, I love you. “I am. But I’m a little fucked up.”

He pulls away, and you almost whine again. You barely manage to swallow it, trying to pretend it doesn’t kill you that you still can’t feel him. He’s looking up at you—sitting halfway on his torso—and you love him. You love that he’s here, and touching you like you didn’t break or leave, and smirking at you as you start to grind onto him.

“I like you a little fucked up.” He says, and you can’t swallow your next whine as he squeezes your ass. “But I’m also not fucking you here.”

“Ben-“

He drops his arms down to your hips and holds you carefully up his body as one hand snakes up, below your shirt, and keeps you steady against him as he flips you both over. Pressing you down into the mattress, and kissing you into the half-plastic cot pillow until you whimper.

“I’m not fucking you here,” he says your name again, and you can only nod. Anything that keeps his voice rolling through you, keeps him around you. “I’m going to fuck you, and when I do you’re going to say my name, and moan, and cum all fucking over my cock and hands and face. But not here. Not until you’re okay.”

You are okay. You’re still broken and tired, but you’re okay. Ben’s here, and safe, and warm, and you’re okay. You should tell him, you should tell him you’re good, he’s here so you’re good, but it will come out I love you. If you try to talk to Ben right now you’ll say Ben. Ben, I love you. Ben I’m fucked up and broken but it’s all good because I love you, and you’re here.

You can’t say you love him. You’re awake now and you know that you can’t say you love him. You’re not ready for him to say he doesn’t love you, you’re not strong enough to live through that right now, so you can’t say you love him. All you can do is surge up and grab Ben’s face, feel him in every way you can with your empathy numbed, and let him groan into you. Let him guide your arms back down so that the IV doesn’t pull at your skin, let him make your head clear with just Ben. Kissing your and invading your senses in the best possible way. Here and real and Ben.

“I missed you,” you hum the words into his mouth, and hope he hears the underlying song of I love you. Ben, I love you. “I really fucking missed you.”

His head lifts up, pressing a kiss on your forehead, words muttered against your skin. “I missed you too, Sunshine. Don’t ever fucking do that shit again.”

“Okay.” You whisper, and mean it. You’re exhausted, and a broken piece of you is still shifting around inside your body. You won’t survive doing that again. “I won’t.”

Ben nods, and draws back to watch you. Eyes scanning over your body, picking you apart and searing into every single part of you. You’ve never felt safer.

“Fucking swear it,” he grunts, and you don’t hesitate.

“Promise.” You smile at him again, and his whole body relaxes. “I’ll never leave you again.”

“You didn’t fucking leave me,” Ben mutters. “I lost you-“

“You didn’t lose me,” you reach your hands up, ignoring the sting of the IV. This is more important. “You’ll never lose me, Ben.”

He nods, but doesn’t move. “Good.”

You can’t feel him. You wish you could feel him, because he’s saying something else. There’s something in his voice that you’ve heard before, but it’s stronger. Almost everything in his tone is filled with the one part of him you don’t understand. That big, focused thing that had lived in your body. That was him, that you can’t feel anymore. You want it back. You want all of him, but the IV is still in your arm and you can’t have it right now. So you just smile at him. You smile at Ben, and it’s the simplest thing in the world.

I love you. Ben, I love you.

His eyes are dropping back to your mouth, and you hope he just fucks you. You’re tired, and this bed is uncomfortable, but if Ben’s hand moved just a fraction lower on your hips and if he kissed you like that again, there wasn’t a single thing you wouldn’t let him do to you. When he looks back up at you his eyes are blown out and dark, focused on you as his hips drop and his cock presses against your inner thigh, and you need him. You need him to stop being such a misguided noble ass and just touch you when you’re broken. You need someone to pull this stupid fucking IV out of your body so you can feel Ben, and he can take you home and fuck you.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters your name, and you make a small weak sound. “So fucking good and beautiful.”

“Ben-“

He cuts off your plea of his name with his mouth, with one long, sweet kiss. This kiss is sweet. It’s not to shut you up or make you moan, it’s just to kiss you. To make you sigh and smile against him when he hums your name, when his hand reaches up to brush hair from your face.

“Whole thing,” he mutters. “Say the whole thing.”

You couldn’t deny him, even if you wanted to. He’s tracing his thumb across your jaw and dropping his mouth to kiss the spot only he knows about, and you love him. You’ll give him anything.

“Benjamin,” your voice is unsteady, and you can hardly focus over his gentle bite on your skin. You’re going to say it. He’s not moving back to shut you up and he’s touching you like you’re holy, so you’re going to say it. “Please, I-“

He rises back to you. Kisses you with a hand cupping your cheek, and grunting your name in a way that makes your whole body melt. “I fucking adore you,” Ben mutters, pulling back to look at you with a devotion on his face that makes nothing else matter. “You know that I adore you.”

You nod, not even mad that he’s telling you, because he’s right. You know that Ben adores you. He doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean, so you know he adores you.

But he doesn’t love you. So all you can do is smile at him and make a small sound of affirmation.

“I know, Ben.” You lean further into his hand. “I know.”

He nods, and his mouth opens. Probably to make you promise that you know, or say something else that both heals you and makes you love him more. Makes you certain you will never be able to tell him that you love him.

The door opens, and you’ve never been more grateful for how noisy, boundary-lacking, and aggressive your team is.

It’s everyone. You can’t see over Ben’s body, but the clamor as they push in from the hall into your room is impossible to miss. You can hear Hughie’s apologizing as he bumps into people, and Annie’s shout of his name as something falls down near the door. You can hear Frenchie’s snort, and if he’s here Kimiko is as well. That’s MM telling everyone to sanitize their hands, and Butcher’s scoff at the very idea.

That’s Mallory’s voice, raised above the commotion as she snaps at you and Ben.

“I think everyone would appreciate it if Soldier Boy would get off the bed so we can talk.”

You giggle at Ben’s sour expression, and he rolls his eyes at you.

Why the fuck do they all have to be here.

We won’t know unless we ask. You don’t even have to talk, Ben, you just have to get off of me.

No.

You can still touch me, but I need to see everyone. Please.

You pout at him, and his eyes narrow. This is fucking dumb.

Yep. Move your ass, Benjamin.

He grunts, and instead of rolling off your body he sits up and pulls you with him. His gaze is focused on your arm with the IV, shifting so that the tube doesn’t keep pulling at your skin and only settling when he’s found an angle that he deems suitable.

When you turn your head, you were right. It is everyone. And they’re all staring at you. Even Butcher’s expression is uncharacteristically careful, no mocking words about how you’d just had Ben pinning you to the bed, or snide comments about you still being folded into his chest, comfortable in his lap.

“Hi,” you mumble, feeling your face heat. “It’s, um, it’s good to see you guys-“

“Are you okay?” Hughie blurts, looking you up and down like bruises and scars might suddenly form on your skin. “We’re really sorry about, um, kind of everything-”

“I’m fine.” You smile at him, and pinch Ben’s arm when it tightens around you. You are fine. “And none of that was your fault, you don’t need to apologize,“ Ben snorts, and you pinch him again. Harder. “It’s really okay, Hughie. I’m okay.”

Hughie nods, but still looks unconvinced. “I mean, I’m still sorry. This really fucking sucks, so I’m sorry-“

“She don’t want your apologies, Lad.” Butcher drawls, and Hughie turns red. “They ain’t gonna help shit.”

You can’t look up at Ben, because you can picture his that’s what I’ve been fucking saying face in your head. Instead, you give Butcher a dry smile. “Don’t speak for me, dick-face. And why the fuck are you my emergency contact.”

“Well, it was either me or MM,” he shrugs. “And I drew the short straw.”

You look to MM for confirmation, and he gives you an apologetic look. “We didn’t really know you. And then once we did, we had bigger fuckin fish to fry than updating contact info.”

“Well, I’d like to update it now, please.”

MM nods. “I can have the doctor get the papers. We have to put Ryan in the system anyway, we’ve been kicking that can down the road way too fucking long.”

“Is he okay?” You look around the room nervously. “I know you got him out, but-“

“He’s good,” it’s Ben that answers, and when you tilt your head back to look at him he’s watching you with something soft in his eyes. “He’s doing fucking fine.”

You blink at him. You’ve been talking to him?

You asked me to.

You nod, and smile at him. Thank you.

Ben frowns. Don’t.

“We’ll have time for catching up later and doing that later,” Mallory’s voice isn’t cold, but it’s firm, and when you look at her she’s scowling. “We have a few things to go over before I approve your discharge.”

You feel Ben squeeze your waist—you think he’s reminding you he’s here—and you nod at Mallory. “Okay. Go.”

“Later, I’ll want a fully detailed debrief of your time with Vought,” Mallory starts, and you sink a little further into Ben. Let the heat of his body and the smell of Ben roll through you. “Right now I need to know about your escape.”

“I already told the doctor, I don’t remember-“

“Not how you got here,” Mallory shakes her head, and you blink at her in confusion. “I already know that. The whole world is talking about how you got here. What I want to know-“

“What do you mean,” you probably shouldn’t have cut Mallory off—not with how she’s glaring at you—but you can’t remember anything and suddenly nobody will meet your eyes.

Annie says your name softly, looking at you with a sad expression. “How much do you actually remember?”

“I, um, I found the V. It was the original formula-“

“That won’t work.” Mallory cuts over you, and your words choke in your throat. “From what we understand, the V in both you and Soldier Boy is completely neutral to Homelander.”

You blink at her, your voice small. “What?”

“She’s right,” MM sighs, rubbing his face with a shake of his head. “The papers in the lab said he'd be immune to and unaffected by it. Would be like injecting the fucker with saline.”

You shake your head. “There wasn’t anything else. He only had the one vial-“

“We’ll keep fucking looking,” Ben grunts, rubbing circles on where you’re gripping his arm. When you glance down you realize smoke has started to rise from your knuckles and palm, but Ben hasn’t even flinched. “We’ll figure it out. You’re fucking staying here.”

“That might not be an option-”

“Shut the fuck up, Mallory.” Ben snaps, his arm pulling you closer, body hunching down like Mallory might try and take you. “She’s not doing your fucking dirty work anymore-“

“I’m not going to send her back to Vought,” Mallory’s arms are crossed, and gaze locked on Ben, above your head. “But she’s made herself important to the whole country. All of Manhattan is in chaos, and Homelander’s on a rampage-“

“What?!” You shake your head, looking around the room frantically. Something happened. Everyone looks nervous and guilty—even Ben has tensed further around you—and the callous, sadistic voice in your head has returned.

Weak. Nobody stays because you’re weak.

“What did I do?” You whisper, and Butcher’s voice isn’t cruel when he answers.

“Vought tower,” he grunts, and you feel something clench at the base of your throat. “Didn’t destroy it, did fuck it up real bloody well. VNN is sayin it was another terrorist attack, but eye witnesses are reporting seein you run away with people droppin like fuckin flies around you. Just passin right out with screams. Most seem fine, but there’s been reports of burnt bodies in the tower itself. Sage ain’t been seen since you returned. Homelander won’t give a direct address, but he’s been seen flying around. Looking for you, lasering anyone in the way.”

“How,” you swallow. “How did I get here without him catching me?”

“You ran.” Ben mutters in your ear. “You just fucking ran.”

“But I was across the river, someone would’ve seen me-“

“People did see you,” Mallory’s watching you carefully as she speaks, lips in a thin line. “But everyone that got too close collapsed, right up until you got here and passed out.”

You remember that. You have a vague flash in your head of pushing through the doors of the lobby, of people trying to yell at you and their shouts turning into screams. Of your legs giving out and falling to the floor, of everything around you being cold and painful, but Ben’s Thing in your chest pounding and clawing at you to keep going. Telling you that it was almost safe, that Ben was close, so close, you just had to call for him and he’d come.

There’s another vague echo, of something approaching you and you allowing it to. In the ocean of no and cold and help, someone help, I can’t fucking breathe something had approached you and you’d know it was safe. It was familiar and strong, and it had wrapped around you and cleared your whole body. Sleep had felt easy, your brain had gone Ben. Ben, I love you, and you’d stopped screaming.

