#i sell press on nails

[1bibypersecond]

cult leader viktor greenhouse nail set design

[biby-24k]

My Viktor-Inspired Nail Art Set 

[beautivaclub]

Shop Beautivaclub.com 💋

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[funfettified]

draculaura nails by kittycakeclaws on ig! 💗🦇

[summer-azure]

Painted coquette Mothman nails for my friend and she likes them

[anxiouswifey]

New!!

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[fragilefawn333]

boarding school ⟡

f!arcane characters x f!reader - girl’s boarding school AU- hall-monitor caitlyn, straight-A student mel, athletic vi, rebel jinx, teacher cassandra x fem!reader (fluff and kissing)

cw; kissing w/o explicit permission, weed, teacher/student. also i wrote this instead of sleeping in the middle of the night so! (3k words)

Caitlyn - Caught  

Smoke spills from plush-lips, curling into cold air. The stall-room’s door is scribbled and graffitied; etched with phone numbers and corny messages. You shuffle on the edge of the lid, allowing bitter tobacco to hit your throat again - exhaling the scent into the girl’s bathroom. You’re halfway through a particularly thrilling daydream when a knock at the door startles you into the world. Stubbing the cigarette on the toilet, you call out to the intruder;

“I’m pissing, leave me alone.”

An extremely annoying, posh and very familiar accent rings off the tiles;

“No you’re not, I can see the smoke. No smoking in the girl’s toilets. Come out.”

You stand up, flushing the toilet for dramatics, and unlock the stall door. Deep-blue eyes, framed by furrowed, pissed off brows, stare back at you.

“Hello, Kitty-Cait,”

She frowns at the nickname, and you shoot a sickly-sweet glance at her, sing-song voice. Before shoving past her and turning on the tap (again, dramatics - got to sell it.) She glares at you through the mirror, towering behind you as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“That’s two misdemeanours, you know; one for smoking and two for missing class.” She clicks her tongue, face shifting into a half-smile, “And I’m pretty sure that makes your third offence of the week. Which adds up to an hours detention.”

“I told you. I was using the bathroom. Is that a crime?” You shut off the tap, turning to face her.

“Ok, where’s your toilet pass?” She persists. God, she’s so annoying. With her dark, shiny hair always in that tight-ass ponytail and her pink, glossed lips. For a minute, you catch yourself wondering how soft they are — but you shake that thought out of your head. She’s annoying, that’s it.

You rolls your eyes, and press your own lips together. “Fine. Write me up.”

“I could,” Something shifts in her tone, and she smirks — flashing gap-toothed smile, “Or, you could do me a favour. And I might - forget - about it.”

“Favour?” You scoff, “Like what?”

“Kiss me.” She says, and your eyes widen. What?!

You stutter, trying to find the right words to say — yet they all get caught in your throat. Finally, you swallow your surprise, “Fine.” And she smiles.

She saunters towards you, until you’re caught between her and the wall between the sinks. Glancing down between her impossible long, dark and perfect lashes - lips parting slightly.

Caitlyn closes the gap, albeit hesitant, and presses her lips against yours. The bitterness aftertaste of tobacco and the sweetness of her strawberry lipgloss intertwines as her tongue finds your mouth. Long fingers find your nape, pulling you closer as warmth engulfs you — contrasting the cold tiles of the walls sticking to the back of your knees.

Eventually, Caitlyn pulls back, lips swollen and panting. She smiles another toothy-dopey smile into your flushed pink cheeks, before pushing back. Straightening her uniform and tightening the ribbon at the back of her head, Caitlyn turns on her heel. You stare after her, wanting to say something — anything. But the kiss has left you half-dazed and your thoughts too much to collect and make sense of.

Caitlyn glances back at you, still pushed against the wall and dizzy.

“Don’t let me catch you again. I might not be as — lenient,” She giggles, licking your taste off her lips and skipping out of the bathroom. Leaving you unable to do anything then gape after her because, goddamn, her lips are soft.

Mel - Copy-cat

Ticking echoes through the room. The old clock nailed to the peeling wallpaper a reminder of the thirty minutes you’ve spent doing fuck-all. Shit, you really wished you had studied longer. Last night feels so long away as you mentally curse your past, sleepy self for making excuses rather than picking up the textbook. You told yourself that this was nothing but a mock-exam — not a real test, but now that you’re sitting in the exam room, it feels real.

You find yourself still making excuses, telling yourself you can’t focus because of the unrelenting clock or the constant coughing in the far end of the room. Even though it’s not true, you can’t put pen to paper because you have no clue what to write. Meaning you are going to fail, again.

A quick glance around the room and you feel even worse, as everyone else seems to be completely fine — especially your desk-neighbour. Typical, straight-A student Mel Medarda is scribbling away, already questions deep into her paper. From your position next to her, you can make out some words. In pure desperation, you find yourself leaning ever-so closer.

You check on the teacher, finding him engrossed in his book, you out of sight at the back of the classroom. Ok, you can do this — just a few answers.

Your eyes flicker to the sheet of paper again, catching a few words and writing them down. Back to the teacher, who is still distracted. And back again to her paper, lingering too long on her long, delicate fingers, tipped with manicured nails. Her wrist is adorned with golden bracelets, travelling down to her knuckles — where equally beautiful, and expensive, rings are. Her arms are bare, allowing your eyes to greedily run over her exposed skin. To where the push of her shoulder blades forces a hollow in the material of her shirt. To her hazel eyes, flecked in gold — staring right at you. Fuck.

She stares at you, eyes wandering from yours to her paper to your paper. Pieces of hair frame her face as she turns it back to you, gold clasps keeping it twisted together glowing against her dark-skin. Honeyed voice spills from plump lips as she whispers;

“What are you doing?”

You just shrug, stupidly. Too entranced by her presence, her eyes on yours, to come up with a reasonable excuse. Shuffling back a bit to your seat, making it look like you’re not obviously copying off her work. Mel gapes, opening her mouth again and huffing at your lack of response.

“Are you copying me?”

Now that prompts a response. You almost jump out of your skin at her words. Failing class is one thing, but pissing off one of the richest pupils in the school will have your head on a spike. You filter through your mind; searching for something to absolve you of your crime. You falter, and your body acts on its own, lunging forwards until your lips meet hers — this will keep her quiet, surely.

She tastes like mint, her lips tender as she lets out a muffled squeak. For some reason, she doesn’t fight nor pull away. Instead, her lips turn upward and when you pull away, she’s smiling? You exhale shakily;

“Shit, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

Mel laughs, in a way that is so angelic you forget to breathe for a second, before slamming her hand over her mouth in an attempt to silence herself. She murmurs, voice low;

“I was going to ask if you needed some help.” She flashes white teeth, nibbling on the end of her pen, “I tutor, and you’re cute, so I wouldn’t mind.”

You turn crimson, nodding fervently — still embarrassed you kissed her in the middle of class. She chuckles again, quietly this time and tells you to meet her after class. The taste of mint still lingers at your lips.

Vi - Locker-room

The faint smell of sweat and Victoria Secret perfume resides in the locker-room. You sit on the edge of the bench pushed to a corner, nursing a large scrape on your knee. Diving to catch the ball was a stupid idea, especially considering you did it to impress a girl who barely looked your way.

You take the wet paper-towel and try to clean up remaining blood, stuck to skin and wound. The pain comes in sharp waves radiating from the scraped knee, and you are so absorbed in fighting the urge to cry you barely notice the door swinging open. Strong scent of spicy aftershave spills into the room, burning at already tear-struck eyes. The plastic bench dips slightly at the weight shuffling next to you. You peel your gaze away from stained towel and to your right, only to be met with grey-eyes. A hiccup escapes your lips, and you tense as a calloused finger wipes away wet cheeks.

“Vi?”

Vi grins, a hum of confirmation. She grabs a small piece of hair cascading down your face and moves it behind your ear.

“I came to see if you were okay. That looked nasty.”

She cocks her head towards your injured knee, red hair brushing over her shoulder. Before you can register her movement, she reaches out and takes the soaked paper from between your fingers. Vi wrings it out slightly, moving to place it back to your knee — inspecting the cut. She lets out a puff of air and furrows her brows. She’s so close to you, that you can feel the heat radiating off her body — it lulls you into a comforting daze. A sudden pang of embarrassment radiates in your chest, becoming increasingly aware of your disheveled appearance and tear-stained face. Reluctantly, you pull away from Vi’s soothing presence.

Vi notices the shift in your attitude, raising an eyebrow and meeting your face. “Everything ok?”

You nod, rubbing the last of your sobs away with the back of your sleeve. “Just… hurts a bit, that’s all.”

“Hm.” Vi chews at her bottom lip, pink-tongue darting out to wet parted mouth. “This might seem silly, but it used to help my sister,” she leans towards you — an unspoken ask for permission. You nod.

She bows her head to meet your knee, now clean from grime and dried-blood. Pressing chapped lips against the gash. It stings a bit, and you jerk back subconsciously. Yet, the warmth of Vi’s lips and the tenderness of which she kissed your injury makes up for the small pain. She smiles up to you, eyes kind and touch soft. “Still hurt?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, pondering her question. It hurts less after being cleaned, but the feeling of her lips on your skin lingers — and you want more. You nod your head. “Maybe again?”

Vi laughs at that, leaning back down to kiss the graze again. However, the break of contact is only momentary as her mouth meets your leg again, only this time slightly higher up. Your breath hitches as her fingertips follow the path of her mouth, up to rest on your cheek.

“Still hurt?” She asks again, only this time you shake your head. Looking into powder-blue eyes, you lean into her palm rubbing circles into your skin. There’s only inches of space between you, making your heart thrum as you run your tongue against blunt teeth. It takes a second, but eventually she closes the gap — capturing your lips with hers. The kiss is rough, less soft than the one to your knee. Vi pushes you against the wall of the locker-room, and you palm at her shoulders, her biceps sculpted under your hand. You pull away to breathe, inhaling deeply — the scents of the locker room filling your lungs.

The door bursts open again, and the rest of the class rushes through, ready to change and get on with the day.

Jinx - Rule-breaker

You shift in your bed, turning to face Jinx’s side of the dorm. Moonlight bleeds through open window, shining into the room and creating patterns on wooden floor. You slip out from underneath the sheets, socks padding on planks as you move to the open window.

Perched on the windowsill, Jinx rests back against the wall. Joint wrapped gently around lips, you watch as she breathes slowly, stomach growing taunt with each breath.

“Is that… weed?”

You hesitate, fingers reaching out to hold the support of the window. Jinx giggles, taking another inhale and holding the smoke in her lungs. You swallow, stomach fluttering at way she sits so relaxed. Her abdomen bare as her shirt folds above her ribs.

“That’s against the rules. If you get caught — you could get kicked out,”

Jinx rolls her eyes, slumping back to the wall. “You’re so whiny, loosen up a bit.”

She pats the sill next to her, beckoning you to sit next to her. You shuffle opposite to her, leaning back and watching as her nimble fingers take the blunt from her own mouth and holds it in-front of yours. She raises an eyebrow questioningly, cocking her head — daring you.

You turn your head to stare at the flickering lights of the other dorms. And Jinx huffs, pulling the blunt away and to her own lips. You exhale sharply at the sight of her cheeks hallowing, her mouth puckering around the edge of the rolled paper.

“You’re such a goody-two-shoes.”

She sticks her tongue out mockingly, waving the blunt around. Mischievous round-eyes meet yours, and you flush — turning back again to the light dotted around the building, like man-made constellations twinkling against darkness. You feel her feet prod at your legs curled up to your chest. Her nails are chipped blues-and-pinks, another rule-broken.

She finishes the joint, flicking the butt out of the window. Blue-braids cascade down thin shoulders as she leans forward. She takes a painted nail and drags it down your sternum, feeling the way your heart thrums against the skin. “What am I going to do with you?” She whispers into rosy-cheeks.

Jinx is the definition of insolent. A risk-taker, adrenaline-junky. Doing things for the sake of it and not really caring for consequence. She raises slender fingers to your face, dragging it down lips, watching as they part at the feeling of her caresses.

“I would ask if I could kiss you, but it’s against the rules. And I know how you love to follow orders.”

You swallow your anxiety, the intimate tension creating a lump at the back of your throat. You glance down to her lips, swollen with bites and small cracks. They’re cherry-red, flushed with blood as she drags her tongue along the bottom.

“Do it.”

Jinx smiles, brushing her nose against yours. She presses herself to you, and you can taste the faint-weed on her tongue. She kisses like she’s hungry, always been hungry and it feels amazing when you let her have you. You take your hands and hold her cheeks, running your thumb in soothing circles. Your noses brush together again as she moves her head.

Teeth scrape against rough skin, and a raspy chuckle vibrates through your mouth as Jinx laughs. You pull back, staring into ocean-blue eyes — watching as they glimmer under the shine of the industrial galaxy.

Cassandra K - Teacher's pet

You place another textbook onto the pile, shuffling them onto the middle-shelf at the back of the classroom. As you continue collecting the remaining books from the desks, the light shifts as the noon continues. Fragmenting onto the floor, creating patterns at your feet filtering an orange-pink glow through the half-shut blinds.

You decided to stay behind after class, being the one elected (and volunteering) to help your teacher clean up. Ms. Cassandra Kiramman sits at her large, oak desk — pen scratching onto paper as she writes or marks something. Occasionally she looks up, watching as you glide around the classroom, throwing away abandoned paper or cluttered books. The sun catching your face, illuminating features in a soft, dewy haze. You look angelic like this, she thinks.

You’re a good help, a benefit to the class. Always willing to do whatever it takes to secure a good reputation, educated mind. There’s also the added benefit of your teacher being insanely attractive.

You peek over the stack of equipment, pretending you are preoccupied with ‘helping,’ and find that Mrs. Kiramman’s eyes are locked on you. Deep, blue drags over your figure, greedily taking in your form.

She sits, perfectly poised, with contempt superiority. Blazer tight around her arms, and her chest. The navy cotton suits her, frames cerulean eyes and soft, pale skin. It’s a shame that it’s your last year at this school, you’re definitely going to miss this. Her stare, flickering towards you in the middle of a lesson, and the way she calls your name — sweetly spilling from thin, neatly coloured lips.

