#as a Christian this truly made me cry

[mjfass]

I love this man.

[running-in-the-dark]

-

[waitingforminjae]

my dad's got a recording of liam neeson reading the nativity (story of the birth of jesus) in his christmas playlist and i just cried listening to it 😭 the story's never made me cry before (idk if i even believe like that) but for some reason the shepherds got to me 🥹

[cherry-leclerc]

fucked-up little thrill ☆ cl16

genre: pwp but also porn with plot (the best of both worlds!), humor, she truly is a maneater in disguiseee

word count: 8.3K

There’s a difference between warning and danger - you happen to be both. Though, Charles only sees the green light, go. Well, we can all imagine how this will already go.

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+...oral (m and f receiving), fingering, handjob, penetrative sex, riding, slight cry, unprotected sex

inspired by this and this !

“She’ll mess with your head, man. You’re going to wish she had never looked your way.” 

“I told my mom about her. Crap, I bought her an engagement ring after a few days of knowing her.”

“Four words: Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

“Do you know how fucked in the head you have to be in order to willingly go after her? Fucking pathetic. Sure, I did the same, but hear me out-”

Despite the warnings, he didn’t pay them any attention. He thought he was going crazy for sure when he saw two guys on their knees, begging:  Run, just do it. And whatever you do, don’t look back.

Charles wasn’t even listening. 

-

The nights were beginning to get warmer, yet there was still a slight breeze. Spring was rolling in. What an innocent season to meet the wildest card Charles has ever dealt. 

“...then she laughed so hard that, Jesus Mary and Joseph, my heart went bananas! Y’know what I did next? I asked her, ‘You want a slice?’ I meant the tiramisu, guys! She thought I was talking about myself! T’was the most embarrassing thing. Made me look like a bloody narcissist.” Lando whined as he leaned onto the table to hide his face.

George snorts. “Ah don’t worry mate, I would gladly take a slice.” Lando groans, further rubbing his forehead onto the table. So much so, that it began to squeak.

“Alright, calm down before you shed your skin off. It wasn’t that bad.” Alex voices, as he pops a curly fry into his mouth. 

“Easy for you to say! You basically have the person you’re going to get married to! You’re safe.” The Brit pouts. He then lifts his head up and wipes away a single tear. Everyone explodes into laughter.

“Muppet, c’mon we were kidding! Weren’t we just fooling around, Charles?” Carlos wiggles his eyebrows at the Monegasque. Charles rolled his eyes playfully.

“Yes, of course we were joking,” he starts. Lando looks up, seemingly feeling better as everyone began to agree. We were just playing around!

“Then again, how did you even fall for a girl like that?” Charles finishes his sentence. 

“Argh. You don’t get itttt,” Lando wails in defeat. “When you meet a girl like that, you don’t question it. You just thank God for sending her your way and then BAM! She just walks out of your life.”

Hm - Charles thinks to himself as he takes a sip of Martini - naive, naive little Lando. 

-

Charles met you that same night he was out for dinner with the boys. He was waiting for his car from the valet; shooting Joris a quick text.

"Sorry," he overhears a soft voice, but still didn’t pay much attention.

"Sorry? You’re sorry? We both know goddamn well that you’re sorry about nothing. Nada. Zeeerrrooo," a man's voice angrily shouts back, voice slurring. 

Charles turns and sees a man running his hands through his blonde hair, walking back and forth in despair. Then, his eyes move to find you.

Standing tall in the tightest, shortest, black dress he's ever seen. So, the little black dress truly does exist. Glowy skin shining through from the lights decorating the outside of the restaurant. Your legs appear miles long, feet paired with your nicest set of heels, Joli Queen Glitter. Red fucking bottoms. Christian Louboutin at its finest. Rich jewelry sits on your wrists, fingers, and neck. 

Even with all that in the way, all he notices is just how drop-dead gorgeous you are. Suddenly, his fingers get clammy. What the hell? His jaw was clenched. Literally, why? His pants were growing tight because oh God he was already har- Alright, now that’s just crazy, Charles. Get it together.

“Yes. Whether you believe me or not, I’m sorry. Maybe you just shouldn’t have set high expectations,” you spoke, looking down.

“Are you being fucking serious right now? You’re smiling? You think this is funny! Oh God, what the fuck is wrong with you, you crazyyyy bitch!” The man continues, sharply pointing his finger at you accusingly. He genuinely looks like he’s about to start crying for his mommy.

“Okay mate, I think that’s enough. Why don’t I call you a cab?” Charles speaks up from where he’s standing. You and the mysterious guy turn to look at him. 

You shoot a smile as the man's eye starts twitching.

“Oh great! Great, great, great,” the man chants. “What an idiotic thing to believe that you hadn't gotten rid of me already! How could I not see it coming?” He drops to his knees and starts rocking back and forth. “On my dead hamster's birthday!” Levi, Charles later finds out, cries out to the sky. “Couldn’t this have happened any other day?” Charles cringes. “Call me that shitty ass cab, dude.”

So, you stand close by as Charles helps plop Levi inside with the help of the cab driver. They buckle him up and off they go. 

Not before Levi pokes his out the window. “I swear I’m not being bitter when I tell you to fucking save yourself!”

Both of you are left there standing quietly. You pout your red lips as you pull out your phone to call a cab for yourself. 

“Need a lift?”

-

Glancing around silently, you sneak a look at Charles. Handsome, you ponder, just a tiny bit. Outrageous lie. You quickly scold yourself for being so untruthful. This man was the most beautiful kind you’ve seen in your entire life. 

“Take it that was your boyfriend back there?” He taps his fingers against the wheel.

“Mmm. Hardly. No, he isn’t - wasn’t - my boyfriend by any means. Some guys just instantly assume stuff over any girl that pays them any ounce of attention.” You lazily trace shapes onto your thigh. You tug your dress down a bit, licking your lips. “Thanks for helping me out back there. It was really sweet.”

He notices the way you never look up from your lap as you’re speaking. It’s kind of endearing, just how soft you can be. “Don’t mention it…it was…no problem.”

He walks you from his car to your house. It's small, pastel yellow with a mailbox that reads; No more love letters. Seriously. “Cute,” he comments. You blush.

“Oh, that. Sorry, I live with my two best friends and they wrote that as a joke,” you ramble as you click your heel shyly. “They said it would help out with my, and I quote, ‘secret admirers.’” You let out a tired laugh as you finally build up the courage to look at the man standing right in front of you.

“To be honest, that makes sense.” He tilts his head a bit, analyzing your eyes. “Beautiful girls should receive beautiful letters.”

Tongue tied, you stare back with a pleased smile. 

“This is so unlike me, but would you like to go out some time?”

Easiest question ever asked.

-

A few nights later, he finally decides it would be a good day to take you out to dinner. Testing went well and the car was finally on the right track. He took this as a good omen.

“How long have you lived in Italy now?” you quiz, as you bring your Shirley Temple closer to your lips.

“Oh, um, for quite a while now. I mean it’s really only for work. I go home any chance I get.”

“Sweet. Where are you from?”

“Monaco.”

Your eyes grow wide with excitement. “Really! Monaco is so beautiful!” Your childlike squeal makes him smile brightly.

“Have you ever been?” You sadly shake your head, hair bouncing back and forth. Soft floral fills the air.

“Nope, but I wish to one day. I just know I’ll love it so much…” You trail off. “It’s just that growing up my favorite movie was Monte Carlo. Would beg my mom to play it any chance I could.” Maroon coats your cheekbones. He furrows his dark brows in confusion.

“Monte Carlo? You know, starring Selena Gomez?” His soft features pinch together. “...Leighton Meester? Katie Cassidy?” You desperatelyspit your words, trying to assist. He continues shaking his head. Never heard of it.

Your mood grows sulky as you pout. Leaning back, you finally take a sip of your drink. Oh, well now I really want something stronger than this.

“I would love to watch it some time though!” Charles tries as his voice cracks. He winces.

“Sure!” Though, you're not looking at him anymore. Your eyes are trained behind him. He’s about to turn around and ask if you’re fine, when you finally speak up. “I think I’ll go to the bar for another drink. Be right back!” He huffs. 

You weren’t back for almost too long. Finally, deciding to go look for you, he stands and takes long strides all around the dark restaurant. When he finds you he sees you’re not alone. 

A man in an all black suit seems to be your new company. You giggle as he appears to slide some type of business card to you. Just as you're about to grab it Charles strolls over to you both.

“Is your drink finally ready?” he asks as he wraps a protective arm around your waist. You flinch. You hadn’t even seen him walk over.

“Charles!” you shriek, as you crumble the piece of paper into the palm of your hard, hurriedly. You pray that he hadn’t noticed, but he had. Something inside of him told him not to ask. “I was actually on my way back. Did you need anything? A drink?” you ask, furrowing your brows attentively. 

“No, thank you, amour,” Charles warmly replies, looking into your glossy eyes. You truly were the best thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“My apologies for getting in the way.” The man extends his hand out to Charles. “Aiden Quinn, pleasure to meet you.”

Charles may be upset that Aiden ruined his date, but he wasn’t keen on being rude, so begrudgingly, he shook his hand. “Charles Leclerc.” See, normally Charles isn’t the type to throw his name out like that expectantly, but he felt as if he had a point to make. He did, though. I was here first. 

The man grins ear to ear, nodding. “Yes, that’s where I know you from. I knew you looked familiar. Formula 1 driver, right? Ferrari?” He points with a knowing smile. 

“Scuderia’s number one driver, yes.” His grip around your waist stays secure. Meanwhile, your eyes are open to their fullest. Surprisingly, you had no idea. 

“Certainly. I’m one of the team's ambassadors, actually,” Aiden challenges. Charles clenches his jaw. “When you have million dollar businesses all around the world, you try to find a place to help. Ferrari really needs it at the moment.” You’re equally as shocked with Aiden as you are with Charles.

“Well then, I’ll make sure to dedicate my next podium to you I suppose." You shift uncomfortably. This reminds him you’re there. With him. Ha! Take that, Quinn! “Anyhow, I would love to chit chat with fellow fans, but I must say we have to get going.” He holds your hand firmly as he leads you out.

“Goodbye, Aiden!” you beam as you depart ways. 

-

“Formula 1 driver now, is it?” you curiously ask as you look over where he has one hand over the steering wheel and running the other calmly through his hair. 

“Thought you knew.”

“I had no clue! Zip!” you shriek as fling your arms through the air. He laughs as he pulls into an abandoned parking lot. 

“In the mood for something sweet?”

-

“Grazie mille,” the Monegasque says as he's handed cones of freshly made gelato. Smiling, he makes his way back to you. Hands you per requested raspberry, as he keeps his lemon one. 

“Molto gentile.” You inspect and nod your head in approval. Just hearing your tongue curl in Italian has him swooning. You take a lick and release a soft moan. “So sweet. Best I’ve ever had,” you declare as you continue enjoying your treat innocently.

Charles gulps, trying to cool down. “I told you it was the best.” He shoots a wink over to Luca, the owner, for keeping the shop open for a few more minutes. 

“You scared me a bit back there.”

“Pfft. With that Aiden guy…I’m sorry about that–”

“God no. Honestly, I completely forgot about that,” you mutter. “I meant with that whole, ‘In the mood for something sweet?’. Thought you were like the rest.”

The 25 year old keeps quiet for a minute. He gathers his thoughts before settling with, “I promise I’m not.”

“Keeping my fingers crossed you aren’t.” You look around with twinkling eyes. “You know, a date I once had asked me-”

You want a slice?

No.

“It shocked me how straight forward he was being. It wasn’t even our second date! I barely even knew the guy.” You frown at the memory. “Then he blamed it on the tiramisu.”

I meant the tiramisu, guys!

God no. 

“Never saw him again,” you finish as you finally focus back on him. A pale Charles is all you find.

“Woah, are you okay?” 

“Yes! I’m so good! You look lovely! Did I mention it already cause if I didn’t then call me the worst date ever!” He begins nervously laughing. His gelato dripping all over his arm.

“I think you did.” You smile as you hand him a few napkins. He returns the gesture, thanking you. “And don’t worry about it, leave that spot for Lando. Now he might take the crown.”

Charles let out a groan.

-

Charles went back and forth deciding whether he should reach out to you. He liked you. A lot. Nonetheless, he was hesitating because he just couldn’t do something like that to Lando. The Brit was as bummed out as one could get. So, it's settled. Bye bye baby.

“Of course. Tonight at 8,” your voice confirms on the other side of the line. Charles celebrates with a quick dance.

“See you then.”

-

He decides today that he wants to switch things up. Do something that would make him stand out from anyone that came before him. 

“Monaco?” Leaning on the hood of Charles' car, you feel you have to be dreaming. He nods his head lively.

“I could show you around, y’know be your personal tour guide.”

“You should have warned me! I don’t have anything ready!” you yelp as you hold your hands over your heart, frantically. He would be more worried if it weren’t for you smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

“We still have time. Come on, I’ll help you pack.”

-

When you make it to Monaco you’re greeted by a young guy wearing glasses, driving a Ferrari Pista. Charles and him fit in a quick embrace before they turn their attention back to you.

“Ah yes, this is Joris. He’s one of my closest friends,” Charles states as you warmly reach for a handshake. 

Reciprocating, Joris says, “Very nice to meet you.” You smile, returning the greeting. “Must say, you are just as beautiful as Cha had mentioned, if not more.” You blush as Charles clears his throat awkwardly.

“D'accord, mec. Pas besoin de le dire au monde entier,” Charles mutters. “Thank you for picking us up.” Joris nods, carrying your luggages. You share a quick goodbye before he finally makes his way to another car. “That’s also one of my very good friends, Marta.” You smile and wave as they drive off. 

Monaco definitely met your expectations. Everything just captivated your attention so much that you wouldn’t be surprised if you started to drool. 

“Holy shit. Your home is absolutely stunning!” you gasp. He wheels your bags in as he exhales.

“Merci. Make yourself at home.”

-

Thankfully, the flight was quick so you both have plenty of energy to go out for a late night snack. He takes you to his; Favorite place in the world! You’ll see.

A little stand sits in the corner of the street. 

“Lou makes one of the best crepes. Trust me, I’ve been a loyal customer since my school days.”