But it hadn’t only been you screaming.

“Did I,” you push the words out, staring at your fingers on Ben’s arm. Still smoking, fire itching under your skin. “Did I kill anyone?”

“If you did, they were Vought.” Butcher sighs. “But they ain’t released anything official. All we know is that the whole bleedin country is looking for you.”

“Nobody saw me come here?”

“No,” Annie shakes her head. “You were last seen leaving New York.”

“There’s a lot of theories,” Hughie offers. “But nobody’s actually figured it out.”

You nod slowly, trying to focus wholly on speaking, grounding yourself within Ben’s body around you. “And you need to know what to say to the public. If I’m back here or not.”

“You’re America’s fuckin martyr,” Butcher says your name, and even he sounds tired. “We ain’t got a lot of time until Sage wakes up from whatever you did to her, and she’ll-“

“She’ll spin it,” you sigh, your fingers tapping on Ben’s skin. “She’ll turn this in their favor. We need to be faster.”

“This seemed to be your plan the whole time,” Mallory looks you up and down, and you hold her gaze. You just have to hold yourself together a little longer, then they’ll let you go home and you can fall in Ben’s arms and fully break. “What should our move be.”

You don’t know. You had known, you’d had steps lined out for when everything fell into place. For when the world knew who you were, and had grown attached to you. For how you’d find the proof—something undeniable and obvious—of what Homelander had done to you and leak it from Vought. Turn the world against him and stay at his side, lure him to Ben and give everything left in you to finish it. Burn and burn and burn and hope it was enough to keep Homelander down. Then you’d adjusted, and you’d planned to leak it and get the V they needed, then escape in the dark. Have Homelander come find you and kill him like that.

There had been flaws and holes in both of those plans. Not all the world would’ve condemned Homelander, but a small following of fanatics was better than millions rioting in the streets. There was the chance you wouldn’t have been strong enough to hold Homelander for Ben, but the V had solved that problem. There was a chance Homelander wouldn’t look for you, but it had been slim. He’d have thought you’d just vanished, been taken from him once more. There had been so many possible setbacks, and you’d known how to account and adjust for all of them.

But you’d failed. You hadn’t gotten the right V, and your escape hadn’t been quiet and smooth. It had been horrible and violent, in the broad daylight and for all the world to see. You’d gotten out, but you’d been unable to control yourself and you’d failed. Just like Sage said you would. And you didn’t know what to do.

Weak.

“This can wait,” Ben’s voice is from his chest, deep and rough. “She’s fucking tired. Let us go home, then we’ll do your fucking jobs for you.”

We. Ben won’t really be doing anything, just sitting with you, but he’s right. That’s still we.

“Soldier Boy, she’s my agent. I will decide-“

“You aren’t going to decide fucking shit.” Ben hisses. “She not your agent, she’s fucking dead as far as the government is concerned.”

“She’s not dead,” Mallory snaps. “That’s the problem. She’s incredibly alive, and the whole world knows. We need to know how to proceed-“

“I’ll figure it out,” you mumble, mostly to yourself. You will figure it out. You always figure it out. You have to figure it out, and you’re not sure what you’ll do if you can’t. “I just need a minute-“

“No.” Ben’s hand moves over yours, and you realize the smoke has started to flicker with light. “You need to fucking rest. This can wait until you’ve rested.”

“Ben-“

“He’s right,” MM mutters, and you turn to gape at him. “You just half-destroyed a building and ran all the way from Manhattan to Newark. Even with the V, you need rest.”

“I was just asleep for a day-“

“Passed out,” MM corrects you with a firm glare. “You were passed out. That’s not sleep, or rest, it’s burnout. You need to get in a bed and really fucking sleep, before it gets worse.”

“Marvin,” Mallory shoots MM a sharp look. “There’s a lot at stake here-“

“Look at her, Grace,” MM doesn’t waver, nodding at how you’re all but buried into Ben’s body. How there’s smoke still rising from between Ben's fingers over yours. “She’s not going to have any good ideas right now. She’s exhausted, let her rest.”

“I’m fine-“

Ben says your name, and you look up to find his flat glare examining your name. “You’re hungry.”

“I said I’m fine-“ Your stomach growls, and Ben smirks at you. He knows what he’s doing, the asshole. “Fuck you, Benjamin.”

He winks. Eat first. You’ll need the energy.

Shut up. You wrinkle your nose at him, and he chuckles.

“There’s still some leftovers from dinner last night,” Hughie glances at Annie for confirmation, and she nods. “We could bring them down for you guys. I know Soldier Boy hasn’t eaten-“

“What?” You frown, and Hughie’s eyes widen. “What do you mean Ben hasn’t eaten.”

Hughie shrugs—words becoming stumbled and unsure—and you can feel Ben’s arms tighten around you. “I, uh, I’m not sure. It’s been a crazy few days. Who knows who’s been eating and who hasn’t-“

“Hughie,” you say slowly, and he looks at you with a pale face. “How long have I been asleep. Don’t lie, you’re bad at it.”

“Um, maybe 36 hours?”

“And has Ben left this room in those 36 hours?”

“Don’t fucking answer that,” Ben’s words to Hughie are an order, and you glare up at him. “And I took at least one piss, Sunshine, so shut the fuck up.”

“Have you eaten, Benjamin?” He just glares at you, and you look back at Hughie. “Has he eaten?”

Hughie looks around to the rest of the team for help, but nobody seems to be willing to take over. Even Annie just moves a step in front of him, gaze locked on Ben above your head.

“Hughie-“

“I, um.” Hughie’s looking between you and Ben, and you think he’s trying to decide who’s less dangerous to ignore. “I don’t-“

“Bloody Christ,” Butcher rolls his eyes, stepping forward. “You two are gonna give the Lad a heart attack. Soldier Boy ain’t eaten, or left this room. And his piss was in a bloody bottle that I can see in the bin from here. Try not to fuck about it in front of us.”

You pretend not to hear the last comment, and twist to shove at Ben’s chest. “You fucking idiot-“

“I was waiting for you,” he snaps, catching your hands. “Fuck my ass for being worried about you-“

“I’m fine, Ben. You need to eat-“

“I’m not about to goddamn leave you-”

“You need to eat!” You try to knee his gut, but just manage to shift into straddling him. “You need to eat just as much as I do, you don’t even have to go back upstairs! You could’ve just found a vending machine-“

“I said I’m not fucking leaving you!” His voice is loud, but not a yell, and he tugs you closer. “You were passed the hell out, I can’t just leave you like that-“

“Ben,” you say, voice a little softer. He looks pained, and his hands are holding yours against him, almost crushing your fingers. “I’m home. You never left me. You need to take care of yourself as well.”

His jaw clenches. You were fucking screaming, Sunshine. You didn’t hear you, you didn’t see you. I’m not fucking leaving you to wake up alone after that.

I didn’t wake up alone. And you’re going to have to let me be alone eventually. At some point I’m going to have to shit.

You can shit in front of me. I don’t give a fuck.

You give him a flat look. You know what I mean. I’m okay. You should eat.

You should fucking eat.

Ben, please.

He sighs. Fine.

You don’t bother to try and turn back to your team as Ben lifts his head to address them.

“We’ll grab the damn leftovers on our way back. Now can we fucking go.”

“I have to call the doctor,” Mallory says, and you see Ben glare at her. “Her skin attempted to heal around the IV, it needs to be removed carefully.”

“Then fucking do that.”

“Ben,” you wait for him to look back at you before continuing. “Go get us the food now, and by the time you get it home I’ll be discharged.”

“There’s not a chance in hell-“

“I’ll let you carry me.” You smile at him, and he glowers at you.

Brat.

Cunt. Go get the food, please.

“We’ll be watchin her the whole fuckin time, Gov.” Butcher says from behind you, and Ben’s eyes don’t even flick upwards in acknowledgment. “She ain’t gonna go anywhere.”

He’s right. I won’t. You’ll get back, and I won’t even have gotten off the bed.

He frowns. Tell me you’re okay.

Ben’s right here, watching you and handsome and everything, and it’s so easy to smile and blink. I’m okay.

He nods, and kisses the top of your head before peeling you off his body and laying you back on the bed. He stands slowly, scanning across your body.

“Ben,” you say softly, and his eyes dart to your face. “I’m fine. I’ll be right here.”

“If you’re not,” he grumbles, running his hand through your hair and leaning down to press his brow to yours. “I’m killing Butcher.”

You grin at him. “Deal.”

“Adorable,” Butcher mutters, and neither you nor Ben move away from each other. “Hughie, help Soldier Boy get the food.”

“Why me?”

“You started these two horny fuckers on their weird bloody rampage-“

“It’s okay,” Annie’s voice is soft, and you can picture her holding Hughie’s arm, still a step in front of him. “Me and Kimiko will go with you. More hands.”

“That’s a smart lady-“

“Shove it up your ass, Butcher.”

This is fucking stupid, Ben blinks at you, and you smile. I could carry all of them and the food my goddamn self and be back in half the time.

I don’t doubt that, but if you try to fight them this will take longer. You run a hand over his jaw, through the hair of his beard. Try not to miss me too much, Pretty Boy.

He looks at you in a way you’ve seen a million times—all reverence, right through you—but it’s deeper. Completely devoid of something you hadn’t even realized was covering it. You don’t know what it means, especially when Ben leans down and kisses you one more time. Long and deep—holding your face where he wants it and pressing you back into the pillow—in a way that clears your head to just Ben. Ben, I love you. He’s trying to pull away, but you make a small sound at the loss and he doesn’t even pretend to try and ignore it. Ben falls right back into you, going and going with a fervor until you have to pull away for air and he rises to kiss the space between your eyes.

“Don’t fucking move an inch until I’m back.” He mutters against your skin, and you nod.

“I won’t.” You catch Ben's wrist as he starts to step away, smiling up at him. “Thank you.”

He snorts. “Shut the fuck up.”

Ben pries your hand off his wrist and raises it to kiss your knuckles—warmth spreading through your body where his lips brush your skin—and you think he’s going to say something. He scans over you one last time and his mouth opens, so you don’t say anything because you’re certain he’s going to. But Ben just frowns at nothing, tugs the fuzzy blanket up your body, and leaves.

You stare where the door closes behind him, and you know he’ll come back but suddenly you’re cold. This wasn’t a good idea, because Ben isn’t here and you can’t feel anything but cold. You’re left in the room with Mallory, Frenchie, Butcher, and MM, and it’s a warm room—the light of the morning is shifting on your knuckles, right where Ben kissed them—but you’re cold and alone.

“Can we please get the IV out now?” You mutter, not really addressing anyone in particular. “Or at least close the flow?”

When you turn to look at them, they’re all exchanging worried, tight looks.

“What?”

MM sighs, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple.” He says your name, and you frown. “It might not be safe.”

You blink at him. “Safe?”

“Previously,” Frenchie’s words are slow. Carefully chosen and delicate. “Your powers of empathy were as if a one way alley from others, into you. Now they are acting as a bridge. With cars driving in both directions.”

“Cars?”

Frenchie nods. “The cars are emotions. Crossing the bridge, violently.”

“You went vigilant, Love.” Butcher grunt. “We take you off that IV, ain’t no guarantee you won’t hit us all with a blast of Homelander trauma.”

You shake your head, looking between them. “That’s not how it works.”

Mallory frowns at you. “How are you sure.”

“It only happens when I want it to. Pushing my feelings on others.” You clarify your words, glancing down at your own hands. “I have to focus for it to happen. Or I have to be in a,” you sigh. “Hysterical state.”

“Hysterical.”

You nod, ignoring how disbelieving Mallory’s tone is. “Freaking the fuck out. Or…” You trail off, because there’s one other way that the empathy turns outwards without you telling it to. When you’re not freezing, falling into a place you can’t pull yourself out of, but when you’re burning. When you’re looking at Ben and he’s touching you and your whole body grows molten.

MM coughs, and you blink at him. “Or what?”

“Or when I’m, um, emotional.”