You put the class-equipment away, smiling at her in a slightly flirtatious manner. “All done?” She chides from the front of the classroom, resting her head on her fist and watching you through half-lidded eyes. You nod, sheepishly making your way to her desk.

“You’re a good girl. Thank you.”

The compliment makes you blush, fidgeting with the ends of your hair. Ms. Kiramman sucks in, hollowing her cheeks, as she pensively stares at you. For a minute, the room is quiet — only the hushed wind and chiming notifications from the computer filling the room. Suddenly, she straightens and examines the window to the hallway. She looks as though she expects someone to burst through the door, but the hallway remains bare, no pupils or teachers alike in sight.

Cassandra beckons you over with her index finger; long and neatly trimmed. Pushing herself from her sitting position, she looks down to your blushing face.

“For your hard work,” she says politely, yet her voice shakes ever-so-slightly.

She leans down, pecking you on the corner of your mouth. You stifle a gasp, holding your breath as your eyes dart to meet hers.

“Uh, thank you,” you manage to squeak out between quickened breaths. “…thank you.”

You raise your hand to touch where her lips just were, heart fluttering at just the recall of light sensation. You barely even notice that she’s back behind her desk, pen in hand and brows knitted together as she continues her work. As though nothing happened.

You feel giddy anyways, turning to leave the classroom. Stepping through the parted shadows, a golden-glow kissing at your face.

[merakidoll]

ony + grills

“you feelin good huh mama?” you hummed, inhaling his intoxicating scent in the sheets. your ass bounced as you shook it looking back him. onyankopon looked yummy, no shirt on with nike shorts. his gold chain dangled on his neck, and the gold that decorated his teeth shined when he gave you a small smile shaking his head.

“daddyyy” you whined, backing up to press your ass against his tummy, ony landed a smack to your cheek then immediately landed down and kissed it. his breath fanned over your cunt, his eyes trained on the cream that dripped out of your hole. “mmm” your eyes rolled to the back of your head, nails digging into the sheet, and arch going deeper. his tounge flicked from your clit to hole, dipping itself inside of you. “yess!” you bounced back against him, pushing against the man’s face while your hips slightly swirled.

“that’s it daddy, t-taste good hm?” pushing your hand back, you held his face in your cunt. curved nails rubbing over his waves. onyankopon was in heaven, was breathing hard? yes. was he quite literally drowning? yes. but he wouldn’t dare move, moaning in your pussy, while his balls were feeling heavy and full just from your taste. your sounds

were angelic, making him push his face deeper into your ass and spread your cheeks wanting to make you cum and lick it up again. your teeth dug into your glossed lip, tears pooling down your face - your ears were ringing, your praises to him so utterly disgusting and incoherent.

“o-onyyyy! mm fuck! l-love how you eatting m’pussyyy” your hole clenched, cream dripping out of you that ony quickly caught. his lips warped around your puffy fat clit sucking it making your toes curl in the heels you wore. “ohmygodddd” your screamed falling out of your position, squirting all over his sheets that now had a puddle. your body shook, your eyes opening to look at onyankopon while your pussy still spasmed. “good fuckin shit” his grills were gritted together, his face glistening in your essence and his dark brown cock in his large hand, being tugged and pulled.

you shakily moved to wrap your lips around his tip, sucking it while your hands clasped around his balls. “fuckin sluttt” his head was thrown back, chain dangling while his cum filled your mouth. you swallow him down with each rope, continuing to suck him dry even when you felt him get limp in your mouth. you finally let him go with a giggle at how he still was in a post orgasm haze. he looked down at you with low eyes and a sexy smirk. his fat pink lips being licked at, “you dangerous mama” he shook his head and reached down rubbing your cheek. “your dad gone kill me”

did i forget to mention that your dad was the same on who supplied onyankopon the amazing weed he was selling?

[lyonnerileyauthor]

your orc mechanic 🔧

your car wouldn't start this morning. fuck. but your last mechanic, he always talked down to you, and tried to sell you things you knew you didn't need.

you'd heard about this new guy, an orc, who worked out of his garage. you didn't think orcs were car guys, but you learn something new every day.

you go in, ready to turn down all the extra services he wants to charge you. instead, he takes your keys, pulls the car into his garage, and invites you to take a look with him.

the starter plugs are bad, he says after only a few minutes of poking around the engine. the cost is parts plus labor. he glances at you over his shoulder, and one of his big tusks lifts as he gives you a lopsided grin. actually, I'll throw in the labor.

he must really be trying to make a good impression in town, you think, as he gets to changing out the starter plugs. but he watches you as he works, that grin climbing higher and higher on his cheek.

you might have an oil leak, he says after he's almost done, and points to a spot on the floor. sure enough, there's a dribble of oil there. I can fix that for you, though.

how much? you ask, because you don't have cash to throw at your car right now.

it's on me.

well, that seems rather generous, but you won't turn it down.

he takes off his shirt, exposing an incredibly large body, with a full chest and a thick belly, all of it coiled muscle under a layer of protective fat. you can't help but stare as he drops down onto the floor and slides under your car, his knees parting as he works. the massive bulge between his legs is obvious, even with loose jeans.

jeez, he's packing.

you wait patiently as he works, trying not to stare but unable to tear your eyes away. when he slides out from under the car again, he catches you in the act, and finally he shows all his teeth as he grins.

do you like what you see? he climbs up to his feet.

your mouth is painfully dry, but you have to admit the truth. yes, of course he's absolutely gorgeous. he laughs when he hears it, and closes the distance between you.

I was hoping you would, because I like what I see.

he tilts up your chin with one grease-stained hand, leaving his fingerprints behind and marking you as his. he has to lean down to reach you, and you find yourself rising up on your toes to meet him.

the orc's kiss is fierce, consuming. it's new to you to navigate around his tusks, but they frame your face perfectly as he takes your mouth, devouring you, conquering you. he pushes you up against the garage wall, making the tools hanging there rattle. the lump in his jeans presses against you as his hand ventures up under your shirt.

you explore him just as ravenously, feeling his sturdy body, the tree-trunk size of his arms. without a second glance at it, the orc clears everything off the work table and picks you up by your ass, setting you on it.

show me, he growls low in his throat. so you obey, taking off your shirt, then shucking your own pants. his pupils are huge and blown-out as he unbuckles his own belt, reaching into his jeans to pull out his cock. he strokes it as he watches you.

touch yourself. you can't help but do as he says, finding yourself already wet. his hand speeds up, pre-cum dripping from that green cockhead as he pins you to the table with his eyes.

are you ready? he advances on you, dragging you to the edge. reflexively you spread your legs, and he smirks as he lines himself up with you. I hope you can take me.

you hope so, too.

but you're so slick, so ready for him, that the soft head of his cock pushes through. you grab onto his arms as he continues guiding himself inside you, biting his lip as he tries not to plunge in deep.

what a perfect pussy. the orc grunts as he squeezes even more of that enormous beast inside you. swallowing me up so well.

you shake and moan as he reels his hips back, then slides in even deeper, until he's fully sheathed in you. you clutch him so tight your nails dig into his strong arms as he starts to fuck you. he kisses you, swallowing all of your moans and cries as he sends you spiraling up higher and higher.

then, all at once, you crash to the earth in a burst of pleasure. your scream fills up the garage as he slams into you once, twice more. he yanks his cock out and his cum arcs out, covering you.

your orc mechanic takes a deep, shuddering breath. now you smell like me, he says with satisfaction, rubbing his cum all over you. I guess I had better fix that oil leak now.

[bunny-jpeg]

the customer is always right

simon 'ghost' riley

tags: smut/pwp, plug!reader, biker!simon, rough sex, semi-public sex, rough wall sex, mean!simon, mentions & use of recreational drugs, dub-con (!!!), breeding kink, dark themes

a/n: wow that was something!

simon knew when the trust his gut. it was what kept him alive for so long. good things didn't come to those who tried to over-think things and just like emotion take over. problem was, sometimes the gut wasn't right and simon may go a little overboard.

moments like that were also what had kept him alive for this long. but maybe he was overacting when he got in your face, little plastic baggie in his hand (damn thing had hearts printed on it for christ sake). he may have been a touch too mean.

"ya fuckin' bitch." he snapped, "tryin' to over-charge me. is that what they teach ya nowadays?"

"what the fuck are you talking about?" you snapped back, "you asked and you received. all of them are there. the weed, the xanax, it's all there." you pointed to the baggie, "and if you don't like it then take a hike." and turned away, but you didn't get far before simon grabbed you by the shoulder and hit you up against the wall.

"nah, nah. not very good customer service are ya. jeez, i remember i at least had the decency to please and thank you when i sold." he towered over you, much stronger than you could ever. your forehead hit against the brick wall and you felt tears in your eyes.

"simon... c'mon." you said, "i'm not fucking around here." and yelped when you felt his hands go up your skirt. his large, rough hand grasped your ass and gave it a firm squeeze.

"c'mon, what? that you're a cheat and a liar. thinkin' that you can pout that fat bottom lip and no one would be counting what you shaved off? i hope you know there are worse men out there than me. fuck with them and you'll be found in pieces." he pressed into you, his hard on in his jeans rubbed against you behind.

"please, simon." you said.

"shh, shh. i'm tryin' to right a wrong here. the customer is always right, right? ya only give the best to those who are payin' and since you tried to scam me out. only fair that i get a little return on what i paid for. and if it isn't drugs, well, i'll have to find somethin' else." he pulled your panties down and kept you against the wall by the back of your neck.

he got his cock out of his jeans and rubbed his cock up against your ass. he exhaled deeply, "love the smell of good pussy before i light up for the evenin'." he chuckled, "ah, that's is. mmm, should be selling this. but, actually, maybe i should keep it to myself. yeah?"

you didn't know what yo say. you had to keep quiet. you were currently in the alleyway between the biker bar that simon owned and a convenience store that got a fair bit of foot traffic.

"yeah, keep ya on my arm at the bar. better yet, get ya off this dealer shit and back into the kitchen. measure flour and sugar rather than weed and cocaine." he groaned as he kept his cock throb as he held it against you behind. slow up and down movements against you. he still kept you pinned.

"simon."

"ah, ya want it, doll." he chuckled, "ya want me. i can smell it on ya." he sniffed for dramatic effect as he rubbed up against you further, "mmm. ya like that." his voice was dangerous as he sank into your cunt.

easy fit, maybe a little bruising. but, simon would kiss it all better with the tip of his cock. maybe rub some of his cum against the bruises for good measure. you moaned against the wall and your short nails dragged across the brick wall.

he moved against you quickly. his pace was bruising and it made you pant heavily against the wall. he slapped your ass and then struck his fingers in your mouth when he felt you got too loud.

"keep ya home, keep ya with the brats. better than this. i can handle it all, you just stay home." he moved against you, "mama don't gotta think, she just gotta handle the home, right?" he felt your cunt squeeze around his cock and he chuckled to himself as he moved against you faster.

you moaned around his fingers and he only pushed into you further. you choked out a noise as he held you jaw, still keeping you quiet. his cock hit against all the right spots and it made you have spots in your vision. the feeling was so strong that it made you unable to fully process what was going on. how it felt to be fucked this way, with a man so much larger and so much more terrifying.

"that's it. won't sell ya for a quick buck. only i'll keep this greedy pussy filled right?" his pace continued and you were on another planet. rationality died in your head and replaced with the wet feeling between your legs.

being manhandled like this, subjected to his brutal paces. there was little affection, but simon would make it up to you. it's not going to all take in one night. he'd need to work his achy cock into you a few more times. he felt the heat in his body as he fucked you.

you moaned around his fingers and let him use you as he pleased. your legs were shaky but he kept you upright. you moaned around his digits.

"that's it beautiful. wow, this is the customer service i like to see." he purred into your ear as he continued to rut against you. he knew you weren't paying attention to a damn thing he was saying. but, still you felt good. nice cunt for him to fuck.

"simon." you tried to say around his fingers. but he kept fucking you like a man on a mission. your eyes rolled back when you felt the climax hit you like a train. your cunt clamped down on his cock and you finished around him.

you slumped further against the grimy brick wall and you cursed when he took his fingers out of your mouth. he slapped your ass and looked out of the alley as he fucked you with a heavier pace. his hips slammed against your ass.

"fuck, baby. look at ya." he groaned as his pace kept up. he moved against you, fucked you up against he wall like he owned you. he kept his pace steady as he felt the climax in his gut. he kept fucking you eagerly and felt the throb in his core.

a few more heavy thrusts and he shoved he took his cock out to the tip, but still came inside of you. like spurts of cum hit against the deepest parts of you. he gripped your ass and said, "did ya a favour and pulled you a little. still got my boys in ya though." his accent heavy due to the lust, "keep 'em safe will ya."

you were barely focused on the roughness of the brick under your cheek.

he pulled out and got his sticky cock into his jeans. he zipped them up and you nervously got your panties back over your ass. globs on his cum stained the front of your panties.

you were on shaky legs as he took you by the arm. you looked up at him and felt meek. you felt conflicted, your core still shivering. your bottom lip wobbled as he rubbed your eyes.

"ah, i'm here, doll." he said softly, "why don't we get in your car and remeasure everythin'. seems like baby girl doesn't know how to do her measurments." he patted your behind and gave a smile under his mask.

you had no words, you just got fucked in an alley way and your mind was still a tangled knot of yarn. you leaned on him further for support.

"don't worry, i'm here now. and we'll get them just right." he yanked you a little harder then you hopes as he said, "no time to waste beautiful. you better not have messed up too many of the measurements, or else we'll have to right those wrongs all over again. because why, doll?"

you whimpered, "the customer's always right?"

"yes he is."

[gales-boyfriend]

i dont really want to make another angel charm for the other hand so im thinking about doing something with red and making it look a bit bloody or something :3 also!! i got some metal heart charms and cross charms so i might use them too :D

[biby-24k]

Silent Hill 2 Nail Set

[celestiachan]

it's april and I'm already thinking about my Halloween costume

[corroded-hellfire]

no bc cockwarming with older!eddie is soooooooo

Oh I agree 100%. It’s something I need in my life but I guess I’ll have to settle for only having it in writing. Older!eddie my beloved 😍

Warnings: older!eddie, smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral, m receiving, cockwarming, brat and brat tamer

Words: 3.3k

Eddie was never a sports fan. Never interested him, never played nor watched. His needing to be home to watch a game had never been an issue you’d had to deal with in your relationship. So, when the day comes that Eddie is more focused on something that’s on the television than you, you’re not having it. 