A little old lady is attending to customers, but stops as soon as she spots Charles. “Charlie! Chérie, je ne savais pas que tu étais de retour!” She makes her way around to hug him.

“Des projets de dernière minute, mais j'ai juste envie de manger une de tes incroyables crêpes,” he replies, as they pull away.

“And who is this pretty girl?” she questions as she looks at you, standing there patiently.

“Oop, hello. I’m a friend of Charles.” Lou smiles teasingly.

“Charlie, tu es là pour me dire que tu vas te marier?” Lou suddenly looks over the moon.

“Non!” he quickly shouts, so suddenly, you and Lou both jump a bit. Tight lipped, he apologizes.

“Like she said, we’re just friends."

-

The next morning after breakfast he recommends you bring something you can swim with. Skipping your way to his room, which he is kindly sacrificing for you, you roam through your luggage until you find a baby blue bikini. 

“You don’t get sea sick by any means, right?” He looks over at you with scrunched brows underneath a pair of glossy black Ray Bans. You shake your head.

“Great.”

You make your way to a tiny boat before he helps you settle in. You grab his hand softly as you step into it. A single touch of electricity seems to link your fingertips. It catches you both so off guard that he lets go of you so swiftly, you don’t even notice as you plunge into the water.

You let out a quick yelp before you go underwater and his hands fly to his head in embarrassment. You resurface with wet hair covering your face.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” he apologizes before extending his arm out for you to grab. Pushing your hair out of your face, you giggle. 

“It’s okay, I got it.”

Once you independently get on the boat, he unties the rope off the deck and takes a seat himself to drive you both to the unknown destination.

“Pretty please, can I know now where we’re going?” you squeal with puppy eyes. 

Lord help me, he thinks before replying. “We’re going to a little island I love. Îles de Lérins.” You look ahead, nodding patiently. “It’s beautiful, you’ll see.”

-

When you arrive it’s easy to understand that there doesn’t seem to be that many people. You basically have the place to yourselves.

He helps you off, not dropping you this time. There’s a small trail you both begin to take. It’s something peaceful, the moment you’re in. You almost wish to fit it into a snow globe. 

“My parents would always bring my brothers and I here all the time during summer when we were younger,” Charles confesses.

“You have brothers?” 

He turns to look at you, then continues ahead. “Yes. Two.” He kicks a rock out of his way, but something you didn’t know was just how clumsy this man child could be.

“Ouch!” you groan in pain as your hand flies up to your nose.

“Jesus! What’s wrong with me today? Are you okay? I’m so sorry!” He runs to you all panicky now.

You take it back. Break the goddamn snow globe.

You try tilting your head back to ease the blood pouring out your nose before he gently grips your face to gain your attention. You scrunch your eyes, sun suddenly blinding you. Quickly, he takes off his glasses and places them over your eyes. As you open them you notice he’s shirtless. He places his shirt on your nose to clean you up. You flinch a bit.

Instantly, you’re thankful for the sunglasses because wondering eyes were all you could give him. His lean muscles were just begging to be praised. 

You shake your head before taking the Puma shirt from him. “Thanks,” you mutter as you focus on a nearby tree. “Starting to think you might hate me or something.”

“Of course not... I could never hate you!” His voice cracks in nervousness. You snicker.

After a bit more wiping, you are as good as new. You both decide to take a dip while the water feels good. You strip from your Levi shorts and t-shirt. Dipping a toe to test the temperature, you shoot him two thumbs up. 

The ocean feels so fresh and silky against your skin. You can’t seem to remember the last time you’ve enjoyed someone’s company like this, even if they almost ruled you to the ends of Earth. Two fingers press against your neck. You spring one eye open and you see Charles biting down on his thumb. He relaxes.

“Sorry, I thought you crossed the line to the afterlife.”

You tread water to stretch your legs out. “I’m fine.”

He takes this time to note things he hadn’t paid attention to before. Like how your lashes pin against your skin since they’re wet. Or how a tiny bit of freckles are sprinkled on your nose. He curses himself for not having seen it any sooner. Pretty was an understatement. You were extraordinary. 

A few hours later you guys are back at his house sharing a pizza. Pepperoni, you both loved a classic.

“There’s no bruise,” he points out almost proudly. You shoot a playful scowl. He walks over to the T.V. and clicks the remote. “Monte Carlo?”

He loved it, the way you said he would. He especially enjoyed watching how much you loved it. 

“This movie was too ahead of its time,” you confirm as you dig your feet under the blanket you had curled into. 

“Well at least Grace and Theo got their happily ever after,” he pronounces. You shoot an impressed look. “What? I was listening.” You crawl up next to him and pat his cheek. His dimples pop out from how hard he’s smiling. 

He can’t help it the moment he reaches to cradle your face to press your lips together. He can’t help but let a moan slip out when you finally kiss him back. 

Finally, he picks you up to adjust you on his lap, which you comfortably settle into. You feel him underneath you so clearly you can’t help but move your hips. He feels so good.

The heated moment continues as he wraps his hands around the curve of your ass. You pull away as your lips move down to his neck. He almost gasps the moment you lick down his throat. It doesn’t help that you’ve been keeping your hips in motion. 

He almost passes out the moment your lips move to his ear and ask, no, beg; Let me taste you, please. How could he ever deny such offer?

Making your way down to your knees, he adjusts himself on the couch. He thinks to himself that if he were standing he would’ve made a fool out of himself because just the sight of you in front of him has him choking on his own breath. You just look so pretty.

You tug his shorts down, along with his boxers, and bite down on your lip as you grab his cock, softly. He has to stop himself from jerking into your hand. Precum sprouting from his tip. You can’t wait as you take kitten licks. Fuck, he whimpers. The sound of his voice makes you squeeze your thighs together.

Wrapping your lips around him, your hands reach to balance yourself against his thighs. You moan at the feeling of having him inside your mouth, drooling all over his lap.

This itself, is too much for Charles and thinks he’ll barely even be able to survive as his head turns against the couch' pillow with closed lids. You start bobbing your head and one hand flings down to jerk off what you can’t reach. He groans at the feeling. 

You start off slow but suddenly start picking up your pace. He opens his eyes, dazed, to catch a glimpse of you on your knees and this sight is something he won’t be able to forget even if he tried. With glassy eyes, you look up at him. You make a show of releasing your lips from his cock as you lap your tongue along it. Before going back at it, you twirl your tongue a couple of times around his tip before giving it a quick suck, then deep throat him. 

He grits his teeth as if to help deal with any of this but when you start toying with yourself he lets out the loudest whine he’s ever produced. You look up smiling, grazing your teeth lightly along him and he hisses at the feeling. Proudly, you fit him back into your mouth. 

“God, your mouth feels so fucking good,” he manages to get out before you solely start jerking him off.

“What about my hands?” you seductively tease. The sounds coming from both your hands and his cock should be considered a sin itself. He groans as he looks back to make eye contact with you.

“Your hands too, baby.”

He knows he’s close the moment you twist your wrist perfectly. So so good. You know he’s close when he begins to twitch underneath your fingertips. 

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” he chants as you continue your dirty movements. He makes sure to look at you, focused, eyes drawn to his cock.

“Cum for me, Charles,” you coo as he finally bucks his hips into your hands and hot cum shoots all over your face. You wickedly smile as your lips reach his cock to continue swallowing the rest that is being released. He grabs you face to pull you off him and hauls you once again onto his lap. He’s about to kiss you before you pull away and point at the mess on your face. 

You wipe two fingers along your face and bring them to your mouth to clean them off. A pop is released when you let go. He shudders. 

This is the moment, Charles realizes, he’s so screwed.

-

When you make it back to Italy you realize that all you’ll have are a few fleeting moments together. With Charles going back to racing and you continuing your online classes, you’re both bound to be booked.

Though, Charles just isn’t ready to let you go. And a fucked up man will make fucked up choices when due.

So, he strings you along with him to the Miami GP. He realizes there’s a strong chance you might bump shoulders with Lando, but to be completely honest, he was past caring. He was completely smitten with you.

-

You wear your white summer dress as you are sprawled on his hotel bed. You’re a mess.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whimper as Charles fingers slip in and out of you. He’s feverishly kissing down the side of your thighs, bites left in between. You groan in slight pain as you tug on his soft hair. This man has brought out the moon and stars, for you.

“C’mon baby, look at me,” he whispers as he paints you with hickeys in between your legs. Somewhere no one else will ever be able to catch a glimpse of. You nod your head as you look down to find him gripping your dress over your thighs, eating you out like a starved man. You shut your eyes as you release a few soft pants, the heels of your feet press deeper against his Ferrari polo.

“Open you’re eyes.”

You shake your head. You wish you could look at him, you really wanted to, but it’s just too much take in. You wanted to make this last.

But Charles was greedy. He wanted to taste you. He stops everything all at once. You let out a cry. Fuck him.

You bring your arms around his neck, loosely, as he kisses your shoulder. “Why’d you stop?”

“You weren’t looking at me.”

With all your strength you open your glittered eyelids. 

“That’s a good girl,” he coos as he picks you up and sits you at the edge of the bed. You look down at him confused as he gets on his knees in front of you.

“If you can’t look at me, then you’re going to have to look at yourself,” he directs as he begins to push your dress back up your waist. You lean against your elbows as you realize what other than Charles is in front of you.

A shiny glass mirror.

With a slightly open mouth you’re about to protest before Charles picks up right where he left off. He spits on your clit before rubbing it. You bite down on your bottom lip so hard, you draw blood. 

“Don’t tell me I have to get you to moan now?” Charles stares at you with furrowed brows. You shake your head no before he kisses your knee. “Good.”

He makes sure you look straight at your reflection before he curls his fingers inside of you. You mewl at the touch. Your legs beg to bring him closer.

He lets out a light chuckle before repeating his motion. With sleepy eyes, you stare at the way your legs rest against his shoulders. You had painted your nails bloody mary a few nights before, in support of him and his team. Your face all fucked up singly by Charles’ long fingers and delicate touch, red lipstick all over your mouth from how heavy your make out with Charles had been.

To him, you looked like an angel. 

You squeal as he presses his nose against your pussy. You grind against his face. He pulls away and you whine, looking at him desperately.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay,” he reassures you as he moves up to kiss your cheek and then your pouty lips. 

“Cha, please,” you beg hopelessly. He grins as he pushes your hair out of your face and runs his thumb across your lips trying to clean you up a bit.

You take a chance and wrap your lips around his finger, and you begin to suck. Expertly, you swirl your tongue. Eyes look back at him, almost challenging. He lets out a strained groan.

With all the willpower he has left, he removes his finger from your mouth. Nicely wet, he presses it back where you needed him the most.

“Thank you, baby, you shouldn’t have.” You cry out at the sudden size of his thumb now being inside of you. He switches out his thumb for his middle and ring finger. You throw your head back. All the back and forth almost has you blacking out a few times. Charles gives you a quick peck, fingers building speed, as he pulls your dress down a bit to release your plump tits.

Now he’s at a loss for words. Quickly, he regains his composure and starts sucking on your left nipple, legs squeezing around his waist as a reflex. One hand flies to the back of his head as one makes its way to cup his cheek adoringly.

He moans against you, sucking hard before moving his attention to your right nipple. The way you’re wailing against him has him painfully hard against his jeans.

“Yes, God yes right there, Charlie,” you let out as you grind against his hand. He detaches his lips from your chest as he smiles up at you. 

“I’m right here, baby. Cum for me, yeah?” You let out the most pornographic moan as you finish around his hand. Tears make their way down your cheeks. Cleans his fingers, he shuts his eyes satisfied, before he towers over your body, pressing kisses all over.

You giggle. “That tickles." The 25 year old’s heart doubles in size at the sound of your fucked out voice. 

“Why don’t we get you cleaned up before the race?”

-

The race results weren't the best Charles has had, that’s for sure. Head hung, he makes his way to his motorhome. There he finds you on the tiny little bed, curled up, watching the rest of the ongoing interviews. As soon as you notice him you jump up to your feet and walk to him.

It's almost as if you knew how down he was feeling when you wrap your arms around his waist and pressing your face against his chest. He instantly feels better as his arms swaddle over your shoulders, chin atop your pretty hair.

“You did good,” you mumble. You press a faint kiss on his suit before looking up.

“I fucked up. I got P7.”

You frown at him before holding his face between your soft palms. “P7 is good, what do you mean?” He just shakes his head. “You’ve never heard of seven being a lucky number?”

He scoffs, but not at you, never you. More at himself. “Lucky?”

You pull away and sit back on his bed. “Oh yeah, seven bring all the luck in the world!” you squeal, as you plop on the bed. He laughs lightly as he lies beside you.

“Guess I’ll just take your word for it.” He hums with his eyes closed.

You turn on your side as you try to memorize his face. Like the small mole that sits on the left side of his face that makes him even more handsome, if anyone asks for your opinion. You scold yourself for not having noticed it before. As if to fix things, you name it one of your favorite things about him.

“You should. Things will get better, you’ll see.”

For once, he really believes it.

-

You both are walking out of the Ferrari home when you're suddenly stopped by someone calling Charles’ name. 

“Hey, Charles! Great race man!” A familiar voice rings through the air before you both have a chance to turn around. Both you and Charles, unknowingly of one another, want to make a run for it.

“Thanks, Lando,” Charles replies as he prays he might not notice you. But a girl as beautiful as you can’t go forgotten.

“Holy shit it’s you!” Lando wails as he instantly recognizes you from dinner a few months ago. You cringe. What the chances?

“Hi,” you squeak as you hide behind Charles a bit. You had no idea Lando was a Formula 1 driver too. You ought to do your research better next time.

“Mate! This is the chick I was telling you about over dinner last time!” Lando says, eyes almost popping out of his face from the shock he’s in.

“You don’t sayyyy.” Charles tries to hide it, though inside he’s freaking out as if he’s broken every FIA rule in the book.

“Hey, I want to say sorry for that night, I should have been more clear,” Lando begins to spill his apologies, as all you can do is silently stand there, accepting them all.

“Of course. Long forgotten,” you comfort the Brit. He’s actually a pretty sweet guy. 

“Charles, I’ll wait for you outside, alright?” you utter as he nods. Once you walk out, he turns to Lando frantically.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that was the same girl you were upset about!” he tells him. Liar. “You must be mad at me and I get it-”

“Nope.”