Frenchie frowns at you. “Emotional and hysterical are the same, no?”

“No,” you smile sadly at your fingers, tapping against the blanket Ben had pulled back over you. “They’re not. Hysterical is bad, and emotional is good.”

MM lets out a long, heavy breath, and you know he understands. “So as long as you’re not hysterical or emotional, you don’t think we’ve got shit to be worried about.”

“Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

You won’t be okay. This means you can’t touch Ben again, so you won’t be okay. If you touch him, he’ll make everything in you love. It’ll only be eternal, infinite love for Ben and it will make your blood spread from you to him. That will make Ben love you. You can’t make Ben love you. It wouldn’t mean anything if you made Ben love you. Ben would hate you if you did that. If you grabbed him and forced him to do something he didn’t want to for your own, selfish reasons.

Homelander’s voice is sneering in your head, echoing around your body.

Fucking manipulative bitch. Can’t make anyone like you, or anyone stay without tricking them.

This was a trick. You’d be tricking Ben into loving you. Ben would stay with you, and you already know he likes you, but he doesn’t love you. Not like you love him. So much it hurts, all the way through you and the world, in an ancient and indestructible fervor that will only end with all the universe.

You can’t make him feel the same way. For you. You don’t want to make him love you for you. You want Ben to love you so much that it’s painful—the only thing you want more is Ben, just Ben, at your side and grinning at you all the fucking time—but he had to feel it himself. If Ben doesn’t love you himself, you’ll just never be loved by anything again. And you could be fine with that. With Ben caring about you and staying with you, but not loving you. It might eventually kill you, but you’d rather die that sad, withering death than force Ben to love you. Then lose him.

But you can’t tell him. You should tell him, you trust him—you’d always trust Ben to protect you and make you safe and happy—but you don’t trust you. You don’t trust yourself to hold your blood in your body when Ben touches you, and you don’t trust yourself not to fold when he asks you why. When you say Ben, I know I said you could fuck me, but you can’t anymore, and he responds with, why the fuck not. Are you hurt, did Homelander fucking hurt you, you know you’ll cave. You’ll look at his handsome, angry face and feel stone and fury running through him for you, and you’ll tell him you love him.

You’re really not ready to tell Ben you love him.

And you might die if you can never touch him again.

“Frenchie,” you mumble, and he pauses his fidgeting with the IV.

“Oui?”

“You made this stuff, right? The suppressant?”

“I did.” He frowns. “Why?”

“How long does it last?”

Frenchie tilts his head. “It does not. The V in your body rejects anything that is not natural to its system. The moment I remove the IV, the effects will-“ He makes a pfit sound, and gestures away from his body. “Gone.”

“Oh,” you swallow. “Could you figure out how to make it last?”

“Why would you want that?” MM grunts, and you turn to see him frowning at you. Confused. “I can’t imagine it feels good now-“

“I don’t want to hurt anyone by accident.” You mutter. “And it won’t be forever. Just until Homelander’s dead.”

When Homelander’s dead, you’ll rest. You’ll still be afraid, but you’ll have all the time in the world to heal that part of you where something was broken. And one day you’d be whole enough to tell Ben you love him and survive him turning you down. But only once Homelander’s dead.

“I could make it a pill,” Frenchie tilts his head at nothing in the air. “I would need a day, perhaps two-“

“But you could.” Your voice is desperate. You don’t care. “You could make it a pill.”

“Oui, I will just need some time to do so.”

You nod. “Do it. I can wait a few days.” Just a few days. Just one, maybe two days of not being allowed to kiss Ben. You’ll still be able to touch him—curl into his side and run your hands across his sharp jaw and over his broad shoulders—but nothing more. You just survived almost two months with nothing at all. You can go two days with just hands on skin.

You really, really hope you can go two days with just hands on skin.

Mallory raises a hand, stopping Frenchie’s hand on the IV. “If you truly feel uncertain of your ability to control yourself, I’m not going to approve the removal of the suppressant before a pill form is provided.”

It’s important to keep the shake of your head even and not panicked and fearful. You need the IV out now. Your arm hurts, and if Ben can’t pick you up and carry you home—set you down in your bed and sleep at your side—you might start crying. “I’m not going to blow up, I promise. I just won’t touch anyone.”

Just like last time.

You don’t say it, but it’s implied in the way you swallow and all of their features become tight. Nobody except Ben had touched you before you could influence their emotions. Up until Ben, you hadn’t touched anyone—save for brief, tense moments of contact for healing—in years. Scientists and Homelander had touched you, but you’d never touched them. Not in the magnetic way some part of your body was always finding a way to stay against Ben’s.

There’s a brief theory that flashes in your head—made of hadn’t touched anyone, touched Ben, kept touching Ben, felt Ben, loved Ben, everyone feels you, you keep feeling Ben and it won’t stop—but it’s gone the second MM frowns at you, speaking in a low, careful voice.

“Even Soldier Boy?”

“I can touch Ben,” you mutter. There’s not a thing they can threaten you with or tell you that will make you stop touching Ben. “I just can’t, um, you know.”

Mallory frowns at you, saying your name in a cool voice. “We aren’t mind readers-“

“Bloody hell, Grace. She ain’t gonna be able to fuck him.” Butcher’s words are bored, his face lazy. “Seems pretty cut and shit dry from where I’m standin.”

Mallory shoots Butcher a glare. “I am not privy to your sex lives, William. Her relationship with Soldier Boy,” you hate how Mallory says relationship. Like it’s disgusting or wrong, when whatever you have with Ben might be the only good thing left in your life. “Is not my primary concern, nor something I ever spare thought to.”

You have to bite your cheek until there’s a tang of blood, because that’s a lie. Mallory had clearly thought about it enough to use it to blackmail Ben, to keep him in line. You don’t think you’re supposed to know that, and right now isn’t the best time to yell at her about trying to take Ben away from you, but you didn’t forget. You won’t forget.

So you just glare—firm with a silent fury—at Mallory. “Please,” it’s not a real please, but lined with venom and exhaustion. “Just take out my IV. I won’t explode, and I won’t touch anyone. I just, I,” you sigh. “I want to go home. Can I please go home.”

Mallory’s scowl doesn’t waver, but she gives Frenchie a sharp nod and he takes out a small knife from his pocket, approaching your arm.

“I will need to cut the IV out.” Frenchie glances up at you, tone apologetic. “It will hurt. And there will be blood.”

“Okay,” you nod, curling your hand into a fist to still your fingers. “Do it.”

Frenchie’s arm raises, the blade resting on your skin, and you have to bite your tongue when it goes in. Carving under where the IV had been placed, through skin and muscle until Frenchie can get a good grip to yank it out. You manage not to scream, even when the blood starts to rush out of the hole in your arm. Covering the cot, the blanket, your skin, your hands. Blood. So much blood. Why is there so much blood-

Your skin isn’t even fully healed when you feel it. The cold trying to push out of your body, soothed by Ben’s Thing. Returned in your chest, humming and warm against your ribs. Tight, but growing slack by the second. He’s close. You don’t know how you know, but Ben is almost back.

Mallory coughs. “Is it-“

Your head shoots up before the door fully opens, but when it does Ben is barging into the room. Taking long steps back to your cot, eyes scanning over your body with scowl and fists clenching when he sees the red stained across the sheet.

“What the fuck did they-“

You pull Ben into you, yanking him down with a fist in his shirt and rising on your knees to meet him halfway. He catches you with a grunt, arms wrapping around your waist as he raises you further up his body. You can feel him. You can feel the spark of surprise when you surge up to him, and how it turns into concrete worry and care when you bury your head in his neck and his arms tighten around you. You can feel an ache inside of him, and how it’s dissolving into something focused and wrathful and hot. Filled with blood and ardor, flowing into your body and making breathing easier. The shattered piece of you doesn’t fall and meld back into place, but you sink deeper into Ben—his body and smell and the pure feel of him—and you know you’ll be okay. You can’t be broken, not really, because someone broken wouldn’t have another touch them like this. With hands pressed into their skin and the spaces between their bones, with an adoring care that’s everything.

Ben is everything, and you can feel him again. He speaks, and his deep, rumbling voice isn’t just lips on the top of your head or noise that resonates in your bones. It’s deep in your gut and lungs and head, a sound that makes every divet and nerve of your body go Ben. Ben, I love you.

“What’s wrong.”

You shake your head against him, and salt falls onto your tongue. You’re crying, and it’s not choking your words or leaving a lump in your throat. It’s relief, something taut around your head vanishing because you’re safe. You can feel Ben, and there’s not even a sliver of a chance he’s not real. Sage could fake looks and words and smells and touches, fake everything that makes Ben Ben, but she couldn’t fake how you know it’s him. How there’s a soft chorus of Ben that lives in your veins, and it’s only drowned out by his Thing, roaring inside you when you try to pull him closer.

“I’m okay,” you mumble into his skin, and you can feel his jaw tighten. Something sour darts up his spine, and you sigh. “I’m really okay.”

“Then why is there fucking blood everywhere.”

Blood. So much blood. “Frenchie had to cut out the IV. But I’m okay-“

Ben doesn’t let go of you—hooking your legs over his arm and moving your hands to hold the base of his neck—as he stands, turning to glare at Mallory with a sneer. “You said it needed to be taken out fucking carefully-“

“It was done carefully, Soldier Boy. She had attempted to heal over it, there was no other option aside from surgical removal-“

“You cut it out of Her goddamn body!” Ben’s hands tense on you as he shouts over Mallory. “Christ, there’s fucking blood on the floor-“

“Ben,” you look up at him with a small, soft smile. “I’m really okay. I just want to go home. Please.”

He scowls at you, and you can feel how furious he is. It’s burning in his chest, making his breathing sharp and body rigid. They fucking hurt you-

I healed. You can’t even tell anything happened.

There were other options. There’s always other goddamn options.

You give him a small shake of your head. Maybe. But it’s done, and I’m okay. Can we go home now?

Ben sighs, scanning over your face like he might find a bruise or cut to justify his anger. I’m carrying you.

That was the deal.

He rolls his eyes, and that strange look you should understand but just can’t flashes across his face before he turns back to Mallory. “We’re going. If you try to stop me, I’ll shoot you.”

Mallory scoffs. “You don’t have a gun-“

“I gave him one,” Butcher shrugs. “He ain’t gonna use it on us, Grace-“

“I will if she tries to fucking stop me.” Ben snaps, and you sigh, tapping on his jaw until he looks back at you.

What.

Don’t be honest with Mallory about your violent intentions. She won’t appreciate it like I do.

Ben snorts. That’s because she’s a fucking bitch, and you’re not. Then says aloud, “But I won’t do a single damn thing, as long as you let us walk out with any more fucking tests or questions. We’ll do a debrief, later and after she’s gotten some damn sleep and a good shower. We clear?” Mallory gives a clipped nod, and Ben pauses, glancing down at you again before he speaks. “And you’re not getting my gun back.”

Mallory looks like she might argue, but MM stops her with a sigh.

“Not worth it, Grace.” He turns to Ben, crossing his arms with a frown. “You misuse that gun-“

“Yeah, you boring fucking pussies will confiscate it,” Ben’s eyes narrow. “Good thing I won’t.”

MM just looks Ben up and down, and steps back. You barely have time to process that weirdness before Butcher manages to confuse you further.

“Happy day, Gov.” Butcher winks, and there’s no malice in his voice. It’s mocking and sarcastic, but not cruel. “Go be fuckin disgusting away from my virgin eyeshole.”

Ben just grunts, and you flip Butcher off over his shoulder when he starts to walk away.

Butcher winks, and it’s still not mean. It’s a taunt with nothing really hateful behind it.

“What’s that about?”

Ben frowns, carrying you through the halls. “What.”

“MM backed you up. Butcher didn’t ask you if you could go five seconds without me.” You grin at him. “Did you make friends?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You made friends, Ben. Maybe I should leave you for playtime more often-“

Ben’s hands tense on your body. “Don’t fucking joke about that. And I didn’t make friends, I’m a grown man-“

“So is Butcher-“

“Butcher doesn’t have friends.”