It’s a Saturday night and the two of you had finished off the pizza that you’d ordered, and you’d gone to take a shower. Halfway through your time spent in the steam, you start to feel a little lonely and wish your boyfriend would join you. Calling his name a few times doesn’t seem to work, even though the walls are thin in his trailer. With a pout, you step out of the shower and wrap a fuzzy towel around your body. Still dripping little droplets of water on the carpet, you pad down the hallway to see where your man is. Nothing Else Matters is coming from the television, and you find Eddie sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand. You’ve heard enough Metallica through him to know that’s what’s on the tv, but you’re not sure what he’s so transfixed on.

“Whatcha watching, baby?” you ask.

His eyes flit briefly over to you before returning to the screen. “Metallica documentary.”

“Oh.” You take a few steps closer to the couch and cock your head to the side. “Didn’t you hear me calling for you?”

“Hmm? Oh, no. You okay?” Eddie’s words are very monotone. You don’t doubt that there’s real concern for you there, but he couldn’t sound less enthusiastic if he tried.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just wanted some company,” you say coyly. There’s no reaction from your boyfriend. Figuring you’ll make it plain as day for him, you drop your towel, leaving your naked body on full display. He turns his head towards you, his eyes staying on the television until the last moment, then flickering your way as well. Arching an eyebrow, Eddie pats his jean-clad thigh and looks back to the television. It’s not exactly the reaction you were looking for, but you’ll take it. 

You stroll over to him and perch yourself in his lap. His hands rest on your hips, but he tries to look around you at the television. Your gaze is trained on him, not quite a glare but only a skosh softer. Eddie either doesn’t notice the way you’re looking at him or he doesn’t care. So, you rest your hands on his shoulders and gently press your nails into his t-shirt covered skin, adding pressure bit by bit until he frowns and meets your eye.

“Ow, babe,” he says. “What was that for?”

“You haven’t looked at me once since I sat in your lap. Am I bothering you?” It’s hard to keep the snark out of your voice, even though you’re aware you sound like a petulant child.

“No,” Eddie says with a soft sigh. “I just want to watch this documentary. I haven’t seen it, and you know Metallica is my favorite.”

A groan tumbles from your lips as you drop your head forward and rest it on his shoulder. Cold water drips from your hair onto his neck, sending a shiver throughout his body.

“You want a blanket?” he asks. 

His words have you jolting upright and, this time, full-out glaring at him.

“You want me to cover up?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Eddie says, suppressing an eye roll – he knows it will only make it worse. “You just got out of the shower, aren’t you cold?”

“A little,” you say. “So warm me up.”

“Babe, this is over in an hour, can we just–”

“Fine.” You move to get off his lap, but his large hands keep you pinned in place. The overly cheerful voice of a woman trying to sell some new workout video comes from behind you and it makes you huff. “So now that there’s a commercial you’ll pay attention to me?”

“You’re being a real brat, you know that?”

Your eyebrows pull together as you frown at him. “I just want to get some lovin’ from my boyfriend.”

“Oh, baby,” Eddie says with a sigh. “So desperate for my cock, huh? Be a good girl then, get on your knees.”

With how fast and hard your knees hit the threadbare carpet in the living room, Eddie suspects you’ll either have bruised knees or rug burn. But you don’t seem to mind one bit as you stare up at him with wide, eager eyes. Your hands immediately fly to Eddie’s belt, and you’ve undone that and his zipper in the short few seconds it took Eddie to lift his hips so you could slide his jeans and boxers down. 

It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen it—or stroked it, licked it, sucked it, had it inside of you, etc—the sight of Eddie’s cock still gets you immediately wet. The promise of the pleasure that he’s going to bring you. 

Being eye level with Eddie’s semi-hard cock has you licking your lips in greedy anticipation. Not able to wait one moment more, you lean forward and wrap your hand around the base of Eddie’s cock. His pubic hair brushes against the side of your hand with every stroke.

You push yourself up on your knees so you can let some saliva drip down onto Eddie’s cock, making it easier for you to work your hand over it. A groan slips from your lips as you eye the bead of precum gathering on the tip.

As if based purely on primal instinct, you lean in and run your tongue flat over the head. Eddie’s thighs tense around your head as you savor the salty tang that coats your tongue. 

You’re tempted to tease Eddie but with him already accusing you of acting like a brat, he might not let you suck him off. It’s been the toughest torture you’ve ever had to bear when Eddie makes you watch him get off all on his own. 

Not willing to take that risk, you engulf the head of his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip. One of Eddie’s hands rests on the back of your hair, not pushing, just lying there. It puts enough weight on your head to make you sink a little further down on his cock.

“Good girl,” Eddie drawls out. 

The praise does nothing to help the wetness that feels as if it will drool down your legs any second. You bob your head, taking a little more of him in each time you go down. Tears annoyingly pool in your eyes and you blink a few times to get them to roll down your cheeks; nothing is going to distract you from giving Eddie the best head you can. Just as you’re about to take him into your throat, Eddie’s fingers dig into your hair, rings lightly scraping against your scalp, and he pulls you off of him.

A whine of protest reflexively flies out of your mouth at the loss. Your brain hardly has time to wonder why your boyfriend pulled you off of him before he tugs your head backwards so you’re looking up at him. His attention is not on you though, it’s back on the television that you hear once again playing music you recognize as Metallica’s. Eddie is looking straight ahead, not sparing you a glance as you pout up at him.

“Get up here,” he orders as he drops your hair. 

“What?” you ask. Using the back of your hands you wipe the tear streaks from your cheeks and the saliva that managed to leak out of your mouth. 

“Get. Up.”

You push yourself up on unsteady legs and Eddie groans in irritation as you block his view of the television. A strong hand grips your naked waist and pulls you forward until you’re tumbling into his lap. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” Eddie’s voice is low and husky, the dominance in it sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re going to sit on my cock and keep quiet until this show is over. If you’re good, maybe you’ll get rewarded. If you’re a brat, you can get yourself off tonight. Understood?”

“Yes, Eddie,” you reply, hardly above a whisper. 

Making sure to lean your torso to the side to keep out of his way, you straddle Eddie’s hips and reach behind you to line his cock up with your entrance. Slowly, you start to sink down on him, the initial stretch leading you to let out a low moan.

“Shhh,” Eddie chastises, never taking his eyes from the flickering screen behind you. 

Teeth gnash into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood to keep yourself from making any other noises. Tense fingers dig into Eddie’s black t-shirt clad shoulders as you fully seat yourself on his lap. After you’ve given yourself a moment to adjust, you start to lift yourself up again, but Eddie immediately slams you back down.  

A sharp whine is forced out of you, and you grip the cotton material of Eddie’s shirt in your fists.

“Wha—” you start to ask but Eddie cuts you off.

“You’re going to sit here, completely still. You’re not going to move around or make a sound.”

You drop your head forward and rest your forehead on Eddie’s shoulder as you let out a small whimper. This is pure torture. Being so close to everything you want, but not allowed to rock your hips to make the dream a reality. 

Metallica music continues to play behind you and when you glance up at the older man, he has his entire focus on the show. You almost slip up and let out an irritated groan, but you know you’ll regret it if you do. 

A few minutes pass by but it feels like an eternity as you just sit there, half listening to the loud metal music coming from behind you as you slump against Eddie’s body. Just as a song comes to an end and yet another journalist begins to talk on camera, Eddie’s hips shift, causing him to move inside of you. The unexpected jolt has you gasping and burying your face into Eddie’s neck.

“Relax, I’m just making myself comfortable,” he says. 

You highly doubt that but keep your thoughts to yourself as you try to calm your body down again. Eddie’s a little shit and you’d put money on this being only the first time he messes with you, looking to see how far he can push before you push back. Sure enough, just as you’ve let your guard down and let your mind wander, there’s a sharp smack to your ass. The sting makes you jump, and Eddie’s hands instinctively move to your waist to steady you.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “My hand slipped.”

He’s full of shit and you both know it. Eddie’s playing dirty now and you have to think of a counterattack. Anything too obvious and he’ll make both of you get yourselves off tonight, so it has to be subtle. 

Moving slowly so as to not interrupt his television time, you curl against his chest so he can feel it when you expand your lungs and let out a silent yawn against his neck. As you yawned though, there may have been clenching of your walls around his dick. You feel more than hear the growl that reverberates through his chest. Now when you bite your lip it’s to keep the smile off your face. 

You peer over at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall and see that this documentary should be over in about fifteen minutes. So close yet so far. The chill from your still wet skin is starting to settle in as well, which is going to make this quarter of an hour tick by even slower. 

Thankfully, the end of the show has some of the Metallica songs you’re more familiar with, so it gives you something to listen to while you wait for this test of wills to be over. With five minutes left you feel yourself getting antsy. Eddie just said until the documentary was over, right? Does that mean the second it’s done he’s going to start fucking you like you’ve been craving for what feels like hours now? Or will he be a prick some more and pretend like he doesn’t know what you’ve been waiting for this whole time. You’d place your bets on the second option. Eddie never turned down an opportunity to be a pain in the ass. 

The last song fades out and the show is over. You immediately sit up and look at Eddie with wide eyes. You did it. You had done what he asked of you and now you get your reward, right? Right? 

As nonchalantly as you’ve ever seen him, he raises his arms up over his head to stretch out his back and abdominal muscles. Usually, you’d take the opportunity to stare at his tummy when his shirt rode up, but with his cock literally inside of you it feels like a moot point. 

“Eddie,” you say. It’s not quite a whine, more like a poke—a nudge.

“Yes?”

He was going to drive you insane one of these days.

“It’s over, right?”

“It is.”

“So…?” you trail off.

“So, it was pretty good. Wish they had more metal documentaries like that.”

You’re two seconds away from putting your hands around Eddie’s throat—and not in the way he sometimes likes. 

“And I was good too, right?” You’re practically batting your eyelashes at him, and it takes Eddie a moment to compose himself enough not to laugh. 

“I guess you were.”

“So…” you drawl as you lean in to press soft kisses against the side of his neck. “Do I get my reward then?”

“What is it that you wanted, baby? Was it this?” Eddie rolls his hips up against yours and your eyes flutter closed at the feeling.

“Y-Yes,” you manage. “Need you, Eddie.”

“God, I love when you get all needy for my cock. Should I make you beg for it?”

He knows you will if he demands it. Eddie enjoys moments like this when he’s in full control, knowing you’ll do whatever he wants. That his cock drives you so wild that you become putty in his hands. It makes a nice change since in every other aspect of your relationship you have him wrapped around your little finger. 

“Please, please, Eddie,” you whine, fingers grasping at the front of his t-shirt. 

Eddie takes in your pouted lips and your widened eyes. He can’t help but smile at how utterly adorable you are; but somehow still the sexiest woman he’s ever met. 

“Alright, baby,” Eddie finally acquiesces. He reaches up and cups your cheek in his hand. Slowly and delicately, Eddie swipes his thumb right below your bottom eyelid. “Take what you want.”

The permission unlocks an energy reservoir you weren’t aware you had as you place your hands on Eddie’s shoulders for balance and push yourself up, almost letting his cock slip out. But at the last moment you lower yourself back down, the two of you moaning in tandem as he bottoms out again. You set a relentless pace as you begin to bounce on his cock. Eddie’s eyes hungrily watch your tits as they bounce along with you, providing your boyfriend with double the pleasure. 

“Fuck,” Eddie groans and drops his head back against the couch. Teasing you was definitely worth it with the way you’re taking his cock for all its worth. 

Your hands move up Eddie’s shoulder and slide around to tangle your fingers at the dark curls at the base of his skull. 

“This what you wanted, huh?” Eddie asks and pauses to catch his labored breath. He can feel how wet you are and that tells him this is exactly what your goal was. “Needed to have me deep inside of you.”

“So deep,” you mutter with a nod.

“Mm, what would you do without me, baby?” Eddie taunts, lifting his hands to massage your breasts. 

“God, I would die.”

Eddie chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Nobody could make you feel as good as I do. I know.”

“Uh huh,” you pant. 

Eddie notices your movements becoming slower, the strength draining from your body. Persistent woman that you are, you keep going, moving up and down to take what you want. One of Eddie’s arms snakes around the small of your back and the other comes up to cup your cheek.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” he says softly. Eddie turns to lay you down on the weathered couch and slides an old throw pillow beneath your hips. A loud whine of protest comes from deep in your chest when Eddie slips out of you as your positions change. “Love how desperate you get for me. Only me who gets to see you wrecked like this. So fuckin’ hot.”

As Eddie pushes himself back into your soaked, throbbing pussy your whines turn much more pleasurable. Your boyfriend holds onto the arm of the couch behind your head and uses the leverage to piston his hips. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you cry.

“Too much?” Eddie teases, slowing his hips. “Should I stop?”

“Fuck, no.”

A cocky smirk grows on the older man’s face, a breathy chuckle coming from him at your vociferous reply. His hips pick up speed again, just as eager to please you as you are to be pleased. The arm that isn’t holding him steady against the couch runs over your tits, up your neck, and his fingers meet your lips. 

“Open.”

You let your jaw drop, letting Eddie slip his middle and forefinger into your mouth. Just as you did to his cock before, you swirl your tongue around the digits, the feeling of something in your mouth only making you feel that much fuller. Reluctantly, you let Eddie move his hand when he starts to pull away, but not before letting your bottom teeth gently graze against the pads of his fingers. 

Eddie’s hand dips down between your bodies and rubs tight circles over your clit. The added stimulation has your muscles tightening, that familiar buildup soaring in you. Your right hand clutches Eddie’s arm, the grip hard enough to leave bruises that will linger for the next few days. 

“Eddie, fuck.”

“That’s right. Cum for me, princess.”

“W-Wanna cum with you.”

He dips down and trails hot kisses from your chin, all the way down your throat. 

“You’ve been naked for the past hour,” he mumbles against your sweat covered skin. “Never mind how long I’ve been inside of you. You really think I’m gonna be able to last much longer? Come on, baby. Cum for me.”