Charles stares back, caught off guard by Lando’s response. 

“You’re not?” 

Lando rolls his eyes. “I’m not. I just hope you realize what she’s capable of.” He leans in closer to Charles’ ear and Charles leans in too, expectantly. “I’ve heard stories, man…”

Charles immediately pulls away. “Okay, we’re done here. Bye mate!”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

But Charles knew you better. He saw the way you looked at him. The way you felt. You were different. Fuck your following reputation.

“Ready?” 

-

When you got back from Miami, something had shifted. He couldn’t quite name the moment it had, but he was sure of it. He didn’t care though. He would put up with just about anything as long as that meant having you around.

“And then he told me to test the car again, said it was fixed. Fixed my ass!” Charles tells you over FaceTime. You were sitting in your bedroom, painting nonsense on a canvas. You wore some old overalls with loose space buns. Strands of hair would hit the paint from how messy it was.

“No way,” you say, not looking up. Charles smiles fondly.

“You look lovely by the way.” Though, you don’t seem to catch his affirmation for you. Your eyes are focused on something out of frame, in front of you. A quick smirk appears on your face but slips so fast that he almost begins to think he’s imagined it.

“Thank you, Charles,” you reply with a much bigger smile now. “Hey, how about I meet you at your house at 9? I’ll cook you a nice meal, promise.”

Like always, he knows he shouldn’t ask and also knows he can’t say no to you.

“I’ll be waiting.”

-

That night when you step into his house he notices things he wishes weren’t there. Like how your hair was a tad bit messy or how there were light bruises on your neck. He knows those didn’t come from him. He’d always been mindful to mark you in places no one else could admire, just him. Something bugs him knowing someone has seen them already.

“I’m so sorry I’m late." You rush in with bags from the nearby market, the one just around the corner from his flat.

“No worries. So, what will we be cooking, my little chef?”

That night you seem so infatuated by him, he truly thinks this all was his imagination. Maybe the wind blew your hair on your way here; he should have offered to pick you up. Maybe he forgot he had also marked your neck; he’ll make sure to be more careful next time.

He wraps his arms around your waist as you cut pieces of basil. Giggling, you turn around to peck his lips. Craving more from you, he lifts you up onto the kitchen island. He stands in between your legs as you stare up at him, ever a vixen.

As you lock lips, he picks you up, you yelp all giddy. He makes his way over to his bedroom, your lips lingering on his neck, he almost drops you from how good it feels.

“Careful, don’t need another wack in the face,” you mumble from his neck, light spirited. He rolls his eyes at your comment, but yeah, he should probably focus. 

Finally reaching his room, he kicks the door open so hard, it flies and instantly makes a hole through the wall. You gasp as he groans.

“Fuck it, it’s fine,” he murmurs as he takes you to his bed where he drops you. You giggle as your hair covers your face, he makes his way to hover over you and brush it away.

“You know I would do anything for you?” he asks, tenderness lacing his voice.

You stare back at him with bright and eager eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

He smiles as he leans down to kiss you and you instantly melt into the mattress beneath you. He kisses you so fast, so hot, that it has you feeling lightheaded. I’ve been kissed before but never, ever, like this, you think as he slips his tongue as a quick trick. You moan with pleasure. He smiles into the kiss. 

He picks his head up to get a good look at the angel the universe had ever so nicely sent his way. He caresses you gingerly. “Are you sure, chérie?”

You nod up and down eagerly, ready for more he’s willing to give. You are so desperate you would gladly take anything as long as it's from him. A flash of sadness strikes your face before it’s replaced with a warm smile. 

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” he comforts you as he begins to take a step back. You quickly hold onto his veiny arm. 

“I want to,” you confirm. You bring him back to you as you kiss him for the millionth time that night. Even that would never be enough. 

His hands make their way to slip your dress off. Once you're left in your matching lingerie, you push him on his back and straddle him.

“Holy shit,” he nervously laughs as you started to unbutton his linen shirt. He pulls his arm out as you sloppily brush your lips down his smooth chest, fingers tracing his firm abs. Then, as you’re about to pull his pants down, he grabs your hands firmly. You glance at him, confusion written all over your face.

“Ladies first,” he teases. You roll your eyes, but still slip out a quick, okay, before settling under him once again. He kisses down your neck gently as you hum out, finding peace with his lips hovering your body. Every new kiss he places on your soft skin makes you feel thousands of butterflies. You’d never experienced something like this before, you’ve never felt so flawless. 

Clumsy fingers roam your back as he unclips your bra then strips you from your panties. Seeing you completely bare has his dumbstruck. This is something he could easily get used to. 

His hands make their way to squeeze your tits, your head digs deeper into the mattress as you release a soft whimpers. Charles grows harder by the second, already getting rid of the rest of his clothes as quickly as he can.

He tugs you closer to him by your legs. A laugh rolls past your lips. Resting both arms by either side of your head, he pushes into you. Synchronously, you both let out a moan. You dig your nails into his shoulder as he grips onto the sheets. 

You feel so tight around him that it takes all of him not to lose control. You throw your arm over your face, face scrunched.

Putting his feelings aside, Charles leans down and plants a kiss on your arm. “C’mon baby, not again. Look at me.”

“I can’t…,” you cry out weakly, “...too big.”

“You just have to adjust,” he reassures you as he begins to move in and out of you. Your arms fly up to his neck and you grab on tight, as if he’s keeping you ashore. You moan loudly.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers as he thrusts deep inside of you. Your velvety walls feel like home to him and he never wants to leave. 

You squirm when his cock hits your sweet spot. You yell into the nothingness and your grip on his hair tightens so much, he groans at the sensation. His hips pick up speed, and suddenly, he’s kissing you again. You whine into his lips, needy for more. Harder. 

As if he could read your mind, that's exactly what he does. Your lips form a silent O as you stare at him with eyebrows drawn together. He just feel so fucking good.

“Fuck baby,” he groans, voice deep. You shiver at the sound. “God, you feel so good, you’re doing so good,” he praises you as he now looks into your eyes. You wail in response, too fucked up to form any kind of sentence.

“I love you so much,” he announces so suddenly, you almost push him away. He keeps moving rapidly as he makes out with you eagerly.

As you kiss him back you realize something scary; you love Charles Leclerc. You think you’ve loved him for a while now, but having never been in love, you didn’t seem to notice the feeling. But you do now.

“I love you, too,” you murmur against his lips. When he pulls away you notice you’ve never seen him smile so big. You like being the reason behind it.

He immediately pounds into you harder, not holding back anymore and you’re both a mess. You moan so loud, you’re almost embarrassed but Charles seems to love it.

“If you love me,” he pants, “then tell me his name.”

He continues normally, but you swear you feel your heart stop. There’s no way.

“What are you talking about?” you manage to spit out, but the way he’s handling your body has you seeing stars.

“Please,” a desperate look flashes across his face, “just tell me his name.” His watch covered hand makes its way to your clit and he pushes his finger against it. God, his fingers are so-

“There’s no one.” Liar. “There’s just you.”

With that, you flip him over so now you’re on top of him. Hastily, you start to ride him, making sure to move your hips just the way he likes it. His head falls back against the bed frame as his fingers dig into your hips. You bite your swollen lips in slight pain, but also, just by looking at his current state.

Cheeks slightly pink with sweaty hair covering his face. Long disheveled hair that you pressed him not to trim quite yet. What a sight for sore eyes.

“Please,” he chokes out, “just tell me his name and I swear I’ll never bring it up again.” He opens his eyes to look up at you. His voice hitches when he sees you hopping on his dick, tits bouncing up and down. You throw your head back and circle your hips much harder.

“Fuck.” Charles gasps as he reaches up to attach his lips to your chest. He licks before softly biting down against your bud. You exhale sharply. He then lays back and holds onto your hips harder before helping you move on top of him. Wrapped around him, the motion between both of you picks up so fast you start shaking your head no.

“Yes, amour, say it. Please just tell me before I lose my fucking mind,” he grunts as he stares down at your juices as they make the filthiest sound against his own. 

“I swear Charles, I promise, that I have never loved anyone the way I do you,” you confess as you sink your nails against his chest, red marks instantly mapping themselves down.

“Beautiful fucking liar.” Charles smirks as he moves his fingers against your clit rapidly. With that, your walls clench around him as you cum so hard around him he can’t help but follow. You moan loudly as you fall against his chest as he groans lowly. 

Trying to even your breathing, you grab onto his hand. Instantly, he brings it up against his lips. Just the touch of his makes you want to ride him until you can’t no more. 

You meant what you said that night. Though you both should have known better. Being naive can’t always last forever.

-

“Then she left a note saying it’s best we just remain friends,” Charles reveals a few nights later over dinner. Everyone shares glances of empathy to the distraught Monegasque. Even Lando.

“It’s alright man, you’ll be over her before you know it,” Lando states as he shares a knowing smile. Charles bites down on his tongue knowing all this pent of anger wasn’t towards Lando. Not even for you. 

He would like to say that he learned his lesson and that he should have listened to everyone, all the warning signs that glowed above his head. But he knows damn well he would do it all over again if given the chance. He would say, do anything, to change your mind. To make you stay, but people like you never settled. 

Moping, Charles changes the topic as he begins asking how everyone’s break was. He didn’t really care, but he tried to pretend. 

Out of breath, Oscar rushes over to the table. “Sorry I’m late,” he says as he sits down in between Lando and Charles.

“No worries, mate, Charles was just filling us in on his expired love life,” Daniel fills in, nonchalantly. Charles immediately shoots a dry frown. Daniel shares an apologetic shrug.

“Oh. That sucks man,” the young Australian replies as he gulps down some water. “Speaking of love lives, you guys won’t believe it! I just met the prettiest girl of my entire life just now outside of the restaurant!”

[khuzena]

Your Guardian Angel

Sunday x g/n!reader

Summary: oh guardian angel, my sweet guardian angel. Save me, Save me. If you can't, what're you truly for? When your angel loves you, when he betrays destiny for you; only for his wings to be chipped at the expense of a helpless attempt.

Cw. Very angsty, falling in love (but it's forbidden), religious references (specifically Christian topics) AU where ppl can talk to their angels lol, mentions of self harm but no actual scene with it!!!, no bandaid can fix the emotional wound after reading this. SOME fluff, no comfort like usual. 🫨🫨🫨 YOU DIE!

A/n: I'm on fire (like literally. It's 36° here.)

Your knees burn as you stare up at the altar displayed in front you, you wonder if the aeons would be kind enough to finally send you your guardian angel.

“Please,” you begged, wishing any god to heed your call, “Just this once I'll ask.”

“Send me someone kind, someone to protect me.”

That day, fate was generous enough to grant you your angel.

A chill ran down your spine, rubbing your eyes for good measure to make sure you weren't dreaming.

“You called?”

You gulp nervously, the being's halo blinding you.

One, he reached his hand out to you, his smile all you needed to feel okay.

Your guardian angel accompanies you whenever you go out to buy groceries, when your fingers trace along the unhealthy snack bar, he's quick to tut and swat your hand away.

“That's unhealthy, dear.”

“But—”

“Just this once?”

He shook his head no, feeling distraught, you devised a plan to grab a pack of double chocolate cookies; much to his dismay.

Who did you think you were fooling?

“Dear, I said no.”

You sighed, “Just one?”

Out of all the humans on the list, why'd he pick you? But when you smile at him so brightly, out of every human he's ever guided, he's still unsure of his answer—

Your shoulders slump, “Pretty please?”

He exhales an exasperated sigh, letting you win over him just this once.

“Fine.”

— Maybe he is, Maybe he isn't.

There were times nightmares were unkind and brutal that you'd wake up in cold sweat. Your mind flashing you memories of the past you wished to lock away, you'd pray again.

“Dear, wake up,” that familiar soothing voice ringing in your ears.

Where? The shackles of that dream still bruise you harshly, yet your loving guardian angel is there to soothe your scars.

“It's okay.”

It's not okay, you know.

No words were exchanged when he took your hand in his, his honey eyes seeing through you, “Just breathe.”

Your tears found solace in his shoulder as he patted your back, letting you cry it all out, “It hurts, Sunday.”

“I know,” his gloved hand wiping your tears gently, “I know.”

Like a child, for many dreadful nightmares to come, you cry and cry for him to relieve you of this pain. You needn't to get on your knees and ask the aeons for comfort. All you need to do is shed a single tear and he'll kiss them away.

Two, your oh so sweet guardian angel, he drives them all away.

Years pass and you've grown used to your guardian angel, you'd find him taking the form of an owl.

Like one time, you were in class— culinary class to be specific. Who knows what aeon decided to ruin your day and made you trip on a puddle of leftover batter on the tiled floor.

“Eek—!”

You'd think you'd hit head first but something held you up, when you turned around, there was no one there.

The owl perched on the branch just outside the window, shook its head in dismay, once again, you don't die today.

He may save you from all catastrophes but he cannot save you from impending doom.

As an angel, by all means, he has every right to read your destiny; woven by lord Xipe, of course.

Eyes narrowing at the scroll, your life ends early when you get roped into an unforeseen accident at a public event.

“Sunday, dear. 5 days until your host departs,” his beloved lord's voice echoing the room as they loom over his shoulder to watch your end unfold.

“We should find you a new human.”

Sunday trembled at the sight, a memory he wishes to never replay again. You were in an event and some drunkard decides to shoot it all up, bullets ablaze as you get caught in the crossfire.

“I…”

I mustn't disobey lord Xipe.

“Yes, lord Xipe,” he gave a weak smile to his god, your death still replaying.

How could he be fine?

When you tell him of your dreams, how you'd leave this wretched city, leave penacony and write your own fate; when destiny had already set yours in stone.

“Do you think I'll become big in the industry?”

The sunset falls upon you too and he doesn't have it in him to tell you what's bound to happen to you, “Yes.”

“You sound hesitant.”

“I'm just thinking.”

It wasn't often you see Sunday like… this.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, “It's nothing.”

You two have been together long enough that it only takes you a second to realise the shift in the atmosphere, “Whatever, I'm going to be successful and we'll travel.”

He wonders if you noticed the way his wings are stiffening at your words, he may be an angel, “Sure,” but he is a liar first.