“He has you.” You poke Ben’s chest. “You’re best friends-”

“You’re my best friend,” Ben grunts, and the hot thing in him bubbles over. “And Butcher and I have an understanding. We’re not fucking friends.”

You frown. “An understanding? About what?”

“The Kid.”

“Ryan?” You study Ben’s face as he gives a tight nod. “What about Ryan?”

“He wants me around.” Ben’s words are short, but you can feel something prideful and loud wrapping around his body. “I’ve been helping him with his dumb as fuck homework,” Ben’s lip curls, as if the very prospect of learning is disgusting. “And I’m going to train him. Help him control his strength so he doesn’t fucking break something. Or someone.”

You love him. You have an infinite list of reasons to love Ben, and one of them is that he keeps finding ways to make the list longer. He’s training Ryan, and he has an understanding with Butcher, and you hadn’t been gone for so long only to return and find half the building destroyed from a dick-measuring contest.

“Thank you,” you mumble, and Ben’s scowl deepens as he steps into the elevator.

“Shut-“

“No.” You smile at him, and his glare drops down to you. Something in him softens when he meets your eyes. “Thank you. For everything.”

“I didn’t fucking do jack shit-“

“I know.” You reach up a head, running it down his nose and over his cheek. “And that must have sucked fucking balls. So thank you.”

“For waiting.” His voice is flat, and there’s something sore on his lungs.

“For waiting,” you whisper. “And listening to me.”

“Well, you’re usually fucking right about shit.” He mutters, the unreadable look returned. “It’s annoying as goddamn hell.”

“Shut up, you like it.” I love you.

“Maybe,” Ben shrugs, and the elevator opens with a ding. “Good luck proving that.”

“I don’t have to prove it,” your smile turns smug, and you tuck your head back into Ben’s body. “You adore me.”

You feel Ben start to glow again, and your whole head starts to feel light and high. “I do. You’re goddamn brat, but I do.”

It’s nothing short of a miracle you survived without this for so long. Without Ben around you, without the certainty that he’ll be right at your side through any hell or apocalypse, then pick you up and carry you somewhere safe. But it’s a miracle that’s painted in shades of green that tell you Ben is how you got through this. That he waited—you’d known he would wait, that he wouldn’t leave you—and now you’ve brought yourself home.

“Ben?” Your words are hummed against his skin, and his grunt of acknowledgment resonates through your whole body, right into your fingers and resting happily in your head. “You’re my best friend as well.” I love you. Ben, I love you.

He sighs, and it moves through your body. Lulls everything that had still been frantic or afraid. “I missed you,” he mutters. “I fucking missed you. I’m serious as goddamn cancer and bombs, Sunshine, never try to do that again-“

“I won’t,” you mumble, running a hand up his neck, into his hair to check one last time. Real. “I didn’t really enjoy it either, Benjamin.”

“Next time you want to get away from this shit-ass supe motel, all you have to do is ask me and we’ll go to the fucking park.” Ben’s words are slightly strained, but he’s trying to joke about it. He’s trying, for you, and you love him.

“Can I take Butcher as well?” You smile against him. “See which one of you fetches the stick faster?”

Ben makes a low sound that’s half annoyance and half a poor attempt to cover a laugh. “I will. I’m a fuck ton faster than that pussy, he’ll get distracted cleaning his own asshole.”

“You’re faster than everyone, Ben. It’s not exactly a fair contest-“ You cut yourself off, pulling your head back to look at Ben with wide eyes. “Oh, shit. A-Train.”

Ben frowns at you. “What about him?”

“Is he okay? Has he been helpful? Is he safe? I don’t think Sage figured out what happened, but I can never be sure-“

“Breathe,” Ben says your name in a sharp, low tone, and your body responds before your brain can even fully register it. “A-Train’s fucking fine. He’s a whining pussy, but we’ve gotten some shit out of him.”

You swallow. “Have you, um, talked to him?

Ben’s brow knits, and he looks back ahead. “Not outside of the mission. He’s been moping like a little bitch, and he won’t stop fucking looking at me all damn weird.”

“You did rise from the dead,” you mumble. “Twice.”

“Yeah, damn months ago. You’d think the asshole didn’t have other shit to worry about.” Ben’s scoff is slightly bitter, and you feel a pang of guilt because you know why A-Train is treating him odd. For some impossible reason, he’s the only one that knows you love Ben. Sage has guessed, and you have a feeling MM, Butcher, or Annie might be catching on, but A-Train knows. You told him. But he hasn’t told Ben.

You’ll have to buy him flowers later. Or very good sneakers. As an apology for throwing him into the fray with such a massive secret and a thank you for putting up with what you’re sure was a very pissy and grumpy Ben for several weeks without cracking.

“Can I talk to him?” Your question is soft, and you already know what Ben’s answer will be, but you ask anyway. “I have some questions-“

“No.” Ben adjusts you in his arms, pulling you a little further up his chest. “No planning or thinking or doing everyone’s goddamn job for them today. You’re going to shower, and sleep, and that’s fucking it.”

“But-“

“No.”

You sigh, and nod into him. You know how to choose your battles, and this isn’t one you’ll win. It’s not really one you want to win—if you could, you'd spend the rest of your life right here, head buried into Ben’s neck and surrounded by him, just Ben—but you had to try. At least attempt to convince yourself that there are things more important than Ben’s skin on yours, than the promise of rest. True, easy rest, without cold or vigilance.

You feel Ben press a kiss to the top of your head, and the small rush through your body is controllable. He can keep kissing you—in a way that makes his Thing in your chest settle deeper and your whole body relax—but nothing else. You’re going to have to tell him that soon. You can hear the door of your apartment opening, and you’re going to have to look Ben in the eyes and say not yet. I love- You can’t say you love him. You have to rehearse this in your head for that exact reason. You can’t tell Ben you love him. This will have to be Ben, I adore you. I’ve missed you and I still want you, but I’m tired. I can’t do everything right now. I promise I’m okay, but I just need time.

He’ll give you time. You’re saying just for now, so Ben will nod and give you time and your heart will want him to touch you more. Your love for him will become bigger, and it will make this harder. You know this is going to be impossible, but it’s only a day. Maybe two.

You’ve survived a lot worse. Not fucking Ben will, in the grand scheme of things, be simple. You just have to not fuck him. You’ve managed to do it for all your life, you can keep it up for two more days.

Then you see the apartment, peaking around over Ben’s shoulder as he carries you upstairs, and you were wrong. Not fucking Ben is going to kill you.

Your apartment is clean and this is going to kill you.

You don’t get to see everything—catch every single detail or small change—but you see enough. Everything is clean. There’s a dirty dish in the sink, a cardboard take-out box on the counter, and the coffee pot is half full, but the rest of the kitchen is spotless. There are two new chairs at the dining table, there’s a part of the wall that’s a different color than the rest of it, but nothing’s broken. There’s not even any trash. The remote is on the coffee table, next to your laptop—right where you’d left it, plugged in—and Ben’s empty mug. The couch has a blanket and a pillow—the cushions look more beaten in than you’d last seen them—and you lean back to frown at Ben as you reach the top of the stairs.

“Have you been sleeping on the couch?”

He just nods, and you sigh.

“Ben-“

“No.” Ben gives you a small glare, and his throat and stomach feel sore. “Shut the fuck up.”

You glare at him. “I didn’t even say anything-“

“You were going to tell me I should’ve slept in the bed, because I’m not a small guy and it couldn’t have been good for my old man back.” You gape at him slightly, because Ben’s impression of you isn’t your teasing, overly-gruff and still too high-toned impression of him. It’s shockingly accurate. “But there wasn’t a chance in damn hell I was sleeping in our bed without you. That’s that, no fucking fighting-“

“Okay,” you say, and Ben pauses at your bedroom door, a hand raised to push it open. “That’s that.”

He frowns, and for a second you think he’s going to fight with you. Ask why the fuck you’re giving in so easy, even if the answer is simple. You love him, you missed him, and you understand. If the positions had been switched you wouldn’t have been able to sleep in your bed either. You’d have stared at the door at night and spent wasteful hours of the night just hoping Ben would open it and walk out. That he’d only been taking one of his long showers, and was going to come pick you up and carry you to bed like he was now.

Ben drops it, though, and you’re grateful. There’s no real way to explain it that doesn’t end with you slipping and saying you love him. So when Ben nods—he keeps looking at you with that strange expression and you don’t have the guts to ask him what it means—and opens the door to your room, you smile at him. And right before he looks back up to carry you inside, Ben smiles back.

You don’t get to see much of your bedroom, but you catch Ben’s shield—resting near the door—and your scorched and bloody clothes laid on the dresser. The only light is in the bathroom, and Ben doesn’t stop to turn on another before he lowers down onto the bed. Dropping you down his chest, but not removing you from his hold. Dropping his forehead down to yours and staying. Always staying.

It’s several minutes like that—just Ben holding you, lips brushing as you breathe but nothing more—before he speaks.

“You need to shower.”

You nod, lips twitching against his. “I am covered in blood.”

Blood. All this blood, on your hands and under your nails and no shower will make you clean again-

“You need help.”

It’s not a question, it’s one of his statements that should be question but comes out like a fact or order. The only thing that stops you from just humming in agreement, letting Ben win this and having him carry you into the shower, is the knowledge of how that ends. You can still feel him, and if he touches you like that he’ll feel you. Ben can’t feel you, or how your love for him is everything in you. Trying to hang off of his Thing in your chest and give it whatever it wants.

“I,” you sigh. You’d practiced. You can do this. “I can’t.”

Ben frowns, pulling back to examine your face. “You can’t? Can’t what, fucking shower?”

“No, I can shower.” It’s so hard to look at him right now. To feel all of Ben’s concern and something sore and bitter in his body that’s for you, but not at you and keep searching his eyes for his reaction as you speak. “I can’t, I can’t do more.”

“More.”

If he didn’t look so genuinely confused—if you couldn’t feel the fog of befuddlement in his head—you’d be pissed at Ben for making you say it.

“Sex, Ben.” You swallow. “I can’t have sex with you right now. I’m really tired, and I just, I need time.” He says your name, but words have begun to fall out of you. “Only time. I really, really missed you, and I still want you,” Ben. Ben, I love you. “I do still really want you, a lot, but I need time.” His voice is louder this time, but you can’t stop talking, stop explaining yourself. “Please, just time. I still want you, I just need time, I’m so sorry-“

Ben kisses you, and your words turn into an unsteady, desperate breath. He’s understood. You know Ben’s understood, because his mouth rests against yours until you nudge your tongue between his lips and he takes over. Deepening the kiss with a grunt, squeezing your hips, and not rutting up into you when you moan. He doesn’t flip you over and cage you between his body and the bed, or drop his hands any lower than they’d been when he’d started. Ben just cups your face and traces patterns on your skin until you sigh—light and content—into his mouth, and he slowly pulls back.

“Stop apologizing,” he mutters your name, and you nod. “I think I’ll fucking manage to survive, don’t lose your damn mind.”

“I still want you,” you mumble, because it’s important Ben understands that. “I promise I still want you. I’m-“

He kisses you again, one, small, almost innocent kiss. “You’re home. You trust me.”

“I do,” you whisper. “More than anything.”

“Then fucking believe me when I say that’s what matters. You’re fucking home.” He narrows his eyes at you. “Homelander didn’t-“

“No,” you shake your head, cold growing near that broken part of you. “He just kissed me.”

“He what-“

“Only once,” you say softly, staring at where your fingers have dug into Ben’s body. “At the end. But I’m okay.”

Ben glances down at your mouth, and you feel the sore, bitter thing in his muscles before his arms tighten around you and he speaks in clipped words. “I-“

“You can still kiss me,” your voice is borderline panicked, because Ben can’t stop touching you. Not while all you can have is the feel of his skin on yours, the feel of Ben invading over your every sensation in the best way possible. “Just not more. Not now.”