The urging is all you need before letting your orgasm wash over you, back arching off the couch, and pressing your tits against Eddie’s shirt. The clenching and fluttering of your walls around him has Eddie following right after you, spilling into you and filling you up. Wanting to make sure you take every single drop, Eddie fucks his cum into you even after his orgasm begins to wane. 

The weight of Eddie’s body pressing on top of yours is exactly what you need in the moments as your bliss fades away. Contentment fills the both of you as you breathe together, both sweaty and satiated. Eddie uses the last of the energy he has left to lift his head and press a few kisses to your shoulder. 

“I love you,” you whisper, reaching up to move some of the hair that’s sticking to his face. “I’d apologize for being a brat, but it turned out to work pretty damn well.”

“You are a brat but I’m good at handling it,” Eddie says with a soft smile. “And I love you too.”

“I feel like I need another shower,” you say, your sticky skin feeling attached to Eddie’s.

He looks up at you with those doe eyes and a cocky smile.

“Want some company?”

[cherry-leclerc]

method acting ☆ cl16

genre: angst, yearning, humor, fluff, journalist!reader, established relationship

word count: 13.2k

There’s a lot of things you’d like to do differently in life. And the weeks leading up to that night is one of them.

inspired by this, this, and this !

cherry here!… hello there. sooo this was supposed to go up a few days ago, but silly me scheduled the wrong date, haha, so this is me formally apologizing for that. on a more lighter note: i’m so excited for you guys to read this one considering this is the re-written version of ‘method acting’ if you guys even remember the original version. love u all very much, and enjoyyy :)

From his boyish smile, to his dominant smirk—you knew it all. 

The way it would slowly start to spread, but always ended with a dimple. You loved many things in life—many, many things—but nothing comes close to him. From the very start, he’s been gentle. A gentle giant, you’d sometimes joke with a teasing voice, to which he’d roll his eyes yet never deny. 

The way he’d start every sentence with—honey—and end with—I love you. The way he’d cradle your face between his hands, kissing the corner of your mouth first before pressing down completely. The way he’d translate for you with all the patience in the world. Everything about him had been so easy to learn, so easy to love.

But here, in a room, staring at each other, you begin to wonder if you ever knew him at all. Because suddenly you don’t know what the frown on his face means. What the furrowed brows with the pinched expression interpret to. You don’t know any of it. 

Why are you so surprised, though?

You caused this, anyways.

-

“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that you don’t know how to use a USB, Lis. Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know—tech savvy?” 

Lissie aims a harsh glare before tapping her nail against the computer screen as if that might make the process a whole lot quicker. “So what? I lied on my resume. Everybody does it.”

You chuckle. “Who even uses USB’s nowadays?”

“Apparently Grandpa Will. Oh, yay, it's done!” She shimmies. “I’ll see you later, m’kay?” With that, she zips down the paddock without a second glance. You sigh, gathering your stuff and making your way down the busy crowd, heading straight towards Ferrari Hospitality. 

He’s on his computer when you first walk in, keys clicking. He nibbles on his bottom lip, knits his dark brows like he’s in pain. As soon as you tap your finger against the wall, he perks up, all his interest suddenly gone. He grins. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Lis,” you respond, claiming a seat next to him. 

The Monegasque hums, leaning in to kiss your lips swiftly. “Thank you, Elisabella.” You giggle, sneaking a quick peek at his open screen. “Whatcha’ workin’ on? Wait—let me guess. You’re getting your marriage license annulled?”

“To be with you, yes,” he agrees, nodding enthusiastically. “How do you think Joris is going to take it?”

A playful shrug. “He’s just going to have to accept it, no?”

“I suppose.” Snapping the computer shut, he fixes himself, head pressed softly against your lap, closing his eyes. The sight of his even breaths and curved nose makes you smile as you start threading your fingers through his hair. He sighs, tense shoulders instantly rolling back. “Journling, and whatnot. It’s a habit that has a near expiration date, for sure, but is quite nice as of now.”

And though he can’t see you, your neat brows raise up in surprise. “Journaling on an electronic device? Why not an actual journal? You know—something authentic. I actually know of a place back in Portland where they sell some cute ones, ver—”

“I’m not looking for cute. I’m looking for security.” A beat. “I’d lose it in a week, and we don’t want that happening, now do we? My laptop works just fine. Plus, I feel more at peace knowing it’s not something I will just leave behind.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” you declare, enjoying the way his lips twist with a childlike snarl. “Anyways, I’m glad you’ve picked up on a new hobby. It’s good for you, Charlie.”

“Learned from the best.” You blush. “By the way, media shouldn’t last longer than an hour? Wanna go out?”

“Aren’t you tired?” you question, forcing his eyelids open as he squirms, pushing your hand away.

“A little. But I still want to do something with you.”

A tired sigh. “Cute, but I can’t. Lissie and William are out for today, so it’s just me, which means I have to conduct all the interviews by myself.”

The brunette bats an eye. “Why?”

“She forgot she had a deadline—hence why I was busy helping her—and Will still has to look it over. They have to send it in by midnight and it’s—it’s a lot.”

“Why couldn’t she just email it?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” you screech, causing him to flinch and squeeze his eyes. Sheepishly, you pat his head. “He insisted on a USB. Says he wants all work done like the olden days.”

“That sucks,” he mumbles. “And who even uses USB’s nowadays? They’re so outdated.”

“That’s what I’m—” You stop, mid-sentence, lowering your voice when he sits up and scoots away. “Saying,” you finish, whispering. You purse your lips, sending a slight grimace. “You get it.”

Charles nods, standing up and placing his laptop into his duffel bag. “I’ll come back and pick you up, yeah? Meanwhile, I can maybe cook something for us.”

“Honey,” you coo. “I love you, but please don’t.” His face drops. What the fuck? You giggle. “How about take-out?”

“How about,” he mutters, stiff as a statue when you press your lips down onto his jaw, but quickly melts. “Chinese?”

“Sounds good.” Another peck. “I’ll call you!”

-

If you remember—and you do remember—you fell in love with writing ever since you watched The Devil Wears Prada. It was a reset for you because before that you had seriously considered going to law. At first, you started with column writing in your school's newspaper. No one ever read it, you’d always find it on the floor after being trampled on, but you never cared. 

Soon after, you started publishing smaller pieces here and there on your fashion blog that has since been taken down, but that was the moment you knew. Thing was, you wanted to nurture this into a career, you really did, but nothing to do with fashion, rather sports. 

Maybe it had to do with the fact that every Sunday your Grandpa would beg for you to come over to his house and watch the races with him. They were extremely boring at first. Who willingly drives for roughly two hours in loops? Then, it clicked. Everything changed and you were enthralled. 

After that, all you knew was that you wanted it bad. It was hard, studying over time in order to get done quickly and just start working, but it was well worth it. You met Lis the same year she started working with Formula One, so you both figured a lot of things out together, and for two years, it was just you and her, interviewing and writing about the drivers on the grid.

But he noticed you both years ago.

He first noticed the burn on the back of your left leg. He initially thought it was a band-aid by the way it healed, but later found out you had burned yourself with a curling iron back in highschool when you were rushing to get your senior pictures taken. Then he noticed your eyes and the way they always had a glimmer to them, even if something wasn't going your way. He respected the hell out of you after that.

 How do you do that? 

You freeze. Do what?

Stay so…so—optimistic. Happy, I suppose.

You laughed then, and he saw the way your hair fell over your shoulder like a silk curtain. He would have smiled if he wasn’t so stuck up on that. It’s all a facade. They way you see me—it’s not real.

Believe me, I don’t think you’re real.

You blush, looking back down at your journal where you’ve been too busy scribbling prior to his question. You just have to ignore them sometimes, you know? Remind yourself that they don’t know you and you don’t know them. Trust me, it helps.

And after that, you two never stopped talking. 

Whether it was about work, or perhaps even the weather, you two always had something going on. Something everyone noticed, but never brought up. And at one point, you confessed your next dream.

Journalist of the Year, he repeated, a goofy smile slowly itching his skin. Yeah, I can see that.

It’s not that easy, though, you retort, exhaling heavily. I mean, I’ve been doing this for quite a while now and I haven’t even been considered once, which is fine, maybe I’m not good enough, but maybe it’s also time to…I don’t know—give up?

He kept quiet, kept his eyes focused on you, and frowned. If it’s something you want, then it’s most likely something you can have. 

Pft, you scoff. Nah. Not this. It’s nearly unattainable for someone like me. Even Lissie has won, and we’ve been here for the same amount of years. Now I’m not saying she doesn’t deserve it, but that just comes to show that there’s always someone better. And I’m just here. You look up. It’s okay, you can laugh.

A beat. I could be a hypocrite to tell you that it’s not good to measure how talented you are or how talented you can be based on some award, but Jesus Chrsit, I do the same thing. I understand. And it’s because I understand that I’m telling you to keep working hard and prove yourself to them. You have it in you—I’ve known ever since we met. You smile. Your time will come, yeah?

And for the first time: you believed it. 

A nod. Thanks, Charles. Yours will too.

About a month later, you two started officially dating. It almost seemed too good to be true at times, but wherever he looked for you in the crowd, you knew it just had to be. 

But the start of your relationship was also the end of something else.

Interviews and articles? 

He nods. Right. None of that.

You follow his actions, nodding numbly as you blink. So, no more working together? Because you want me to have a fair shot?

Yes, he confirmed. I just don’t want you to be nominated—because it’s only a matter of time, I have a feeling—and feel as if they picked you simply because of your dating status. 

Who’s going to do all of that, then? 

There’s plenty of other reporters. Lissie? Will? Maybe even Natalie. He took a step closer, grabbing your hands gently. What I’m trying to say is that I want you to feel accomplished. That what you did was simply because of your work, and not having to do with your connections because trust me, that doesn’t feel good.

But I love working with you. You give his hand a squeeze, tilting your head and smiling sadly. You’re my favorite person to write about and talk to…

And he genuinely seemed to be pained by your words, wincing.

But you suck it up because you know he’s right. I’ll always be your favorite?

Only the best.

A hum. Alright then. You take a step back, extending your hand for a professional handshake. He smiles, taking it and giving it a good tug.

 It was nice working with you, Mr. Leclerc.

-

“I’ll never understand,” Lissie starts, pressing the elevator button for the twenty-fifth floor and chewing on a licorice. “Why you two ever create such a stupid rule like that?” A hard chew. “All I’m saying is that it could have definitely helped you out a whole lot. You probably would have won by now.”

You roll your eyes, but not without thinking how she might be right. You’ve definitely wondered about a world in which you two hadn’t taken this approach, and while it would have been nice, you also know that it would have felt a little less special knowing that being a nepo to Charles had something to do with it. Which is most likely what would have happened, let’s be completely honest here. 

“You came to this arrangement, what? Twenty years ago, maybe fourty? And it’s not to be rude, but you haven't been nominated, so was this really worth it if it hasn’t made much of a difference?”

“Okay,” you grunt, ripping the red candy away from her and throwing it into the nearby trash as soon as you step out of the elevator. She pouts, following along. “I think we get it, I fucked up, very funny.”

“No,” she hums. “I never said you did, I was simply thinking, that's all.” You scoff. “But whatever. I have a feeling this is it. You definitely have it in the bag. They’d be crazy not to add you for a fourth time!”

Spinning, you smile bitterly at the Brit girl. She gulps. “Thank you, Lis, your mild support is very much appreciated.”

You turn back around, walking faster.

“Sheesh, sorry,” she hisses, entering the familiar office with a lost expression.

Carly, your manager runs over, practically jumping onto you and hugging you tight. “Lis, close the door!” You groan at the loud sound against your ear, but she's none the wiser, already embracing you harder. “You did it!”

“I told you!” Lissie shoots smugly.

You freeze, heart racing. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying—”

“Why would she be lying?”

Letting go, Carly lets out a delirious laugh. “Everything—all of it—has finally paid off. You did it, you’re on the list!”

“Holy shit,” you whisper in disbelief, playing with your necklace as you pace the spacious office. Lissie and Carly both grin at each other from ear to ear, nodding enthusiastically. You come to a halt. “Are you making this up because I said I would kill myself if I didn’t make it this year because, for your information, I was totally kidding!”

“It’s not a joke,” the redhead squeals, jumping again. “I’m so proud of you!”

“I am too!” Lissie shrieks, running and kissing you face as you try your best to swat her away even though you’re laughing. “Even after what I said in the elevator, I knew this shit was the real deal this time! Didn’t I tell you? Carly, I told her.” She twirls you, making you grin harder.  “You won!”

“Okay, let's touch some grass, ladies,” Carly cuts in. “We can’t forget that this is just a nomination and that there’s still work that needs to be done in order to secure our best chances.”

“Right,” you respond, elegantly fixing yourself and nodding up and down. You freeze. “Wait, what work? I thought this was it?”

Carly shakes her head. “Oh honey, we’re just getting started.” A pause. “You have to write an article.”

“I am—confused. What do you mean by article?”

The Brit takes a seat in a nearby chair, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “It’s their one and only requirement. Show them why they should pick you.”

Carly nods, red hair bouncing. “Shouldn’t be too hard. You’re as talented as they come. Just do what you do, but…better!”

Color drains your face as you go back to pacing. “What do you mean better? This is all I got! There’s nothing left to show, oh God—”

“What are you talking about?” your manager yelps. “There’s always more!”

“Exactly,” Lissie hums, somehow munching on another piece of candy. “There’s always—that, yeah. More.”

Your eye twitches. “Okay, you already went through this and won. How did you do it?”

She pouts, tapping the licorice against her lips before clicking her fingers. “I wrote my piece on fashion and how it’s made its way into Formula One. Wasn’t even that hard. Well. Shouldn't be. Write what you know and it’ll come to ya, they say. Or maybe they don’t, but definitely still do that.”

Your shoulders drop, plopping down next to her and placing a pillow over your face. “Fuck. That’s genius.” It is, isn’t it? she mumbles, slowly chewing in deep thought. Screaming into the pillow, you feel the frustration you didn’t have a second ago finally erupt. “What am I going to do?”

“Sweetheart,” Carly starts, forearms pressed against her glass desk, and stern eyes trained onto you. “You have got to be one of the most raw writers I have ever worked with.” A beat. “Sorry, Lis.” 

“Screw you,” she snarls, focusing on her phone now. 