He doesn't want to think about it, he doesn't want to remember.

Your curious eyes never leave him, he wishes it did. He wishes he never got too attached.

That disgustingly sweet smile of yours, you'll never know that it made home in his head.

“Here,” he wore the rosary in your hand, it felt comforting feeling his gloved hand against your skin, “What is this for?”

He still doesn't have the courage to look you in the eye knowing 3 days from now they'd be devoid of light, “For protection, to show devotion to our god.”

You let out a hum of approval, admiring the beads.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes”

“I'm glad.”

Fleeting moments like these don't last. But when he musters up the courage to look you in the eyes again; he wishes that Lord Xipe was loving enough that this moment would.

Destiny is a strange thing. It gives you time to dream but never enough time to do.

Just where the hell were you?

Sunday panics as he flies over the crowd, exactly a minute before your death.

Lord Xipe must be cruel, watching from the stars as he scurries in the mortal realm like a rat to save a mere mortal like you.

“Sunday?”

‘Bang.’

You hear gunshots piercing the skies and those beside you.

“What's happening—”

“Just shut up,” angels were not allowed to be this crude but for your sake, he covered your eyes as he led the two of you behind a pillar.

Your gut instinct tells you to run but you've grown to trust him enough with your life. How could you not when he gently wraps his arms around your trembling figure?

“S-sun… day…,” you cried, feeling something piercing your stomach.

But how? He… he saved you didn't he?

“Stay calm,” he scolds you as if he wasn't scrambling around his options on how to save you, “Please.”

He prays, “Lord Xipe, please.”

But songs stay unsung, prayers remain unheard.

He cries to the sky as crimson stains his gloves, his holy tears cannot patch your wounds. His prayers cannot fix you. If he had known, he would not have sung those odes to lord Xipe, if only he had known his god's mercy was nothing but just strings of fallacies.

“Lord Xipe!”

An agonising scream that transcends the barrier of heaven and earth, yet his beloved god turned their back on him.

Your eyes shut then he felt the hand that intertwined with him go limp, “Lord Xipe.”

In desperate sobs, “Please.”

No amount of begging would bring you back, just like his sister, Robin, you are dead, you are gone.

Not being able to save you— he's betrayed you.

He kissed your cheek before letting death take you.

My God, why have you forsaken me?

He has no time to mourn, “It burns,” under the scrutinising gaze of the divine, his wings turn charcoal black.

Lord Xipe is all forgiving yet they have abandoned him for something so little.

A god so forgiving, yet when Sunday looks down at his hands, only a shade of balsam and black stare back at him.

There is no redemption for his sin, there is no redemption for either of you.

You can no longer dream, he can no longer dream with you.

His halo crumbles into ash and an undeniably painful grief fills him, “Lord xipe.”

His radiant halo no more, only to be replaced by the glow of the sunset like a crown of thorns.

He cries again, his god is gone and you are too.

Note: forgive me if its kinda shit, i really can't think of an angst idea for sunday that isn't yandere since im not rlly big about yan tropes anddd not proofread. I hope y'all enjoyed it tho, i just needed to get this idea out of my brain. Sunday is vv manipulative but i js wanted to write a ver of him thats just gentle ISTFGGGGGG

Written by @khuzena. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. ♡ 

[leclerc-s]

paint the town red - part one

THE BEGINNING OF A NEW ERA

series masterlist

liked by peterbparker, harleykeener, queenshuri and others

biancastark_potts 'all the rumors are true'

view all comments

username bestie which driver will you be the race engineer for?

username is sebastian coming back? tell me that rumor is true

tonystark you're supposed to be working!

↳ biancastark_potts i am working. ask anyone. except harley, he'll lie to you.

↳ harleykeener she's being no help! spanish was not one of my public school requirements. i don't think i am qualified for this job.

↳ peterbparker I CAN SPEAK SPANISH! LET ME BE SAINZ'S RACE ENGINEER!

↳ harleykeener YOU FOCUS ON YOUR PHYSICS! LET ME HAVE THIS PARKER!

↳ biancastark_potts dad literally made you social media admin for the offical ferrari account. a mistake on his part truly.

↳ tonystark i regret everything now.

username so, stark will be race engineer for leclerc and keener for sainz?

↳ username an iconic group truly and i know nothing about this keener kid

↳ harleykeener i got a stark internship because i made a potato gun for tony one time when i was a child.

liked by biancastark_potts, harleykeener, and peterbparker and other

scuderiaferrari meet ferrari's newest race engineers. bianca stark-potts (24) (left) will become charles leclerc's new race engineer, replacing xavier marcos. while harley keener (20) (right) will become carlos sainz' new race engineer, replacing riccardo adami. these two will also be taking on the roles of lead engineers for our cars and they know they can deliver a championship winning car. these two are excited to be taking on the world of formula one.

view all comments

📍peterbparker this was all proofread by mrs. pepper stark-potts. i would've gone with something like 'out with the old in with the new.' but apparently that's not professional or something.

username ferrari is about to become the most attractive team on the grid. i take no complaints.

↳ username no you're absolutely right.

username what exactly are their qualifications to becoming an f1 driver's race engineer?

↳ username bianca is an MIT and columbia graduate, she has a phd in mechanical engineering and a masters in electrical engineering. harley is a columbia graduate with a masters in mechanical engineering and studying at MIT for a masters in computer science and engineering. if anything they're overqualified for the job. they've also developed few of the suits tony stark's uses. definitely more qualified than ricciardo and xavier.

↳ username that doesn't matter, we'll finally have a decent car and might even win the drivers/constructors championships.

charles_leclerc welcome to the team!

↳ biancastark_potts thanks, happy to be here!

↳ harleykeener thank you, even if i'm not your race engineer.

carlossainz55 bienvenidos!

↳ harleykeener gracias, mi amigo. (i don't speak spanish that well. we'll both be struggling through this, as you saw last week.)

↳ biancastark_potts good luck with him. thanks for the welcome!

liked by biancastark_potts, charles_leclerc, and peterbparker and other

scuderiaferrari you knew him as 4x world champion of red bull, you knew him as a ferrari driver, now you'll know him as ferrari's new team principal. ladies, gentleman, and non-binary folks, the formidable sebastian vettel is back!

view all comments

📍peterbparker not added was 'sorry not sorry we took your golden boy red bull' again, mrs. pepper potts-stark said that was unprofessional so i was forbidden from adding that. the urge to add a multi-21 joke in there was strong but i resisted.

↳ maxverstappen1 no need to rub it in. christian is crying. (i’m joking, he’s upset)

↳ peterbparker TU-TU-DU-DU MAX VERSTAPPEN!! (get me oscar piastri's number)

↳ maxverstappen1 no.

↳ peterbparker i'll settle for lando norris if you want. don't worry i'm not after either of your men (charles and danny)

↳ maxverstappen can i get you fired?

↳ biancastark_potts i've been trying since 2018 when he walked into my life. all i achieved was my parents emotionally adopting him.

username i fucking love this new ferrari admin. they're unhinged.

↳ peterbparker thanks, pepper does not find it as amusing. i've been told to keep it 'professional' until the season begins then i'm allowed to be unhinged.

username HE'S BACK! I KNEW RETIREMENT WOULDN'T LAST LONG.

username please tell me he is still caring for his bees. seb and his bees is iconic

↳ peterbparker proud to announce that seb and his bees will continue. we will be bringing awareness to the bees with every race. seb's buzzin' corner for every race? MR. STARK MAKE IT HAPPEN!

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc, and tonystark and other

scuderiaferrari mood cause we're back! preseason testing begins in two days!

view all comments

📍peterbparker i'm allowed to shit post now people! the ban has been lifted! WAR IS OVER!

↳ peterbparker I'VE BEEN FOUND BY PIERRE GASLY. NOOO! HOW COULD I HAVE BECOME A VICTIM SO SOON?

username admin is acting like a teenager

↳ peterbparker i'm 20.

↳ maxverstappen1 that explains it.

↳ peterbparker so about piastri's number...

↳ maxverstappen1 no.

↳ harleykeener you have a girlfriend parker.

↳ peterbparker she doesn't need to know

↳ michellejones this is a public instagram post

username let's hope stark industries can deliver with all the hype surrounding them taking over ferrari's f1 team.

↳ username i just hope they aren't being overhyped, because if they fail to deliver they'll be such a dissapointment.

¡leclerc-s speaks! you can blame charles' shitty race for this story. other than that we won't speak further on the events of the us grand prix (i'm living in delusion) (congrats to logan for scoring his first points and congrats to williams for their double points!) i had been wanting to do a mcu x formula one crossover but i didn't have the motivation to do so until now (you can guess why).

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[anamericangirl]

I saw Stephen Fry say once, "If I ever met God, I'd spit at his feet. I'd curse his name. I'd tell him how dare you. I'd say how dare you let children suffer with diseases that rot their eyes from their heads."

I saw the comment section filling with people going "YEAH, FUCK YOU GOD"

And I saw one comment, buried in the middle of the sea of hatred towards God, that said "And what are you doing to help those children, Mr. Fry? You're sitting on a talk show blaming God. You're trying to push an anti-Christian agenda, nay an anti-Creationism agenda. You're using your fame, your fortune, your power, your voice, to actively curse the name of God instead of expending the same energy to help those children you claim you care about."

It was a moment very early in my religious journey from atheist to theist that really made me look at these vicious anti-God people who will blame Him for literally every problem on earth no matter how man-made that problem is.

A school shooting happens and it's God's fault that children died.

A baby is killed and it's God's fault for letting a pro-choicer get pregnant.

A war breaks out and people are being slaughtered and it's God's fault for giving people the freedom to kill each other.

And now, I look back on Stephen Fry and his "I'd spit at his feet."

What does he think God's response will be? Crying? Begging Mr. Fry for mercy? "I'm so sorry Mr. Fry, you're right, I'm so evil, I'm such a bad person, you should rule Heaven instead of me, please don't hate me, please, I'm disassociating, oh no!"

I think God would look at him and say, "All of those children, who died because people like you chose to do nothing to help them, are here with me now in Heaven, being nurtured and cared for. You spent your life and your wealth attacking my worshipers who were going to those countries and helping those children. You spent your life cursing my name with an ego so inflated that you felt as though your words would scorn and hurt me. Have you considered, Stephen, at any point in your life, that if a disease from the land is killing children, you should move the children away from that land? You should cure the disease? You should do something, anything, to aid those people, instead of spending your millions of dollars going on talk shows and flying around the world in your private jet to preach about how evil I, your creator, am for not solving all of the hardships that I gave you? The issues in your life are meant to strengthen you. When you are hurt, it is so you may inspire an impetus to fight back against that which hurt you. If I stepped in to sweep up every problem, what would life teach you? You would be complacent, lazy, and would die without ever having known hardship."

I know it's blasphemous to put words in His mouth, but, really, I think God teaches us time and time again that life is hard and that we have the tools He gave us, our freedom, our hands, our voices, to learn from those problems and do something to fix them.

Here we are 2000 years after He sent us His son, and we have machines that can do surgery, skyscrapers, planes, virtual reality, the ability to communicate across the planet, people in space stations, people going to the moon, we've accomplished so much and overcome so many obstacles. We learned to fly, we learned to breathe in space, we learned to breathe underwater, we learned to transmit our voices across the world in split seconds.

And yet Mr. Fry thinks that because children suffer and God doesn't intervene, there must be no God.

I'm sorry this took me so long to get to but I think it's such a great thought!

It always irritates me to hear people like Stephen Fry go on a pseudo-intellectual rant about how, if God exists, He's evil because children get sick and God will somehow be intimidated or humbled by Stephen Fry shaking his fist at him. When, if Stephen Fry truly believes it is evil to not stop a child from suffering when you are capable of stopping it, then he is just as evil as he accuses of God of being because Stephen Fry certainly is capable of helping more children than the average person and he is thus an evil person for spending any time not doing just that.

Who is he to curse God for not doing something that he is capable of doing and chooses not to? It is the worst kind of virtue signalling. Stephen Fry does not care about suffering children. He just wants to use them in his seriously flawed argument against God and Christianity.

It also exposes a deep ignorance of God. Stephen Fry has spent no time attempting to explore or understand Christianity or the nature of God before criticizing it, which makes all his criticisms irrelevant nonsense.

God is not evil because bad things exist, bad things exist because we created bad things by going against God. All suffering, including sickness, is a result of the fall of man. It's our fault.

And also, we are the body of the Christ. We are supposed to be helping our fellow human beings when they are suffering or in crisis. God has given us free will and let us reign over the earth and that means bad things will happen because people make bad decisions and God's not evil because he doesn't intervene and put a stop to every bad thing.

When people like Stephen Fry don't help a suffering child and we lose that child, that is sad, especially for us here on Earth. But that child ends up with God. That child is alive and happy and in a place with no pain and suffering. God is doing what Stephen Fry did not. And we just don't like it because it separates us.

And those are also the people who want to blame every bad thing that happens on God but will never give Him the credit for anything good that happens.

They try to put God in a box and say "if he was real then this wouldn't happen." They are trying to create the perimeters of what they think God should do if he were real instead of studying God and his word to determine what would actually be the case if he were real.

Those people are so fake and their criticisms stem from ignorance. I would respect them a lot more if they took the time to learn and understand what the teachings are before trying to criticize them. Instead of trying to address what the actual belief is or understand who God actually is, they create their own standards and then use them to try and debunk something that their standards don't accurately present.

[clxja16]

To hell and back

Part II

Max Verstappen x Reader

Genre: childhood trauma, established relationship

Warnings: none I think

Word Count: 1.5K

Author's Note: ummmm I have no idea if this is what everyone was expecting for a part two because I didn't think it was gonna go this way. Also apologies for taking this long, I ended up being really busy this past weekend. but nevertheless, enjoy.

Part I

---------------------------

After leaving the hotel room, you went to a boutique hotel down the street, and got a room for the night.  You didn’t want to be anywhere near Max at this moment.  You were so angry with how he spoke to you, what he accused you of being.  You never asked him to take care of you, to pay your bills, to give you money.  You haven’t even been with any other driver, except for him.   You put your phone on silent and went to bed, you weren’t going to make amends tonight.  You were gonna let Max sit with his words.  You were gonna make him regret every speaking to you in that way.  