He nods, and you know he doesn’t believe you. He’s right not to, you’re not okay—you’re broken and exhausted and something in you has begun to fray—but if Ben leaves you alone for some stupid, noble reason of letting you be, you’ll fall and not get back up.

But he, once again, lets it go. Ben’s jaw clenches as his hands grip on you grows a little rougher—before loosening and becoming far too gentle—and you can feel his Thing in you ache, but he drops it. Scanning your features like he might find the truth written somewhere on your face, moving a hand to the back of your head so he can angle your forehead against his lips.

“You’re okay,” he grunts against your skin, and you will be. Ben is staying, so you’ll be okay.

“I am.” You look up at him, and he’s so handsome. He looks so tired, and his lips are pressed together in a frustration that matches the knit of his brow, but he’s still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. He’d hate that you called him beautiful—he’d grumble and scowl about it—and just that thought makes you feel a little less heavy. You’re home, and you have the ability to make fun of Ben and call him beautiful. You get to see his glower, and touch warm lips with yours, and run your fingers through the soft hair of his beard and over the certain strength of his body. Ben is staying, so if you piss him off you can just kiss him as an apology, make him dinner if that doesn’t make him stop being such a bitch, and—if all else fails—watch a documentary or ESPN with him until he smiles again. And that makes everything better. Ben is here, so everything is just a little better.

“Then shower,” Ben’s eyes are softer on yours, his hands on your body are warm. “And we’ll eat, then you’ll get some goddamn sleep.”

“Can you,” you pause, unsure of your own idea, but you trust him. You trust Ben, and you don’t want him to leave you tonight. Tomorrow you can be a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need anyone to help her survive. Right now you need Ben to keep talking to you, keep making things easier, keep crashing into your orbit until you’re just a little more certain this is real. Until Homelander’s voice hissing weak and flashes of blood lining your vision are gone forever. Until you never smell coconut again because all you can smell is Ben. Pine and gunpowder and salt and strawberries and vanilla and coffee and Ben. “Can you please stay here while I shower? I’m not that hungry, we can eat after I sleep, and you’ll just be on the toilet-“

Ben stands up, taking you with him. He doesn’t speak, but his answer isn’t in his words. It’s in how he carries you to the bathroom, closing the door behind you both and letting you slide down his body. Keeping his arms around you until your legs are steady before turning to face the wall.

“Ben, you’re allowed to look. You’ve seen me before.”

“No.” His back is straight, shoulders tensed, and when you lean around to try and look at him it’s like the wall is the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. “I’m a fucking gentleman, Sunshine, and-“

You snort. “Benjamin, you are not a gentleman. You’re an obtuse, vulgar asshole, and that’s why I-“ you swallow, and know you need rest. That was too close, and you barely manage to finish the sentence smoothly. “Trust you. I know you, I don’t think you’re going to do anything. It’s really okay if you look.”

Ben’s eyes drift from the wall, meeting yours. “Fine. But if-“

“If I start to freak out or get uncomfortable, I’ll tell you.” You wrinkle your nose at him. “You know, I don’t always lie about how fucked up I feel.“

“Yes, you do.” Ben mutters, still half-facing the wall. “You think it doesn’t matter. But it fucking does. You fucking matter, you matter more than any-“

You kiss Ben once, enough for him to shut up, and pull back with a smile. “You’re being an idiot. An honorable, overprotective, gentlemanly fucking dumb dumb. If you look at me, my head won’t fall off my shoulders. Okay?”

He scowls, but twists to face you. As you take off your clothes you see him scan your body, but it’s an assessment. He’s checking you for marks or scars or visible wounds, even though you both know there wouldn’t ever be any. Ben keeps his hands curled in fists at his sides, his eyes watching your every moment for you to falter or stumble, when you disappear into the steam of the shower you hear him shuffle closer to the door. To stand guard. You can feel his Thing rumbling around, tearing itself apart inside you, and when you speak it’s mostly just to hear Ben’s voice. You know he’s still there, but you just want to hear him. To let him distract you from the way the water’s turning red as it runs over your hands and under your feet.

“This shampoo is full.”

“What.”

“My shampoo,” you turn the heavy bottle over in your hands, and a large glob of soap falls into your palm. “It’s full. It was almost empty when I…” You still can’t say it. It’s over and you’re home, but you still can’t say it.

“I bought more.”

You smile into the steam at his low, short words. You can see him on the other side of the fogged glass, shifting where he’s pressed his back against the door. “All by yourself?”

“Shut up. I used that Amazon shit, it’s not fucking hard.”

“It took you three hours to understand what they were selling. You said it was fucking pointless, can’t people these days just walk to a store with their damn legs.”

Ben’s Thing in your chest hums. “Well, you didn’t tell me I could buy a fucking knife or spend the CIA’s money on pointless shit-“

“I definitely did.” You add more shampoo into your hair until there’s soap falling in your face and the smell of shea butter and rose overpowers the tang of metal. “My entire pitch was wasting the CIA’s money on clothing and decorations. You just weren’t listening.”

There’s a pause, and you see Ben tense before he responds. “I was distracted.”

You hum, the soap covering your mouth, and wait for him to continue.

“You were sitting on me,” Ben mutters. “And you kept fucking moving. Your tits were right in my face.”

The steam of the shower begins to make you a little dizzy. “Oh.”

Ben grunts. “I got your stupid shiny hair shit as well. Should be in there.”

“Stupid shiny…” you trail off, eyes finding an unopened bottle in the shower caddy. “Conditioner?”

“Sure.”

He got you conditioner. Ben got you conditioner, and shampoo, and when you step out of the shower he’s there with two towels. Holding them out for you, grumbling that you always use two when you blink at him. Once you dry off, Ben pulls off his shirt and shoves it into your hands, tells you to wear it and waits for you to tug it over your head before giving you one last kiss on your brow. Guiding you into his arms and holding you against his distractingly bare and warm chest, letting you bury your face into his body, and you can feel him all around you, and this is going to be impossible. You love him so much, and he’s being so good to you, and it’s only two days but you’re not sure you’ll make it. You need him to be closer, or to climb into him, or for him to live against you like this forever.

But you have to let him lead you out of the bathroom and onto the bed, and tell you he’ll be back in a second, you look like you’re about to fucking collapse, and watch the door close but not shut—left just enough ajar for steam and pine to fill the room around you.

Your clothes are still on the dresser. Fabric charred and stained red, not worth salvaging but still waiting there.

The V.

Your steps across the room aren’t silent as you cross the room. Ben would hear them no matter what, and as much as you want him to burst out of the bathroom, pick you up, and throw you back on the bed—laying on top of you so you can’t go anywhere, grumbling about resting until you kiss his cheek and he makes a grunt of affection that means you win—you’ll also cut his balls off if he tries to treat you like glass. The shower keeps running, and if Ben notices your movement he doesn’t react to it, so you stop in front of the dresser and shift through the clothes with tentative hands—blood, dried but still wrong—to pull out the vial. Green V, that’s in your and Ben’s bodies, that’s completely fucking useless.

You should throw it out. Dump it down the toilet or the sink, smash it and let it evaporate with the heat of your fire, sitting easily under your skin once more. At the very least, you should give it Mallory. That’s what you do with illegal paraphernalia, you turn it into the government. But you don’t want to. You can’t destroy it. Your excuse will be it’s a marvel of science and sort of yours—it even says Anomaly on it—but really it’s feeling. A tug in your gut that says useless against Homelander, but not useless period. It’s the same tug that tells you don’t give it to Mallory. She’s your ally. Not your friend. She wants Homelander dead, but a lot of people want Homelander dead. Wanting Homelander dead is not a benchmark of mortality.

It’s so small in your hand. Barely bigger than your ring finger, barely wider either. It fits right in your underwear door—between a bra and some socks—and when you close it your eyes land back on your clothes.

Blood. There’s just so much blood.

You feel like you’re going to vomit. Something is crawling on your skin, sticking to it and seeping into your body. Your steps back to the bed are hesitant, because your vision is lining with red and your head feels like something is flooding you. Choking you and dragging you down, down, down. Blood.

The shower turns off, and you barely hear it. You can feel the pounding of Ben’s Thing—growing louder and starting to become painful—and when Ben opens the door he’s frowning. He’s surrounded in the steam from the shower, covered by only a towel, and the light of the bathroom around his frame makes him look like some sort of furious, vengeful angel.

You’re really tired, and you can never tell Ben you thought for even a second he was an angel. Even now, in your head seconds later, it sounds stupid, and he’d snort and tease and kiss you. Maybe you should tell him, later, when he’s fully dressed and you can touch him properly.

“What’s wrong.” He’s still frowning at you, and his eyes are darting around the room, resting in sharp shadows and deep corners. You blink at him when his gaze finds yours, watching your every movement carefully.

“Nothing’s wrong, are you-“

“I thought you-” his brow furrows, and he’s scanning over your body, curled back into the sheets of the bed. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods tightly, moving to stand over you, reaching down to hold your face between his hands. “Fucking positive.” He bends over, giving you one, long kiss before muttering against your lips, “Sleep well, Sunshine.”

You grab his forearm right before he can pull away, the words fully registering. “Wait, I-” you try to pull him back, but he doesn’t even stumble. Just looks down at you with a neutral face, with an overwhelming combination of care and resolve and adoration moving from his body to yours. “Please stay.”

“You said-“

“To sleep. I don’t-” you swallow, trying to fight down tears of exhaustion and desperation and fear. “I don’t want to be alone. Ben, please-“

“Fine,” he grunts, and you feel his Thing stab you somewhere near your heart. “But I’m staying on the floor.”

“You need sleep as well-“

“And I’ll get some.” Ben doesn’t waver, just glaring at you. “On the fucking floor.”

“Why.” Your words are strangled, you just want him here, why won’t he stay here. “It’ll be uncomfortable, and I’m okay with you in the bed. I mean, if you’re not okay with it, you can tell me-“

“It’s not you,” he mutters his name, and it’s so gentle. His voice is low and gentle. “You need sleep, and I’ve been having nightmares again. I’m staying, but there’s not a fucking chance I’m risking waking you up.”

You nod, but you must still look as hollow as you’re starting to feel, because Ben bends down again, tilting your head up between his hands to make you look at him.

“Listen to me. It’s not fucking you. And I’ll be right there,” he jerks his head to the floor beside your bed, eyes never leaving yours. “I’m not fucking leaving you,” this time your name is firm. Almost an order, trying to make you understand something. “I’m never fucking leaving you, not again. Got it?”

“You didn’t leave me,” you mumble, and Ben’s mouth twitches.

“Whatever.” He kisses the top of your head one last time, his words against your skin resonating around your skull. “Get some rest, beautiful. I’m not going to a goddamn place without you.”

You nod, and try to. You really, really try to get some rest when Ben pulls on a shirt and sweatpants, trying to move silently around the room and failing massively. You try to calm your body when he grabs a pillow off of his side of the bed and a single, thin, spare sheet before dropping down and sprawling out across the floor. You try to sleep, but your brain won’t rest, echoing screams and taunts into your ears. You try to close your eyes, but when you do they’re restless. Trying to keep watch for something that you know won’t be there, but your body doesn’t. And when you open them the light of day moving through your curtains casts shadows over Ben’s scowl and tight brow, and you want to touch him.

When you drop your hand off the side of the bed, it’s mostly just to hang it there. Closer to Ben, further away from these sheets that are soft and clean and smell like nothing. Not like coconut, but not like pine. Just bland, stale nothing. No concrete proof that thing is real.

You don’t jerk back in surprise when you feel Ben’s fingers fold between yours. It just feels like something returning. Sliding right back where it belongs, filling your body with an assurance that he’s there. Warm and safe and certain. You keep trying to sleep but your head won’t rest. Your heart is beating too fast, and a small, unhelpful and horrible voice won’t stop telling you blood. This might, somehow, still not be real, or Homelander might find you, and there will be more blood. Can’t rest, you’ll drown in blood if you’re not alert, not careful, not running.

When you open your eyes, Ben’s already watching you. Flat on his back, resting his forearm against the side of the bed as he reaches up. Everything in him is affection and concern, and the expression on his face is that one that’s impossible to understand.