Your manager sighs, rubbing her temples. “And please take that as a compliment because it is. You don’t hold back, and you tell it how it is. That’s what makes you one of the best! And if it weren’t for you wanting this, I would have definitely sent an angry email on your behalf because you deserve this more than anyone.”

“Wow,” the Brit muttered, raising her dark brows. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles, cringing. “But you’ve won already, Lis, and we supported you, and now…” She faces you again with soft eyes. “We’re doing this for you. You got it, m’kay?”

“But—” your voice cuts off as you blink rapidly, losing focus with the thought of failing, imprinting itself into the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know what to write about, which is weird because I always have an idea, at least. That’s simply a bad sign, that much I know.”

“It’s only bad if you think it is,” Lissie says, clicking her phone off and smiling gently. “But in all honesty, I think it’s actually quite good. That means you know what's at stake, and you know you have to make this the best goddamn article in your entire life.” A beat. “Write what you know, I’m telling you.”

“What she said,” Carly squeaks cheerfully, eyes crinkling as she starts pouring champagne and handing them one by one. “But just so you know, we have to get this in by October thirteenth because they make their decision by the sixteenth.”

“But that’s Charles’ birthday week,” you wail, rubbing your eyes harshly. “Fucking hell—”

“He’ll understand,” Lissie cuts you off, clicking her glass against Carly’s who shrugs, sipping neatly. “All of us know he will.”

“Okay then,” you whisper slowly. You curl your hand tighter against the glass. “Cheers?”

“Cheers, mate!”

-

Entering his Monaco flat, Charles lets out a tired sigh, taking his shoes off and flinging his keys to the nearby coffee table. The loud thud makes him flinch before running over hurriedly. A large scratch lays across the rich wood as he panics, kneeling down to inspect it carefully.

“Are you serious, Charlie?” he hears over his shoulder, jumping to find you with a frown on your lips and hands on your hips. “That was a gift!”

“I’m sorry!” he squeaks. “From your Grandpa, I know, I’m sorry!”

You let out a breath, shrugging. “It’s fine. How was your day?”

He eyes you suspiciously once before getting closer to you and kissing you hello. “Eh. Decent. Yours?”

Plump lips twist before flattening back out. “Decent.”

He squints, noticing the way you play with your necklace. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” you answer quickly. Defensively.

His brows furrow deeper. “Blow me.”

“Blow you?”

“Yes. Right here, right now—blow me.” He demonstrates, letting out a breath as if taking a breathalyzer test. 

You let out a sore laugh, rolling your heels as you stumble back. What? Your laughing stops, though tears run down your face as you try to get your words out. “You mean breathe out, not blow you.” Your giggles pick up once again, making him blush deep red. “God, you need to learn a bit more proper english.”

He looks away, cringing at the sound of his voice replaying, and then turning with a stoic face. “Don’t change the subject.” A pause. “Breathe out.”

You freeze. “Why?”

“Don’t ask questions, just do it.” “I’m not going to do it.”

“Just do it,” he presses harder.

You glare. “No. I’m not.”

Taking one last glance, he leaps forward with zero warning and starts tickling you, making your squeal. Stop! “Breathe!” I am breathing, you twat! “Blow me—God damn it! Whatever! Blow! Breathe! Blow!” 

“Fine, fine, just stop!” you screech, giggles coming to an end as he nods and stares down at you, which by now, you’re laid down on the couch with him towering over. You blush, breathing out lightly, nearly nothing. He rolls his eyes. Blow me harder. “Blow me harder,” you mimic, copying his accent. 

He groans. “You get what I’m saying—”

“I don’t, though,” you joke, laughing harder. As soon as your eyes shut, he smiles down at you affectionately, but when they open again, he reverts his lips back into a straight line. Your lips wobble playfully. Letting out a big breath, he whiffs strongly. “Gross, Cha!”

“You smell like strawberry sorbet, relax.” A beat. “Open your mouth and stick your tongue out for me.”

“Okay, this is getting really kinky.”

He aims for a deadpan expression. 

Rolling your eyes, you do as you're told and he lets out a scream. “What the fuck!”

“It’s red!”

“No duh, Charles!”

“Strawberry sorbet. The last pint. You ate it all, didn’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“So that's a yes.”

You frown.

“And we always share, but when we don’t it’s because you’re going through something and you couldn’t help yourself.”

“Okay, Sherlock Holmes, we get it,” you grunt, pushing him off as you sit up. He does the same, staring at you, concerned. “By the way, does that upset you?”

“The ice cream? Nah.”

You nod, then yawn. “Why do you have to be so attentive?”

“Because I love you.”

You smile. “I made it onto the list.”

“The list?”

“The list.”

A wide grin dances across his pink lips as he jumps onto the coach, up and down, making you bounce and stare up with a soft look. “The list! Thee list. Holy crap, congratulations, honey!” Landing on the ground, he hugs you, digging his face into the crook of your neck and kissing it over and over. “You smell nice—congrats—is that citrus—wait, this smells really nice—”

“It is citrus,” you giggle as he separates from you. “And thanks. It means the most coming from you.”

Silence takes over for a second or two before his brows knit neatly. “What’s wrong?”

“No. Nothing.” They raise up higher. “I’m not gonna lie—I’m scared.”

Tugging you closer to his chest, he drags so you two are laying back down. You close your eyes at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you like some blanket. “About what? You totally got this.”

“Hmph. It’s just that, I, uh. I have to write an article on a topic of my choice, and—I. Don’t know? I have no clue what to write about.”

Listening attentively, he doesn’t interrupt as your words begin to pour out like a prayer. He doesn’t even interrupt when you say something along the lines of being “at best—mediocre”, even though he really wanted to. You scoff. “It’s a silly problem to have, I’m well aware, but…it’s the truth.”

The Monegasque picks your breathing patterns, mindlessly copying as you cuddle him. “You’ll figure it out.”

You swiftly look up, cheek pressed against his heart beat. “That’s it?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

What do you want him to say? Your lips open aimlessly, then close forcefully. 

He grabs a nearby blacket, covering you both and hugging you the same he’s seen you hug your teddy bear. “I think you need to have a little bit more faith. In yourself, that is. Because your mind…” Green eyes connect with yours as your breath comes to a strong halt. He tends to make your body react that way, quite often. He sends a simple grin. Dimples and all.

“It's the most beautiful thing on this earth.”

-

Abu Dhabi 2021.

It’s been talked about too much already.

Spain 2016.

You’re kidding, right?

Fine. Azerbaijan 2018—

You let out a muffled scream. “Pierre, no! I need something better.”

“Better than all that drama?” he dead pans, genuinely confused as to why his ideas are being shut down.

You exhale, hair flying outward. “I love it too, but I need something new. Unheard of.”

The Frenchman pauses, curling a brow. “I’ve gone blank.”

You bite down on your tongue, shrugging it off. “It’s okay. I should probably come up with my own topic, anyways.”

Getting up, you wave goodbye and make your way to the ice cream truck that’s been rented out for the weekend. Smartest investment, you think to yourself as you twirl your tongue around the lavender spoon. 

“This time I really do mean it—blow me.”

Squinting up at the sun—which so happens to be behind Charles like a halo—you chuckle, feeding him a spoonful. “Good, no?”

“Delicious,” he hums, going in for another. “Have you tried the funnel cakes?” They have funnel cakes? you squeal, eyes shining. He nods. “Want one?”

You deflate. “Later.”

Watching the crowd walk by, you two sit there, switching turns and enjoying each other's company. It’s amazing how no one comes up to Charles, either. Not that he would mind, but it’s definitely a nice surprise. Glancing over, he hands the spoon back to you. “Come up with something?”

“I have a few ideas, but nothing solid yet.”

Pistachio ice cream melts away faster. “I told Pierre to leave you alone, I hope he didn’t bother you too much.”

“He’s actually the reason why I have these ideas. Don’t let him know, though, I would never live it down.”

Watercolor eyes go wide. “Really? Pierre actually helped?”

“Weird, huh?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Don’t stress out too much, honey. You still have time.”

You purse your lips. “But the sooner I figure it, the sooner I can start and just focus, and do the proper research and try and—”

“You have time,” he reaffirms with a knowing look. You cock your head and he sends a sly grin. “Plenty.”

“Plenty,” you copy as he nods along. Extending his arm, he signals to the spoon. You shake your head. “You can have the rest.”

“You’re the gift that keeps on giving.”

-

Write what you know. Write. What. You. Know.

What the fuck does that even mean?

Biting down on your pen, you’re spaced out, staring at the picture frame. In it, Charles and Carlos smile, you can tell, behind their helmets. While the Monegasque’s eyes crinkle sweetly, the Spaniards are dilated and wide. Both nice, but nothing beats those green eyes. 

You can slowly feel your sanity slipping away, day by day. There’d be times where you thought you had it figured out, but then you’d bring it up and Lissie would smile and say—

“Yes! Stick to that one! Start it. Right now.”

It wouldn’t seem genuine because you know she just wanted you to get it done given it’s due in less than two weeks. And even though it was good, it wasn’t good enough. 

“I’m just going to brainstorm a few more ideas.”

She’d given up, mumbling beneath her breath and grabbing her keynotes and headed to her meeting. Well, technically it was your meeting too, but again. Time crunch.

Hence, why you’re admiring the picture and thinking harder than you were a minute ago. The door slides open then, the two Ferrari drivers back from their media duties. You rip your gaze away as soon as they make their way closer. “How does one fake their own disappearance?”

“Oi,” the brown eyed boy warns, toothy grin expanding. “Good question, though.”

“Oi, you,” your boyfriend warns back, glaring at his teammate. “At this point, I’m sure she’d go through with it.” He turns to you. “Honey, you’ve got to decide already, it can’t be that hard.”

“I know that!” you burst out, ears burning as you avoid their eyes. “But there’s just so much! I don’t want to jump the gun and make a mistake, is all.”

Carlos juts his lip, then rolls his jaw. “If only you took someone’s very good proposition.”

A scoff. “I wasn’t going to write about Papaya Rules, Chili.”

“It would’ve been so good, though!” A beat. “What about—”

“Nor multi-21.”

His expression drops, along with his shoulders, and strolls away, flipping you off. I hope you figure it out, then! A low chuckle makes its way as you exhale loudly. “C’mon, what’s the problem this time?”

You bite your lip, brows drawn in together as you gaze back at Charles. “I’m not entirely convinced.”

“Honey…”

“A-and I know I’m running out of time, but I just want it to be perfect!”

He smiles, throwing his arm on your shoulder. “And it will be, but you need a topic.”

“Yeah…” You raise a brow.  “What happened to having ‘plenty’ of time?”

The Monegasque wiggles his brows. “You can’t take up too much advantage.”

-

I’ve decided. 

That’s the lie you settle with because quite frankly, you’re done with the constant questions. If you were going to come up with the best matter to write about, then you need to have a clear head. Carly is over the moon, Lissie is ecstatic, and Charles is proud. 

Great! What’s it going to be about?

It’s a surprise. 

At first, they were all as curious as can be, but later when you insisted that it’d be better that way, they nodded, though the interest was still there. 

Now—with only a week and a half before your due date—you lay, plopped on your stomach, fingers teasing the keyboard as you watch Charles jump into his race suit. You sigh, sitting up. “I think I’m going to stay in here today.”

He fixes the zipper. “Yeah?”

You nod. “That way I can work and watch you.” You point to the T.V. hung up on his room wall. “Is that okay with you?”

“Whatever you need to do in order to focus, baby.” A wink. “It’s fine by me.”

They’re in lap sixty out of seventy-five, the last time you check, and your page remains as white as a ghost and as bare as a newborn baby. It’s both amusing and mind-boggling. Groaning, you hit your head with the back of your hand before running it down your face. Then, to make matters worse, your laptop dies.

Shit, you grit as you look around and spot Charles’ placed neatly on top of a nearby chair. Strolling over, you grab and open it, typing in his passcode and signing into your account. A few seconds later, the blank page resurfaces. Blinking slowly, you spot it. 

Notes. 

You take a look around, but really don’t know why since you’re the only one in his motorhome, and then click onto the App, furrowing your brows with concentration. 

Turns out, you really like to read because one after another, you skim through his journal entries without a second thought. Eagerly, might you add. Some things you know, others you don’t, but nevertheless, you’re caught off guard. How sensitive he is and how it portrays in every word. Not only are you amazed, but you’re completely engrossed. 

And it sparks something in you.

With a large grin, the brunette makes his way back to his room, trophy in hand and handshakes and pats on the back all around. Grazie mille, he beams as he makes his way closer, sending a final wave before opening his door. Finding you with his spare helmet over your head, he laughs. You giggle, opening the visor. “That’s one good looking winner!”

He laughs, placing the gold trophy down and enjoying you the way you struggle to take it off. You let out a loud gasp as soon as he assists you, tugging it off. “Shit.” Another gasp. “How do you wear that thing for two hours?” Fixing your hair, you pat it down as you send him a sheepish smile. “Give me a kiss!”

“No thanks. Too sweaty.”

Pouting, you pinch his ear tenderly before he gives in, pressing his lips against yours. “You were amazing out there, Charlie. You really were, I want you to know.”

Green eyes soften as he tries his best to savor this moment. “Only cause you say so.” You giggle, hugging his waist and he drapes his hands over your shoulders and rests his chin on top of your head. “How far along were you able to get?”

A hum. “Quite far, actually.”

He lets out a whistle, making your cheeks glow. “Looks like we’re both having a good day.”

“Looks like,” you swoon. “Looks like.”

Tilting your head back, you match with his eyes as he sends a dimpled smile. 

Write what you know, you think to yourself as he leans back down to kiss you. His lips greedily crash against your own as you let out a soft moan, playing with his hair, large hands making their way down to your ass. And you, my dear Charlie…

He groans, shuddering as soon as you grind back against his thigh. You smile, admiring his open mouth.

I know you very well.

-

You feel guilty when you start on your first page, but by the time you make it to your third, you’ve talked yourself out of it. You would explain. As soon as you’re done, before you turn it in, you would explain it all to him. Tell him that this is simply because you love him. How he’s your biggest inspiration, and how this wasn’t you using him, but rather you showing others how amazing he truly is.