The next morning, you thought about delaying your return even further.  Maybe get breakfast before going to see Max.  You wanted him to truly understand what he said to you.  He thought of you as a gold-digging whore, you were gonna act like a gold-digging whore then.  However when you grabbed your phone, you were met with over a hundred missed calls from, not only Max but, the entire Redbull racing team.  Max, Daniel, Checo, Christian, Liam, Geri, even Carola tried calling you last night.  It seemed as if everyone with your number, that Max knew, tried to call you. Your text notifications were worse.  Not only did you actually receive text messages from everyone, but your social media messages were also filled.  You were beginning to feel a little bad about last night.  You opened your text messages with Max, scrolling to the bottom for the most recent text to read; 

Max: you don’t need to come back, but at least tell me you’re safe.  Christian said that if we don’t hear from you in the morning, then we’ll call the police.  I need to know that you’re safe, y/n. 

You were overwhelmed with guilt, regardless of how Max made you feel, you should’ve let him know that you were safe.  You didn’t, you couldn’t delay any further.  You raced back to him.  

You thought of a thousand ways to make it up to him.  How you would apologize to him, what you would say, how to explain your thought process to him.  But as you got closer to the hotel room that you left him in, you slowed down.  You thought about last night further.  

‘Gold-digging formula one whore’ were his exact words, and you were gonna apologize to him?  You wanted to laugh at yourself for being so forgetful.  You were going to apologize to him, for not informing him that you were safe, but nothing else, nothing more.  He needed to apologize for his words, he needed to beg for your forgiveness, he needed to make amends, not you.  He caused this to all happen, not you.  These were his words not yours. 

You opened the hotel room door, to see him sitting on the couch, he was awake.  His eyes bloodshot, when his eyes met yours, he shot to his feet.  You could see his shoulders relax.  The sight of him, broke your heart a little.  Tears welled in his eyes, as he made his way towards you.  You let the door close behind you, but you didn’t dare move a step towards him.  It seemed as if one night, aged him by years.  He looked exhausted, his hair sticking out in certain places, he was still in last night's clothes.  

As Max stepped right in front of you, he dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around your waist.  You felt his tears dampen your shirt, you were taken aback by the action.  Max was not one to cry.  His soft sobs made all the anger you felt from last night dissipate. You didn’t know what to do, frozen in place.  

“Max,” you whispered softly, scared that you would break him, if you spoke any louder.  

“I was so scared y/n,” Max whispered against your waist, as he clung to tightly, before looking up to you.  You ran your fingers through his hair, taking note of the bags under his eyes.  

“Did you sleep last night?” You ask, as your voice fills with worry.  

Max shook his head, “I didn’t want to miss you, if you called.” 

“I shouldn't have left, I’m…” 

“Don’t,” Max cut you off, getting to his feet.  Taking your face in his hands, tilting your head up to maintain eye contact with him, “don’t apologize, this is my fault.  I should have never said such vile words to you.  If I was to ever say anything disrespectful about you or towards you ever again, I shall rip my own tongue out from my mouth.  You don’t deserve my drunk outburst.  You don’t deserve my whiplash of emotions.  You deserve someone better…” 

“I don’t want someone better than you,” you grip Max’s hands as he holds your face, “I want you, and all the emotions you hold inside of you.”  You stared into Max’s eyes, you could stay in this moment forever.  You could be right here with him for the rest of the world’s existence.  

There was a knock at the room door behind you, both you and Max hesitated to move; wanting to be in that moment with each other for a second longer.  “Max,” it was Christian that called out, “did you hear from y/n?”  Max pulled away first, you could feel his fingertips linger, not wanting to let go of you in the slightest. 

Max sighed, as he moved to open the door, “hi, I’m sorry, she came back this morning, you were right.” 

You stepped out from behind Max to present yourself, “sorry for the trouble I caused last night.”  You make a mental note to apologize to the team for the trouble you caused.  

Christian sighed, “are you okay?”  Christian directed his question to you, he had never seen Max so worked up about anything before last night.  Max was a champion at heart, he always acted like a true champion, someone that was always calm even in the most tense situations.  Max didn’t allow for distractions to bother him.  Until last night.  

“I’m alright, I was just very angry last night,” you said, beginning to feel more guilty for causing so many people to worry.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” 

“It’s my fault, Christian,” Max spoke up, taking your hand in his.  “I was drunk and I said things that I shouldn’t have, It won’t happen again.”  Max turned to look at you, you could see the emotions swirling in his eyes, “It will never happen again.”  

-

After taking a fresh shower, and getting cleaned up, you and Max went out to get breakfast together.  You sat across from him at the table, on an open terrace.  The sunshine highlighted his hair, to look like gold foil.  “You know,” Max said, not looking up from his menu, “I've been thinking about last night, and how to make it up to you.” 

“You don’t need to make it up to me,” you shook your head, as you spoke.  

“You said you love me,” Max recalled, making eye contact now, “that’s the first time you ever told me you love me.” 

You and Max had only been together for a short amount of time, and this was only the third race you attended with him.  “And?”  You asked.  

“Did you mean it, or were you exaggerating to make a point?” 

You couldn’t stop the confusion writing itself across your face.  You wondered how broken a person had to be, to ask that type of question.  “I meant it,” you said, sitting up properly in your chair, “why would you think I didn’t mean it?” 

Max sighed, looking back down at the menu in his hand, “It’s been a long time since anyone said they loved me.” 

“Max,” you spoke up, reaching for his hand.  Max closed the menu, grasping your hand firmly, looking at you with emotions swirling through his eyes. “I love you.” You watched Max pause, taking a deep breath, before letting go of your hand and looking back at the menu.  “Max,” you called out to him.  He looked up at you, as tears lined his eyes.  “You don’t have to say it back if you’re not ready, but acknowledge that I said something.” 

“How do you know you love me?  I didn’t win, I didn’t do good, I…” 

“Max,” you couldn’t stop your face from filling with horror, hearing him still connect your love for him to his race finish.  “I love you because you make me happy, because you always let me pull the blanket off you when we’re sleeping.  Because you always let me watch my show on the tv, even if the game is on.  Because you never let me open a single door when we’re together, because you make sure I walk on the inside of the sidewalk.  Because you remind me to call my parents every weekend.  Because you always kiss me before you leave in the morning.  Because you give me the bigger piece when we’re sharing food.  Because you always tell me I look pretty when we go out.  I love you because you make me happy, not because of some race finish.  I love you because of all the little things you do for me.”  

“I love you.”

-------------------------------

Taglist: @theravenclawfangirl@glame@balletgielymm@kuskumu@beyaesthetics-blog

[whoistrash]

Why change matters and how Amphibia did it better than The Owl House.

"Watching and Dreaming" made me cry a lot during its premiere. I was amazed and, I'd say, dazed by it. Then I forgot about it for a while. Now I finished re-watching Amphibia for the first time since TOH ended. My hype died down, and I have some thoughts. A lot, actually.

Amphibia's ending was incredibly painful and made me sob like a baby for two whole weeks the first time I watched it. That's because it was not only beautiful and heartbreaking, but truly GOOD. Brilliant, actually. I absolutely agree with a statement that any other ending would literally be a contradiction to the whole main plot, especially Anne's arc. The girls had to learn to let go in order to grow as individuals - the thing they had the biggest problem with. Saying goodbye was the only logical option, plot-wise. It still hurt like hell, though. Separating the multidimensional, against-all-odds relationships (especially my beloved spranne. Ouch, ouch, ouch). The Owl House does no such thing - everybody stays together. They live happily ever after.

Paradoxically, I think that it's the main reason why I'd choose "The Hardest Thing" over "Watching and Dreaming" every single time. I know we shouldn't really compare them in EVERY aspect, since TOH had way more things to deal with in the final episode, but the fact that Luz got to not only stay, but to freely travel between worlds as she pleases really took the whole "growing up and finding your true self no matter what the other people do/say about you" thing out the door. Luz from season one, episode one, and Luz from the finale are not really that different. Well, she certainly became more traumatised and depressed than before, but in terms of personal growth? Nope. Luz - from the very beginning - was cheerful, open, caring and very selfless, willing to literally help every stranger she met no matter how it would affect her. She had little to no boundaries, but, well, you can't argue that she was A GOOD, SELFLESS PERSON. Now, we could say that her arc here would be learning that sometimes you should put yourself before others, that you can't save everyone, that you can't trust every person you meet. And she learns it! She fucking does! She helps Philip not knowing who he will become, and then suffers from the consequences, because she helped the wrong person. And then it's all erased, when she saves Collector's life and meets Papa Titan (or whatever we call them).

I have so much to say about this. All of TOH's "villains" (Amity, Lilith, Hunter, The Collector) that were given a redemption arc literally get turned into lifeless, edgy trauma dumpsters, that suddenly loose all of their previous character, quirks and sass (well, maybe except for Lilith, she just started to express them differently, I think, but still, it was WAY too big of a change). I won't dwell on it (since many, many fans called it out already - as they should), and will focus on something different. The only one marked as irredeemable is Belos. Good. Okay. He's irredeemable, because he's a white, christian puritan who won't listen to anyone but himself. Also a genocidal maniac. That's the lesson for Luz here. "You can't save everyone. Some people are just straight up evil". And it's very, very true. But.

From all of the "villains" I mentioned before, Belos is the one that had the most reasons to, let's say, take a dark turn. Those reasons are what makes him irredeemable - he's just too convinced he's right, because, in his mind, he has evidence to prove it. But how do we learn about this? Maybe by seeing his part of the story? Maybe by learning about his brother and Evelyn, about their relationship? It couldn't be straight up awful, since Philip literally brought his brother back to life over and over again, he wanted his brother, or at least the picture of Caleb that satisfied him the most. There was more to it than only "you betrayed me and now I will hate you forever". Do we get to see any of that? No. Instead we get an all-knowing, all-doing being that literally choose Luz as "the one" for being kind and trusting, that convinces her that Belos is, indeed, a lost cause. Do you see where I'm going with this?

Luz, the person that on the literal episode two was told that there is no such thing as a "chosen one" and that she can't always hop into action to save everybody, because, it's, well, not always possible, DOES EXACTLY THAT in the finale by taking a bullet for The Collector, the, you know, very freshly redeemed and suddenly cute and funky villain, whom Luz trusts immediately. AND SHE IS REWARDED FOR IT BY BEING MADE THE CHOSEN ONE. BY A GOD-LIKE BEING THAT CLAIMS TO BE ALL-KNOWING AND CAN DECIDE WHO IS RIGHT AND WHO IS WRONG, BECAUSE OF PERSONAL (King) REASONS. Just like, you know... Belos? The irredeemable villain? And then Luz lets go of the moral dilemmas that's been keeping her up at night for the past months, makes up her mind, defeats the bad guy, learns nothing, and gets to stay in the Boiling Isles and on Earth. With her beautifully redeemed girlfriend and friends whom she kept secrets from and lied to out of fear of being ostracised (you see the pattern here, right?) for, again, months.

I love Amphibia. I love The Owl House. But Amphibia handles it's "villains", generally wronged characters and the whole change/no change thing way better. Well, maybe besides the Core - they got a bit wasted in my opinion. But still. Sasha. Grime. Marcy. Andrias. Anne herself. They learn and change. And more importantly, they face consequences and come to understand and accept them. There's no "chosen one" here. Anne gets the proposition because she's the first one to use the music box for good in literal millenia. A fact, plain and simple (not an opinion based on personal motivations), that makes sense plot-wise, and adds so, so much to Anne's arc. Because Anne from season one, episode one wouldn't care. The one from the finale cares very damn much. And that's the biggest difference.

Saying goodbye makes the message way stronger. The more I think about it, however, the more I'm starting to be afraid that there's no The Message in The Owl House to begin with. Luz learns very little, yet ends up with everything she ever wanted. There's no power behind it. The "find the right people and choose to trust them, not everyone will be your friend" and "some things are out of your control, some people are just bad" aspect is even weaker, as proven by basically the whole season 3. I will end it by my favorite quote from Amphibia, that I think about on daily basis. Have a good day, y'all.

"Change can be difficult, but it's how we grow. It can be the hardest thing to realize you can't hold on to something forever. Sometimes, you have to let it go; but, of the things you let go, you'd be surprised what makes its way back to you."

[daught3rofyahweh]

I'm a Catholic, lets yap about Satan ✧

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹

Let's face it, movies lie.

They lie about a lot of things, like that the pentagram is the symbol of demons and that witchcraft immediately means Satanic.

Movies lie that all nuns are abusive and cruel, they lie that Jesus was a white man, etc. They lie that Satanist sacrifice children and animals, they lie that all Satanists belong to a cult, they lie that all Satanists are up for assault.

Sadly, it's rare to see a Christian have a real conversation with a Satanist that doesn't involve fighting, ridicule, and attempts to convert the individual. How many of these Christians go off of the movies and assume the information is straight out of the history books? Sadly, a lot. Christians will also see a video of a girl spitting up into a bowl, crying, and screaming and immediately jump into the conclusion that she must be possessed by an evil force rather than considering the person has a disability or doing it for attention.

Satan doesn't want to kill you nor does he want to possess you

Does Satan like God? No. Does he want to psychically harm you just because you like God? Also no. In all real exorcisms, it's usually always a angry demon, never Satan. Satan converted the fallen angels to follow in his path but not to literally follow his every move, they were all just sent to hell together, that doesn't make Satan their ruler pursue.

Forgot who made Satan?

Christians say they know God created Satan but have they truly acknowledged it? What is "pure evil" exactly? Someone could commit threaten someone with a gun one night and then help an old lady across the street the very next day, get where I'm going?

Satan was God's favorite. God built him to be his favorite. Satan was built on grace but also with his own free will to think whatever he wants, which is why he was capable of choosing not to follow his Father. Have you ever heard a Satanist say that Satan told them to hurt a Christian? Probably not. Satan looks more towards basic trying to persuade people into converting to his side but he never has had assaulted them over it because he is still built on grace. His grace that still lingers inside him, is the exact reason why most Satanists follow Satanic rules that somewhat match the rules of Christianity.

I have talked to Satan in the past. He's not a threat or terrifying.