You don’t really care to understand it. Not word for word. You know it’s important, and for you, and good. Whatever Ben’s trying to tell you—even if he doesn’t know he’s doing it—is good.

His hand tenses in yours when you climb off the bed, pushing away the sheets of nothing and practically rolling down onto the floor. Onto Ben. He catches you, moving your hand—still locked in his—so that it doesn’t get crushed between your bodies, and raising his free arm to hold you against him, even as he glares down at you.

“What the fuck are you-“

“I don’t care about nightmares,” you whisper, even though it’s only you and him, and Ben lets out a long sigh.

“You need to rest-“

“I will.” You scoot a little further up his body, burying your head in his chest, where you can hear his heartbeat. Real. “I want to sleep next to you, Ben. Please.”

There’s a rush through Ben’s body, and it’s loud and hungry and powerful and glowing, but you don’t really care right now. Not as he relents, moving his arm higher up to get a firm hold of your back. Keeping you almost unmoving as he slides his hand up in yours, moving your grip onto his wrist, sitting up and slowly pulling a larger blanket down from the bed. When he lies back down he rolls onto his side, twisting you around carefully so your back is pressed to his chest, wrapping his arms around you with one hand splayed on your stomach and the other sliding back down to hold yours. His head is above yours, and when you bend your knees his legs follow. Tangling between yours, and he squeezes your hand once before muttering words that you feel more than hear.

“Go to sleep.”

You nod, your eyes suddenly heavy and breathing easier. When you speak, your words are barely a breath. “Thank you.”

He pulls you a little further against him, and whatever’s been aching inside of him eases. Turns bright and wide and clear. “Welcome home, Sunshine. Sleep.”

You hum, and you’ll never tell him you missed that. How he could tell you sleep and your body would listen. Trust him to know it’s safe, that you can rest and nothing bad will happen, because Ben says nothing bad will happen and he wouldn’t lie. If he’s decided you’re safe, you are. If he’s here, you can sleep.

Ben’s strong and safe and everything and you love him. And right before you fall under, into easy, sedated darkness, every rational and reasoning part of you that reminds you don’t tell him. You can’t tell Ben you love him, not now, is washed over with pine and warm and Ben, and you’re going to tell him. Your mouth even opens, the words forming in your throat without effort. Ben. Ben, I love you.

If they come out, they’re an incoherent mumble. If Ben hears them, let alone understands them, you don’t get to know. You’re asleep—really, easily, completely asleep—in the next second, and there are no nightmares. Only an easy dream of walking through the forest in the sun, Ben’s hand in yours, safe.

——————

Ben was up before Her. Watching where their hands were still connected, where the lingering light of the day was casting shadows across her perfect, beautiful face.

She was here. She was home, and Ben was holding her while she slept with a slow heartbeat and soft breaths. He could’ve moved them up, off the floor and onto the bed, but every time Ben shifted Her eyelashes would flutter and she’d lean further back into his body. All he managed to do—in the name of comfort—was figure out how to half-roll his body so she was laying more on him than the fucking floor.

She was home. Ben loved Her, and she was home. She’d need things, things Ben hadn’t managed to remember in her absence. A phone—if Mallory said no he’d buy a shitty burner for himself and give Her his—and some toothpaste. Ben had used about three tubes himself, and there was hardly enough left of the fourth for both of them. He’d gotten shit for her hair, and body wash, and a weird fucking tub of hard gel shit that looked like rocks and smelled like Her. He’d kept a steady flow of groceries—She needed to fucking eat, and the moment she woke up Ben was going to heat up the leftovers—but he wasn’t good at it. There were empty spots in the fridge that had defiantly been filled before, and Ben was pretty fucking sure he was buying the wrong type of apples. They were tangy and hard, and the ones she’d been buying had been crisp and soft. She’d tell him how to fix it—later, once she was rested and Mallory was off their fucking asses—and Ben would so she didn’t lift a single goddamn finger.

He wouldn’t be able to keep Her from working. She needed to feel useful, and she’d punch him if he tried to tell her what to do. It would be hot—she would glare at him and get that wild look in her eyes that made Ben want to see just how feral he could get her—but Ben wasn’t allowed to fuck Her right now. He was fine with that, because as much as every instinct in his body was roaring at him to pick Her up and tell Her you love her. Hold her perfect face and tell her she’s your whole fucking world, and you love her more than you need goddamn oxygen, this wasn’t about him. This wasn’t about Ben loving Her, it was about Her sleeping easily against him. About him being there when she started to look empty and sad and hopeless, when she started to scream and it made his whole body tighten in pain. If Ben told Her he loved her now, she might not be ready to hear it. Not when She wasn’t even ready to fuck him. He needed to tell Her when she could smile at him when he said it, when there wouldn’t be any looming threats or possibilities they could lose each other. If She turned him down, decided that Ben wasn’t worthy of loving Her—he wasn’t—She needed to be safe on her own. If Ben lost Her he needed to be fucking positive she’d be okay.

She said she was okay. But she said that all the fucking time, and it didn’t mean anything. She said she was fine, but she kept crying. She said she was good, but her eyes kept flashing with pain and distress. He’d been certain that when he was in the shower he’d heard her voice, strained and alarmed, saying blood. So much blood, and it had made him feel fucking sick. She said she was fucking okay, but she’d lost her goddamn mind when she’d woken up. It might haunt Ben for the rest of fucking time, how she’d been screaming that he wasn’t real, and her nails had been scratching at him, trying to get him away with rabid, desperate movements. She hadn’t known it was him. She’d trusted him, because once he’d convinced her she’d started crying and fucking apologizing and falling into him, but she’d been so fucking afraid. And She’d, again, said she was okay, and Ben fucking knew it was a lie. He knew Her—he knew how good and selfless she was—and he loved Her more than fucking anything, and there wasn’t a single person in history who was better than she was. And Ben didn’t trust anyone less to honestly tell him they were okay.

She thought she was a burden. Ben was goddamn certain She wasn’t telling him because she didn’t want to make him worry about her, but he already was fucking worried about Her. He’d always fucking worry about Her. If she was happy or safe or needed anything, if She was okay when he was gone, if Ben loving Her could be enough for her to stay with him forever. If it wasn’t, what he could do for Her to make it enough. And it wasn’t a burden, because everything Ben did for Her made her smile at him and nothing in the fucking universe was worth more than that. But he couldn’t tell Her that, because every form of that conversation started or ended with because I fucking love you, Sunshine, and it’s damn killing me that you won’t just admit you’re in pain. I can’t fucking help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong, tell me how I should hold you, or if I should sit with you, or what I can bring you to fucking make you happy again.

And this wasn’t about Ben, or him fixing Her. It was about Her feeling okay, and saying it in a way Ben believed. In a way that wasn’t just a soft smile and words, but actions. Where she’d stop looking so fucking afraid, and Ben could protect her from normal things. He didn’t know what normal things would be—maybe a clogged toilet, or an argument with Butcher, or staying with Her when she eventually met with her family—but it wasn’t fucking this. It wasn’t Her saying Homelander hadn’t touched Her, only kissed her—Ben was going to rip off the pussy’s fucking mouth and shove it up his worthless dickhole—but that She couldn’t touch Ben.

He’d wait. Ben had waited his whole fucking life, over a goddamn century, for Her. He could wait another century, a whole fucking millennia for Her to be ready to touch him. At least this time he was able to look at Her, smile with her, laugh with her, love her and love her and love her in silence until one day she told him she was ready and Ben could say it aloud. Tell Her that he loved her, and he’d never fucking stop loving her, and then fuck her until they broke the bed and cracked the walls and she believed him. Ben would ensure it was worth waiting, that when she was ready he’d blow her perfect fucking mind and make her look at him with nothing but fucked out bliss on her beautiful face.

He just had to wait.

It took another hour before She stirred in his arms. An hour of watching Her look content and peaceful, of Ben savoring the way she fit fucking perfectly against him and listening to the beat of Her heart. At some point his phone—resting on the dresser—buzzed once, twice, three times with news that was probably urgent. Ben couldn’t see who was texting him, but night was creeping into the sky and he guessed they were near dinnertime, and everyone should’ve been able to fucking guess they were busy. If he was getting texts, they were either Mallory being a fucking bitch about something, or MM, Butcher, or Annie trying to tell him something important. Ben didn’t care, because to check his phone he’d have to move. He had no goddamn interest in moving, not until She rolled over with an adorable, disgruntled sound, right into Ben's chest. Their hands became smushed in the little remaining space between their bodies, and Her arm—that had been resting over Ben’s—flew up to his face. Almost slapping him, landing and resting on his jaw with a slack palm and fingers near his ear.

He loved Her so fucking much.

She made a sound that might be a mumbled word or just a grunt, and Ben smiled down at Her, squeezing her waist gently. Whispering Her name onto the top of her head. “I know you’re awake.”

Her response was just that same noise, and Ben chuckled.

“Morning, Sunshine.”

“It’s fucking nighttime.”

He shrugged, and hoped She couldn’t hear the skip of his heart when she looked up at him with a pout, Her whole face tired and still so fucking beautiful. “Who gives a fuck. You hungry?”

She nodded, but didn’t move. Just stared up at him with half-open eyes and a slightly parted mouth, and fucking hell She was perfect. She was smiling at him—he didn’t even do anything—and the limits of Ben’s will didn’t extend to not smiling back. To not giving Her a wide grin that made her whole face light up and her eyes turn from glazed with lingering sleep to glossed with something Ben didn’t recognize. She was staring at him with blown out pupils, and a pretty fucking smile, and her knee was dangerously close to Ben’s cock. He knew She could feel him—Her eyes darted down and she swallowed heavily—but she didn’t say anything. Just leaned back into his body, mouth brushing against his neck as she spoke.

“What are the leftovers?”

“Burritos,” Ben muttered. “They’re not fucking good.”

He could feel her smile. “You’re still going to eat one, Benjamin. I’ll go on a hunger strike if you don’t.”

“Brat.”

“Cunt.” Her words were hummed with breath fanning across Ben’s skin, and still neither of them made any efforts to stand and move. “What time is it?”

“I don’t fucking know, I’m not a damn clock.”

She gave a small laugh, and Ben’s heart nearly fucking exploded. “Someone’s grumpy.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Hm,” she leaned back, looking up at him in mock thought. “No.”

He kissed Her. Ben was allowed to kiss her, and he was going to take every single fucking opportunity to do so. To suck on her lower lip and trace her teeth with his tongue, to hear a happy, breathless sound leave her body when he nipped at her pretty mouth. To roll Her on top of him and let her lead this, because he knew She would have some sort of fucking line and Ben needed to find it. Let Her show it to him, so he could keep walking right up to it and never, ever fucking cross it.

It wasn’t where he’d have guessed. She was above Ben, falling onto him with sloppy, wet kisses and his hard cock pressing into her thigh, and she still didn’t stop. Then she ground down onto him once, and almost lept off of him. Ben had to shoot out an arm to catch Her, keep her from landing awkwardly on the hardwood floor.

She blinked at him, scanning his face with a look he didn’t understand. It wasn’t guilt, because she wasn’t fighting a pout. It wasn’t anger, there was nothing fierce in her gaze. It wasn’t negative—Her hand was resting easy on his arm around her waist—but it was still making his heart twist. There was something she wasn’t saying, and Ben needed to fucking hear it. To hear her say she was okay again, even if he knew it would still be a lie.

“Your phone is buzzing,” She mumbled, and Ben had to drop it. They were up, and they had shit to do. Ben would have a fucking lifetime with Her to make sure she was okay.

“The burritos are on the counter,” he grunted, keeping an arm around her as he sat up. “I’ll throw them in the microwave-“

“I can do that,” she shifted onto her knees, but didn’t stand. Studying Ben’s face with careful eyes. “You check your phone.”

“No. It’s probably not fucking important-“

“Benjamin.” She gave him a flat look. “Who would be texting you about nothing.”