He notices it right away—the determination. And he admires you for it because he hasn’t seen you like that ever since your writer’s block. So, he tries not to intrude in moments where you’re on a roll, and instead makes sure to have a bath ready for you. He joins you sometimes, too.

Cracking your fingers, you yawn, exhausted, and stretch like a cat. He chuckles, closing his book like a light thud. “Update?”

“Six pages.”

“Wow. You really got it going on.” You blush. “You deserve something sweet. What do you want?”

“But it’s so late, and you have to be up early tomorrow…”

He rolls his eyes, already grabbing your trench coat. “It’s a bit cold out right now.”

You smile.

It’s not that far of a walk, three miles. After buying you a hot chocolate—with extra whip—he takes your mitten covered hand and leads you out the small coffee shop. By now, not many people are out, so it makes for a calm stroll.

“Shhh—ah,” you hiss, tongue sticking out as your face twists with subtle pain. He laughs, eyes crinkling. Drink slowly, he says, voice laced with humor. “The cool air helps,” you murmur, blowing on the hot drink. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

He shakes his head. “I just wanted you to unwind.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” you coo, enjoying the way his ears turn pink. You giggle. “Why do I feel like you’re thinking about something, though?”

“I am. You.” A gust of wind dances. “Always.”

You purse your lips, taking a slow sip, lipstick painting the white lid. “I’m serious, Cha. You’ve been quiet ever since you got off that phone call two hours ago.” Neat brows knit together with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he answers, but it’s too quick for it to be the truth.

Giving his large hand a squeeze, you send a knowing look. His breath hitches. “You can talk to me—”

“Are you almost done with your article?” he asks, obviously changing the topic as he stares up ahead, and if not, down at his shoes. Pink nose twitches. “I miss you, and call me greedy, but I was hoping you’d be done before my birthday, at least, that way we could…I don’t know—” He shrugs. “You’ve just been really busy—which I get why, and I understand—but I miss y-you.”

Wincing, you chew your bottom lip a couple times before letting go. “Almost, but.” His shoulders drop, making your stomach twist. You panic. “I feel like I’m missing something. Like the final bang in order for it to be…” A beat. “I’ll be done before your birthday, you can count on that.”

Round eyes finally flicker up as he nods, a more relaxed look evident. “This makes me sound so needy,” he says. “Which I guess I am, bu—”

“Don’t apologize,” you cut him off with a reassuring smile. “But please, tell me what’s going on…”

The Monegasque stiffens. Despite walking, you can tell. You can feel it. Also, it doesn’t take a genius to notice. “They’re not renewing Carlos’ contract for next year.”

You stop walking, making him stop too. He’s still holding onto you, rubbing small circles against cashmere. “W-why?”

“Guess.”

Your mind races. The rumors have definitely been swirling—everyone’s heard—but really? “They’re actually doing it?”

He nods.

“Lewis,” you whisper like it the first time you pronounce his name. “This is, uh…wow. I mean, wow.” 

“Yup,” he says, popping the p. “Wow, for sure.” Letting go, he takes a small step back, but still faces you with an uneasy look. “They brought it up as a possibility, but I don’t know why I never thought they’d be capable of…” He grimaces. “I can’t even begin to imagine how Carlos must be feeling.”

“Weren’t they just praising him last time during your guys’ team meeting?” You curl the cup towards your chest. “That’s fucked up.” Charles sighs, pinching the tip of his nose swiftly. Your eyes fill up with concern. “What about you?”

“I got an extension.”

You let out a breath of relief, nodding. “O-okay, okay. That’s good, Charlie, that’s really good.” When he keeps quiet, you pause all movement and blink feverishly. “Why are you upset, then?”

“I’m not,” he answers. “Only worried.” Listening closely, you silently wait for him to continue. He sighs, rubbing his eyes, suddenly tired. “It’s just that…he. He’s Lewis,” he finishes like that’s enough explanation.

You curl a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

A weak chuckle. “It means he’s better, and the team is going to favor him over me.” A timid shrug. “I get it, though. If anyone can bring a Championship home for the team, it’s going to be him.”

“It’s going to be you.”

“No.” The light in his eyes gave out, slowly and painfully so. “It’s not.”

Berry lips open, then close lamely, analyzing him like the world's biggest mystery. Sternly, you narrow your eyes down like knives. “World Champion?”

He flinches.

You click your tongue. “Do you realize how crazy you sound?”

“What?” he says, puzzled.

You nod. “Why are you giving up so easily, huh?”

Sharp jaw clenches. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he’s a former World Champion, and I’m not.” He chuckles sourly. “It’s really not that difficult to figure out. I mean, I’ve been working for it for so long now, and look at me! I’m nowhere close to being there!”

Silence. Chest heaves. You never let go of your gaze, and he has no other choice than to do the same. He’s not mad at you—not mad at anyone, really—but he’s frustrated. And yeah. Maybe he is giving up the fight, but anyone else who was in his position would too. No one wants to be the laughing stock, no one wants to be compared. 

“Listen to me Charles Leclerc, and listen to me closely because I’m only going to say this once.”

He waits.

“If it’s something you want, then it’s most likely something you can have.”

Pink lips turn upward as he tilts his head in the slightest of tilts.

Holding his face between your delicate hands, you raise your brows, shivering at the icy air. He can feel your hand vibrate against his skin as he grabs them, brings them up to his mouth, and blows hot air onto them. “I believe in you. Everybody does. Do you believe in that?”

And it takes a moment for him to answer. It takes a moment for it to register. He nods. Sure of himself.

“Only because you do.”

-

“A USB?” He frowns. “I thought you hated those?”

“I do,” you say, combing through your hair, staring at him through the reflection of the mirror. “But I feel like this makes it real. Physically turning it in, I mean. It’s dumb, but…” You check the time, shrieking and grabbing your things. “Carly is going to kill me! Okay, I’ll be back in an hour, and then we can go with your family for dinner, or I’ll meet you there, yeah?” You huff. “Red or white wine?”

“Sparkling water,” he ponders. “Maman is trying to get to ‘quit.’ Which is probably not the right way to put it because it’s not like Lorenzo, Arthur, and I are alcoholics.”

“Oh. Alright then, I’ll just get that instead.” Tippy toeing, you peck his cheek briskly, sweet perfume hitting him. “I love you.”

Adoration fills his watercolor eyes. “I love you, too.”

Who knew?

Who knew that’d be the last time you’d hear those words coming from him?

-

Entering the familiar office, you wheeze, crouching down to catch your breath before sending over a coy smile. Carly laughs, clearly amused, before signaling to the chair that sits right in front of her. “We could have done this any other day as long as it was before the deadline, you know?”

“No,” you pant, heart beat barely switching back to its regular pace. Well. Sort of. “I need to get this out of the way, I promised Charles I’d be free before his birthday. He said it was his one and only wish, could you believe that, he’s so cute, isn’t he?” She blinks. Pink dusts your cheekbones. “Anyways, here it is.”

Looking down at your extended hand, she almost lets out a snicker. “I get I’m older than you, but really? You emailing it to me would have been just as effective.”

“I didn’t want to risk it going straight into your spam folder.” That, and I don’t want to see when you actually read it because I have a funny feeling you’re going to disapprove, which is okay, fair. “Here.”

“Very well, then,” she mumbles, retrieving it. “Why don’t we proofread it together one more time before send—”

Horrified at the innocent suggestion, you leap up from your chair, pushing back. “There’s no need, I checked it about a thousand times.” She raises a sharp brow at your outburst, the defensiveness in it. You laugh nervously. “And I should get going, anyways. Pascale is cooking Cha an early birthday dinner, can’t be late.”

Placing her forearms against the table, she nods slowly, but still unsure. “I won’t hold you back any longer, then. Tell him I said happy birthday.”

Tight lips form a forced smile, uneven breaths expanding. “Of course.”

You’re expected in an hour, so when you should be up forty-five minutes early, Pascale is pleased, but a bit surprised. Hugging you hello, she opens the door wider, letting you in. “They’re out in the back. Dinner should be ready in a bit.”

“No worries. Do you need any assistance?”

She shakes her head, thin blond hair swaying. “I’ve got it all under control, chérie.”

Nodding, you put your things down and start making your way towards the sound, beers clinking. You let out a snicker. “And here you are claiming not to be an alcoholic,” you joke. Flustered, Charles turns to face your soft voice. 

“It’s my first,” he squeaks.

“Third,” both Lorenzo and Arthur shoot, greeting you with a gentle nod. 

“It barely even has any alcohol,” your boyfriend tries defending, but the crack in his voice makes everyone burst out with laughter. Blood rushes to his cheeks. “Weren’t you supposed to be with Carly?”

“I was, but we got done pretty quickly.”

“What’d she think?” he asks, tugging you onto his lap. You giggle, meanwhile Arthur gags and Lorenzo blinks unbothered. “Bet she loved it.”

“I wouldn’t know. I left before she read it.”

He cocks his head. “Seriously?”

You nod. “You said you wanted my full attention.”

“I didn’t say it like that—”

“Well, now you have it.” You kiss his nose gingerly. “Happy early birthday, Charlie.”

The Monegasque smiles deeply. “Thank you.”

“Arthur! Lorenzo! Come help and set the table!”

Arthur groans. “Why just us? What about Charles?”

Poking her head out the window, Pascale aims a stern look, making him dash up. You laugh, ideally going to stand up, but gets tugged back down onto his thigh. You roll your eyes. “I should help, too. But you stay here and relax.”

“I will, but only if you stay with me.”

“Pascale needs my help—”

“Right, but she has both of them already.” He gives your hair a gentle tug. “Stay.”

Sighing, you nod, resting your head on his shoulder as he holds you. From here, you can see the breathtaking view of Monaco’s sunset. The ocean, the trees. Filled with satisfaction in life, you kiss the side of his neck, making him squirm slightly. “Carly says happy birthday. Early. Early birthday.”

A hum. “Make sure to tell her that I said thank you, the next time you see her.”

The sound of waves crashing sings softly. He traces shapes down your leg. “When will I be able to read it?”

You’re sure you stop breathing. “S-soon. After Carly gives me the green light, at least.”

A beat. “I’m excited.”

Your stomach churns. “You are?”

“Mhm. Very. Didn’t you know I was your biggest fan?”

Fixing yourself to look at him, you open your lips, feeling how dry they’ve become. “Charles—”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

A sore laugh. “They’re calling you.”

You reach towards your back pocket, pulling it out. Carly Freeman. Clicking it off, you shake your head. “It’s nothing.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

He wiggles his brows. “Doesn’t seem like it’s nothing. Answer her, it’s fine.”

“She’s going to have to wait until tomorrow,” you announce, standing up and dusting your hands off. “I’m here with you, and she's going to have to wait. Whatever it is, it can’t be more important than this.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. 

He sends a worried look. “Are you sure? What if it has something to do with your article? You should pick up—”

“I said I’m here with you,” you affirm. “Tomorrow. She’ll be fine.”

“Okay…” Standing to his full height, he sends a gesture towards the house. “Let's go?”

His hand reaches out, waiting for you. You smile, taking it. “Let’s go.”

-

Your phone keeps buzzing and it doesn’t let him sleep.

That, and Carly is a terrible liar.

Shifting in the bed as quietly as possible, Charles reaches for your phone, trying his best not to wake you. “Hello?” he croaks. The line stays quiet, static rolling. “I know it's you, Carly.”

“Charles! How’s my favorite driver?” 

You twist, unwrapping your leg that was draped over him. He freezes, soothing you a bit before you settle down. Climbing off the bed, he walks out, gently closing the door and heading towards the living room. “I know your favorite is Fernando, what’s up?”

She laughs nervously, cursing underneath her breath. “Is my little journalist with you?”

“She is.”

“Great! May I speak with her very quick—”

“But she’s asleep.” She groans. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“Well…”

Sitting down on the couch, he leans back, placing his feet onto the coffee table. Normally, he wouldn’t, but you weren’t here right now, and lucky for him, he wasn’t wearing any shoes. He clicks his tongue. “Does this have something to do with your guys’ meeting today?”

“Yes. And no.” More static. “Do you mind waking her up for me?”

“Um…well I do. Sorry, Carly, but she needs to get some rest, she’s been working non-stop, and—”

“No, no, I get it!” she squeals. “I totally understand. Can you let her know that I need to talk to her as soon as possible? Like—urgent. Please and thank you and have a good night!”

“Wait,” he says, furrowing his brows and pushing the phone closer to his ear. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing to worry about. Too much,” she adds. “It’s just that I need a bit of clarification, that’s all.”

“Clarification?”

“Yup. On a tiny mistake of hers. But we can fix it together, she still has time, and if she hurries then we can still meet the dea—”

“She doesn’t make mistakes, though. Ever.”

A hiss. “It’s a tiny one, Charles—”

“Okay, tell me and I’ll tell her.”

“What? I can’t. I need to speak directly with her first.”

“Carly…”

“What now?” she grits. 

“What’s the issue?” he presses harder. “I’ll let her know right now.”

The line goes quiet. For a moment, he begins to wonder if she’s hung up already, but when she clears her throat, he listens carefully, but can’t decipher her mumbles.

“She gave me the wrong USB.” That’s it? She groans. “Listen to me Charles—the USB she brought to be today only has her title written on it along with a few notes about what it’s supposed to be about. It’s the wrong one and I need the other one now.”

“Okay,” he mutters slowly, nodding. “I’m sure she’ll bring it to you once I let her know, but that’s going to have to be until tomorrow.”

She gasps. “You said you’d let her know right now!”

He winces. “I know I did, but it’s late! Trust me, though. I’ll tell her you called and I’ll even drive her myself tomorrow to drop it off. It must be around here somewhere right…” And it sure is. Sitting nicely on the coffee table, inches away from his feet. He sits up straight away, picking it up as if it were some sort of new discovery. Which in a way, it was. “Carly, why is this so important to you?”

“She’s my favorite client,” she answers without missing a beat. “I only want what’s best for her, and right now we need to fix this little mishap and get this article in as soon as possible.” A beat. “Also, maybe don’t mention the first part to Lissie, she’d totally kill me.”

Analyzing the black USB, he remains stoic, blinking only because he needs to. “Goodnight, Carly…”

“Yeah. I, um—goodnight, Charles.”