In the past, when I was still lost on how I wanted my beliefs to be, I tried talking to Satan through tarot. Not once did he ever treat me like I was scum all because I also liked his brother, Gabriel. Satan did have a slight additude but also humor and just regular conversation. All that happened was a fued between Michael and Satan in the conversation, which Gabriel dipped cause he was tired of dealing with them, it felt nothing like just a sibling fued. Nothing too crazy, basically seemed like a roasting battle.

STOP HATING ON SATANISTS BECAUSE THEY AREN'T ACTUALLY BAD PEOPLE. LOVE THY NEIGHBOR AND STOP ACTING LIKE SATAN IS GOING TO DO ANYTHING TO YOU!!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹

[paigegetsmewetter]

Life on earth is truly beautiful, and I give my thanks to the highest above. He made this life from scratch and gave it to billions of people. I always cry at night when it rains (like I am now). Because life is such a beautiful thing. I always take what I have for granted. But boy am I gonna stop that. I always think about harming myself, but I realized, I’m only taking what He gave me, for granted. I am not a perfect human nor am I a perfect Christian but I really do try to be one. Idk what I’d do with God and Jesus Christ. And I don’t know if I’d be able to make it. But I’m glad that my God is merciful and only wants the best for his children. And Ik 9/10 yall probably aren’t gonna read this bc it has nothing to do with Paige, but I just want to spread the word of God and show my gratitude. Y’all have a blessed night🙏🏾❤️!

[gayashawol]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

Ships: Kim Kibum x Male Pastor!Y/N

Genre: Smut, Angsty (It’s kinda hurt but also comfort???)

Word Count: 4000+ words

Content Warning(s): Past Child Molestation (There’s a flashback part, but it’s not very detailed), Dealing with Trauma, Sex, Dark Religious Themes, Religious Trauma

Author’s Notes: Yes, I know I said I don’t allow any sort of rape in any of my stories, but a friend suggested me to do this sort of thing and made me realise that I’ve gone through something similar where I wanted to do something again. So pretty much, this is what the story is going. It is a bit of a weird one, but I hope I was able to convey Key’s emotions well. Also, Key is in his 20s and the Pastor is about in his 40s.

I still think about what happened, the way he touched me, the way he went about it, and even the way my parents reacted when I finally told them.

While I did feel some sort of guilt, I also had this strange feeling inside of me that would admit that I liked it. Maybe I was in denial, or maybe I was being serious. I didn’t know how to feel, or how I could go about my life without pinpointing exactly the feeling I was getting.

Nonetheless, I knew I wanted to do it again.

—

It was something I thought about for years on end, and I hadn’t been able to tell anyone. I was just ashamed, or maybe people would assume that I was lying for clout.

I knew that it was something that truly happened to me, I even had the very clothes that I wore on that day. I remembered what I ate for breakfast, what my mother was planning on making me for dinner, and even down to a couple of minutes before the incident.

I never went to therapy for my pain, nor I ever went back to church. My parents were disappointed, grounding me every time I missed one day for a week until I went. It was at that very moment that my faith was crippled.

I tend to cry when I think of my emotions, but this time was different. A part of me wanted to move on, even though I didn’t know how to. That was when I was on the phone with my parents, explaining about the pain that I’d been going through. They suggested me to go back, but I wasn’t sure.

My parents hated the fact that I was an atheist. The amount of screaming matches I had to go through, just because they wanted to force the bible on me. Every single time I tell them to stop, they get louder and louder. I had no power over them, and I would feel trapped within myself.

However, this was the first time I agreed with them. I was in my 20s, surely he would change. I shook my head, before cutting off to process exactly what I was about to do.

I planned my trip to my hometown, packing up clothes I would know they would approve. I knew I had to look as manly as possible, especially when I go to church. I took in a crisped grey suit and pants, with a bow on them.

A couple of days later, I finally made that trip and was at the front door of my parents’ house. They seemed so happy to see me upon opening and letting me in, but the facade broke away, and their strictness was back.

“Kibum, if you’re staying here, you will need to go to church with us every Sunday.” I sighed, face-palming while contemplating why I thought it would be a good idea to come back home. I knew I’d only be here for a week, but just the memories coming back made it ten times worse.

I saw my childhood room, thinking about all the times I cried alone in my bed that day. I just wish I could speak to my past self and comfort him. Everything here was filled with horrible thoughts, and not even the TV was safe. The amount of Christian content that I had to watch was concerning. I used to be made fun of at school for not watching shows that all the kids were watching simply because it wasn’t allowed.

I saw a picture of my younger self, in a suit ready to go to church. Right next to it, there was another picture of me, but I was being baptised. It was the happiest day of my life. I thought that I was going to love Jesus forever and be a Christian for the rest of my life. Sadly, that wouldn’t be the case.

I woke up to my parents knocking on my door to get ready to go to church. I was very nervous, yet I put on a brave face as I took a shower to clear my mind. Maybe, this was going to be fine, right?

When I got ready to go into the car, I saw my father waiting outside while my mother walked slowly down the stairs. We didn’t live that far from our local church, but my parents always insisted on walking together like a family. I never understood that, even now as an adult.

I was finally at the place where I feared, the hall. Everyone was walking in, chatting to one and another while I sat alone. Seeing how “lonely” I looked according to my mother, as she was chatting to one of my childhood friends, she introduced me to him, causing me to awkwardly wave my hand as the both of them stared in my direction.

I’ve been an adult for some time now, and even listening to the pastor speaking felt like a bore. But then, he stared at me — and we locked eyes for a whole second before turning back to the crowd, and the service suddenly got somewhat interesting. He seemed happier now that I was here, which felt sweet on its own but weird. How did he know who I was even though I was 10 when I last saw him?

My mind was puzzling in my head, and before I could even process what just happened, the church was over. I didn’t even realise the time until my mother tapped me on the shoulder for food.

I sat down at a table alone, not wanting to sit next to my parents. I had a plate full of rice, bulgogi and kimchi, and ate slowly but steadily. As I was just forgetting about what just happened, I saw Pastor Y/N walking towards me. My eyes widened, and I was still in shock by the time he reached me.

“Is this seat free?” He asked. I shook my head and he sat by me. He still had the same scent 10 years later. He hasn’t even changed a thing at all! As a matter of fact, he looked even better!

“Kibum… you’ve grown so much! I’m so glad you decided to come by today!” He seemed polite in nature, and didn’t seem to have any malicious intentions. I mean, it was normal for him to go up to people and speak to them.

But then, the incident started playing in my head. I stood as still as a rock, looking down so he couldn’t see me. I wanted to ask but was nervous. What if he wasn’t the same guy anymore? Surely he could do me one last time…

“Hey, Kibum… can I invite you to dinner tomorrow?” I quickly agreed, nothing trying to take time to think about what I was getting myself into.

Tomorrow felt like a breeze, I didn’t even remember what I did when I was going home. I did remember my mother pulling me into a corner away from my father just to ask me if Pastor Y/N did anything to me. I kept quiet, shaking my head as I looked back at Mother to see if my answer was verified.

“I saw him chatting to you today. He told me he misses you after all these years, and wants to see you in Church more. He could help you build your relationship with God again.” I tried not to roll my eyes for the 8th time, but I wanted to keep the lies going… unless I wasn’t.

I was invited to come for dinner at Pastor Y/N’s. I knew it was something I didn’t want to share with my parents, as I knew that it would come with something more than just two consenting adults meeting in a house.

That very night, I made sure to buy some condoms and lube to bring with me in case anything escalated. I planned out an outfit that seemed masculine enough so he wouldn’t raise an eyebrow at me — even though I was sure that he knew for a fact that I was not a heterosexual man.

I fell asleep, seeing the man that I always dreamed of being close to — but was unsure how to feel about it. As an adult, I felt like a kid again. He held my hand like he was crossing the road, reminding me to look both ways before walking. I saw the road form around me, seeing each sparkle and star create the world around us, seeing familiar people appearing one by one.

It was then that I was brought into the Church, people were singing while praying at the same time. There were too many people, so Pastor Y/N took me backstage where the changing rooms were. At that point, my heart started pounding. This was the moment that it happened, his hand landed on my thighs so he could stroke them. His hands were rough and scratchy, they were also huge enough to cover the whole diameter of my legs from my thighs to my ankles.

My dress pants were pulled down, revealing bright blue underwear with thunderbolts on them. I’d thought he would stop right there, but he continued on and removed the very thing that was hiding my genital area. Everything was a blur after that, having my head facing the wall and feeling the action happening from my rear end.

I woke up almost feeling like I wanted to cry, so I lay there at 5 am while waiting for me to fall back to sleep. I then felt something hard underneath my pants, which meant that I had a wet dream as well.

This was how it was for over a decade. I get flashback dreams, I wake up crying, I get hard, I masturbate, I fall back to sleep. It never failed me. It remained the same ever since. I wasn’t sure if it was because of how I process things, but everyone that I told was quick to say how unnatural it was for me to act the way I did.

I woke up with my pants still down, unable to recall what happened last night. I got into the shower, thinking about everything I wanted to say to that man. My stomach was growling like I was hungry, but deep down inside I was a nervous wreck.

I had to awkwardly eat breakfast with my parents since my mother filled out the whole table with all sorts of fruits, a tray for the tea set and some other drinks, and bread with some sandwich toppings on another tray. All the trays that were displayed made it seem like there was way more stuff than expected. I rarely ate — only trying to take as little as possible so I could excuse myself into my room to get ready.

I sat in my room, waiting for his name to pop up on my phone. He gave me the green light, prompting me to get dressed and walk out of the house. It was noon and my parents were a bit concerned as to why I was leaving at this time. I thought of a quick lie of me walking around my childhood city as an excuse and they accepted it — surprisingly.

I ran off, walking towards a train station that would lead me to his place. He called me a couple of times to ask me if I was coming, but I was underground and had to wait until I arrived to reply to him. He picked me up at the train station, pulling me into a warm embrace which felt imitated.

“Kibum… how have you been doing? Was the journey alright?” He said in his soft voice, possibly softer than he was at the church the day before. He held my hand as we walked out of the station, walking towards what seemed to be his neighbourhood. He lived in a nice little penthouse that seemed small, but it had all the view he could have.

We entered from the entrance, before going onto the lift to the very top. He unlocked his door, opening it to showcase a very warm atmosphere that I could get at any pub or restaurant. Everywhere seemed neat but messy at the same time, while also looking expensive looking. It was a sight I didn’t want to miss, especially with the fact that every single glance was something worth noting, like the gramophone sitting at the corner of the room.

“Make yourself at home, Kibum.” He patted the couch, indicating him asking me to sit down. I eventually did, while he was searching around the room for something catching up to our conversation. “So Kibum… tell me what you have been doing ever since you left Church.”

“Well…” I started. “I moved out and so I couldn’t afford to come all the way here.” I went with the conversation, knowing that he was going to say something very cliche.

“Kibum…” He stopped what he was doing to sit next to me, with his hands on mine while they were on my lap. “Listen to me… Jesus will always love you, regardless of that.”

I didn’t know if I wanted to continue with that talk, yet it was my fault for agreeing to go to a literal pastor’s house. Sure I didn’t want to go through a whole lecture on how God is good and great for the millionth time, but a part of me just wants to see what would happen… between us.

“I always felt like I had to go every Sunday… but the moment I couldn’t… I feel fake.” I lied, even giving him the puppy eyes that I mastered since I was a kid.

“Kibum, don’t say that…” I felt his hand on my back, the adrenaline of the conversation was causing me to go on and keep the lie going. “I always knew your love for Jesus is real, even since you were a boy.”

He was starting to get close to me, having his other hand stroking my crotch area. I was horrified, but I was also excited that I was going to get with Pastor Y/N again after all these years of craving for his touch.

“Kibum…” He was checking me off through my clothes, and I could see a small spark in his eyes. He saw something that he was looking for, and that was me. My young body that he wanted to use again. “…Please… may I pray for you?”

Suddenly, my mind went blank, unsure how to feel or to respond. Was he going to use me again, or was this bait created by my imagination which was so desperate that I generated my suffering by my thoughts?

After all the thoughts that ran through my mind, I agreed, holding both of my hands while we faced each other. His eyes closed, and so did mine. This used to be my everything as a child, being able to picture God clearly with his white-washed face and his gown. Nowadays, I see nothing. It was impossible to convince myself to see otherwise.

“Father in heaven, I thank you for being brother Kibum back into the Church.“ He started praying, in which he started becoming more preachy as every sentence occurred.

I felt his every nudge, every poke, and all the attempts he made to touch me in any way or form. He even managed to place his hand on my thighs while it was spread apart, causing me to be unable to close it.

He was getting deep into his prayer, and I was feeling slightly uncomfortable, but excited at the same time. This was what I was waiting for, or at least that was what I thought I needed. I wasn’t sure how to feel. Did I accomplish anything? Did I make things worse? Oh god… did I make anything worse?

But then… he slipped his hand under my pants, and all those thoughts left my mind.

It was just pure… silence. I was horny, I needed this, and I wanted this. It was exactly what I was looking for at this very moment… someone using me for their benefit. That was my guilty pleasure.

“Wow… your penis barely has changed!” Pastor Y/N went close to me, and I gulped as loudly as I felt like a cartoon character. I could feel that lust in his eyes, doing something that he shouldn’t have.

Then… his lips touched mine. There was no noise, just the sound of smooches and hums in between. He laid me down on the couch, kissing me more like I was a drug. He wasn’t afraid to use his tongue, which made him look attractive to me.

He pulled out, looking directly at me. “I know you’re a homosexual, Kibum.” That threw me off guard, but I owned my identity, so I claimed it as it was. He told me that we could pray again later, but he wanted to feel my gorgeous boy body.

Boy body…? What does he mean by that? Why would he exclaim that my body was one of a boy? Could it be that he still sees me as the kid he used? Either way, my vision of myself was still that young me, but with more clarity and less confusion. With my big age, I would’ve learned how to say stop. Nonetheless, it has been locked away in a treasure chest, and thrown out the window.

I didn’t feel a single guilt throughout all of it. He kept stripping off my clothes, showing my bare body to him, feeling our skin against each other’s. I knew it was Pastor Y/N, but a part of me was starting to gain some sort of attraction to him.

It was like… he wasn’t a Pastor to me… he was a childhood crush.