He glowered at Her. “The Kid. Sometimes he asks me questions, and I’m usually at dinner. I’m not a goddamn hermit-“

“If it is Ryan,” Her eyes were so bright. Teasing and happy and full of light. “Shouldn’t you answer it.”

Ben couldn’t fight with Her. Not even about something stupid that didn’t matter. Not when she was looking at him with such adoration, and there were no shadows on her face. “Whatever.”

Her smile—somehow—got fucking wider. Full and joyful as she leaned forwards, a hand on Ben’s arm to steady herself as she gave him a small kiss and spoke against his mouth. “I’ll meet you downstairs?”

“Be careful-“

“I can walk down some stairs, Ben.” Her voice was dry, but she wasn’t moving away and she was still fucking smiling against him, another hand rising to run fingers through his beard. “I’m a big girl, with legs.”

“Still,” he muttered. “Go slow.”

“I will.” She stood up, and Ben’s hand flew to her calf. Still touching Her. He had to keep fucking touching her. “Go check your phone, Pretty Boy. I’ll heat up your burrito for you.”

She didn’t walk out of the bedroom until Ben rose up himself. She even let him give her one last kiss, hanging against him a second longer than she probably needed to, like she couldn’t fucking bear to leave him either. She didn’t close the door behind her, and Ben watched her walk away until she disappeared down the stairs, keeping his attention on Her heartbeat as he walked to the dresser.

Almost all the texts were from Butcher. There was one from the Kid—he’d convinced Butcher to buy him an old block of metal and buttons that was technically a phone—asking if She was okay. Asking to meet her. She’d want to meet the Kid, so Ben just told him Ask Butcher before opening up the rest of his messages.

William Butcher; asshole, bother as much as possible

Tomorrow round noon, team meeting, all hands

Ryan wants to know if you can start training

He also wants to meet her. Answer the boy’s messages you cunt.

Whenever you twats wake up, the shrink’s ready

He’ll come to you

Just gotta fucking wake up and tell me to send him

All of those could’ve been one fucking text. Ben said as much in his response, along with that he’d train the Kid after the meeting, he could meet Her before they started, and that the shrink could come in an hour before shoving his phone in his pocket and joining Her downstairs.

She hadn’t started eating without him. Ben’s burrito was waiting for him, placed in front of his usual seat, and her fingers were tapping on the table as she stared at it with a frown. Her face shot up to Ben before he’d even fully exited the bedroom, and he fucking loved Her. He loved how her face relaxed when she saw him, how she’d put three large napkins next to his plate, how when he reached her at the table she smiled at him and leaned her head back to let Ben give her a small kiss before sitting down. He loved how She leaned forwards until their knees were pressed together under the table. He loved how she tilted her head at him, studying his expression before taking a careful bite of her burrito. How she didn’t swallow until Ben rolled his eyes and took a bite from his own.

He loved the smug look on Her perfect face, and the small, pleased sound she made when Ben swallowed.

“What were the texts about?” She didn’t look away from him as she took another bite, and Ben shrugged.

“Butcher’s sending the shrink. The Kid wants to meet you.”

“Ryan?” Her voice was soft, nervous. “Can I?”

Ben snorted. “Of course you fucking can, don’t be fucking stupid.”

“Hey-“

“He’s only here because of you,” Ben said Her name firmly, because it was fucking insane she thought anyone would stop her. That—if anyone tried to—Ben wouldn’t shoot them. “You want to meet him, you will.”

She nodded, giving Ben a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Shut up.”

She giggled, taking a slightly larger bite from her burrito and speaking through a mouthful of food. “Is he okay?”

He frowned at Her. “What?”

“Ryan,” she swallowed, watching Ben with soft, pretty eyes. “Is he doing well? Are you, do you really think he’s okay?”

Ben had to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from telling Her he loved her. To lean over the table and find a way to pull her into his lap, to hold Her and tell her of course he’s fucking okay. You gave everything, more than you fucking should’ve, and I’ll be fucking damned if it was for nothing. You were right, you’re always fucking right, and he’s good. I started talking to him because you told me to, because I love you, and he’s a good kid. He’s smart like you are, and you’re going to like him. I’m going to watch you talk to him and it’s going to be fucking worth all of this shit, because I love you and you’re going to light up about how this worked out and now the Kid is safe and happy. I’m going to be happy because you’re home and I love you and you’re going to be fucking happy and I fucking love you. I love you, Sunshine, and the Kid is good.

He managed to hold it in—through sheer, brute will—and only nod. “He’s good. You’ll like him.”

“I will?”

“Yeah, you will,” Ben muttered, taking another bite. “He likes you.”

She frowned at him, and Ben realized a second too late what he’d just said. “He’s never met me.”

“Well, he knows about you. And he thinks you’re cool-“

“But he doesn’t know me,” She protested, and Ben didn’t understand the distress in her voice. As if there was a fucking world where someone would not like Her. “He knows about me, not me. He might hate me-“

Ben drawled Her name, and decided his pride wasn’t worth holding onto over the strain of her words and how they were making his heart tighten. “We’ve told him about you. He fucking likes you. Wouldn’t stop asking me every goddamn question about you. Stop being fucking nervous about it, he likes you.”

“Oh,” She blinked at him, shaking Her head like she was trying to clear a thought. “What, what did you tell him?”

“Everything.” Ben muttered, unable to look away from Her wide eyed, perfect face, continuing when she just gave him a confused expression. “Your work before this, what you liked, what shit you hated, all the fucking things you do for everyone.”

“And he likes me?”

Ben scoffed. “Of course he fucking does.”

“Even when you told him everything?”

“Well, almost everything.” Ben smirked at Her, winking. “I didn’t fucking tell him how you taste, or look under me, or how you sound when you moan my name.”

Her face flushed, and her gaze dropped to her plate. “Would be a weird thing to tell him. We’d have to call CPS on you.”

He snorted. “I don’t think CPS gives a fuck, Sunshine. And I don’t tell anyone that shit, it’s fucking mine to know.”

It was. Ben was figuring out how to walk a very careful line with his love. One on side was everyone needed to fucking know. Everyone needed to understand that he loved Her, and that nobody was capable of loving her like he was, and nobody fucking deserved her—Ben himself was sure as shit not worthy—but his whole life was about earning her. About loving Her, and worshipping her, and doing whatever she asked him because Ben fucking loved her and everyone needed to be crystal fucking clear about that. Even if she didn’t want him, Ben wasn’t up for grabs. He was Her’s, and he didn’t have any interest in being anyone else’s. If She said no and left him, Ben would watch her go and fucking live with it because he wasn’t a pussy, but she’d also take his fucking heart with her. People should know that, because Ben didn’t want his time wasted by other women who could never be Her trying to charm him. And if She, by some miracle, decided she did want Ben, he would fucking kill anyone who tried to take him away from Her. If she accepted Ben’s love, nobody was ever going to take it away from Her. Ben was fucking Hers, and every single pussy fucker in the world should know that.

On the other side of the line was Ben loved Her, and she adored him, and that was fucking sacred. Nobody should be allowed to see the parts of Her she reserved for Ben, because they were given to him and him alone. If She wanted the world to have them, she’d say their names like she said Ben’s and she looked at them with the same ease in Her eyes when she looked at Ben. She’d kiss them like they were everything, and cling to them like she was always touching Ben. But she fucking do any of that, because those were vulnerable, secret parts of Her she’d offered Ben and he’d fucking go back to sleep and be tortured a million goddamn years before he betrayed Her. Before he exposed them or let them shatter, before he let anyone hurt them. Ben was Her’s, but she was also Ben’s. These pieces of Her were Ben’s to care for, and she trusted him to do it right. He was going to fucking do it right, so She never had to worry about him leaving.

Some part of Her must know that—know how fucking serious he was—because she just gives him a small smile and strange, peaceful look from under her eyelashes and changes the topic.

“Have you seen all the rumors about me?” She grinned at him, and a little bit of sauce fell out of her mouth. Ben wanted to lick it. “Do you think I’m Edgar’s daughter, or Singer’s?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Fucking insane dogshit. I’d have thought the world would move on from pointless, hounding fucking gossip. Let people live their goddamn lives.”

“What a champion of public figures’ right to privacy,” she teased, tongue flicking out to catch the sauce. She was trying to fucking kill him. “Tired of the tabloid lies, Pretty Boy?”

“If one more pussy says you’re fucking Butcher, I’ll kill him.”

“I can’t imagine he’s loving that either,” She shrugged. “And Butcher couldn’t handle me.”

Ben chuckled, but some sort of bell rang in his head. Something familiar, that made him pause and look at Her. Perfect, glaring at the stray beans on her plate. His mouth opened—he wasn’t even fucking sure what he was going to ask—and someone knocked on the door.

She started to rise, but Ben managed to make his glare firm enough that she dropped back down and stuck her tongue out at him.

“You’re not fucking-“

“I know, you’re going to get the door, I’m going to stay here and rest.” She scoffed, crossing her arms. “I’m not fucking delicate, Benjamin-“

“I don’t think you’re fucking delicate.” He snapped. There wasn’t a less delicate woman on the planet, and he fucking loved that about Her. “I’m being a goddamn gentleman. Stay in your chair.”

“Asshole,” She muttered under her breath, and Ben grinned at her.

“You fucking love it.”

She flipped him off, face flushing a pretty color, and Ben just winked before walking to the door and opening it to find a small, weedy man with the beady, reptilian eyes and the tiniest glasses Ben’s seen in his goddamn life.

“Hello,” Lizard-Eyes looked Ben up and down with tight lips and a twitching nose. “I am here for an evaluation of the Anomaly’s psychological status, at the orders of Director Mallory. I take it you are Soldier Boy?

Ben scowled. “Of course I’m fucking Soldier Boy, who the hell else-“

“Ben,” She called from over his shoulder, and Ben shifted his body to block her from the view of Lizard-Eyes. “Just let him in.”

Ben twisted over his shoulder, shooting Her a glare. He looks like a fucking haughty pussy. This is fucking pointless.

Maybe, She shrugged. But we still have to do it. Might as well do it now. Please, Ben.

He sighed, and turned back to Lizard-Eyes, looking him up once and down before stepping to the side.

Lizard-Eyes walked past Ben without a second glance, his eyes locked on Her. Looking at Her like she was some sort of fucking puzzle or trophy.

“Lovely to meet you,” Lizard-Eyes said Her name, giving her a smile that made Her flinch. A tiny, easily missable movement that Ben caught with ease and Lizard-Eyes missed entirely as he extended his hand.

“Um, hi.” She glanced up, over Lizard-Eyes, gaze finding Ben’s. What is he doing?

Ben shrugged. Fuck if I know.

Lizard-Eyes turned around, frowning at Ben. “If you, sir, could find leave for us to begin-“

“He stays,” She said quickly, eyes falling to Lizard-Eyes’ still outstretched hand. “And you shouldn’t touch me.”

Lizard-Eyes’ head whipped back to Her. “Why ever not? Will it trigger a trauma induced reaction-“

“She’s an empath supe, you fucking idiot,” Ben muttered, walking around the table to stand behind Her. Placing a hand on her shoulder and savoring the way she leaned back into him.

“Ah,” Lizard-Eyes nodded, voice far too fucking fasciated. “That must be quite a burden, to feel and shoulder the emotions of others.”

“I manage,” Her voice was dry, and Ben snorted.

“Will he,” Lizard-Eyes lowered himself into a chair, glancing back up at Ben. “Must he be here for our session?”

“Yeah, he must.” Her voice was firm. Final. Ben was staying, no room for arguing. “Let’s get this over with.”

Lizard-Eyes pulled a large stack of papers out his goddamn ass, looking at Her over his stupid fucking glasses. “Let’s begin, at, well, the beginning.” He chuckled to himself, and he sounded like a fucking horse. “Why would director Mallory believe you may be in need of an assessment?”

“Probably because I was just held hostage by my abuser for almost two months,” Her voice was bored, but her fingers had begun to tap on the table. Lizard-Eyes didn’t even fucking notice. “And I didn’t exactly return peacefully.”