Once he hangs up, he’s quick on his feet, retrieving his laptop from the counter and sticking the drive in without a second to process what he’s doing. He shouldn’t. Probably. Definitely not. But the interest Carly clearly has was enough to poke his mind and for him to start wondering what on earth is so significant? 

And it’s so obvious now why.

Charles Lecelrc: The Man Behind the Helmet

His eyes skim fast, narrowing sharply.

Like any other human being, he struggles with depression, though fails to admit. Many sleepless nights, many fights, many canceled therapy appointments, I begin to question: does every praise his fans give him make him think he’s above all these things? The truth hurts, but it's only because it's real. And Charles Lecelrc, you are nowhere close to being as perfect as everyone makes you out to be.

His heart stops, re-reading the last sentence. He wishes for it to say anything but that, but it never changes, and it only mocks him like a school bully. 

Many assume that the death of his late-father, Hervé, and his late-godfather, Jules Bianchi, have made him stronger in a sense. That it has fed the drive in him to succeed. To be the best of the best, but what if that wasn’t true at all? Would any of you be surprised? Probably, but again, no one truly knows him the way I do. So, what feeds his determination? 

The thought of failing the same way they did. 

Anger bubbles up inside of him, grinding his molar until they crunch loudly against his temples. 

But who can blame him for having that fear inherited down onto him? Tabloids also have a part in this, and so do unwanted changes. One way or another, we can relate with the latter, but never in the way he does. Reading and hearing rumors takes a toll on Charles, that much is true, but what can we expect when his next new teammate is a seven-time World Champion. 

I guess the only question that stands in not only our minds, but also his… 

Is he strong enough to come head to head with someone as talented as Lewis Hamil—

“Wake up.”

Groggily, you rub your eyes. “Charlie, it’s dark out, come on. Come back to bed.”

“Stop calling me that, and get up.” In a single movement, he rips the blanket away and yanks you from your wrist, forcing you to sit. You gasp, his change of heart sobering you up from your sleepy daze. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

He laughs. “Me? What’s wrong with me? Are you serious right now or are you stupid?”

You flinch, taken aback. “Don’t talk to me like that, what did I do?”

“I won’t waste my breath explaining.” He drops his laptop on the bed, making you freeze as soon as you spot the familiar USB. “I'll let you re-read it.” 

“Where did you get this from?”

“Really? That’s what’s important to you?” He rolls his jaw, rubbing it until his skin turns a light shade of red. “If you don’t want me finding it, then next time don’t leave it out.”

Your lips go dry, crawling to the edge of the bed, but as soon as you’re about to reach out for him, he grimaces, shaking his head and taking three steps back. “Charlie—”

“No,” he hisses, glaring at you with utter hatred. The sight alone makes your eyes well up. “You don’t get to call me that. You don’t get to call me that ever again.” A cry rings through the air as you cover your hands over your face. “A-am I supposed to be impressed by what I read or what?”

“It’s no—”

“Did I do something to upset you or w-why were you talking about me like that?” he questions, genuine confusion taking over as he furrows his brows until they cause his eyes to pinch up too. 

Sniffling, you get up quickly, shaking your head adamantly until you get dizzy. “It wasn’t supposed to come off across that way! Are you kidding me?” Grabbing your heart, you soften your eyes. “I’m your biggest supporter.”

“Yeah? Well, that,” he snarls, pointing at the open screen like it's the most disturbing thing. “That doesn’t make sense with what you’re saying…” A beat. “Why would you do this to me?”

“Do what, though?” you whimper. “Everything I wrote about you is based on what you told me!”

“Exactly!” he shouts back, making the distance between you smaller, making you shrink. “I told you! Just you! I never once asked you to air out my business, and quite frankly, I thought that was common sense.” He lets out a dry chuckle. “You called me crazy and troublesome among other things. Are you my girlfriend or wolves in sheep's clothing? I’m trying to understand your logic here.”

You push your hair back, breathing hard. “You can’t just say that, there’s context behind that, come on…”

“Oh. Okay. My bad. I’m crazy because I talk to my father’s tombstone and Jules’. It's troublesome because I used to do cocaine in order to de-stress. I’m in over my head because I actually think I stand a chance against Lewis—a chance you convinced me I had!”

“That’s not what I meant!” you squeak. “You’re taking it all wrong, Charles, I would never say that about you!”

“But you did,” he states firmly. “And you know? If I’m so unready to face a friendly competition against my future teammate, then maybe I’m unready to face a lot of other things, too.” You freeze, dreading his next words as you plead him silently not to say them. “Maybe I’m not as ready to settle down with you as much as I thought I was…”

That does it. That seems to cut the little oxygen you had, off. Stumbling back, you feel the tears start to form again. “You don’t mean that…” You smile weakly. “You’re just a tiny bit upset right now, okay, fine. That’s fine. But you don’t mean any of that.”

Glaring until it hurts, he maintains eye contact. “Don’t tell me what I’m feeling, you don’t get to do that!”

You flinch. “I’m sorry.” A droplet slides down. “I’m sorry, okay?” More follows. “For all of it. For all of this. If I could take it all back, I would, you have to believe me, Charles, you know I would.”

His gaze lingers for a while longer, taking in your rosy nose. Your swollen eyes. Your wet cheeks. Everything that's supposed to make him feel better, but it doesn’t. “I really did trust you…” You breath hitches. “And I really did want you to win…” Pause. “And I still do.”

Strolling over, he disconnects the USB, making the screen go completely black, and hands it to you. Blinking down, you shake your head, too embarrassed to even look at it. “I don’t want it.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want it either…” Forcing your palm open, he places it down, instantly making your skin burn. “Journalist of the Year.”

You let out a wet sob, shoulders shaking. You don’t know exactly what you’re feeling, but what you do know is that this doesn’t feel good and that your heart breaks with every passing second.

Never in a million years did you think you would experience any of this, especially with Charles. The Monegasque cocks his head, curls following. “I’m glad you’re about to get everything you’ve ever wanted, I really am.” He chuckles softly, eyeing you intently. “I just can’t help but wonder what that must feel like.”

“I was going to tell you,” you whisper meekly. “And you were supposed to understand where I was coming from.”

And if any anger was gone, well fuck that, it all came right back.

“Understand where you were coming from?” he spits out, shocked by your choice of words. “You really thought I would understand? I planned my entire future around you, and this is how you repay me? You went behind my back to write an article I didn’t even know about! We made a choice years ago!”

“No, you did!” you retort, despair rising hard and fast. “You came up with that decision all by yourself, Charles, I never agreed!” You look down. “Not entirely.”

“Huh,” he scoffs, squinting his eyes. “I was simply looking out for the girl that I love given that the internet is a scary place and she probably wouldn’t have been able to handle it, for God sakes, I guess this is my fault now, isn’t it?”

“I would have been able to handle it, but you never gave me the chance!”

“Yeah, because reporting on a driver and driver who's your boyfriend are two completely different things that you can’t seem to comprehend!”

Trembling, you blink carefully, gulping. “I would have done just fine.”

“You think so?” he challenges, a sour smile forming. You nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?” Closing the final distance between you two, your breath gets stuck as he sends a dirty glare, one that's meant to sting. “You’re not talented. You only have your position because of your dating status, when in reality, your work is utter shit. Everything is handed to you.”

There’s a mix of a whimper and a plea that comes out of you as you screw your eyes shut. “You’re being mean, Charles…”

He laughs, clapping his hands once with amusement. “That’s what the internet is! Maybe I was right, then—you can’t handle it.”

“I could…” you murmur, but it's no use. 

The brunette catches himself wanting to comfort you. To apologize for everything. But then he figures—why? It’s not like he truly did something wrong. 

“You’re the greatest disappointment of my life.”

Something ended the moment those words left his mouth—you both knew it. Sobbing hard, your shoulders vibrate violently as you seemingly gasp for air. He looks away. 

“You know, our life could have been so good. So fucking good. But you went and ruined it.” Green eyes flicker back. “Why would you do this to us?”

“I never meant to hurt you,” you declare with wet lashes. 

“You did a bit more than that,” he replies, wincing, blinking rapidly. He smiles. “If you wanted to write your article on me, you should’ve asked me. You should have talked to me. But no. And the thing is, I would have let you! God. I would have let you write whatever you wanted—but not like this. You stole an interview from me with no right, honey…”

Quickly, you flicker your gaze up at him, hoping to see any trace of  love in that one word, but you’re not surprised when you don’t find any, deflating furthermore. He shrugs. Like what you did to him was no big deal. 

“You took it from me. But I would have given it to you.”

-

“Are you sure you want to do this? You can always change your mind, babe, it’s totally fine!”

“No.” You fix your hair, posture straight. You smile. “I need to.”

Lissie shares a slow nod, nibbling on her bottom lip before handing you her keynotes. “Alright. Good luck.”

The idea first sparked when the Brit girl mentioned how she was the only one granted permission to interview Charles at this year's FIA prize giving ceremony. You had debated back and forth with what seemed like forever, both Carly and Lissie trying to talk you out of it, but you pleaded until they reluctantly agreed. 

You haven’t seen him ever since that day.

It’s insane to think about, sometimes. You knew each other for two years, dated for three, and haven’t crossed paths for another two. And now, you’re here. He’d been upfront that day, didn’t even flinch with his one and only birthday wish, meanwhile you felt the last stab hurt more than anything.

I wish to never see you again. 

Not long after, he grabbed his things and left. But not before turning around, sending you one last glance, dull, empty, and nothing like him anymore. You still recall.

Turn it in, he said, smiling warmly despite his better judgment. Despite not meaning it. Don’t let this all be for nothing.

Shaking your hands, you grin, fixing your silk dress. The Brit girl stares worriedly, but as soon as you wink, she hides it. Not that well, but enough. “He’s going to be so mad at me,” she jokes, but it’s probably true. He has a soft spot for her, and he only gave permission to her. No one else. 

You wince, grabbing her hands delicately. “I really appreciate this, Lissie. More than you’ll ever know.”

Waving goodbye, you make your way to the private conference hall. It’s daunting, actually, the sight of the large table where he’ll be sitting and the small chair where you will. Quite the narrative. His picture is hung in almost every corner, from the beginning of his career to now. The latest one makes you smile as he lifts the trophy high up with a beaming grin, dimples poking out and eyes crinkled just the way you remember. 

You thought about apologizing again. Better this time. Once things simmered down. You really wanted to, but as soon as Carly informed you that the article would need to be published in order for fans to engage with your content and for them to decide on a winner, you knew the gist of him accepting your apology was most likely never going to happen. 

And you contemplated not posting it. Carly did too. Lissie did too. No one thought it was a good idea, but you still did it. Like he said—you couldn’t let all that be for nothing.

The hate came immediately, you expected nothing less. In their minds, you were a loyal girlfriend, but after reading your work, the comments came rolling in. You were honestly quite grateful because you know you deserved every last bit of it. 

But somehow—somehow—you won Journalist of the Year. 

You were shocked to say the least—bewildered. And you could see it in Lissie and Carly’s eyes too. So, while accepting the award with a forced smile, it hit you like a truck.

Did you truly earn this or was it all thanks to him?

Either way, does it matter anymore?

The door gently opens as he steps in, a loopy smile stretched onto his lips before coming to a complete stop. With your heart in your throat, you cough awkwardly, standing up and waving. You cringe, putting your hand down as soon as he furrows his brows, looking around. 

“S-she’s not here,” you say, voice cracking. You blush. “You’re looking for Lissie, right?” Utter silence. He blinks, unresponsive and as stiff as a tree. You lick your lips. “I-I-I can leave if you want.” But you really hope he doesn’t want you to.

The Monegasque’s features strike with something familiar—something you knew not long ago. Then…

He smiles at you. 

“It’s alright.” Carefully, he makes his way closer, scooting his chair right next to yours as you blink, sitting back down and staring with your plump lips slightly open. He cocks his head. “Y-you look the same.”

You giggle. “Is that supposed to be a good thing?” When he fails to answer, you bite down on your lip hesitantly. “You haven’t changed much, either.” 

He clears his throat, averting his gaze. “I don’t mean to sound rude or anything, but why are you here and where is Lissie?”

You flinch. Okay. This was expected. You practiced hours for this very moment. “Don’t be mad at her, okay, I asked her to let me do this. I wanted to…see you, Charles.” The sound of his name leaving your lips makes his heart stop because it's been so long since he’s heard it. Too long. A subtle blush. “I’m here to apologize.”

“Ah,” he winces, scrunching his nose. “Don’t. We’re cool.”

“Are we, though?”

He stiffens. 

Exhaling, you place your things down, pursing your lips. He watches the way your knee bounces up and down. How you play with your ring before covering it neatly with the opposite hand. That catches him completely off guard as he blinks rapidly, thinking he must be mistaken. 

“I know I don’t deserve any of this,” you say nervously. “By all means, I should have been kicked out five minutes ago, but you…” Round eyes soften, lashes batting slowly. “You’ve always been a kind and generous human being, Charles.”

“Stop,” he whispers. You frown. “Saying my name, I mean. You can talk—we can talk, but please, just. Don’t say it.”

“O-okay,” you mumble, stomach churning. “I won’t.”

He lets out a tight smile, tilting his head. Years ago, his hair was a tad bit longer, fluffier even. Now, it’s still the same, but somehow more mature. His eyes are still young and naive, but with a hint of wisdom. He usually would wear mismatching suits, but now it matches. A lot of him has changed, and you weren’t there to witness it.

“Congrats, by the way,” you add happily. “World Champion, eh?”

Pink spreads across his cheeks, slowly but surely. “Thanks. I was close to losing my mind.”

You laugh. “Seven years later, but it’s well deserved. I’m so proud of you.”

And for a moment, he goes completely numb. He’s heard plenty of kudos ever since winning his first title—and they were nice, they made him feel nice—but this. You? It’s the first time it makes him feel accomplished. And that feels more than nice.

Playing with his bracelet, he nods sheepishly. “How have you—how, um…God. I, um, how have you been?”

“Oh.” You let out a genuine smile. Soft. Angelic. And everything he wishes to find in any other girl that isn’t you. It’s not something he should notice. “I’ve been well.” You raise your hand. “Engaged.”

“You sure are,” he mumbles, finally acknowledging the silver band before flashing an easy smile of his own. And maybe it was real, or maybe it wasn’t, but he wasn’t as upset as he thought he’d be. Just a tiny bit bothered, is all. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

You lick your lips awkwardly. “You remember Carly’s son?”