“Mmm yes… You’ve always been such a good boy…” He caressed my cheeks, while I felt his finger rubbing the lip of my anus.

“I’ll go and get the lube… I’ll be right back.” He kisses me on the forehead, before walking away to his room. I looked down to see my clothes on the floor, including my boxers that I had worn when it happened to me. I kept it after all this time since no matter how many times I tried to wash them, it still smelt like him…

Wait… why did I decide that this was a good idea? I mean, I knew I needed to get over it eventually, but was I doing too much?

It was a line that I didn’t know existed — at least for me anyway. I didn’t see a problem having sex with Pastor Y/N. In fact, it was my dream to have sex with him as an adult now that I know what he has done to me. Unfortunately for me, the fear and guilt came back to bite me in the ass, and now I was unsure of what would be the right choice for me. I felt like a mom nagging to myself and hating it because I had to wash the dishes.

Well, I already went this far so it would be far too late for me to give it up and go home. The least I could do would be to suck his cock and call it a day.

“Kibum, do you want to come to the bedroom?” He called me, to which I immediately complied regardless of any prior thoughts. I walked over to his room, where I saw a very neat room with a comfortable-looking bed and antique-looking pieces of furniture with fake plants around them.

“Come and sit here! I won’t hurt you!” My body began to vibrate, but was unsure whether it was a bad thing or not. But either way, I crawled over to him, with my butt facing him. I could tell it aroused him since he would open my butt cheeks so he would lick me there. Or… at least he would’ve due to my butt plug was in the way.

“I see you’re prepared for me, Kibum! Should I remove that for you?” I nodded my head quickly, and he did what he needed to do. He slowly pulled out my plug, in which I felt everything from the stretching to the rubbing on my prostate. When it was out, I could feel cold air going inside. That stopped when he put his warm fingers inside of me.

It… did feel good, and the way he was very gentle with me this time made me convinced that he might be in love with me. From the way he would lick me, to the type of treatment he was giving me. I knew that it wasn’t something that I wanted to take away from myself.

It was time for him to go inside me, and I opted to go into a missionary position so I could see him the whole time. My legs had to go all the way up to my shoulders, but it was still enjoyable. The moment he went inside, my moans started. He still felt very big inside, just like how it was before. The way he grabbed my legs when he wanted to go faster was something that was unexplainable.

“Mmm… you’re so amazing, Kibum. You’re so tight… you’ve always been tight… that amazing boy hole…” I didn’t take notice of what he said, but the way he gave me praise overpowered any outright creepy comment he might’ve said during the session.

His grunts were something I’d hear in a hentai. If anyone heard him for the first time, they would’ve assumed that he was a toxic top, when he was really a nice person who looked out for his bottoms. Meanwhile, I sounded like I was meowing. My voice may go from low to high, slow to fast, and quiet to loud very quickly. I could also be overstimulated, so curling into a ball would be something I’d do. A typical bottom.

The way he thrusts inside was something I could explain in detail. I could feel it every time he went deep, so much that we grunted at the same time. But when he goes faster, that would be when we go out of sync and I get crazier.

“Ahhh yes… your moans are so cute, Kibum…” I just love it when he says his name. It would always gives me goosebumps whenever he reminds me of my presence and how much it drives him insane.

I want this feeling to last forever, and I want it to be with him. He seemed so into me, that I forget about everything that happened before that very moment. It felt like this was a hookup date and that I met him on a gay dating app. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he has been on there for at least once. And even if he had sex with other boys like me, somehow he realised that I was the boy he needed.

He needed me more than anything. And I wanted him too.

“Yes…yes… I’m about to cum…” I begged him to place his manhood in my mouth, and he did just that. His white juices went all over my face while some went into my mouth.

He laid me down onto the bed, making me relax beside him. He was still cuddling me while he went soft. He kissed me on the cheek, before falling asleep. I glanced around the room like a lost child, and my sense of my mind slowly started coming back. A part of me couldn’t believe I agreed to have sex with Pastor Y/N, while at the same time, I was glad I did.

I don’t know… but I’d say that it was this strange feeling that always gets to me whenever I look back at this very moment.

—

dividers by @cafekitsune

[mypulisicz]

sparks fly - christian pulisic

you're the kind of reckless that should send me running

summary - after not ever being in love y/n finds herself tangled up in a situation with a certain american footballer.

pairing - christian pulisic x fem!reader

song inso - sparks fly (taylor swift)

warnings! - language, mention of being drunk and alcohol

word count - 1.6k

note - this is my first fic back from my hiatus and my first pic on this new account and i am more than excited to share this with you. missed u guys xx

-

he sat there. still.

"jamie, i'm so sorry... i just... i don't know.."

"don't what?! don't love me? y/n, a whole fucking year together and you tell me you don't feel anything?! what do you expect me to say to that? this is fucking bullshit!"

you sat there. still.

you knew that jamie always loved you more than anything, ad in your defense you thought you loved him too, but as time went on and the more time you spent with him the more you realized you never truly loved him, at least not the way you thought he deserved to be loved.

"whatever, y/n. i'm fucking leaving"

gone. another relationship gone.

you couldn't process your thoughts.

you knew what you did was wrong, but you still couldn't believe what happened.

why couldn't you love people? why did every relationship you've had feel meaningless? why do you still try to date people?

the second you got in your car to leave the restaurant you started crying. you felt bad for jamie but you also felt bad for yourself.

you always tried so hard to love, to feel something that could only be described as irrevocable admiration and not just being infatuated with someone for a short period of time.

𖤐

a few weeks went by and you were doing better.

as cliche as it sounds, you had been working on yourself and just getting back to be afloat mentally.

in fact, you had gotten an invitation to a party your friend mason was throwing.

you didn't know if you were going to go or not. mason is a football player and his social crowd is much different from yours.

after thinking about it, you thought you would go. it would be nice to get out for a weekend and just let loose a little.

𖤐

the night of the party finally came and you were feeling good. you felt confident. you felt pretty. and you felt ready to just have a good time.

you pulled up to mason's house and the house was booming with music and lit up by bright LED lights from every angle inside and outside the house.

one thing about mason is that he takes throwing a party to heart as if its his job.

if it were his job he would be getting a promotion every party because holy shit.

usually you would get just a little overwhelmed and anxious about the scene, but tonight it made you excited and it filled you with adrenaline. you made your way to the door. you first wanted to find mason and just thank him for the invite and let him know you were here.

you walked into the house and was immediately met with a giant crowd of people, and soon realized that your mission of finding mason was going to be a lot harder than you thought.

after looking for a good 10, 15 minutes you decided to give up for a little and grab some food.

there were surprisingly not that many people near the food table, so you took advantage of that to grab as much food as possible.just as you were about to leave to table, a guy who looked oddly familiar walked up.

"hungry? me too."

as lame as the comment was, you giggled a little.

"just a little"

you two exchanged awkward smiles, and you thought it would end there, but the man broke the silence with an even lamer statement.

"so, what's your favorite fruit?"

maybe it wasn't lame, but it was certainly... interesting?

"hmmm maybe an apple. they are never not good, y'know?

"yeah i totally agree..... i'm christian by the way"

"i'm y/n"

"nice to meet you, y/n"

"nice to meet you, christian"

𖤐

you spent the next hour talking to strangers and dancing. you were enjoying yourself way more than you thought you would. you did in fact find mason and you two talked for a good 20 minutes.

while you were talking to people the same guy, christian, came up to talk.

"hey stranger"

it was an ironic statement because you were, in fact, strangers.

"christian! how've you been?" one of the guys said.

from then on you just watched the conversation. it was interesting getting to know more about christian, and everyone in that group.

some more time went by and mason found his way over to you and the people you were talking to.

"oi chris, i see you met y/n"

"what's up. and yeah. she's great."

"is christian here being a dick to you or trying to start something?"

christian rolled his eyes as you sat there and let out a small chuckle.

𖤐

the party went on for a few more hours, and you were more than tired. you were very drunk and ready to just go home and get in bed.

you said goodbye to mason and the people you had met throughout the night, including christian, but right as you were about to leave you realized you couldn't drive. you were very much not sober.

"hey mase, i hate to ask you this but could you maybe drive me home, i've had way too much to drink and can't drive. not like this"

"yeah of course!"

as mass grabbed his keys christian walked up to the door to grab his jacket and disown keys.

"i thought you left?"

"yeah, well, i'm way too drunk to drive home so mason is giving me a ride."

"well i'm leaving now if you want me to just drive you home. if that's fine with you of course"

"um, yeah, sure, that's actually great, thanks!"

you got in christians car and were immediately meet with a surprising absence of awkwardness, as if you were already friends with christian.

"so where to ya live? in a non creepy way. i realize how weird that sounds to ask"

you let out a chuckle and told him where you lived and he started driving.

you two talked the entire way to your house. you had assumed he was one of masons teammates, but christian said he did in fact play for chelsea with mason. you also found out that you two had a lot in common. you both liked the same music, rap and country, which he found odd that an english girl liked country, and that you both had a bit of an obsession with chipotle. christian was also surprised to find out that you were part american. well, your dad was american, so it wasn't really that important or interesting, but christian thought it was wild.

when you finally got to your house you felt a wave of disappointment. you really enjoyed talking to christian. it was like you two had been friends for years. at least, that's how it felt.

"this might be weird to ask, but do you wanna come in?"

"sure"

christian smiled and walked in through the door, making you blush.

you fixed the both of you some microwavable taquitos and sat on the couch. you were watching a show, but not really watching it. you and christian talked for what felt like hours.

by this point you had sobered up quite a bit and you could finally start remembering the night as more than just a blur.

then it hit you that you were in your living room, eating taquitos, watching love island, with christian pulisic, who is your friend masons teammate.... and it wasn't awkward or weird.

one thing lead to another and the next thing you know, you and christian were all over each other.

there were these exploding, bright, but heavy fireworks going off between you. it was something you never felt before.

the two of you broke the kiss at the same, both gasping for air while simultaneously giggling.

you kept on thinking

holy fuck he's a good kisser.

𖤐

the next few weeks went by and you had gone on multiple dates with christian, and spent multiple nights at his house, and visa-versa.

you two had started to develop something more than just hookups and more of a relationship.

christian had invited you over to his house, which wasn't abnormal, so you didn't feel the need to get super dressed up. you but on some jeans, a sweater, and then did your hair and makeup. you then headed over to his house. christian greeted you with a kiss and wrapped his arm around your waist.

"you look good"

"thanks you too"

the two of you walked to his living room, and before being able to do or say anything, christian spoke.

"y/n, what are we?"

"huh?"

"are we just a casual thing, or are we more, because its been driving e crazy. i don't want to overwhelm you with this question, but if you don't mind, i would like an answer"

you sat there and smiled. you had been waiting for this conversation. you had been thinking the same thing, and where you didn't have a problem with being casual if that's what christian wanted, you did want to be more than just hookups and dates. you had felt something with him you hadn't felt with anyone else, including jaime.

"oh christian... i have been wanting to talk about this for a long time too"

"so? what are we?"

he moved closer to you. you moved closer to him.

faces just centimeters apart, both of you being able to feel and hear each others breathing.

"i want to be together. for real. i want to be fully with you, christian"

christian placed his hand on your cheek and moved his eyes from your eyes to your lips.

"i have never agreed with anything more in my life"

christian then placed his lips on yours in a gentle, yet eager way.

it was like you could almost see see the sparks fly.

[agendabymooner]

matilda ! max v. x ofc (hearth sister!ofc)

“you showed me a power that is strong enough to bring sun to the darkest days.”

summary: sylvie ford wasn’t fond of the older men who stuck around in her life and those who didn’t even try to be there for her, but she couldn’t speak for him. one thing was clear, though: there’s a silent agreement that they’d take a different route from those who brought nothing but pain into their lives. (1)(2)(3)(4)(5)(6)(7)(8)(9)(10)

content warning: angst angst hurt/comfort, use of explicit language, mentions of emotional traumas, brief description of paternal relationship issues (character’s father and max’s dad), emotional breakdown/crying (max) and support (ofc), “you talk of the pain like it’s no big deal”, christian horner is funny- ofc just hates him but he's cool

note: posting this because i want a lil context for the post after this lmfaoooo. i am sharing my view on max’s relationship with jos based on what i experienced btw— i have problems with paternal figures so 🫡 cheers enjoy xx

masterlist

She never once liked any older men to exist in her life. All but one, but it was mainly because Toto Wolff truly cared for Tilly. Otherwise, older men were the shittiest people to exist and they can choke for all she cares. 

The distasteful feeling that she got from knowing Christian Horner had subsided as she continued to work with him and the team. She was outspoken and passionate about what she believed in for that moment. She told him upfront about how she respected him but preferred to keep her personal life separate from her work. She never shared anything about her family. Everyone around them only got the gist of her life, but never did she share to everyone who she was. And with her dislike for her employer, she preferred to keep it that way. 

Toto merely earned her respect as he treated their relationship as if there's no man’s land. At least that was what had happened at the beginning, when he and her sister became official.

The end of the term exam ended and coincided with the summer break of the 2015 season. She wondered who he was as a person and had asked her chauffeur to take her to the Mercedes factory. Toto had surprisingly picked her up from the lobby when the receptionist called him about a “college student who would like to get an interview with him” named Sylvie, asking her if she actually needed some help with her research. 

To which she replied, “It’s nice to know you’re a considerate man. No, I don’t. I don’t have any paper to write. My term just ended, in fact.” 

She then spent her days in the factory with him being stuck on his desk. Oftentimes, she followed him like a duckling and asked him questions left and right about how communications between drivers and the public worked. 

It started there and she continued to visit the factory, now gaining a special access ID just in case she wished to barge in to pester the Mercedes staff with questions. Well, not to harass them but rather ask questions or observe here and there should they allow her to sit in.

Now the frown that she etched in her face while she worked became a permanent part of her routine. Christian once joked that she was Toto’s clone, to which her frown deepened in annoyance before she continued to work on whatever task she had in hand. 

She wouldn’t admit to Christian that she found it hilarious few hours after because her pride was bigger than her fondness of him.

But she was proud of herself for reaching that phase of mentorship. Toto was the only older man she tolerated. Having to grow up with no father and with only sisters — while both your stepmother and mother coparented — would give you that feeling. 