“Your abuser?”

There wasn’t a fucking chance in hell Lizard-Eyes didn’t know who Her abuser. Even if he’d only just been presented with the case, She’d been all over the goddamn news. And Her face wasn’t forgettable, it was perfect and beautiful and seared itself into your goddamn eyes.

She sighed, and Ben could hear the resentment in her voice. “Homelander.”

Lizard-Eyes hummed, writing something down. “And what forms of abuse did you endure under him?”

“Rape,” Her voice was soft, and Ben’s jaw clenched. “Kidnapping. Emotional abuse. Unethical medical experimentation.”

Lizard-Eyes’ nod was fucking eager, and Ben was going to break his stupid pencil, then his hands, then rip out his tongue. “And during this second time? Were there repeated offenses?”

“I,” She swallowed. “I don’t-“

“From the first occurrence. During the past two months did you experience,” Lizard-Eyes checked his notes. She’d just fucking told him, and he made a dramatic show of looking over his glasses and frowning at the paper. “Rape? Kidnapping? Emotional-“

“How the fuck is this helping,” Ben snapped, because Her heart had begun to pick up her fingers were tapping faster, in time with the chew of her mouth. “Just do your goddamn job and clear her. Now.”

“My methods are not for you to understand,” Lizard-Eyes angled his chin up, giving Ben a thin-lipped frown. “But they are proven. I must hear, in her own words, what we are facing. Now,” his eyes returned to Her. “Please continue.”

There wasn’t a fucking we. This was Her, doing everyone’s work for them and better than they possibly could, and Ben staying at her side until she gave him something to do. Lizard-Eyes wasn’t a goddamn part of this.

She was full of a lot more fucking grace and forgiveness than Ben was, because she just kept entertaining the fucking idiot, even her whole body tensed under Ben’s hand. “No rape, just, um, one kiss. Emotional abuse, he tried to make me kill someone. This was kind of kidnapping again, and he choked me a few time-“

“He fucking what.” Ben hissed, glaring down at her. “You said he didn’t fucking touch you-“

“He didn’t, Ben.” She leaned back, giving Ben a tiny, weak smile that was probably meant to fucking reassure him. “Not like that.”

“Like what?” Lizard-Eyes’ question drew Her eyes away from Ben, but her head remained slightly tipped back.

“Um, rape. He didn’t rape me this time.”

“Excellent,” Lizard-Eyes gave a short nod, looking down at his papers. “Who was it you killed? Was there an emotional attachment?”

“I didn’t kill him, Homelander did. I couldn’t.” She let out a long breath. “And I’d never really talked to him.”

“Interesting. Is that all?”

“Yeah,” She mumbled. “That’s all.”

She was fucking downplaying it. Ben knew Her, knew there was probably some other fucked up shit Homelander had done to Her or made her do. Christ, she’d had to stand in front of a camera and lie about her whole fucking life, had to pretend she loved Homelander, and she’d come home screaming. There was more, there was always fucking more She believed didn’t matter. Lizard-Eyes was just nodding, consulting his goddamn notes and looking at Her over his glasses.

“How have you felt since your return?”

“Tired,” She mumbled. “I’m just tired. I got some sleep, but I’m just really, really tired.”

“And have you been given, ah, the opportunity to sleep?” Lizard-Eyes glanced up at Ben, and She shook her head.

“Yes. I took a shower, ate, and slept. It’s just been a day,” She sighed. “I’ll be fine.”

“Hm.” Lizard-Eyes looked Her over, squinting like she was a goddamn specimen. “Have you had any violent outbursts? Felt any form of bloodlust?”

“No,” She mumbled, and Lizard-Eyes made another fucking note.

“Have you had any nightmares, or dreams in which you enacted brutal vengeance on your abuser?”

“No.”

“Have you felt as if your actions were outside of your control? Heard any voices that are not usually there, or maybe tell you to do things you may not normally do?”

“Um,” She swallowed, heartbeat skipping as leaned further back into Ben. “No.”

“Any thoughts of hurting yourself or ending your life?”

“No, but it wouldn’t work-“

Lizard-Eyes smiled at Her, and it was fucking disgusting. “Is there anything else you would like to tell me?”

“I don’t think so.” She frowned, glancing up at Ben with a confused expression. Is that it?

Ben looked over Lizard-Eyes—consulting his stupid fucking papers with an over-dramatic expression—before rolling his eyes at Her. Damn seems it. Pussy.

Her mouth tugged up slightly. Do you think those things actually help him see?

Ben failed to cover his snort. Not a chance in fucking hell.

Lizard-Eyes, oblivious to their exchange, looked up with another horrible smile. “I am happy to say I feel comfortable clearing you. You’re not displaying any worrying behaviors that would compromise your safety to yourself or others.”

She blinked. “Oh, okay. Is that-”

“I will recommend that you take it easy,” Lizard-Eyes continued, attention returning to his notes. “Maybe take up mediation. It’s been a pleasure, and should you need any more aid, know that my door is always open.”

“Wait,” She reached across the table, not touching Lizard-Eyes but placing a hand on his papers, drawing his gaze to Her. “You work in medical, right? For the agents?”

Lizard-Eyes gave a hum. “Third floor, room twenty-six. If you would like to meet again-“

“No, I’m good.” She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “You don’t happen to have the change of contact forms on you? I kind of forgot them earlier.”

“Ah,” Lizard-Eyes shuffled through the pile, pulling out three poorly-stapled pages. “Will you need time to complete them?”

She shook her head, taking the paper and looking backward at Ben. “Phone?”

He frowned. “What.”

“Your phone, Ben.” She reached a hand up, palm open. “I didn’t memorize your number, I need to see it for the form.”

Ben tried not feel so fucking smug about it. About Her making him her emergency contact, especially because there weren’t really any other fucking options. It sure as fuck shouldn’t be Butcher, and the only two out of their team Ben would trust to take care of Her properly—listen to Her, not let her do stupid sacrificial shit, and protect her like the goddamn perfect work of art she was—were Kimiko and MM. They’d both drop their shit to take care of Her, they’d both be pissed if she put herself in danger, and neither of them would get all fucking moral about it. MM might lecture Her about it later, but it was better than Annie's goddamn judgmental looks. Kimiko liked Her, and would get her hands bloody to help Her, and Ben could fucking appreciate that. They wouldn’t hesitate to protect Her—MM was all about that no man left behind fuckery, and Kimiko adored Her—but they weren’t as good options as Ben was. For one, MM was always busy and had his own family to worry about, and Kimiko couldn’t fucking talk. But Ben was still better. He’d drop the fucking sky off his back to go to Her, he fucking loved Her and there wasn’t anyone who knew her perfect, insane fucking brain as well as he did.

Lizard-Eyes certainly fucking didn’t. As She filled out the form with her neat, scrawling handwriting and an adorable focus, Ben just glared at Lizard-Eyes. He didn’t fucking get it. How you could never trust Her to say she was in pain, or that her pain was the worst fucking thing in the world. Lizard-Eyes could clear Her now—in this moment when her voice was clear and steady and her eyes were sharp—but he’d never seen her screaming or crying or trying to escape her own goddamn body, all while insisting she was fine. She wasn’t fucking fine, and it made everything wrong.

Ben had known that from the start. Before he’d loved Her, before he’d even fucking liked her, Ben had known that Her being small and broken and afraid was just fucking wrong. She was supposed to be happy. Everything was better when she was happy. Men should be going to fucking war to keep her happy. She deserved it. She deserved happiness and light and love and fucking everything, and Ben didn’t care if it took the rest of goddamn time, he’d do whatever she needed to make her happy. If it was things, he’d get her things. He’d buy her all the fucking things in the world. If it was vengeance, he’d walk by her side and do the dirty work for her. If it was for everyone to leave her alone, Ben included, he’d do it. He’d walk away and wait forever for Her to return.

It wouldn’t be that. She stood up, showing Lizard-Eyes to the door and saying kind words the pussy didn’t deserve, and Ben knew she’d just want time. She’d want Ben to stay and hold Her while she’d tried to fix everything wrong in the world, and then she’d want to laugh and talk and tease him. So Ben would stay, and when she asked him to stay he’d remind her that nothing could fucking make him leave her. He’d do what She asked, fix what she told him to, and then kiss Her until she was just happy. Ben just wanted Her to be fucking happy. And he loved Her, so he’d trade the whole fucking world to make that happen. Then give it back, because She wouldn’t want the world. She’d just want Ben.

She was closing the door and walking to Ben, and She was smiling, and this was the whole world. She’d smashed Her face into his chest, and relaxed into his arms, and Ben fucking loved Her.

“Is it late?”

Ben glanced at his still-open phone on the table. “Past ten.”

She hummed. “I’m not that sleepy.”

Ben muttered Her name, and she pulled back to glare at him.

“Don’t tell me I am,” She snapped. “I’m tired, not sleepy. There’s a difference, and I’m not sleepy. So shut up.”

Ben raised his brows at Her. “I didn’t fucking say anything.”

“You were going to-“

“And those words mean the exact same thing, Sunshine, don’t bullshit me.”

“They don’t,” She scowled. “Tired is exhaustion. Strain and fatigue. Sleepy is heavy eyelids and woozy.”

“Smartass.”

“You’re the one who fucking doubted me, I just-“

Ben kissed Her, soft and slow and She was home. She was fucking home, in Ben’s arms, and he was never going to lose Her again.

“If you’re not sleepy,” he muttered against Her lips. “Then what do you want to do.”

She sighed into him, and it was a light and breathy sound that made Ben’s whole body relax. “Can we watch TV?”

“Of course we fucking can.” Ben dropped down, just enough to pick Her up, and rose fast enough to swallow her yelp in his mouth. “We can do whatever the hell you want.”

She smiled at him like he was everything, resting Her head on his shoulder, and Ben wasn’t sure how he’d managed two months without this. Fuck, he didn’t know how he’d gone a hundred years without this. “Thank you.”

“Don’t.”

Ben had glared at Her and grunted the words, but she clearly didn’t take him fucking seriously anymore, because she giggled. She goddamn giggled, and buried Her head in his neck, and gave a hum of content that made Ben’s whole world light up. He fucking loved Her. He had to keep gnawing off his tongue through the movie—Her pick, a cartoon about jazz and frogs that Ben allowed because he was a fucking pussy who loved her—because he was hardly able to stop himself from telling Her. She didn’t climb off of him when they sat on the couch, and Ben almost told her. She hummed the words of all the songs—it was goddamn musical—and the whole room filled with lights and smells and Ben almost told Her. She smiled up at him during random scenes, and Ben almost fucking told Her.

“You look sleepy, beautiful.” Ben murmured into Her ear, halfway through, and she shook Her head, voice slightly slurred when she spoke.

“Fuck you.”

Ben chuckled, and adjust Her in his arms so she could have an easier time breathing—and Her lips would brush Ben’s skin more, but who the fuck was going to yell at him about that—and Ben almost told Her.

The movie had hardly finished when she passed out. Her whole body went loose and her heart fell into an easy rhythm, and Ben carried her upstairs. Carefully, gently, watching Her face, easy and perfect and beautiful in the dark. Setting Her on the bed and pulling the covers over her body, brushing stray hairs from her face and smiling down at Her. Perfect. Still so fucking perfect.

Ben wasn’t strong enough to stop himself from climbing on the bed himself and pulling Her back to his side. He shouldn’t. He might wake up with morning wood and it might freak her out, or he might have a nightmare and disturb her. But She’d begged him to stay, and Ben could watch Her and protect her like this. Keep Her safe, never leave, make Her happy. Fuck Mallory and Homelander and the media and the mission and Sage and the government and Vought. She just needed to be happy, and everything would be right.

Whatever it took, Ben would make Her really, truly happy again.

End Note: For those of you who are mad they didn’t IMMEDIATELY fuck, all I have to say is fair. Yeah, that’s fair. Although you SHOULD know better by now. They WILL fuck, we’re real close to them fucking, but let them get there themselves, their way. (the hardest and most inconvenient way possible).

Thank you for reading!! If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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