A tide hits him as he internally screams. “Grayson, right?”

You nod. “She, uh, set us up a while ago and we hit it off.” You wince. “I’m sorry, is that weird?”

“No. Of course not,” he replies, shrugging. “You’re allowed to build your life with whomever you want. What happened between us was…” He chuckles. “So long ago. I’m happy for you both, I really am.”

And he means it this time.

Admiring the oval-shaped ring, you swoon as if you’re thinking of the exact moment he proposed to you, and that’s the prettiest sight Charles thinks he might ever see. Even if it didn’t end up being him. Once you look back up, he looks away, feigning interest in anything else stupidly.

“Yourself?”

“Myself?”

A playful eye roll. “Are you seeing anyone?”

A retch. “Ha ha, no! No, that’s not—that’s not for me.” You frown. He winces. “Please don’t be offended, but after you, I sort of lost interest in meeting other people. Pierre calls it trauma, I call it precaution.” A sore laugh. “B-but maybe one day. Never say never, am I right?”

The lights reflect directly towards you, so that lets him see the rosy blotches beginning to hug your cheekbones as your lips wobble. He panics. “N-no! Fuck. I didn’t mean to—”

“I ruined your life,” you wail, throwing your hands over your face. “Oh my God, I wrecked it!”

“You didn’t!” he tries. “I’ve gone on a couple of dates, here and there!”

You’re tiny cries take a quick pause. Sniffling, you shoot him a look, shiny eyes beaming back at him. “You have?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, slowly relaxing against his seat. “Sort of. Kind of.” A horrified expression maps out against your face. He grimaces. “I-It’s just not my thing!”

“I’m sorry, Ch—” You pause, rethinking your words. “I’m sorry.”

The Monegasque shrugs, hoping that’d be enough for you to drop the topic. “It’s okay, really. It’s a decision I made long ago, and I’d like to keep it like that for a while, at least.” You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding halfheartedly. “But please, um, tell me, how far along are you? Heard from Lissie that it’s a boy.”

You let out a wet giggle, wiping your tears away to the best of your ability. “Nineteen weeks. I’m in my second trimester.” Gingerly, you rub your tiny belly before your eyes light up. “Give me your hand!”

“What?”

Leaning in, you grab his large hand and place it down on your stomach, looking up at him to watch his reaction. At first, he’s weirded out, you can tell. He makes a silly face he probably doesn’t realize he’s making, but seconds later his features soften. His green eyes go round, no tension behind them. His brows lay flat, then knit together in amazement. He laughs, rubbing his thumb gently.

“Does it hurt?” he whispers. “When he kicks?”

You hum. “Sometimes it can. But I suppose it’s more discomfort than anything.” You wiggle your eyebrows. “Cool?”

He nods rapidly. “Super cool.”

Pulling away, he can feel his adrenaline as high as a kite, and as fast as his car. He feels different, he notes, as if something has finally shifted inside of him. With this, he takes time to admire you in a way he hasn’t been able to ever since.

Your hair is cut into layers now, glossy and shorter than he remembers. Your lips, round, plump and berry tinted. Your eyes, doe, innocent, and pure in a way he can’t seem to wrap his head around. Smile, even, wobbly, and everything in between.

Your gaze flickers. “Question…”

“Answer,” he replies, studying your body language. 

It’s harder than you had initially thought it would be, asking him what you’d been wondering for these past two years. Was it all that bad? The answer might be yes. Yes, it was. To him, perhaps. But it tugs your tongue, and it burns a bit, but you push through, focusing on him and his watercolor eyes.

“Do you—”

But he still knows you. He can still read you. Before you, it’s always him who understands your train of thought. 

He shakes his head, dimples imprinting like a finger in sand. “No regrets.” 

A peach seed forms as you let out a sheepish laugh. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in life,” you admit, cringing slightly. “Just yesterday, I bought the wrong plane ticket. Got stuck in the airport for three extra hours.” He chuckles. “Totally unnecessary.”

“It happens,” he comforts you, clicking his tongue. 

“I guess so,” you say, sighing. “But betraying someone you love? Yeah. That’s got to be the worst mistake of my life.”

He flinches, an old wound suddenly opening. “Hey, you—”

You raise your hand, pleading with him. “Let me just…” So, he forces himself to sit there quietly, to not intrude no matter how much he really wants to. It’s fine, he wants to say, I’m fine now, we’re fine now, seriously.

A wince. “Do you know how guilty I feel whenever Grayson polishes my award?” A scoff. “He means no harm with his actions, but it makes me feel like shit everytime I walk past it. I’ve begged him to put it away somewhere in the attic, but he’s as proud as can be. Say’s an accomplishment like that deserves to be shown off. That it’s proof of all my hard work.” You smile. “Much like you and your trophy.”

You exhale. “You were right, though.” A hum. “I don’t deserve it.”

“I never said that.”

“Sure,” you give in quietly. “But you did say that if I won, I’d always wonder if I was truly respected for my work or if I was respected because of you.”

He bites his tongue. 

You shrug lamely. “And that’s just something I’m going to have to live with for the rest of my life…” Steadily, you ease your eyes back towards him as you find him already staring at you, listening close and curious. “And I want you to know that I’m fine with that.” A beat. “What I’m not fine with is you being mad at me for the rest of your life.”

Charles opens his mouth, feeling his tongue as dry as the desert and his throat as dusty as the highest mountain. “I’m not mad at you…anymore.” He sits up straighter. “I said a lot of things to you that night that I shouldn’t have said, but you have to understand that you hurt me a thousand times worse.” 

Tears well up your eyes as you nod shamefully. He continues despite feeling the need to reach out for you. “I just wanted you to feel what I was feeling, even if that meant—well. You know. And, um…I tried to forget all of that, but I, too, felt guilty, so—I’m glad you’re here. That way I can say…I’m sorry.”

“No!” you wail, raising your arms up. “No, I’m sorry! I broke your trust, and I was a God awful girlfriend.”

“You did,” he chuckles before scrunching his nose in deep thought. “But you were also the best I’ll ever have.”

A wet sob escapes.

“I forgive you.”

“S-shit,” you let out. “You don’t know how g-good it feels to finally hear you say that.”

A gentle smile. “You?”

You giggle, standing up. “I have nothing to forgive you for, but yeah. Okay. I forgive you, as well.” You open your arms for a hug. He blinks. “It’ll make me feel better.”

Tsk. “You used to do this all the time wherever we fought,” he says, a hint of sadness wavering in his eyes before disappearing into thin air. Extending to his full height, he towers over you before going in to close the distance. He halts, coughing awkwardly.

You snicker, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Right. You're hugging two of us now.”

A wave of jealousy pangs his chest for a second. You’ve moved on, and he’s stuck in the year you were still in his life. Still his. He envies Grayson in every sense there exists, but he swallows down that pill because he’d always been a nice bloke the very few times he interacted with him. He needs to move on, too. 

Even if it takes him his whole life to figure out how. 

“The more the merrier.”

Your face has gone completely numb by now from how hard you're grinning from ear to ear. Wrapping your arms around his waist as he goes over your shoulders, you sigh contently as you catch the whiff of his cologne. His heartbeat quickened at the smell of your perfume. 

“Question,” he whispered. You chuckle against his chest. Answer. He gulps, nose twitching. “Would it make me a bad person to say that you’re probably the only girl I’ll ever love?” Silence. He screws his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. Why the fuck would he ever say that—

“I’d only say that I don’t deserve to be her,” you respond. “Anyone but me.”

A flinch. “O-of course. You’re getting married, you’re having a baby, what was I th—”

“Honey…”

He freezes. 

You lean back, holding his face between your hands and smiling. “It’s not your name…”

His voice catches. “It’s not…”

A deeper smile. Nostalgic. “A piece of me will always love you.” A pause. “You know me so well. Better than anyone. You’ve seen me naked. You’ve dressed me. You’ve seen me with makeup. You’ve seen me without. And…well—you’ve seen my good side. But you’re also the only one who's seen my bad.”

His palms quickly get sweaty as he tries his best to not do anything he might regret. And not because he’ll wish to take it back, but because you would. Neat brows draw in together as you graze his stubble with your thumb. As nurturing as a mother, which he supposes you already are. 

“I’d say that makes us pretty close, no?”

“Not as close as I’d like to be.” 

“You’ll find someone.” A beat. “Someone who’ll love you right.”

“You didn’t?” he questions before he can stop himself. “Sorry—”

“My love for you was honest. But I blew it.”

I’m still here, he wants to yell out. If you still want me like I want you, then I’m still here.

But he refrains from doing so.

“You’ve never done me wrong,” he attempts, kissing your palm gingerly before softening his gaze. You send a playful glare. “Except for that one time.” You snort. “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore because—because it doesn’t matter anymore…”

Maybe it's the hormones, you sort of wish it was, but you know it’s due to his gentleness. You don’t deserve his sympathy, you don’t deserve even a fraction of it. Crying, you kiss his cheek, hoping everything you feel transfers itself into the warmth of his skin. And you don’t know, but it does just that.

Closing his eyes, he prays to dream about this kiss forever. Have nightmares, who even cares. As long as he doesn’t forget. 

You step away carefully, taking him in as his eyes flutter. 

“Charles Leclerc, first time World Champion…”

He smiles. You smile. 

His dimples pop out. Your eyes crinkle.

He loves you. You love him.

And maybe it didn’t work out in this life.

But maybe in the next.

“May I have an interview with you?”

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[desii-baeeee]

ㅤ♡ HUSBAND!LUIGI MANGIONE HEADCANONS

WARNINGS: suggestive language, curse word i guess that's it. Idk man.

ㅤ♡ You met Luigi because he was struggling to parallel park his car, and you yelled out, “Want me to do it or are you gonna figure it out, fucker?” He smirked (classic him), parked it perfectly just to show off, and then walked over to ask if you need any help. (It was his car. You were walking past. Fate said yes.)

ㅤ♡ He’s the guy who looks tough as nails but will 100% scream if there’s a spider in the bedroom. One time, he made you “escort it out” while he stood on the bed yelling instructions. (You married him anyway because he’s hot.)

ㅤ♡ Proposed during a candlelit dinner at home because he knew you'd get suspicious if he planned anything fancy. Mid-spaghetti twirl, he slid the ring across the table with a suave, “So, wanna make me the happiest guy in the world?” (You choked on your wine, said yes, and then yelled at him for ruining the vibe with how casual it was.)

ㅤ♡ If he sees you crying over a sad movie, he’ll immediately start roasting the plot to make you laugh. “Why didn’t they just move to Florida if the killer clowns were such a problem?” Meanwhile, he’s crying too but won’t admit it.

ㅤ♡ He always insists on carrying all the groceries, even if it means his arms are about to fall off. (One time, he dropped a bag of flour in the driveway and mumbled, ‘It’s fine, I’m still strong,’ as if you doubted him.)

You forwarded your hand indicating him to give some bags since he had too many nag in both of his hands. It was a silent command, one laced with the expectation of immediate compliance.

Instead, he shifted the bags from his left hand to his right, a move that seemed deliberate, almost theatrical. His right hand, already laden with the weight of too many bags, now bore them all. And before you could voice your annoyance, he reached out—grasping your hand with an ease that caught you off guard.

Then came that smile. Not just any smile, but the kind that could melt glaciers, warm the coldest of hearts, and disarm even the most stoic. It was pure, unfiltered joy—mischief and charm rolled into one breathtaking expression. The cutest smile humanity had ever seen, or so it felt in that moment.

You sighed, tilting your head to the left, then the right, your disappointment on full display. “Asshole,” you muttered, your voice carrying just enough edge to sell the act.

But deep down, in the space you guarded most fiercely, you couldn’t have been happier.

ㅤ♡ The man is an absolute menace in the kitchen. He makes a huge mess every time he cooks but insists it’s “part of the creative process.” (The food is always delicious, though. You can’t even be mad.)

ㅤ♡ He buys you flowers randomly, but not the typical roses. He’ll show up with a weird mix, like sunflowers and baby’s breath, saying, “This one reminded me of your smile.” (You secretly press and save every single flower.)

ㅤ♡ A firm believer in PDA. He’s got a hand on your waist at all times. One time, a stranger commented on how affectionate he is, and Luigi smirked, “Can’t help it. She’s irresistible.”

ㅤ♡ You once joked about him doing your makeup, and he took it as a personal challenge. He watched three YouTube tutorials and showed up with a fully stocked Sephora bag. (He tried his best. It was bad. But you loved him for it.)

ㅤ♡ Absolutely melts if you wear his clothes. Walk into the room in one of his shirts, and he’s done for. “Yeah, we’re not leaving the house today,” he says as he picks you up and throws you on the bed. (RIP your plans and your legs.)

ㅤ♡ When you’re upset, he sits next to you quietly until you’re ready to talk. No prying, no pressure—just his presence. But the second you say what’s wrong, he’s already figuring out how to fix it.

ㅤ♡ He has a whole notes app list of “things she likes,” where he writes down random stuff you mention. Favorite snacks, dream destinations, weird obsessions—he’s got it all.

ㅤ♡ Once, during an argument, you jokingly said, “What are you gonna do? Leave me?” and he dead-serious replied, “Don’t even joke about that. ”

ㅤ♡ Hates shopping for himself but LOVES spoiling you. If he sees you eyeing something, it’s yours. “You deserve it,” he says, even if it’s something silly like a $25 glitter pen.

ㅤ♡ Swears he’s a big, tough guy but turns into absolute mush around kids. He’ll let them climb all over him like he’s a jungle gym. (You’re not saying it out loud, but yeah, you’re mentally baby-trapping yourself.)

ㅤ♡ Insists on celebrating every tiny milestone in your relationship. “It’s been 100 days since we had our first pizza together!” (You love him for it. Even when you’re rolling your eyes.)

ㅤ♡ One time, you were drunk and jokingly said, “You could totally ruin me, and I’d still thank you,” and he just leaned in and said, “Careful what you wish for, sweetheart.” (You did not walk the next day. The prophecy fulfilled itself.)

ㅤ♡ Every night before bed, he pulls you into his arms and says, “I love you more than yesterday.” It’s cheesy. It’s perfect.