There was just something about father figures that made her feel so little and stupid. Perhaps it was her father’s expectations to make her a prodigal F1 driver — to put the Hearth name back to the motorsports community after being absent from the tracks for thirty years.

Julius wasn’t subtle when he’d put Sylvie in a private schooling program just as she started karting at the age of 5. He’d long given up on Tilly and Stevie, but Sylvie was his star driver. How her mother never got full custody of them, she didn’t know, but she disliked the fact that she had to attend driving classes with her father during his week and somehow still had to take the classes despite not living with him. 

She could remember having her piles of books being stored away once after she ended up on the 7th place of their tournament. He said that she didn’t need all of that kind of intelligence and that her education was an easy thing to pursue— it wasn’t a big deal to him. Everything that she wanted, he’d refuse. He wanted her to focus on racing, because the next time she ended up in such a position he’d burn the books. She began to race and fight against other competitors to get a good shot at winning trophies. She became somebody that she didn’t want to be. 

Maybe it was his arrogance and greediness that made her think that all fathers were the same. That… or maybe because she’d seen how Max’s father acted towards him after landing on 5th in Monaco. She felt her heart breaking at the sight of a defeated Max. She had seen it all before, but to hear it up close this time— it was even worse. She could feel his heart pounding, his need to clear his head and possibly cry it out— she could feel it. Because she was in that position before, and it takes a traumatized child to know one. 

Sure, Sylvie had grown a backbone to tell her father about leaving the academy without his knowledge and had somehow loosened her grip on her own ambitious thoughts, but she didn’t think that she’d witness a version of herself in the form of her best friend. This was what she didn’t see after abandoning her friendship with him. But it wasn’t as if she did it just to spite him. 

She merely needed the courage. At some point, Max Verstappen managed to win against his own father — but there was something about the father figures they’ve had in life that were too determined to keep their children on a tight leash. 

She pretended as if she didn’t eavesdrop on Jos’ berating and merely gave him a curt nod and a stink eye before she approached Max’s drivers room. She could hear him throwing his bag in rage… then silence.

He was seething in disappointment. He wasn’t disappointed in anyone but himself. And the anger that he had told Sylvie that he needed to sit down for a moment. By himself. 

There was just something about their fathers that drove them mad. They’re always too greedy and arrogant, and they both damaged their bloodlines at a young age because of their vile desires and lack of empathy towards others and their own children.

Thankfully, his father had flown back to the Netherlands right after the race. Max, from what Christian had told her (with a sympathetic smile), had retired early to his room instead of partying. Good, she told herself, because he needs someone and some ice cream right now. 

Marinara was going to sleep in Stevie’s room tonight. Sylvie was very good at begging until others cave in to her pleading face, and it obviously worked on her older sister too. So after dropping her dog off, her fluffy sandal-cladded feet made their way into another floor and directly to his room. 

She patiently waited for him to open the door after knocking, her plaid pajamas hanging on her hips while she wore a blue jumper over her white cropped shirt. She could hear the faint footsteps gradually moving their way to the door. She was met with Max’s reddening eyes just as he swung the door open. 

Her hands held a tub of ice cream as she shuddered at the cold water the dripped down her hand, “It’s melting. And there’s less calories on it so you’re not gonna fully ruin your diet.” 

He stared at it for a moment, then looked back at her as he stepped aside to let her in.

The night they spent together consisted of watching Miss Congeniality and Easy A (again). While Sylvie laughed along at some jokes, she could hear how he took deep breaths before regaining his composure. It happened every other minute. 

She decided to put the ice cream on the table and turned to look at him. He, acting as if he wasn’t grounding himself ten seconds ago, asked her with a croak, “W-what?” 

She didn’t answer, observing all of him. His facial features. His surprisingly messy bed hair. His bloodshot eyes. His lips were more plump than usual. His cheeks were tinted pink. She could just tell that he wanted to let it out. But he grew up being told that, “his feelings wouldn’t be a big deal when he’s competing.” 

Sylvie pushed her sleeves back and wiped the tear away from his eyes, smiling faintly at him and breathing evenly. She was more grounded than he was, and her simple gestures helped him get back. Somehow. 

Then his deep breathing method didn’t work out, now quietly sobbing as Sylvie hugged him on his side, her hand circling his back gently. Sandra Bullock’s voice tampered his sound of defeat, but it wasn’t as if it mattered. He could cry for as long and as loud as he wanted. 

She hadn’t even realized how late it was until he fell asleep in her arms, head resting on her chest while she ran her fingers through his hair. She could barely see the digital clock and couldn’t figure out if it said eleven or one, having to squint and adjust a little to look closely. 

These days, she has been able to sleep before midnight. After that intimate moment she shared with her best friend, she had been able to close her eyes peacefully. He’ll have to figure out what helps him sleep better. It’ll be easier if he sought help from professionals— that’s what the team was for. He’ll give them success and in exchange, they make things easier for him. Nobody really knew what eased Max off, because he seemed more calmed and relaxed for the past few races. But that was because he knew that she was only a few footsteps away from him.

It was as if they had their little sanctuary that nobody could find. They couldn’t find themselves in the arms of other people, already used to each other’s affection and the solace that came with it. As if it was normal for friends to be this… considerate. 

Everyone who knew the two as a pairing would simply laugh when you tell them about the peculiarity of their “friendship.” You would think that they’d have intervened by now, but their relatives and friends merely shrugged it off. They returned to their old routine, except they’ve grown. It was normal for their families to see the two together, much to Max’s father’s dismay, knowing that whatever they may have planned was already thought of and agreed on. 

Their closest friends laughed at the thought of their relationship being platonic. What a fucking dream it would be if best friends can just casually buy a house together, or decide to adopt a puppy together (which happens more frequently than not). It would be a wild experience for anyone if their best friends would just platonically steal glances from their other half. 

And friends don’t create their own little family like that. Just the two of them, and their dog. They don’t play mum and dad while they’re just “friends.” No friends would silently agree with raising their kids the way their fathers hadn’t treated them before, just to avoid that pain all over again.

So no, if you were to ask anyone who knew them well — they’d say that Mustang and Cadillac being friends would be a load of rubbish. Even the two knew that the thought was ridiculous. 

Peering down at the Dutchman, she sighed softly while snores escaped his mouth quietly. His weight on top of her was comforting, immediately lulling her to a dreamless sleep. 

They really need to work on not bottling their feelings up.

[transgirl-gaming-thoughts]

It’s tragic that as soon as something says it’s Christian-founded, or Christian-owned, or Christian-oriented, I immediately have to question its validity or motives. I had to deconstruct my faith to be able to find the truth and beauty behind what I truly believe as a queer Christian, and that meant denouncing most everything that people think of when they think “Christian”, and because of that, “Christian” groups tend to piss me off to no end. Nine times out of ten, they’re just exclusionary, reactionary, contradictory, traditionalist, and ignorant. I go through all the stages of grief over the course of one “Christian” speaker giving a message on anything at all. It’s tragic. I’ve found beauty and truth and love and hope in my faith, and that’s lead to me to be happier living how God made me (trans and queer af), and loving and supporting others, which has allowed me to discuss faith (both my own and other’s) in a much healthier way. So I reblog posts that warn about “Christian” groups and ministries. I reblog posts that denounce the efforts of evangelists and evangelical “Christians”. Most of it is rot, and you have cut away most of modern Christianity to get to the actually true and beautiful parts of the faith. It’s tragic. Makes me cry most nights.

[zoeyslament]

Life's a Stage

In which Zoey Chambers loses all sense of self in the process of trying to stop the feelings. And yes, Zoey is a lesbian to me :)

“Zoey, Zach, are you ready? You’re taking forever, sweethearts!” 

“Coming, mom! We’re coming!” 

As her mother’s voice beckoned her into the hallway, a 9 year old Zoey Chambers stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom she shared with her brother, Zach. He was right beside her, dressed to the nines in one of Zoey’s dresses and makeup. He was grinning widely. 

“Well, hurry up! Mima’s going to be here any minute now!” The annoyance was apparent in their mother’s voice. 

Zoey beamed and ran for the door, throwing it open. She was clad in her favorite purple sweater with a polar bear on the front and a pair of leggings with hearts and stars doodled on them, but what she was truly proud of was the outfit she’d put together for her brother; pink dress with silky fabric that ballooned out around his legs, a glittery top, a face full of her official Barbie-brand hot-pink makeup.

“Ta da!” She pointed in his direction. Zach did a curtsey and batted his eyelashes, now lengthened with Zoey’s hastily applied mascara. 

Their mother’s face dropped. “Zachary Curtis Chambers…what are you wearing? You look like a girl. Do you think you’re a fucking girl, Zachary?”

The F bomb coming out of the mouth of their heavily Christian, God-fearing mother was something that shook the Chambers twins to their cores. Zach looked as though he was about to drop to his knees and cry. Zoey looked…angry, mostly. Confused, sad, yes, all of that, but also very, very angry. 

“He’s not a girl, he just wanted to dress up pretty for Mima.” She balled her fists, staring up at her mother, who seemed to be gathering herself. 

“Listen, you two. We need to have a talk.”

Zoey and Zach were seated side by side on the living room sofa. Their mother stood before them, frowning. Zoey knew what was coming to them; another God made two genders, you can’t want to kiss boys, da da da talk. She’d heard her mother give this talk to Zach about a million times, and she knew she was fine because she definitely didn’t want to kiss boys. 

And all that was able to squeak its way out of their mother’s mouth was: “Please don’t tell Mima.”

Four years later, Zoey was sitting across from her grandmother, who she and Zach called Mima, at Pizza Pete’s. She was happily slurping on a strawberry banana smoothie, ignoring her grandmother’s disapproving look.

“That’s not very ladylike.” Mima pointed out. Zoey stopped immediately. 

“Sorry, Mima.”

“That’s better. Now, tell me, do you have a boyfriend yet?” Mima took a tiny sip of her water, dabbing her face with a napkin. Zoey always thought of her grandmother as some sort of prep-educated princess, just…older, wrinklier, and with more ‘Live Laugh Love’ signs in her house. She was a very dainty woman.

“Uhm…no.” She admitted. She knew she was pretty, her friends had told her so about a thousand times, which always made her feel warm and fuzzy inside. When boys did it, it was just…weird. 

“Well, that’ll change, won’t it? What about Zachary, does he have a girlfriend yet?”

“Oh, he’s too busy with…” It occurred to Zoey she had no idea what Zach did with his free time, ever, and just trailed off into oblivion. Mima seemed displeased. 

“Oh, his time will come eventually, and so will yours. You’re a lovely girl, Zoey. If you just try hard enough, the right guy will come along.”

Zoey didn’t trust this whole right guy thing. She’d managed to get herself labeled as a player at Hatchetfield High. Everyone wanted a taste of her, and Zoey liked that power. She didn’t care if she was actually attracted to them or not, it was just kind of fun to make the guys think they had a chance. She didn’t care if she got those warm, fuzzy feelings when she looked at her female friends. She was everything her parents wanted her to be: pretty, popular, top of her class, lead in the school musical every year since the start! So what if she threw aside Zach and decided she didn’t want that damage to her otherwise perfect record? So what if she left a trail of broken hearts in her wake, headed by her own, which really just ached for someone to care for her her like she pretended to do so for them? Stage kiss after stage kiss, date after date, it felt like the only part of her life that was not a facade she put on for the performance was that inkling of warm, tender feeling that came when she was near certain friends. 

There was something wrong with Zoey Chambers.

By the time she was 23, she had a stable job, 3 roommates, and her scummiest boyfriend yet. Sam Sweetly was a bad choice on everyone’s parts, which Zoey knew but didn’t want to admit to herself. Every time she saw him, a small part of her wondered what desires of hers he satisfied. Another part of her would always answer with ‘None of them, you dumbass! He’s a net negative on your mental health, actually!’ Which she would then shake off and ignore as well. 

One particular night, Zoey was lounging beside Sam on the Sweetlys’ sofa. Charlotte, Sam had explained, was busy with an overnight trip for her job at CCRP. She felt…out of place. Whether it was Sam’s arms wrapped around her half-naked form, or the general unease she felt surrounded by Charlotte’s choice in home decor. It was a painful reminder of the fact that Sam was already married to another woman. 

Zoey shifted her weight, shrugging a slightly tipsy Sam off of her. “I need to go.”

“Why, baby? You sure you don’t wanna stay the night? There’s wine in the fridge, and I think I know where Charlotte’s–”

“Sam, I have to leave.”

“Fine, whatever. Love you, baby.”

She left without another word. 

Nora Beanie was normally a pretty nice person, especially to Zoey, who she normally didn’t have too many issues with. Today, however, the younger woman seemed completely off her rocker. “Zoey, what the hell is going on? I’ve had four customers complain that you got their orders wrong, and don’t you dare try to blame it on Emma, half of them explicitly called you the hot one!”

“I don’t want to be the fucking hot one! God, what happened to me? Look at me, Nora! These clothes, these shoes, my whole…me! This isn’t me! This is some kind of character I made up over the years!”

Nora bit her lip, looking at Zoey thoughtfully, but also with an air of confusion surrounding her. Emma, who had been standing beside the pair, stared at Zoey open-mouthed. The entire store was dead quiet.

“You need therapy.” Emma deadpanned.  Nora waved her off, and Emma rolled her eyes and went back to wiping down the countertop.

“Maybe it’s best you go home and think things through.” Nora agreed. “I’ll cover the rest of your shift.”

Zoey took off her apron, handing it to Nora with a sad, but thankful smile. She grabbed her phone and took to the streets, about a half a mile to her apartment, a walk she took every day. Main Street in Hatchetfield was always bustling. She noted a few people she knew: Emma’s normal man boyfriend, walking into Beanies with a tall, dark-skinned man and a brunette woman behind him; a pair of kids she recognized, a tall, nerdy looking boy clad in suspenders and a bow tie, and blue haired boy with an…interesting taste in fashion; and several other people. Zoey sighed as she walked. She hated this stupid town.

The moment she got home, she collapsed on her bed, rolled onto her back, and stared at the ceiling. God, she wished someone was there. Not Sam, not any other guy she’d dated, someone who didn’t look at her like a predator about to jump on her like she was a meek piece of prey. 

She groaned. Life was a stage, and she was tired of being a fucking player.